the smuggler’s bible

Andromache

Shutters drop over the doors with a clang as the red lockdown lights on the ceiling and start to spin. Normally there would be a siren, but Andromache ripped the speakers off the wall last week (totally against company policy).

“I swear to god,” she says, tossing her clipboard onto a table, “if it’s the labs again I’m gonna lose it.”

She waits a few minutes to hear the official news over the facility intercom, then remembers the thing about the speakers.

“Fuck and goddamn,” Andromache mutters. “No. I absolutely refuse to let this become a lesson about unintended consequences.”