Risk and Rebel

37: THE ONE WITH THE WAREHOUSE

The warehouse was deserted.

Desmond had known the exact location because of how long he had spent with Gray; he'd overheard it enough times that he committed it to memory. Team Bravo had circled around back for a perimeter check, just to be safe, but it hadn't mattered in the end, because aside from some random technology and crates, it was empty.

"Kind of disappointed," Catatonic drawled as he racked his gun. Everyone had dispersed once they'd entered the building. "This isn't what I was expecting when you said we'd be going to a warehouse, Risky."

"Don't worry, Cat, it's not what we were expecting either," I muttered, moving about the space slowly.

The technology in the large space was largely in-field gadgets. Bugs, trackers, smoke bombs, miniature EMPs ... My eyes wandered as I moved through a row of large-slated empty crates, surveying everything.

"No weapons," Gunner called from elsewhere in the building.

"There's a screen on this wall, though," Desmond called soon after, from the same general direction. "Along with, um, a weird map ... with yarn ... or string? It might be string."

"Doesn't matter if it's yarn or string, Freckles," I heard Sergeant say as I navigated the maze, "just matters what it's pointing to."

Everyone was standing in the largest open space in the warehouse. Low had already perched upon an empty table, and every once in a while she'd snap her gum. Desmond was leaned back against the table beside her, his brows furrowed, his laptop held close to his chest. Gunner was on her other side, his eyes distant but directed toward the aforementioned map. Catatonic was seated on the table right next to Gunner, but rather than toy with his weapon, his finger rested just above the trigger, ready for action.

They were looking at a map of the world, and Team Bravo and my partner were standing smack in front of it.

Before I could ask any questions, my gaze was drawn above the map, to a large screen. My attention shifted for good reason: the screen went from being blank, to black and white fuzz.

A noise of quickly followed, and as I came to a stop in front of Low and Desmond, everyone else's attention shifted up, too.

Just in time for two very familiar faces to make an appearance on it.

A tall, dark haired Asian with slate-gray eyes smirked condescendingly down at us, his thick hair long around his ears and across his forehead, the strap of a sniper rifle visible over his button-up shirt. Beside him stood a tall albino, whose height came just an inch from matching his, her white hair curled in a deceptively innocent style, her pale blue eyes eyes brimming with devilish glee.

It was the former Team Charlie; Aim and Gambler.

Traitors of LASAR.

"If you're seeing this," Aim said, his smirk still in place, "then it means you're dumber than we gave you credit for."

My attention snapped from the screen to Team Bravo. "Perimeter check. Now," I commanded, a dark resolve in my tone.

"On it," Sergeant and Legion said simultaneously as they bolted for the door.

The recording kept playing. "Honestly, it doesn't matter who you have with you," Aim continued. "It doesn't matter what forces you gather. It doesn't even matter if Team Alpha are still alive."

In my periphery I saw what I thought was a flashing red light coming from one of the crates of gadgets. I methodically scanned the area, and as I did so, I thought I saw another red light flicker. "Cat, check the boxes to the right," I instructed; "Low, left."