Xray: Pack

In Leo’s sweaty palm was a device that looked like a chunky walkie-talkie crossed with a dental X-ray machine. It was the Mark-IV “SpectraPack,” or as Leo called it, his X-Ray Pack. He’d built it from salvaged medical imaging tubes, a lidar sensor, and the processor from a military drone.

The concrete floor beneath him didn't disappear—it became ghost glass . Through it, he saw the guard’s skeleton: a stooped cage of ribs, a skull swiveling side-to-side, phalanges gripping the flashlight. But more importantly, he saw the target: a heavy, lead-lined safe on the third floor. Inside, nestled like sleeping snakes, were the curved outlines of three gold bars.

Another guard. Unreported. No flashlight. Just standing perfectly still. xray pack

“Bingo,” Leo whispered.

He watched the guard’s skeleton march past. The moment its foot bones left the corridor, Leo moved. The pack’s display showed him everything: the iron rebar in the walls (don’t trip), the copper wiring (live—step over), and a single, horrifying detail he hadn’t expected. In Leo’s sweaty palm was a device that

He flicked the power switch. A soft whine vibrated through the pack’s carbon-fiber frame. Then, a miracle.

The safe wasn't a safe. It was a Faraday cage. And those weren't gold bars inside. The concrete floor beneath him didn't disappear—it became

Leo froze. The second skeleton wasn't moving. No shift of weight from femur to tibia. No tilt of the skull. It was waiting.