The leader of the task force glanced behind him at the bomb—ticking away relentlessly, its blinking lights counting down to oblivion.
Then he looked at his subordinates, who were staring at the device with barely concealed terror.
That thing could vaporize their entire existence in minutes.
He swallowed hard and turned back to Mika on the screen.
"So." He asked, his voice cracking slightly. "Which bomb will we defuse first?"
Everyone tensed.
Part of them wanted to be first—to get their own bomb dealt with, to stop the countdown, to breathe again.
But another part dreaded being first.
What if something went wrong? What if the expert's instructions failed?
What if they made a mistake and everything and everyone disappeared in a flash of light?
Their minds scrambled in panic.
But then Mika smiled. A carefree, almost lazy smile that seemed utterly out of place in the middle of a crisis.
