The ship's control room was quieter now, save for the occasional hum of machinery and the distant, rhythmic thrum of the engine. Grimm and Volkova stood side by side, eyes trained on the horizon, where the first light of dawn began to break over the water. The storm had passed, but the battle was far from over.
Grimm's fingers hovered over his comm unit. The network was still down, communication with the outside world severed. The only way to find out how far Helix's reach truly extended was to dig deeper into the ship's systems. They needed intel—and fast.
"We need to find out what they were transporting," Grimm muttered, his eyes scanning the bridge for any sign of useful information.
"I'm already on it," Volkova replied, already moving to a side panel, pulling up schematics of the ship's layout. Her fingers danced over the screen, her focus absolute. "There's a cargo hold beneath the lower decks. It's heavily secured—looks like they're hiding something."
"Great. Just what we need—a mystery on top of a mess." Grimm turned toward the door. "Let's go."
They moved quickly, down the narrow hallways of the ship, their footsteps echoing against the steel. The mercenaries they'd fought had either retreated or been neutralized, but Grimm knew better than to assume they were safe. Helix would send more. They always did.
As they descended into the lower levels, the air grew colder, the smell of diesel mingling with the faintest trace of saltwater. The ship felt more like a fortress now, the deeper they went. It was as if every floor, every room, was built with a singular purpose—to contain something. To keep it hidden.
Volkova led the way, her sharp eyes scanning each corner, every door. Her hand rested lightly on the rifle slung across her back, ready for the next threat.
When they reached the cargo hold, Grimm's instincts told him something was off. The thick steel doors were locked, sealed shut, and there were no windows to peer through. He stepped forward and placed his palm flat against the cool metal, listening for any sound inside.
Nothing.
"It's all yours," he said, stepping aside to give Volkova space. She moved with practiced efficiency, pulling out a small set of tools. She worked quickly, the quiet click of the lock echoing in the otherwise still air.
After a tense moment, the lock gave way, and the doors groaned open. The smell inside was heavier, like chemicals and something... older. Dust settled around the floor, untouched, suggesting that no one had been in here for quite some time.
Grimm stepped inside first, his rifle at the ready. The hold was massive—filled with rows of crates stacked high, most of them marked with obscure symbols. His heart rate kicked up. Whatever was in these crates, it wasn't meant to be seen.
"Whatever it is, they're hiding it for a reason," Grimm said quietly.
Volkova moved alongside him, her eyes scanning the crates. "And we're going to find out what that reason is."
They started prying open crates, one by one. Most contained equipment—tools, firearms, explosives—but there was something else buried deeper in the hold. They uncovered a series of smaller crates, each with a distinctive red marking on the side. These crates were heavier, reinforced, and locked with high-grade security mechanisms.
Grimm didn't hesitate. He grabbed the nearest crate and began forcing it open, his hands moving with precision, his focus unshaken. The lid creaked, and then it was open. Inside, wrapped in layers of foam padding, was a sleek, black device—a series of complex electronic components, all connected by wires and tubes.
Volkova stepped closer, her brow furrowing as she inspected the device. "What is this?" she asked, her tone low, more to herself than to Grimm.
"Whatever it is, it's not just tech," Grimm replied. "This is military-grade equipment. Something with a purpose."
He pulled a small, portable scanner from his belt and began running it over the device. The screen lit up with a series of encrypted files. His fingers danced over the screen, trying to break through the code. It was advanced—far beyond anything he had seen before.
And then it clicked. The encryption gave way, and a file popped up—a map, but not of any typical location. It was a set of coordinates, somewhere in the Arctic Circle.
Grimm stared at the coordinates for a moment, his mind racing. The Arctic? What the hell was Helix doing there?
"Look at this," Grimm said, showing the screen to Volkova. "This is where they're taking us. This is the real target."
She squinted at the screen, her face betraying no emotion. "What's there?"
Grimm shook his head, his mind still spinning. "Whatever it is, it's big. And we're about to find out."
But before they could continue, the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the hallways. Grimm's heart skipped a beat. The mercenaries were back—reinforcements had arrived.
"Looks like we're out of time," Grimm muttered.
"We can't leave empty-handed," Volkova replied, her voice steely. "We take what we can, and then we get the hell out of here."
Grimm nodded, his grip tightening around his rifle. They couldn't afford to be caught again—not after getting this close. He grabbed the device and a few more files from the crates before turning toward the exit.
As they rushed toward the stairs, the ship began to vibrate beneath them—like a tremor in the water. Grimm's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. The ship wasn't just changing course. It was accelerating.
"Dammit," he muttered, "they're locking us in."
Volkova looked back at him, her expression grim. "Then we'll break out."
And with that, they sprinted toward the upper decks, leaving the shadows of the cargo hold behind them, knowing they had just uncovered a piece of a much darker puzzle.