Cellar 13 の小説・ストーリー

Spooked, Cara spun around and replied, “We think we may have found the door to the tunnel.” “Let me see,” Rancid said. He moved in closer and looked over the wire fencing to the wall. He saw the door with the writing on it and smiled. “Jesus Christ, you might have just found it. Or the door to the cellar.” “Cellar?” Cara asked. “They used to store food down here, back in the early part of the century. But don’t get me wrong, this could very well be the door to the tunnel.” “Yeah, I need to find a way to open the door,” Cara said. “Fuck, I can give you a hand with that missy,” Rancid said. “If you don’t mind,” Cara said.

Tunde quietly said. A pause, then she stepped back. "We’ll see how much that fire holds when you’re left alone." She pressed a key. INT. CITADEL – CELL BLOCK 17 – NIGHT Two guards escorted Tunde down a white corridor. No footsteps echoed. No sound but the low thrum of artificial light. They passed other doors, sealed tight. No faces. No names. A long, narrow cell hissed open. No blanket. No chair. Just a cot and a sink and a red surveillance dot blinking like a second heart.

“Eleanor darling. Don’t tell me you’ve finally grown bored of playing house with that little pet of yours?” “We need to meet,” Eleanor said with a cold voice. “I have a plan.” I straightened my back a little. “Alright. The Velvet Cellar. Thirty minutes.” ***************************** The velvet Cellar was an underground pub tucked beneath an old library. A place meant for secrets. I entered the hideout in a cream-tailored blazer with a V-neck line slightly highlighting the rose tattoo near my collarbone. My hair was snatched in a sleek low bun with a bold red lip.

"Margot! Margot, do you have the independent cellular relay to the cellar fence line?" ​"I’m trying!" Margot’s voice was a frantic scream through the static of the earpiece, the sound of her keyboard a rapid-fire percussion of plastic. "The interference from the conservatory server is blocking the local wireless frequencies. I can't reach the terminal outside the wine vault. The signal won't drop through the stone floorboards!"

He pushed through the heavy iron door that led to the cellar. The air down here was freezing. It smelled of sulfur and saltpeter. He moved through the stacks of wine barrels and crates of salted meat. He found it in the furthest corner, directly beneath the Great Hall. Three massive crates. They bore the Royal Seal. His Seal. A long, thin cord ran from the base of the crates, snaking across the floor and disappearing into a ventilation shaft that led to the outer walls. It was already lit. The spark was small. A tiny, fizzing point of light crawling along the hemp. It was moving fast.

“I don’t have twenty. I was hoping you would say ten or five.” “That’s nothing. No one would bet five dollars.” “I would.” “Okay, tell me a valuable thing you can get for five dollars.” “A lot. You can get a king size Snicker’s bar for that.” “You would spend five dollars on that? You are slow. If you’re going to get a king size candy, get Hersheys.” Suddenly, we’re arguing about candy and five dollars. It's like watching toddlers fighting over their favorite toy. As they keep arguing, I spot Marcelo doing dumbbell curls. I leave Jason and Sean who don’t even notice and I walk towards Marcelo.

Rowan gasped in surprise, “Give me-” The Beta ignored him. With one smooth motion, he shoved the key into the lock and twisted. The door groaned loudly before opening with a loud bang. Blade immediately stepped inside. He was expecting to see a cache, or something suspicious. Perhaps even a batch of hidden weapons or a meeting room. But what he saw instead was something entirely different, "A cellar?" he froze, gasping as he looked around the room with confusion in his gaze. It was an old underground cellar filled with hundreds of dusty wine bottles that were arranged neatly inside wooden wine racks.

I felt a wave of gratitude toward him for standing up for me so publicly. After dinner ended, Sebastian pulled me aside in the hallway. “Ignore them, Lila. I know your true character. Would you like to continue that private tasting session we started? We can go to the cellar and discuss your article properly.” I agreed, hoping for a moment of normalcy. We walked down the stone steps into the cool cellar. The familiar smell of aged wine surrounded us. Sebastian poured small samples from different bottles and explained each one carefully. “This particular one has notes of dark cherry and a touch of oak,” he said, handing me a glass. “Swirl it gently and tell me what you notice.”

His instincts told him he was in the right spot. Adam surveyed the dimly lit cellar, estimating the worth of the wine glasses to be anywhere between $15,000 and $60,000. The room was secluded, shielded from any disturbances like noise, vibrations, or odors, and had excellent ventilation. The temperature indoors was a chilly 50-60 degrees Fahrenheit, not quite freezing but definitely cold. As Adam's gaze fell upon the enormous painting near the glass cellars, he couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine.

No identification, no location marker, no secondary encoding. The cellar is open.