They were behind a cluster of equipment crates labeled: [PROJECT OMEGA: LOGISTICS]. Inside, Arkan could hear the soft, clicking sound of a motherboard.
"Are you serious? You're going to fix a crate right now?" Riley hissed.
"It’s not just a crate," Arkan said, his sapphire hand glowing as he pressed it against the cold steel. He closed his eyes, his consciousness bleeding into the lock’s sub-routines. "It’s the signal repeater for the guards' headsets. If I can piggyback on this, I can hear Hartono's commands."
A second of blue sparks, a rhythmic hum, and Arkan’s tactical earpiece hissed into life.
"—redundancy is acceptable," Hartono’s voice boomed through the comms, sounding both identical to his old self and unnervingly synthetic. "Begin the 'correction' on Variable Group D. Their p
