An inward sigh of relief once he had a full visual of the door- it was a pre-Butterfly Incident design, back when S.F. still bothered having some user interfacing for humans. An actual door with a handle, in this particular case. Even more mundane- a door with a mechanical lock. He put down his satchel, carefully pulling out just the set of tools he'd need, a tensioning rod and snap gun. Old world locks to be defeated by old-world techniques.
Still, the commander cursed at every clack of the snap-gun, praying that there was no one at the other side of the door that had heard the curious metallic clicking and were standing ready to perforate the threshold.
It was embarrassing, to say the least, knowing that somewhere out in the distance, his team was watching him awkwardly crouched in front of the doorway squeezing away at a tool from decades ago. One of the girls could probably picked this instantly- but when the lock gave way, there was no more time for such insignificant things as embarrassment.
Outward swinging door, heavy steel- probably had a hydraulic return arm on the inside. He cracked it slightly, cautious for creaking and squeaking.
No bullets yet.
From the bottom corner he slipped a cheap plastic pocket mirror. No interior lights, no muddled signs of movement.
No bullets yet.
Cautiously he pressed the door open just enough to slip through, slinging his satchel on as he moved.
No bullets.
The hardest part of his mission was done as he quietly shut the door behind him, plunging the hallway into pitch black. He had to be sparing with his flashlight. Even with a red cellophane filter over it, light was still light. He made sure to keep the beam no more than a foot in front of him, its ambience no more than two-arms length from him.
Hallways of cold, drab concrete, the space was wide enough to fit a small sedan through. External metal and plastic covers for wiring and piping for systems that the warehouse no-longer needed were the only things that broke up the of the smooth walls. It also meant there was nothing to dampen sound- a double edged sword that he could certainly use to his advantage if he was cautious enough. An occasional emptied crate or push cart let him know that something had existed here before, and perhaps useful in a pinch.
Moving through the first hallway to a corner lead to the first major revelation; for a warehouse, there was plenty of external rooms that ringed what must have been the warehouse floor. Each of them had a large upward rolling door next to its smaller, human-sized sibling. Caution told him to sound-check every single door, but once he had realized that some of them had their locks busted or drilled out; it was clear that the new occupants never found the keys to the building, limiting where they could possibly be. Out of curiosity, he had taken a peek into one of these side rooms.
Large racks lined with large 'U' shaped divets as wide as he was, blow-out paneling on the roof, thick concrete walls, foam-poppers… this was an ammunition storage. Worrisome… but not alarming yet.
No, the most worrying thing at the current moment was the faintest shimmer of white light down the end of the hall at the corner, growing brighter every passing moment.
Hide.
Hide. Let them pass.
Hide.
He ignored his training, pushing for the corner closest to the light. The rhythmic steps of boots on concrete thrummed ever closer as the light swept lazily from one side to the other. Only one set of steps.
His primary weapon was always the last resort, the concrete nature of the halls would just make the sound reverberate- even when suppressed.
Low at the corner, he was careful to make sure the sweep of the light never cast an ambient shadow to the side.
The guard who rounded the corner was taken by complete surprise when he found himself slugged in the sternum by a particularly heavy flashlight. His weapon wasn't at the ready, and he couldn't even get a hand on it if he wanted to. Whatever wind he had left in him was knocked out the moment the commander slammed him back-first into the ground. Head ricocheted from the concrete- concussion most likely. Just to be safe, the commander jabbed the man with tranquilizer epipen. The danger of asphyxiation for the guard was outweighed by the danger that he posed if left to recover. If he survived, they'd simply have to question him later.
A pat down gave nothing of value- at least nothing akin to a map or keys, though that was just wishful thinking.
No distinct uniform, just old-world camouflage patterns- Soviet era from the looks, down to the surplus tin-pot helmets. Old Kalashnikov's too- for supposed black-market arms dealers, they weren't very well equipped. The commander breathed a sigh of relief; not partisans, not the separtist militias… no one he'd personally know.
But it raised the question of who they were.
It was an oddity he would note, certainly, but it wasn't relevant to right now as he dragged the body off to a side-storage room and continued on the path he thought was bringing him to the center of the warehouse.
"Heard from Petya yet?"
The commander froze, the voices carrying down to him through the shadows.
"No, not yet. I don't see why he wanted to patrol the outer works, idiot could have just waited until our shift was over."
The voices werent getting any closer or farther away; so the must be stationary then.
"No kidding. Think he's trying to get in sweet with the boss by padding his hours?" A muffled laugh, "I'd rather sit here all day then move around in the dark."
"Still scared that a killer android is going to jump you in the dark?" A callous laugh echoed hauntingly as the commander krept ever closer.
"Ehhh. As long as we got the field orb thingy, not so much androids. Those last ones though… they got pretty far in."
Two men sitting at a flimsy table, dimmed propane lantern lighting them playing a lazy game of cards. Their firearms were propped against a nearby wall, next to a door that they were obviously guarding.
"Well, the boss said we were going to pack up shop. Maybe he's spooked that whoever they belonged to will come snooping. I'm more scared of those other ones coming back- you know, the ones that got Leon out in the woods."
There was an awkward silence that the commander was forced to suffer through, fearing the guard's hyper-awareness to it.
"I… I think I'm going to go find Petya. Fool should have been back by now." Words punctuated by the screeching of metal chair legs on concrete.
"What? Already? He barely left." The other voice called out, making hearing where the footsteps were going harder to make out, "You're going to forfeit the game?"
"Just wait until we get back then we'll go get Max's crew for their watch. You know how to jump start the orb if the other idiots mess it up in there, you'll be fine."
The man was calling back to his partner, but he was most definitely moving towards the commander. The flicker of a decrepit flashlight slowly creeping ever closer as he scrambled back around the corner.
Too close- going through a door would make noise, and the guard was gaining faster than the commander could move quietly away..
"Idiot Petya. Doesn't he know its three on station at all times." The guard grumbled. The beam of his flashlight swept by, it's luminescence cutting at the commander's heels like a blade.
The commander cursed at himself for being too zealous- the excitement of being in the field again made him reckless with his approach. If he waited around another corner- took him out like the other…
"Hmm?" The guard hesitated, giving the commander just enough time to scramble behind a crate. The guard seemed to be trying to peer into the ink of the hallway before hesitantly moving forward once again. The commander heard the man readying his weapon. Each step closer, slower than before. Could he hear his breath? Feel the heat coming off him? The flashlight beam swept over his crate.
And the guard walked by him, Kalashnikov ready for anything that came down the hall at him, oblivious to what he had just passed by. The commander silently cursed himself- disabling this man for an injector hit would be far more dangerous now that he was ready- after all, the dosage wasn't tailored to each person, it was just a general estimate. No guarantee. What was a guarantee, however, was a knife.
The commander shadowed the man's every movement, masking his soft step with each boot-heel that hit the concrete. Close, closer, close enough that the sentry would be able to feel his breath...
Swiftly he reached around as if to give a hug- except he slammed the blunted end of his flashlight into the solar-plexus, driving the wind from the sentry. A wheezed yelp of surprise before the knife sank in that soft gap between shoulder and collar, trying to get as many nerves on the man's trigger arm as possible. Using the new handle as a lever, the commander kicked out the back of the sentry's leg and yanked him to the ground, kicking away the weapon that had fallen free. The man's struggles grew weaker as the commander wrenched the blade back and forth, fishing for as many vitals as it could reach until all was still.
The scuffle would have drawn attention. Just the sound of a body hitting the floor was enough to make him wince with how loud it was.
Primary out as he stalked back.
"Hey, Vasili? What was-"
*Ptssh ptssh*
Two rounds center center mass as the man started raised himself from this seat. He collapsed back in an instant, limp. The rounds overpenetrated, cracking off the concrete wall behind him- more damning noise. The spiral of violence had begun...
They were guarding a door, to which the commander thrust himself through.
*Ptssh ptssh, Ptssh ptssh*
Two men, standing aside what appeared akin to a tesla coil now lay limp upon the floor. Whatever it was they were working on, whatever it was that these poor souls were all guarding- it had to have some significance. The hum of it, the very way being within its room made the hairs of the neck stand on end. This had to be it.
And there was no time to figure it out- he had to keep moving before more came to investigate the noise.
*Ptssh ptssh ptssh*