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A blue 1998 Honda Civic slowly moved through the makeshift parking lot. Finding a spot, a man in a black skullcap exited the car with authority, his door slamming closed. The sun’s penetrating rays glinted off of his dark sunglasses as he stepped onto the hard earth. He wore a black Aeropostale t-shirt that was much too small for his soft frame. Loading a Mossberg 702 Plinkster rifle, he swiftly headed toward the barrage of hot metal slugs.
As the unkempt red-haired man searched for the killers, he noticed the warehouse’s many interconnecting hallways and rooms. The labyrinth provided plenty of opportunities for clandestine murder. He remained intensely alert while his gun scrutinized his environment. His trigger finger twitched as he approached two people with their backs turned. Seeing him out of the corner of his eye, one of them swung their weapon around. The second assassin followed the swivelling eye-line of his partner, and copied him with his own gun.
While the new targets distracted the blood-lusting mercenaries, Michael and John peaked out from behind the tall stacks of broken boxes that hid them. They calmly walked around the piles of wood, stepping in front of the doorway for the room. Burning bullets spewed from their guns as they pumped rounds into their oblivious enemies. They littered the decrepit walls and floor with shells.
Long hair billowed behind the man in a silver suit as he jogged toward the chaos. He moved with cautious precision and rapid determination. No one else was revealed until he turned around a corner and saw a flurry of motion in the next hallway. A disjointed collision of bullets and bodies became visible as he got closer.