Pack | Targeting

The hatch blew inward, not upward, a sharp, loud pop. The Archivist screamed, but not in pain—in shock. He stumbled back, his foot plunging into the hole. He fell hard, the metal case flying from his grip. It clattered across the floor, coming to rest a meter from Peaseblossom’s perch.

Kael shut his eyes. He felt the pack’s separate minds, their subroutines, their limitations. Hornet could blind. Firefly could stun, but the flash-bang was set for a full room, not a single target. It would knock the Archivist unconscious, maybe give him a concussion. It might also trigger the dead man’s switch if his vitals spiked wrong. targeting pack

“Target down. Package secured,” Kael reported, his voice trembling only slightly. “Pack, form on Cicada. Bug out.” The hatch blew inward, not upward, a sharp, loud pop

“Pack, form on Wasp. Arrowhead. Low emissions.” Hornet-7, a flattened disc, peeled off to circle above, painting a bubble of electronic silence around them. Cicada-9, a bloated hexapod, scuttled along the floor, its cargo bay holding a spare power cell and a single, compact-shaped charge. Firefly-3, a stubby cylinder, clung to the ceiling like a metal limpet, its demo-tipped limbs ready to breach any door. Scarab-2 brought up the rear, a brutalist cube of armor and a 20mm cannon that could punch through a bank vault. He fell hard, the metal case flying from his grip