the smuggler’s bible

Grazny

There’s clutter all over the big room. Portable scaffolding, plastic sheets draped over guide ropes strung between the columns and—of particular note—a significant quantity of spent ammunition casings.

“There’s blood, too. Farther down. They managed to hold it off here for a while before they broke the glass and pulled the trigger on whatever last ditch big fuck fireworks tripped all of our sensors.”

“Prepared to hazard any guesses regarding numbers?”

“Between the, ah, biological samples and ballistics analysis we’re confident proposing fifteen.”

“Plus one.”

“At least.”

“A crowd,” Grazny says, “and we don’t even rate an invitation.”