Into The Rift

Lethal Force Projection (48)

"Watch the windows," Robert breathes out, verbalizing the basics we all know by heart.

The armory lay ahead, its entrance flanked by a pair of eerie paper lanterns. They ride the subtle winds, silently resisting their emplacement atop a wooden shaft under a bright shade of yellow.

"What's our ROE?" Douglas whispers, keeping the sector ahead cleared.

We stop for a tactical pause forming a security perimeter, allocating the next few precious seconds to discuss the topic in brief detail, our tones hushed. It was bitter to think of Tartarus as hostile grounds now. A place of refuge representing weeks of fascination and disbelief, stolen from us.

"Shoot on sight for those armed, or if you think they're armed. Same applies to anything unknown, don't take any chances. No changes for anyone that's unarmed, we take them in as prisoners when and where we can," I answer, zooming in on the enemy's forward most units, already within effective engagement range.

"Alright, simple enough. Door's up ahead," Douglas says, flanking the adjacent wall. "... back me up."

Keeping a firm lid on my lips, I respond through actions instead. Moving up behind the self-designated breacher, I crest along the concrete wall inching to an optimal position for the eventual forced entry. Robert follows a similar routine to my rear, his steps audible as I keep my weapon posted at the front.

"On your mark," Robert declares, urgency riling up in his muted voice.

I tense my arms further, waiting for Douglas to make the first move. My index is already tracing invisible shapes across the trigger, eagerly waiting for an opportunity to take the plunge.

"Breaching!" A hint of movement followed by a howl and he rounds the entrance, disappearing into the armory. I immediately follow, hugging the wall and soon finding myself past the threshhold and surging deep into the damaged building.

"Positive breaching!" I yell, activating the weapon's auxiliary lights to supplement my situational awareness. Two more cones of light join up beside me before separating to conduct the aggressive posturing of close combat operations.

"Munitions' bay," Douglas calls out, identifying the main room. "Right side cleared," he says sweeping on my far right.

"Left side, likewise," I respond, spotting only disturbed crates and scattered rounds of discarded ammunition. I ignore the implications of the latter, pulling the plug on any deviating thoughts for now.

Sweeping ahead on my own accord, the reinforced door to the armory's highly secured weapons acquisition bay comes into view. To the surprise of no one, it was badly disfigured.

"Weapons storage over here, door's compromised," I relay the observation through local communications, waiting for the others to join up behind. Aside from the main bay, this was the only other place left to clear before the armory as a whole can be secured.

Its interior layout was roughly consistent with the letter 'U'. Each of the two prongs housed their respective bays, with the corridor serving as a link between the two. The design was painfully simple, but easy to recall. It essentially was just a slight derivative of the standard layout found in most of the other prefabs, nothing more.

The partially melted steel bars sank along the corridor's entrance like a twisted skeleton of silver, pushed aside by immense heat. The remains of a large deadbolt lock sat on the ground near it. The thing was functionally a shapeless heap of metal, with only its proximity hinting at the likely origin.

"I have our six," Robert calmly affirms from the rear. Time slows to a painful crawl as I lock my gaze forward onto the derelict corridor. It holds a sinister vibe as though something was there, waiting for an opportunity to pull me right into lethal danger.