Viper and Bullseye stood by the warehouse's entrance, both eyeing the imposing structure in silence. Cipher's voice crackled over the comms, crisp and reassuring. "From the satellite view, everything looks clear. No movement outside. You're good to go."
Bullseye smirked. "Good to know the robots think it's safe."
Viper rolled his eyes. "Keep it down, sharpshooter. If we get caught, I'll personally blame your big mouth."
From outside, the warehouse looked like a crumbling relic of an older time. Its walls were streaked with rust, and faint graffiti lined the lower sections. Windows were shattered or boarded up, and the roof sagged ominously under its own weight. Yet, despite the decay, there was an odd sense of foreboding, as if the shadows themselves were alive.
"Left," Shadow whispered, gesturing with precise hand signals. His expression was unreadable, his movements deliberate. Viper and Bullseye split off, heading down the left corridor, while Shadow and Ghost veered right.
The inside of the warehouse was a stark contrast to its exterior. The air smelled of oil and mildew, and the faint hum of old machinery echoed in the distance. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows that danced across stacks of forgotten crates and broken equipment.
As they moved deeper into the left wing, Viper muttered, his voice low. "This place smells like something died here."
Bullseye chuckled. "Better than the scent you wear, huh?"
Viper glared at him. "At least I don't spend half the mission admiring myself in reflective surfaces."
Bullseye shrugged, smirking. "Gotta look good for the mission. Never know who might be watching."
They approached a stack of crates, and Bullseye leaned against one. "So, what are we looking for again? A creepy box? A glowing artifact? Or just the usual 'let's-walk-into-a-trap' situation?"
"Focus, will you?" Viper snapped, peeking around the corner. "If something jumps out at us, I'm pushing you in front."
Bullseye grinned. "Aw, you'd miss me too much."
"Keep dreaming, hotshot."
Despite their constant bickering, their movements were synchronized. When a faint noise came from behind a crate, they both froze. Bullseye raised his weapon instinctively, while Viper pulled out his blade. The tension lingered for a moment before the noise stopped.
"False alarm," Bullseye whispered. "Relax."
"Stop telling me what to do," Viper hissed.
Meanwhile, on the right side, Shadow and Ghost moved in silence, their steps deliberate and cautious. Shadow stopped by a large, rusted control panel, his sharp eyes scanning the area. "This might be it," he muttered, motioning for Ghost to cover him.
Ghost nodded, his weapon ready. "Be quick. We don't know how long we've got."
Shadow examined the panel. It was covered in layers of grime, but beneath the dirt were faint etchings—symbols that looked eerily similar to those on the blueprint. He reached into his pack, pulling out a small, high-tech scanner.
"This isn't just a warehouse," Shadow said quietly, his voice cold. "It's been modified. Hidden compartments, maybe something deeper underground."
Ghost didn't respond immediately. Instead, his eyes swept the area, his silence speaking volumes. Then he finally said, "If there's something here, we need to find it before they do."
As they pressed on, Viper couldn't hold back any longer. "You know, Bullseye, if you spent as much time aiming as you do talking, we'd be done by now."
Bullseye laughed softly. "And if you smiled once in a while, I wouldn't have to."
"Just shut up and check the crates," Viper grumbled, shaking his head.
Bullseye crouched down, pulling the lid off a nearby crate. "Empty. Just like your sense of humor."
Viper scowled but bit back a retort. They continued forward, their banter only occasionally interrupted by the eerie creaks of the old warehouse.
Though neither would admit it, their teamwork was seamless—an odd rhythm of insults and perfectly timed movements. Neither could stand the other, but when it came down to it, they were each other's best shot at survival. And they both knew it...
Shadow and Ghost moved with precision, their footsteps silent against the dusty concrete floor. The faint glow of the holographic scanner in Shadow's hand illuminated the ground before them. Ghost stood guard, his eyes darting around the room, alert for any movement.
Shadow's scanner beeped softly, the light intensifying over a specific patch of ground. "Here," he whispered, crouching. "There's something underneath."
Ghost joined him, his hand instinctively resting on his weapon. "Metal. Could be a trap."
Shadow pulled out a sleek, futuristic tool, its surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. With a soft hum, the device emitted a laser that began cutting a precise circle into the ground. The concrete hissed and cracked as the machinery did its work.
Moments later, Shadow lifted the cut section, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside lay a battered suitcase, its metal casing dulled by time. Ghost reached for it cautiously, the scanning device embedded in his suit lighting up with a faint pulse. A quick readout flashed across his visor: No explosives detected.
"No bomb," Ghost confirmed, his voice steady. He frowned, tilting his head. "Strange. How has no one found this yet?"
Shadow's eyes narrowed. "They weren't looking in the right place. We don't have time to question it now."
Before they could investigate further, Cipher's voice crackled through their earpieces. "Guys, someone's coming. Hide. Now."
Without hesitation, Shadow replaced the circular cutout, sealing the compartment. Both agents slipped into the shadows, pressing against the cold metal of a stack of crates.
Two voices echoed down the corridor, growing louder as they approached.
"I heard she's been slipping up," one of the figures said, their tone laced with derision. "Maybe she's losing her edge."
The other chuckled. "Doesn't matter. If she's out, more for us."
Their footsteps grew closer, the murmur of their conversation blending with the creaks of the warehouse. One of them paused, his head tilting. "Hey, did you hear that?"
The other shook his head. "No. You're imagining things."
"Yeah, maybe…" The first voice trailed off as the pair continued their path, disappearing down another hallway.
Shadow's sharp eyes tracked them as they exited the room, his body taut with tension. Ghost shifted slightly, preparing to move—when suddenly, Shadow vanished into the darkness without a sound.
A slow clap shattered the silence, the sound reverberating ominously. Ghost spun around, his weapon at the ready. A figure emerged from the shadows, the gleam of a handgun catching the faint light. Its barrel was pointed directly at Ghost's chest.
"Well, well," the stranger drawled, their voice smooth and mocking. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."
Ghost said nothing, his face a mask of calm. His hand tightened on his weapon, but the figure was faster. A sharp click echoed as the gun's safety disengaged.
Before the stranger could pull the trigger, two muffled gunshots rang out. The men who had left the room moments earlier crumpled to the ground, their bodies lifeless. The stranger's eyes widened, but they had no time to react before Ghost lunged forward.
The stranger dodged Ghost's first strike, their movements quick and fluid. Ghost swung again, his fist colliding with their side, but they countered with a sharp kick that sent him stumbling back.
"Not bad," the stranger sneered, closing the distance. They swung their gun like a club, aiming for Ghost's head. He ducked, the weapon grazing his shoulder as he retaliated with a vicious elbow to their ribs.
The fight was brutal, every movement calculated yet desperate. Ghost's movements were swift despite his injury, his strikes precise and unrelenting. The stranger was equally skilled, their agility making them a formidable opponent.
The clash of fists and the scrape of boots against the floor filled the air. Ghost landed a solid punch to the stranger's jaw, sending them reeling. They retaliated with a knife they had drawn from their boot, slashing at Ghost's arm. He hissed in pain but didn't falter.
The fight ended as quickly as it had begun. Ghost feinted left, then moved with lightning speed, catching the stranger off guard. He grabbed their wrist, twisting it until the gun clattered to the floor. With a swift, merciless motion, he snapped their neck, the crack echoing in the stillness.
The stranger's body fell limp, collapsing to the ground. Ghost stood over them, breathing heavily but showing no sign of emotion.
As Ghost adjusted his gloves, the device Cipher had given him began to beep urgently. His arm, where the bullet wound had reopened, was bleeding profusely. The sleek wristband emitted a faint glow, sealing the wound and stopping the blood flow.
"Handy little thing," Ghost muttered under his breath, flexing his fingers to test the device's efficacy. The pain was dulled, but he moved as if nothing had happened.
"Shadow," Ghost called softly, scanning the room. "Where the hell are you?"
There was no reply—only the faint creak of the warehouse settling around him.