Her breath was hot and heavy as she turned down another cold, metallic hallway that narrowed into a deadend. She released a slur of creative curses under her breath as she momentarily stopped to catch her breath. The mercenary lifted her hands above her head and gasped for fresh air, only to be half-satisfied by the stale taste of the recycled air.

"I hate small spaces," she muttered under her breath, straightening her back while lowering her hands to the satchel that crossed her chest. She reached down and lifted the flap of the bag to reveal the cream, glistening surface of the stolen treasure.

"Didn't you spend three weeks hidden in a crate aboard a cargo ship?"

Rogue jumped, and placed a hand to still her chest as the small, shifty pickpocket stepped out of the shadows beside her.

"Fleetfoot!" Rogue hissed under her breath, chastising her partner before pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "I'll have you know it wasn't by choice. Most employers don't like when their soldiers swap sides simply because the pay is better."

Fleetfoot scoffed. "As if they wouldn't switch for the right price."

"Honestly, I can't believe I wasn't invited to the party." The mechanic twirled the wrench in his hand before inserting it into the available slot along his tool belt as he walked around the corner. "I'm feeling a little left out."

"Aw, is your FOMO acting up again, Callaway?" Fleetfoot asked with mock sympathy.

"Dalton—"

"I'm not your mother, Callaway," Rogue interrupted before he could finish his complaint. "Did you take care of your side?"

Callaway scoffed, brushing his fingers through his hair, failing to realize the grease that coated the top layer of his head defeated the point of the gesture meant to inflate his ego. "Is that even a question?"

Rogue sucked in a breath of air, turning away so she wouldn't have to physically answer the question. Fleetfoot failed to hold her laughter back a second longer, snickering as she clicked her tongue while shooting a pair of finger guns. "Looking good there, Slick."

Looking down at the machine oil on his hands, Callaway made a sloppy attempt at fixing his hair. Rogue rolled her eyes and finally released the breath of air she'd inhaled before.

"We don't have long now," Rogue reminded the pair. "Witty now, petty later. You'll have all the time in the world to fight once we get off this floating maze."

An amused smirk flashed across Callaway's face as he pointed toward the next hall over. As if pure silver, his tongue quipped with unmatched speed, "And if you look to your left, we have a lovely pair of escape pods prepared to launch our tour of the Pacific Ocean."

"Can you take anything seriously?" Rogue questioned, harshly pushing past the mechanic before tossing her bag into the unlocked pod.

"I don't see the big deal," Callaway laughed, defensively raising his hands before following. "We'll be miles away before they discover we're gone, not to mention all the richer for it."

A beat of silence was all it took for fate to play its tune of cruel irony. The emergency lights in the hallway overhead flashed a vibrant red hue as a shrill alarm echoed through the speaker system.

Fleetfoot and Rogue glanced toward one another with a similar expression before the short pickpocket crossed her arms and directed her attention to the mechanic. "Miles away?"

"I'm a mechanic not a horologist," Callaway muttered, hunkering down into the escape pod so that his head wouldn't smack against the ceiling.

Fleetfoot scoffed. "Pfft, okay. The moans from your bedroom the other night say otherwise."

Rogue rolled her eyes at the commentary, reaching across the two to close the door and twist the lock. She refused to conceal the inconvenienced look on her face as she sat down in front of the control panel. Slowly, the muscles in her face slacked as her eyes frantically sought some sign to guide her. She hated to admit it, but she had no clue what she was doing. Surprisingly, they didn't teach her how to hijack a sub in her military training.

The dumbfounded look of confusion finally dissipated from Callaway's face as he realized what Fleetfoot was implying. "That's not what it means, dumbass."

"Smartass," Fleetfoot corrected. "I know what it means, I just can't help myself when it comes to talking shit about you. Especially since you make it so easy."

Callaway's eyes screamed murder and he looked ready to lunge, but Rogue held out an arm and intervened. "Cut it out."

"She—"

"—started it?" Rogue interrupted, hardly using any effort to lift her brow. "How mature. Could you take a break from your tantrum just long enough to put on your big boy pants to pilot the motherflippin' pod?"

"Motherflippin'?" Fleetfoot mouthed, clearly amused by the censorship.

"I don't swear in the presence of children," Rogue retorted, pushing Callaway toward the control panel. She then leaned back in her seat, rubbing her temples as she muttered under her breath, "I should've just brought Seaplane. He might be a pain in my ass, but at least I'd live through the heist."

"I've got this," Callaway insisted, ego inflated, knuckles popped, while puffing out his chest as he took the controls. Clearly the comment before had been whispered quiet enough to be ignored.

Fleetfoot clicked her tongue and released a hiss of air. "We're probably gonna die."

Despite the locked door, the escape pod was still docked against the sub. Although muffled, the alarm could still be heard, now accompanied by a repetitive marching.

"Callaway."

He gave no response as he muttered under his breath. His eyes remained closed as if he were giving himself a quick crash-course in underwater piloting off the top of his head.

"Callaway..."

"Shhh!" He hissed, holding up a finger as if to ask for an extension on his deadline. "If that's that, then this must be..."

"Callaway."

"I'm working," he insisted, switching his single finger into the palm of his hand. " Which means the ignition is..."

"Callaway!" Rogue and Fleetfoot shouted in unison.

"Got it!" Callaway exclaimed, flipping the ignition switch while disengaging the locking mechanism that kept them docked. The escape pod slowly drifted away from its docking pad; however, the second Callaway turned on the jets, the pod raced off toward the unknown reaches of the sea. He cast a self-satisfied look over his shoulder before pointing at the window. "And if you look to your left... the Pacific Ocean."

"You're such an idiot!" Rogue knocked him upside the head. "Are you trying to kill us?"

"Was leaving Fleetfoot behind an option?"

The pickpocket frowned, rolling her eyes as if sharing the same sentiment while Rogue massaged her eyes to ease the stress. The mercenary finally decided she was safe enough to let down her guard and lean back against her seat... but not before checking her prize one last time.

She leaned over to the seat beside her and lifted the flap of the leather bag, again revealing the stolen treasure. Fleetfoot released a smooth whistle and shook her head. "Ever seen anything so large before?"

Rogue shook her head. "It's surprisingly light for its size—"

She paused mid-sentence as the metal floor vibrated. She felt the motion reverberate through every limb of her body up to her skull. The feeling was jarring and unpleasant, and she clearly wasn't the only one to have experienced it.

She slowly lowered the flap to conceal the object within as the earthquake along the seafloor vibrated everything within its vicinity once more. She rose from her seat and leaned over Callaway, trying to find the cause from her limited view of the porthole.

She only caught a glimpse, but it was enough to send chills shuddering down her spine. Callaway noticed that her pupils narrowed and her body went rigid.

"Dalton?"

"Did she see something?" Fleetfoot asked, growing concerned by the following silence.

Callaway opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as he processed the few words that Rogue had muttered inaudibly under her breath. Dead men tell no tales.

He planned to ask her what she'd meant, but he received his answer soon enough in the form of a singular eye, glowing red with fury before the hundred rows of razor sharp teeth collided with the pod.