BigSaltyDog

The vault door was three feet of solid, cold steel, tucked away at the end of a corridor that smelled faintly of polished mahogany and high-yield panic. While Sgt. Salty was currently executing a life-or-death tango on the floor above, the remainder of the crew had assembled in front of Lord Ashford’s prized possession. They looked less like an elite breach-and-clear squad and more like a collection of misfits who had taken a wrong turn on the way to the pub. McFinleyyy was crouched at the electronic keypad, adjusting his reading glasses with one thumb. “Right then. State-of-the-art cipher lock with a secondary biometric tumbler. Very fancy. Very expensive.” “Can you open it, or do I need to hit it with something heavy?” Ye Olde Large Lad rumbled, towering over him like an oak wardrobe in a tailored suit. He was currently holding a leather-wrapped iron pry-bar with the casual ease of a man holding a newspaper. “Hit it with something heavy and we’ll trigger the silent al...