Roughly forty minutes later, the Citadel stirred awake.
A black sedan moved across the lower ramp, its frame neat but understated against the armored bulk of the vehicles it passed.
Tires squealed faintly as it slowed into the open zone where strips of overhead light painted the floor in pale bars. The engine cut.
Above, Gary stood at the railing of the upper platform, tablet in hand, his voice crisp as he finished issuing orders to a pair of minions.
Below, more minions hefted crates into the trunks of waiting black Escalades—rows of them, lined like a convoy ready for war.
Each lift and thud of a weapons case echoed across the chamber, mingling with the distant whrrr~ of automated lifts carrying more supplies into the bay.
Gary's gaze shifted toward the sedan the instant it parked.
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The entire garage dipped into shadow, then flared back.
When they steadied, Predator was standing beside Gary.
