The rainfall lost texture as they entered into the massive hanger. It was not a door, no. It was a hole in the wall made by what looked like an old car crash. Who knows how long ago that happened.

  They worked like a unit, though barely. Gary took the lead methodically, the motions almost taking him back to another time.

  Gary waves them to go to his left, across the massive floor towards some sort of wreckage. The roof was full of holes, both large and small. It was like exploring the corpse of a person held within a time capsule.

  Gary then pointed John and Crosby to inspect the vehicle. They knew what they were after. Shells, cash, credits, ammo, weapons, documents. Anything interesting.

  The place was lit but not very well. Most of the light came from the faint purple haze of the sky. There were a few small lights around blinking intermittently, somehow still having battery power all these years later.

  The wind was calm and the air was frigid. The more ill-dressed of them started to shiver quickly. Jimbo and Gilbert ascended the stairs, Gilbert less tactical than Gary, Jimbo even less so. John approached the driver's door of the wrecked vehicle, looking like some old cargo trucks. Very big, but minuscule compared to what is used now.

  Gary continues up the middle, knowing he's the most exposed. If there's anyone who should take a shot, it should be him, he thought. John opens the door of the vehicle carefully, paying every detail attention. Even more bad news, it looks like it was opened recently.

  The driver's seat was ripped and damp, even though the rest of it was dry. The passenger seat looked like a deactivated android, with a massive rack and absurd proportions. What the fuck was happening here?

  John figures that maybe the driver had too much ‘fun’ and crashed. Other than that, definitely a military vehicle. He reaches past the android to open the glovebox, seeing some papers within. He takes them.

  Meanwhile, Crosby inspected the rear. He asked John to come look at something, and so he joined. Within are a couple rotted wooden crates.

  “Know what's in there?” John asked.

  Crosby waved at it with annoyance. “I've tried and done everything short of shooting the fucker to get in. Got any ideas?”

  “I think I might…” John tells him, approaching the box. He kicks the shit out of it like a stationary football, then gives it a few stomps to seal the deal— all right his right leg.

  Crosby nods his head with puckered lips in approval.

  “Bloody bless you John, that's some good shit.”

  He comes by his side to inspect what is within. Turns out, it is ammo. Boxes and boxes of a paper-like material reading ‘5.56x45mm’.

  “I think this is the stuff Gary's gun uses. Let's take it.”

  He shove them into his pockets, and so does John.

  “Marco!” They hear what they think Gary says from behind.

  “Polo!” They yell back. As they look back, they hear Gary round the corner into view. “Found something?” He asked.

  Crosby throws him a box of ammo.

  “Five point four five times forty five it says on there.

  “Oh god.” Gary says, looking at the box he caught before looking up. “It's called five five six genius.”

  “Oh suck a dick.” Crosby tells Gary, jumping down off the back of the truck. Just as he walks past, Gary quickly stops him, and the two five each other side eye. “What did you say?” Asked Gary quietly.

  “Suck a dick.” Crosby replies, his face like a kid doing mischief. John doesn't hear anything under he jumps down.

  “What the fuck?!” John says with a raised voice. “Didn't know you two came to like each other that much.”

  “John. It's a joke.” Crosby tells him, moving to poke him with his elbow.

  “Just like you and Amy aren't together eh? Eh?”

  “Drop it.” He tells Crosby, walking away elsewhere as his focus remains solely on the objective. Gary watches as John heads to those stairs the others went to. He looks back at Crosby then back to John.

  “Shit. Yeah, now's not the time. Come follow.” He tells Crosby who was about to come join… but heard a weird noise behind him come from the vehicle again. He checks the driver's side as John did, and sees the glove box open. He notices the dampness of the driver's seat and… an empty passenger seat. “Huh. Weird.” He thinks, looking back to the two who are now farther away.

  “Hold up! You're not ditching that easily!”

  John and Gary ascend the staircase, trying to be quiet in their conversation. “So, once we find points of interest, we'll grab what we can then come back for more?”

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  “Right.” Gary says, his eyes scanning.

  “Have you made sure that Jimbo and Gilbert know that?” Gary stops in place as he realizes he hasn't.

  “Shit. No. We'll rendezvous with them soon.”

  Gary hears some heavy footsteps grows from behind and flick his rifle around. “OH NO YOU DOoooo— what the fuck man, quiet the fuck down!” He tells Crosby who ran after them.

  “Sorry boss.” He tells him, then looking to the back of John's head. “And sorry to you too John. Time and a place for that.”

  “Mhmm.” John says, holstering his left pistol and reaching back for a fist bump. Crosby returns one as they reach the top of the catwalk.

  The three stay in relative proximity, the beginning plan rather mush at this point. They split to search the rooms up here, all self-contained metal boxes with windows connected by catwalks. Maybe it was used for maintenance. Perhaps some good tools could be found.

  John enters the closest one, seeing filing cabinets, desks, really old computers, chairs and a fuse box. He looks at the fuse box first, taking you the fuses which were still good and pocketing them.

  He can barely see the desk as it begins the window’s light. But he feels some paper and utensils on it with his hand. He brings it into the light, and it is faded but otherwise white. It somehow survived decades of being in an open room through all of this weather. Impressive really. But a thought lingers in the back of his head; where are all the weapons?

  “MARCO!” He hears someone shout on his level, Crosby if he has to guess. He runs closer to the source. “MARCO!” He hears again, confirming it is Crosby who says it. He stands behind an open door which leads out to the outside. He hears someone speak.

  “Uhhhh… I forgot what the other word is.”

  “Oh.” Says Crosby, lowering his weapon as he welcomes. “It's polo. Just hurry up and come it.”

  The clattery footsteps rise through the doorway, revealing Gilbert followed by Jimbo. Gilbert looks at both John and Crosby as he speaks. “We've looked around the rest of this place. We've taken a few things but can't find anything of note.”

  John looks around wordless. Gary approaches them trailing John, uniting them all again. But John looks around these people.

  He thinks of the mission. Of their temperament.

  “What the fuck is this?” He asked them all. “No seriously, what the fuck? Standing around like a bunch of jackasses, forgetting call signs, larping around like a VR user.”

  The group pays him attention as he subdues his rant. “If someone here wanted us dead, we'd all be smoked right now. We're getting lucky.”

  Jimbo is the first to interject John, moving out of the rain and inside.

  “Hey man, give it a break. Over half of you haven't been outside in forever. You're setting yourself for failure if you thought this would go perfectly.”

  “I was expecting a challenge.” John replies, cut off again by Jimbo approaching him. “You're young, John. Be happy things haven't gone south. You'll have more than enough problems in the future.”

  Gary overlooked the discussion with a sense of understanding for John, silently sharing a similar disappointment.

  “Does anyone else have something to say?” He asked the group, met with shaking heads to each he looked at. “Alright then. Let's stay as a group from now on. And let's find those weapons.”

  “Hell yeah.” John replies.

  “Alright.” Says Gilbert.

  The rest nod and line up behind Gary, following his lead. Gary stops in place just before the corner down. He raises his fist to his side, signaling everyone behind to stay put. He gets a little closer to the corner as he hears some subtle steps.

  The steps become more unsure. He hears some wobbling.

  “Woah, whoa ohhh ffff— AHHHHH!” A voice yelled as it was heard tumbling violently down the staircase.

  Gilbert, at the back, takes a few steps back to look beneath the catwalk buildings at the hangar below. The body flops to the bottom with pained moans. He stays up top while the rest prepare to head down.

  Gary raised three fingers in the air. Then two. Then one. Then, he rushed down the stairs with weapons drawn.

  “Tell me ya fawkin name or I'll blow a hole for your third eye to see through!”

  The man lay on the floor. Gary identified another silhouette in the hangar doorway, obscuring back lit and nothing else.

  “Hang— hold on.” The man who fell asked.

  “WHO. THE FAWK. ARE YOU?!” Gary ordered, the man looking down the barrel of his rifle.

  “Ridley!” The man yelled, trying to crawl backwards. He was covered in thick clothing, mainly a dense fake-leather overcoat with a fluffy collar. “Give me a break, I think I just broke my fucking shoulder agh!”

  Gary slowly lowers his weapon. The others do the same behind him, all except Gilbert, who lays at the top with his gun on the silhouette.

  Gary touches the floor, allowing the rest to form around Ridley.

  “What are you here for?” Gary asks, tempered and strong.

  “I sell shit.” Ridley replies, sitting more upright holding his shoulder.

  “I raid supplies from places like this and sell it on to clients.”

  Gary's eyes move to the silhouette which now approaches.

  “What clients? And what the fawk is that thing over there?”

  Ridley pants as he answers. “I'm not telling you specifics. People on the equatorial wastelands mostly.”

  He turns to where Gary pointed, an android with… exaggerated features becoming clearer. “Oh, that's my wife Sera. Lay a finger on her and I will fuck you up.”

  “I don't think I wanna lay a finger on that thing…” Gary tells him in shock. The thing stands next to Ridley, everyone backing up from it out of uncanniness. It looks around the group with weirdly hooded eyes.

  “Hello everyone. I assume you're here for some weapons?”

  Its voice was synthetic, and it had an oddly familiar linger to John.

  “Yeah…” Gary replies to the thing. “Take us to them…”