The storage facility was a maze of rusted steel and concrete, its walls lined with long-forgotten crates and industrial equipment. The air was thick with dust, and every step seemed to echo in the silence that pressed in around them. Grimm could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, the tension building with every second. They had to move fast.
"Stay sharp," Grimm muttered as he glanced at Volkova, who was crouched by the entrance, her rifle trained on the shadows just outside. "This place won't keep us safe forever."
Volkova didn't respond. She never did, not when she was focused. She was a master of the sniper's art—silent, lethal, patient. But Grimm knew that even she couldn't hold back the storm forever. They needed to get the intel and get out. Kessler's men were closing in, and the longer they waited, the more dangerous it became.
They moved deeper into the facility, sticking to the shadows and using the crumbling cover to mask their movements. The air felt oppressive, like the building itself was holding its breath.
Grimm led the way, his hand on his rifle, eyes scanning every corner. His mind was sharp, calculating, but the question kept gnawing at him: Who betrayed them? Who had sold out his team? The answer was out there. It had to be.
They reached the back of the facility, where a steel door, heavily secured, blocked their path. The sound of distant footsteps echoed in the hallways behind them, growing louder with every passing second. No time to waste.
Grimm gestured to Volkova. "Lock it down. I'll get the door."
Volkova nodded once, setting up her sniper rifle in a corner where she had a clear line of sight. Her eyes never left the entrance as Grimm approached the door, inspecting the security systems.
"Security's tight," Grimm muttered. "But not for long."
He pulled a small device from his belt—a universal bypass. The device whirred to life as he connected it to the door's security panel. It took only a few seconds for the lock to disengage, but the delay was enough to make Grimm's skin prickle with unease. They were too exposed here. Someone would hear them.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a dimly lit corridor that stretched into the heart of the facility. The faint hum of machinery could be heard in the distance, a sign of life in an otherwise decaying world.
"Let's move," Grimm said, voice tight with urgency.
They slipped inside, the door closing silently behind them. The corridor was narrow, the walls lined with old, broken-down equipment. Their footsteps were muffled, but the sense of danger was palpable. Every corner they turned, every step they took, brought them closer to whatever Kessler had hidden here.
Grimm kept his rifle raised, his senses on high alert. But it wasn't the threat of the enemy that bothered him now. It was the feeling of being watched—observed. He had the distinct impression that someone, somewhere, was waiting for them to make a mistake.
"Eyes up," Grimm warned, his voice low. "We're not alone."
Volkova didn't need to be told. Her sharp gaze flicked to every doorway, every shadow, always calculating, always prepared.
They reached the end of the corridor, and Grimm stopped in front of a large, reinforced door. This one looked different—heavier, more secure. This was the heart of whatever operation Kessler was running here.
Grimm didn't hesitate. He placed a charge on the door's lock, setting the timer for a quick breach.
"Clear the blast zone," he ordered, stepping back.
Volkova was already moving, her rifle aimed at the far end of the hallway, her posture alert. She knew that the sound of an explosion would draw attention, and she was prepared to neutralize anything that came through the door once it was open.
The charge detonated with a muffled thud, sending a shockwave through the building. The door buckled inward, splintering as it was forced open. Grimm was through it in an instant, moving fast, his eyes scanning the room ahead.
The room was vast, its walls lined with high-tech equipment and glowing monitors. A massive screen at the far end displayed live surveillance footage from across the globe—Kessler's eyes on the world.
In the center of the room, there was a large metal table, covered with files, hard drives, and a few scattered maps. Grimm moved toward it, but the moment his hand touched the nearest file, an alarm blared, slicing through the silence like a knife.
"Shit," Grimm muttered, grabbing the nearest hard drive. "Time's up."
Volkova turned to face the door, her rifle raised, her expression cool despite the urgency of the situation. "We've got company. Get what you need, and let's go."
Grimm didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed several of the hard drives and documents, stuffing them into his bag before taking one last look at the room. There was no time to go through everything. This was the information they needed to bring Kessler down.
He turned to Volkova. "Let's move."
They bolted back the way they came, but the building had already started to shift around them. The hum of the gunship outside was joined by the rapid-fire of boots on concrete—their enemies were closing in, and this time, they were prepared.
Grimm's mind raced as they sprinted toward the exit. He could hear the sound of shouting soldiers in the distance, the unmistakable whine of drones above. There was no way out the way they had come. They needed to make a run for it—and fast.
"Head for the west side," Grimm barked. "We can make it to the secondary extraction point."
Volkova nodded, already moving. The two of them pushed through the building's dark halls, the sound of gunfire ringing out behind them. They were outnumbered, but they were alive—and they had what they came for.
For now, that would have to be enough.