The wail of the Sector 2 lockdown sirens bled through the soundproofed walls of VIP Suite 404, a muffled, distant drone against the heavy silence of the room.
Don and Helen breached the doorway just as Will's siphon killed the grid. The pristine, artificial sunlight of the lounge died instantly. A heartbeat later, the bloody, rotating strobes of the emergency lockdown lights kicked on, painting the opulent suite in harsh, sweeping crimson.
Don slammed his shoulder into a heavy, polished marble coffee table, heaving it across the poly-glass floor until it wedged against the reinforced door. He knew the stone wouldn't stop a Tier-3 Praetorian halberd, but his palms were slick with a cold, creeping sweat. He just needed it to buy them thirty seconds.
"Helen, check the corners!" Don rasped, his chest heaving against his armor from the sprint up the concourse stairs. "If a Corpo jumps out of the closet, stab first, ask for a ledger later."
