Crater Raids (2)

Auburn and Sable didn't make a move toward the two guards stationed outside the warehouse. There was one key lesson Asher had drilled into them before sending them on this mission, and it was something they'd taken to heart.

The Insurgent Armor will keep you alive; consider it your greatest asset and tool. But even a well-forged blade will blunt and crack if it's used as a crutch for its user's incompetence.

They weren't about to storm the front of the warehouse. Instead, they silently made their way toward the rear, where the watch had slipped. No one was stationed there now after they had taken care of the Scots. Stealth was still active, and their footsteps barely registered against the snowy debris scattered behind the building.

As they carefully moved along the length of the wall, Auburn pressed his hand lightly against it, listening intently.

"Here, hollow," he whispered with a tap. 

Sable acknowledged the signal with a quiet nod, drawing in a deep breath. His hand went to his Vibro-Knife, pulling it from the sheath at the small of his back. He flipped it in his fingers, twisting the hilt until the small glass panel at the base glowed red. A flick of the switch, and the knife's gleaming silver blade was suddenly engulfed in blazing, concentrated flame.

He drove the blade into the hollow section of the wall. The intense heat and the high-frequency vibrations caused the wall's material to melt away almost immediately. It was as though the knife was cutting through butter, the structure practically disintegrating beneath the assault.

When the job was done, Sable switched off the knife and slid it back into its sheath. He pushed forward the metal section he'd sliced, and with the power granted by their Insurgent Armor, the wall crashed down with a heavy clank, the metal falling onto the floor of the warehouse's interior.

They both froze, listening for any sound of reaction. Nothing came, so they proceeded.

As soon as they entered the warehouse, the sounds of the howling winds outside faded into the background, replaced by the chatter of voices, and, more prominently, the hum of heavy machinery.

What should have been an empty, abandoned warehouse was instead packed with crates, boxes, and shelves—each one stacked high. The warehouse's roof loomed above them, dimly lit by flickering lights, barely enough to make out shapes. Fortunately, their night vision handled the dimness with ease.

They found themselves in the central aisle that cut through the warehouse, surrounded by rows of stacked crates and containers. Above them, catwalks stretched across the space, and the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed from above, indicating that there were people patrolling up there too.

Back at the mission operations center, Graz, who had been quietly observing, muttered to himself, "It's an entire operation... but what are they moving?"

Asher's gaze sharpened.

"Let's find out."

Back in the warehouse, Sable and Auburn heard Asher's voice come through their earpieces.

"Try to get a clear picture of what they're doing here before making any moves."

"Yes, sir," Sable responded. Without another word, they slipped deeper into the shadows, moving with practiced stealth.

The aisles were dark, and the dim lighting in the back of the warehouse, where the lights seemed mostly broken or turned down, gave them the cover they needed. They stayed quiet, using the darkness to their advantage.

They maneuvered between the rows of cargo containers, slipping past the unsuspecting workers when they could, and neutralizing those they couldn't. The bodies of their targets were quickly stuffed away in the empty shelves, out of sight.

The warehouse was vast, even larger than Asher's, which had been converted into a factory. 

As they neared the area where most of the activity seemed to be concentrated, Auburn suddenly grabbed Sable's shoulder, pointing upward instead of forward. Sable blinked in confusion for a second before he understood what Auburn was doing. With a smooth motion, Auburn started scaling the towering shelves, seeking a better vantage point.

Sable grinned, impressed.

"Oh, smart," he muttered under his breath, before following suit. He jumped slightly, grabbing hold of the shelf's ledge before hauling himself up. The noise of their movements was drowned out by the louder sounds of the machines whirring in the distance, masking their ascent.

By the time they reached about the eighth shelf, they paused their climb, slipping silently onto the narrow platform between crates. They crouched low, carefully making their way to the edge of the shelf, where they had a clear view down to the ground floor of the warehouse, just beyond the entrance. The darkness was thick, but their helmet cameras did the work, zooming in to provide a clearer picture of the activity below.

The area they were looking at appeared to be an open space, once used for moving goods in and out. Now, it seemed to be doing the same job, but not in the way it had been intended.

More than twenty people—both Faunus and Humans—were actively working, moving cargo in and out of a large, drilled tunnel that ran through the warehouse floor. They carried crates of all sizes, loading and unloading them with the help of forklifts and large, crane-like machines designed to lift the heavier items.

There was no uniformity in their attire; they weren't wearing the rags common among the slums, but their clothes were far from anything high-end. They looked more like the kind of workwear you'd see in Mantle—functional but unremarkable.

"How did they even get all of this down here… this must have cost a fortune," Sable muttered, echoing the thoughts running through the minds of Asher, Weiss, Graz, and Liv back at the operations center. Auburn's camera zoomed in on a group of three men who were prying open a crate with a crowbar.

As soon as the lid came off, the contents became clear. Weapons. But not the sort you could pick up from a regular store—these were Atlesian Military-grade.

"Weapon smugglers? This close to Mantle?" Winter's voice crackled through the comms, sounding almost incredulous.

"This warehouse is on the first layer of the crater, close to the wall separating Mantle from the slums. How could no one have noticed this? And there haven't been any missing weapon reports in months," Winter continued, the confusion in her tone growing. She wondered how in the world they got their hands on all this. 

"GAIA, photographs," Asher ordered through the headset, his voice sharp and focused. The AI Assistant, connected to both Sable and Auburn's suits, silently began snapping photos of everything of note.

In the crates, they could see various items of military-grade equipment. Phalanx rifles, standard issue for Atlesian infantry and security personnel, lay stacked beside other weaponry. Sable's gaze shifted over to another crate, noticing a batch of HP-X5s—rapid-pulse hard-light pistols commonly used by police officers in both Atlas and Mantle.

"GAIA, I want a full data scan of the Atlas Military server," Asher suddenly ordered, his voice steady but urgent.

"Use the images as references and find out where these weapons most likely came from." Liv, who had been sitting nearby, turned toward him, a question on her lips.

"Will it be able to find them?"

Asher shook his head.

"Most likely not on its own. But typically, weapons aren't packed in crates like that unless they're being sent from Atlas to foreign bases or military outposts." He quickly pulled up one of the photos Sable and Auburn had taken, showing the side of a crate that had been pried open.

The ID marker on it had been scratched off, but the other details—about the cargo's original destination and origin—remained visible. Whether it was the smugglers being careless or just plain stupid, it worked in their favor.

Graz spoke up next.

"Considering how new some of those crates looked, I'd guess this is a shipment from the past month."

Asher nodded in agreement.

"Right. So all we need to do is cross-reference shipments sent out recently, matching the contents and quantities in those crates, and see what comes up missing when they're checked physically. GAIA will compile a list for us before the end of this operation." He then turned slightly, his gaze landing on Winter.

"Can I trust you to look into this once I send you the list, along with General Ironwood?"

Without hesitation, Winter's face hardened, her expression becoming more serious.

"Of course. If weapons are being smuggled, it's a matter of the kingdom's security. Though, if we somehow didn't notice entire crates of weaponry going missing... then I have my suspicions."

Asher nodded, acknowledging the gravity of her words.

"Yeah. A group that managed to sneak the White Fang into Atlas and hijack the CCTS, and now we've got a group capable of making military shipments disappear, only to reappear in the hands of smugglers without setting off alarms?" Liv's voice cut through the silence that followed, saying what was on everyone's mind.

"I mean, does it get any clearer than that?" The room went quiet for a moment before everyone gave a subtle but unanimous nod of agreement.

Their primary target was still the White Fang—finding where they were operating and shutting them down before they could cause more chaos in the kingdom. But there was a secondary priority: finding out who was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

"Commander, what should we do now?" The question crackled through Asher's headset. It was Sable's voice, the scouting and photo-taking complete. They were ready for the next step.

Asher paused for a moment, weighing his words before responding.

"You have permission to move. Capture and neutralize all targets present. If they resist... You have my permission to eliminate hostiles. GAIA will inform you which targets authorize which levels of force and retaliation. Give them a chance to surrender." There was a brief silence on the other end as both Auburn and Sable exchanged glances within their armor.

Although they'd grown up in the slums, and their pasts were far from spotless, neither of them had ever taken a life. They'd gotten into their share of street brawls, minor gang skirmishes, and had committed their fair share of robberies—but murder? No, they'd never crossed that line.

And now, they had been given permission to do so.

"Dammit..." Sable muttered under his breath, his voice tight with unease. He took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to steady himself. His gaze dropped to the people moving weapons below, the reality of what they were about to do settling in. But then, with a quiet exhale, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression had hardened.

There was no turning back now.

Auburn seemed to feel the shift as well. He stood, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face before he followed Sable's lead.

They moved. Stealth was no longer a concern. The weight of their heavy armor clanged loudly against the floor, the sound echoing through the warehouse, even over the noise of the machinery and shouting orders. Some of the Faunus, with their sharper senses, noticed the disturbance first.

The humans followed soon after.

"What the hell is that?" One of the smugglers asked, pausing in the middle of lifting a small crate.

"I don't-" Another smuggler started to respond, but his words died in his throat when he saw them.

Auburn and Sable emerged from the shadows, stepping to the edge of the high shelf they'd been perched on. Then, in one swift motion, they jumped down, the combined weight of their suits crashing into the stone floor with a resounding thud, enough to crack the surface.

The whirring of the suit's motors was drowned out by the impact.

"Attention!" Sable's voice boomed over the chaos, carrying with authority.

"This is the Insurgency unit, sanctioned under Directive 7-B. You are in possession of unauthorized weaponry and are considered armed hostiles. You have one chance to comply. Surrender immediately, lay down your weapons, and exit the facility with your hands visible. Failure to comply will result in an escalation of force. This is your only warning."

Sable, reading off the prompt from GAIA through his HUD, spoke in a tone he had never used before—flat, but carrying an unmistakable threat.

"Shit, it's one of Atlas's Androids!" One of the smugglers shouted, panicking as he sprinted towards a nearby wall. The others, slower to react, scrambled in various directions.

The closest smuggler to the two of them gritted his teeth, his hand flying to the back of his waist as he drew a pistol.

The smuggler fired a single shot that rang out through the warehouse. The bullet flew through the air, but as it collided with the surface of Sable's Insurgent Armor, it flattened almost immediately, losing all its momentum and dropping harmlessly to the ground.

Sable and Auburn's HUDs lit up instantly, marking the attacker.

[Warning: Weapon detected. Individual ID #14 marked as hostile. Threat level elevated. Engagement protocol is active.]

And with that, the moment of hesitation was over.

Without a pause, Sable and Auburn moved as one. Sable rushed forward toward the smuggler who had fired. The man fired two more shots in quick succession, but both missed, unable to match the speed of Sable's movements in the armor. In the blink of an eye, the smuggler was staring up at the towering figure of Sable, the lack of light from his armor casting an intimidating shadow.

Before the smuggler could react, Sable reached out, grabbing both of the man's arms with a single hand. He clenched his fist tight, and with a sickening crunch, the bones in the smuggler's lower arms shattered, causing him to scream in agony.

"Agh! Auuugh! My arms-" The words were barely out of his mouth before Sable swung him aside, tossing his body with such force that the man was sent flying through the air, slamming into a forklift with a loud crash. The smuggler's body collapsed to the floor like a ragdoll, limbs limp and twisted.

Meanwhile, Auburn had moved swiftly to the opposite side, blocking the main entrance of the warehouse. He turned, lifting a heavy leg to kick one of the crates lying nearby. With a screech, the crate slid across the stone floor, slamming into the double doors at the far end with a tremendous crash, effectively blocking the exit.

Outside, the two guards, who had just barely heard the gunfire through the walls and the howling wind, now felt and heard the impact. The sound of the crate slamming into the door was unmistakable.

"What was that?" One of the guards asked, his voice tight with confusion.

The other turned toward the door, his hand reaching for the handle. As he tried to push the door open, it barely budged, giving only a slight jostle in response. The door, blocked from the inside, wouldn't move.

Inside the warehouse, the smuggler who had sprinted to the wall acted quickly. He yanked open a glass panel on an old fire alarm and slammed his hand down on the button. The warehouse's electrical system may have been on the fritz, but the alarm still worked—perfect for emergencies.

Immediately, the lights above flickered off, replaced by flashing red warning lights.

A loud, shrill alarm blared through the entire building, cutting through the chaos. Smugglers in every aisle, who hadn't yet realized what was happening, looked up in confusion. Those on the catwalks, however, rushed to the front of the warehouse, eager to see what had triggered the alarm.

Under the flashing red lights, Sable and Auburn stood like twin towers of destruction, their armor blending with the lighting. The mixture of deep red and muted green made their suits appear almost black against the harsh flashes above them.

"The fuck are those things?" One of the smugglers muttered, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of running footsteps and the screeching alarm.

But the confusion didn't last long. One of the smugglers, who had taken charge, finally shouted over the din.

"What are you all standing there for? Shoot them! We need time to get these weapons out of here and into the tunnels!" The command broke the hesitation. The smugglers sprang into action, drawing pistols, blades, and even seizing weapons from open crates scattered around the warehouse.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Auburn and Sable's eyes scanned the area, each of them assessing the hostiles in their sights. The calm before the storm.

Then, chaos erupted.

Gunfire came from every direction—bullets and hard-light projectiles filling the air. Sable and Auburn moved so quickly that most of the shots missed entirely. The few that struck bounced off their armored suits without leaving so much as a scratch.

"Shit!" One of the smugglers cursed as Auburn closed the distance. With a swift motion, Auburn grabbed him by the neck. An electric current surged through the man's body, causing his muscles to spasm violently before his body went limp in Auburn's grip.

But then, a different sound reached Auburn's ears. The low hum of wheels and the roar of an engine.

He turned just in time to see a forklift barreling toward him, the smuggler behind the wheel grinning maniacally as he sped toward his target.

Tossing the limp body he was holding aside, Auburn turned just in time to face the incoming forklift. The heavy machinery slammed into him, pushing him back with a jolt.

Behind the wheel, the smuggler grinned widely, pressing the pedal down and shouting, "Ahaha, yeah! How you like that, motherfucker!"

But as he looked up, he noticed the forklift slowing down. The wheels screeched against the stone, fighting for traction, until the vehicle came to a complete stop.

"Huh?" The smuggler's grin faltered as he glanced at the gauges and then back at Auburn. The Insurgent had been knocked back by the forklift, but now, slowly, he was getting back to his feet. Auburn extended one arm, pressing it against the front of the forklift, leaving a deep dent in the metal.

"That- That's not-" The smuggler stammered, barely able to finish the sentence before Auburn reached out with his other arm. Both hands sank into the forklift's frame, crushing the metal with a terrifying screech as the armor's electromagnetic brakes engaged. Parts clicked and whirred as the forklift was effortlessly lifted off the ground.

With a swift, fluid motion, Auburn spun around once, gathering momentum, before he hurled the forklift into the air, the smuggler still trapped inside. The air was filled with the sound of the heavy machinery soaring through the warehouse, and the people firing at Auburn froze in shock as they watched the forklift's arc.

The smuggler inside screamed as the forklift crashed to the ground with a deafening thud, scraping violently against the stone floor, sparks flying from the impact.

"Huh! Ah, no, shit!" One of the smugglers who had been shooting at Sable from behind one of the tall warehouse shelves barely noticed the forklift sliding toward him. He looked up just in time to see it careening toward him, too late to react. The machine slammed into his body, crushing him against the shelf with a sickening crunch, a sound that would have been audible if not for the blaring alarms and the chaos of gunfire.

Auburn stood still for a moment, watching the carnage unfold. It took a moment for the realization to hit him—he had just crushed someone to death. His heart skipped a beat, but he quickly suppressed the feeling, shaking it off as he started moving again, eyes scanning for the next threat.

No time for hesitation.

On the other hand, Sable had drawn his IR-4 combat rifle, his gaze locked on the catwalk where the smugglers, stationed high above.

They had assault rifles of their own, raining down fire onto Sable, but even the higher-caliber rounds didn't stand a chance against his Insurgent Armor. They only left small scratches and chipped paint across his suit.

Lifting the IR-4, Sable's HUD displayed a clear trajectory line, the rifle's line of fire overlaid with its scope-view.

He hesitated but only for a moment.

He pulled the trigger, and the rifle's muzzle flared brightly, lighting up his figure in the dark warehouse. Each shot rang out like a thunderclap, the sound reverberating through the space as the vibrations jolted through the ground beneath him. The heavy rounds tore through the catwalk, the warehouse walls, and the smugglers above with brutal efficiency.

The first shot hit its target, and the man on the catwalk screamed as his entire leg was torn away. Blood sprayed into the air, the severed limb flying off as the man lost his footing, plummeting to the ground. Another shot followed immediately, this one blowing the man's head clean off.

His body fell, the gory mess splattering across the metal railing and nearby wall.

The sound of gunfire from above died off slowly, the smugglers silenced by the precision and force of Sable's return fire.

With the immediate threat neutralized, Sable shifted his focus back to the ground level. The smugglers were still firing—pistols, rifles, whatever they could grab—but it was becoming clear from the looks on their faces that they knew it was futile. 

With a swift motion, Sable slung the IR-4 back onto his back. He could hear Auburn's heavy footsteps approaching from behind.

"How many are left?" Sable asked, his voice steady even as their armor sparked with each incoming ricochet from bullets and flashes of light from hard lighter projectiles illuminating the chaos around them.

Auburn scanned the warehouse, taking in the situation.

"I've taken care of nearly half." His eyes narrowed as he spotted a forklift hauling a large crate toward the tunnel in the floor of the warehouse—a last-ditch effort to get some of the smuggled weapons out before they were completely overwhelmed.

Without a word, Auburn reached for the Predator Pistol holstered on his thigh. In one fluid motion, he raised it, barely taking a second to aim before pulling the trigger. The shot rang out with a thunderous bang, its precision amplified by the microcomputer in the round, which fed the data directly to the weapon's targeting system.

The driver of the forklift barely had time to register what was happening before the bullet struck its target, detonating the bullet's explosive payload. The vehicle erupted into flames, glass shattering as one of the wheels flew off, and its forward momentum ground to a halt in mere seconds.

The flames from the explosion cast eerie shadows across the warehouse, adding a new, fiery light to the already tense scene. Auburn ejected the spent casing from his pistol, reloading with a smooth motion before holstering it again.

"We still have twenty minutes before we need to move to our next target," Sable said, his tone almost detached, trying to keep his mind clear.

"Let's wrap this up in five." Auburn nodded in agreement, his focus already shifting to the remaining smugglers.

They were still firing, but now, their shots were driven more by fear than any real belief they could win.