the smuggler’s bible

Pluto Vespasianus

His belly is in the dirt with a light screen of brush arranged over him. Not too uniform, just enough to disrupt the pattern of his body’s silhouette. If they have radar, he’s cooked. But who would aim that shit at the hillside anyway?

Pluto Vespasianus focuses his binoculars down on the hangar. Two men nearby at a bunker entrance. “Come on, fellas,” he mutters, “reveal your secrets.”

The door opens and more men appear. There is a chirp and Aoi’s voice in his earpiece. “Instigating,” she says, followed by the sound of rushing air before she cuts the channel.