The Hunter and the Hunted
Mario and Pablo crept down the corridor of the fifth deck. Nathan had ordered the main power cut, plunging the hallway into a tomb-like darkness. The pirates’ flashlights danced nervously off the walls, turning fire extinguishers into monsters.
Suddenly, a glass bottle shattered behind them. Mario spun around, raising his AK-47. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” No answer. They advanced ten meters when, suddenly, a thick white cloud hissed from the ceiling vents.
It wasn’t smoke—Nathan had triggered the dry-ice cooling system for the food storage. Visibility dropped to zero.
Mario felt a hand like a steel vice clamp onto his wrist. The punch to his jaw was so precise he was unconscious before his knees hit the carpet.
Pablo panicked, firing blindly into the fog, but a split second later, a heavy fire extinguisher—swung with professional force—connected with his temple.
Nathan stepped out of the mist, zip-tied them both, and vanished before the mist cleared. “Two down,” he muttered.
