TideBreakers: One For The Bull
Marcel Dugan has signed on with a crew of hack-wreckers looking to cash in on an easy heist. His accomplices, who only go by the names ‘Jester’ and ‘Fleece’ have a complicated history and when the three jet-suit divers begin to uncover each others’ ulterior motives, the job doesn’t seem to be as straightforward as they all first thought.
As the water in the chamber reached the ceiling, Celadon’s contact icon pinged up in Marcel’s faceplate again. “Drop-time guys,” she said. “We’re down on Parkwell Avenue.”
The chamber floor shuddered beneath them as the whole back wall began to slowly drop down. To either side of the widening gap, buildings slid away into the darkening water as the young pilot threaded the Bowhead sub through the flooded city streets.
“Jets,” Jester instructed.
Marcel let go of the ceiling strap and closed the fingers of his right hand around the control-pad in his palm. His jet-unit burst into life, lifting him upwards with the other two. The chamber was soon filled with the froth of the jets’ backwash and the old flood-bonds poster tumbled past his faceplate again, just long enough for the wild-eyed face of the tidal-wave-bull to glare at him. ‘It won’t stop for your loved ones…’ He brushed it away.
As they surveyed the passing city out of the sub’s open ramp, there was the glint of The Domino‘s glass control cylinder as they crossed an intersection. It was dark and lifeless in the shadow of a building.
“There she is,” said Fleece as it faded into the gloom.
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