"Stay here and don't wander off, kid. Eat something and get your strength back. There's a no-holds-barred fight in half an hour. Win, and you get ten percent of the money in that case."
The fat owner blew out a thick ring of cigar smoke, then slammed the lounge's gray iron door shut behind him.
A click came from outside as the lock bolt slid into place.
Dave stood still until the footsteps outside had faded completely. Then his timid expression vanished.
He took a deep breath, raised his hand, and gently pressed the miniature communicator inside his left ear.
"Mentor, I'm in," Dave said in a low voice.
"I heard. Look around and tell me what you see. Don't sweep the room with your eyes. Use your peripheral vision." Bruce's low, cold voice reached him clearly through bone conduction.
Dave lowered his head slightly, pretending to loosen his wrists while his gaze darted around the room.
"A sealed room with no windows, about twenty square meters. A leather sofa and a bar stocked with ice and hard liquor. A few patches of dried blood in the corners. Soundproofing foam on the walls." Dave swallowed.
"No cameras that I can see, but the vent louvers in the upper-right corner are vibrating slightly. There's airflow."
"Good. Your observation skills pass." Bruce spoke rapidly. "Soundproofing foam can block voices, but it can't stop sound traveling through ventilation ducts. Climb up. Keep quiet, and put your weight on your elbows and knees."
Without hesitation, Dave walked to the corner, sprang upward, and caught the edges of the vent with precision.
His explosive muscular strength had long since surpassed that of an ordinary person. Working with one hand, he silently removed the louver screws and slipped into the narrow ventilation duct like an eel.