The blackness of the dead terminal screen seemed to suck the remaining warmth right out of the room. The static went silent. The feed was completely dead.I stood there, frozen against the metal console, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I thought it would crack them."Damiano," I whispered, my voice shaking. "He has them. He actually has them."Damiano didn't rage. He didn't smash his fist against the computer. He didn't throw the chair. His entire demeanor shifted into something far worse. His movements became chillingly quiet, fluid, and mechanical, like a weapon being assembled in a dark room. He stepped back from me, his bare chest glistening in the weak amber light of the emergency bulb, his eyes completely empty of warmth."Get up," he said. His voice was low, flat, and completely devoid of human emotion.He walked over to a heavy iron wall locker in the corner of the bunker, pulled the latch, and yanked the door open. He reached inside, grabbed a thick, dark green tac
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