"Isaac, what do we do? We're going to be burned to ash! If the fire doesn't kill us, the gas will!" Davis shouted, pacing frantically across the room.
Isaac didn't answer. He strode to the window, pulled the curtain back just enough to peek through.
Outside, four shadows moved under the moonlight. A black jeep idled at the front of the house. Isaac scanned the perimeter, then turned to Davis.
"Well...we can't jump. The goons have the place surrounded. The moment they spot us, we're done for," he said, heading toward the bookshelf and rifling through the volumes.
Davis scoffed. "Seriously? You think now's the time for a reading session? We've got minutes—minutes—before we're toast. What, hoping for a magic password in another business guidebook?"
Isaac didn't respond. He kept pulling books, tossing them to the floor.
Davis groaned. "What we need is a miracle, not dusty business comics. Otherwise, we're dead!"
Beep. Beep. Ding.
A soft chime echoed through the room. The bookshelf creaked, then slid aside, revealing a hidden passage.
Davis stared, wide-eyed. Isaac stood holding a book—its cover slightly tilted, a thin wire embedded in the spine.
"Well," Davis muttered, "I guess I stand corrected. Boring business comics do save the day."
Isaac gave a faint shake of his head. "Come on."
The two walked into the room cautiously.
The hidden door sealed behind them, plunging Isaac and Davis into pitch black.
"Well, that was unexpected," Davis muttered.
Isaac flicked on his flashlight, the beam slicing through the darkness. He scanned the room slowly.
"At least the gas isn't leaking in here," he said, pacing. "Otherwise we'd already be choking."
The room was hollow—bare walls, no furniture, no vents. Just a box. A cage.
"Is this right? A secret room with no exit?" Davis said, voice rising. "You're telling me we escaped a firetrap just to get stuck in a concrete coffin?"
Isaac kept searching, eyes sharp.
"Oh come on, Davis. Man up. A few days ago you were nearly swallowed by a whirlpool of death. You made it out. What makes you think this cage is your final chapter?"
Davis scoffed. "Back then, there was a way out. And I had a reason—I wanted to be a hero for my hooligan. Thought she'd worship me and I'd finally tame her. But now? I'm stuck in a box with the Grim Reaper breathing down my neck and no exit in sight."
Isaac paused, flashlight drifting toward the floor.
"You're right. We're screwed… unless Mother Luck decides to show up."
The beam caught something—metal glinting faintly.
Davis leaned in. "Well I'll be damned. Guess Mother Luck does exist."
Clank! Clank! BOOM!
The walls shook. Heat surged into the room. Smoke curled through the cracks.
"Shit! We gotta go—now!" Davis shouted.
Isaac yanked open the floor latch, revealing a tunnel beneath. They dove in just as a fireball erupted through the hidden door, swallowing the room in flames.
They collapsed inside the tunnel, coughing, the ceiling above them ablaze.
The tunnel stretched in both directions—dark, narrow, uncertain.
"Which way?" Davis asked, panting.
Isaac scanned left, then right. He stepped toward the left—
WHOOOSH! Heat blasted his face.
"Oh shoot—RUN!" he yelled, grabbing Davis's arm and pulling him toward the right.
Behind them, a wall of fire surged forward, chasing them like a wild bull made of flame.
BOOM!
The tunnel exploded.
The shockwave hurled them into the air.
"Oh… fuck!!" Davis cursed as the heat licked his back, his body flipping like a ragdoll—
Until...SPLASH!
They hit water.
Davis dove deep into the pool, twisting mid-swim to glimpse the inferno above. The ceiling blazed like a wall of fireworks—violent, mesmerizing. He lingered too long.
Suddenly, a strong arm yanked him sideways.
Tunnel debris crashed into the water like falling boulders, missing him by inches.
Isaac had pulled him from death's grip—again.
They swam deeper, flashlights cutting through the murky water. In the distance, a flicker—silver light, faint but steady.
They kicked toward it, revealing a small bolted door embedded in the underwater wall.
A glance passed between them. No words. Just resolve.
Cling. Bang!
The wheel turned. The door creaked open. Water surged in, flooding the tunnel beyond.
They slipped through, struggling to shut the door behind them before the tunnel drowned.
"Hugh!" Isaac and Davis gasped, heads breaking the surface.
"You okay?" Isaac panted.
"Yeah… I think so. Can't feel my limbs in this freezing water. You?"
Isaac looked around, shivering. "Not sure. But we're not dead yet."
The tunnel was narrow, its walls slick with water residue. No footing. No handholds.
"Guess we have to swim out of here as well. Come on!" He said as he held his breath and dived back into the water, Davis following closely behind.
Minutes passed. Then—
Hugh! Cough! Cough!
They burst into a larger chamber, dragging themselves onto a dry platform.
Flat on their backs, they heaved for breath.
After a couple of moments—
"We made it," Davis wheezed. "We're alive. I thought we were toast. Guess Mother Luck's got a soft spot for us, huh, Captain?"
Isaac chuckled weakly. "Yeah… we're some lucky sons of bitches."
He sat up, scanning the space. At the far end, a door stood near the dry wall.
"Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."
He staggered to his feet, Davis trailing behind.
They reached the door, picked the lock, and slipped inside.
Davis flicked on the light.
Click.
The room lit up—shelves towering like pillars, crates stacked high.
Isaac approached one, pried it open.
He froze. Then a small grin started spreading across his lips.
"Well I'll be damned," he said, eyes gleaming. "Looks like we hit the jackpot tonight. Better reschedule our Vegas trip, Dave. We're going all in this time."
Davis was bewildered by Isaac's statement until Isaac revealed a golden brick in his hand.
Davis stared, stunned. Then a grin crept across his face.
"Well what'd you know," he whispered. "Guess my retirement might come early this year."
He chuckled, the sound echoing through the room like a promise.
...
Meanwhile…
The house burned like a funeral pyre, flames licking the sky as four shadows watched from a distance.
One of the goons exhaled, arms crossed.
"Too bad we couldn't get the location of that bloody scoundrel's vault. I really would have wanted to get my hands on that loot and buy my own private island for retirement. Tsk...guess that won't be happening soon."
Another scoffed. "Even if you did find it, the Bull Dog would've snatched it from you. He's obsessed with Blane's stash—been hunting it for years. You'd need a miracle to beat him to it."
"Yeah, right. Like you'd have better luck," the first goon snapped.
The two launched into a heated argument, voices rising.
"Enough, you fools!" barked the third goon—the one who'd searched the study for the velvet box. His voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"We don't have time for this. We need to move before the cops show up and we're screwed. Now where the hell is Flint?"
"Boss! Boss!" a voice called from the trees. "You gotta come see this!"
The goons rushed toward the sound.
Flint stood near the edge of the estate, pointing toward a black WFAB jeep half-hidden behind the bushes.
"Looks like we've got guests," he said, grinning.
The boss narrowed his eyes.
"And they made a bad move."
He turned to the others.
"Spread out. Search the area. If they've got the box—retrieve it. And kill them."
"Yes, Boss!" the three goons shouted in unison, drawing their weapons and vanishing into the shadows.