So, here we are. A couple of badasses. Two bad bitches. About to commit a little bit more than a felony. Saba's got the AM-77 in hand as we stroll up to the front doors of the gigantic gray cement monolithic precinct. Just as disused looking as I remember it being. Least the property value might go up when we're done here. Or they'll renovate more than the fucking bathrooms. Twelve versus two? I can take those odds, considering Saba's at least worth eight in a gun fight.

Simple breaching procedures to start. Saba boots the door off its hinges, I prime a flashbang and hurl it in. Duck behind the frame so I don't burn my retinas out.

THWUK.

Unsling my AM-77. She takes point and sweeps left, I sweep right. If there's anyone in here, they've probably ducked behind the menagerie of desks, which makes this a little bit more dangerous than I would've wanted. First row. Nobody. Peer around to make sure they're not tucked under. Clear. Onto the second row. Nobody. Repeat.

I glance up to see that Saba is doing the same on her side of the room, but she keeps her gun locked towards the door; obviously expecting company to be down at any minute.

My attention goes back to the task at hand. Third row—I can hear movement. I raise a hand to gesture Saba over, but she shakes her head, gesturing towards the door ahead of her. Fuck. Well. Here goes nothing—

I take a wide step to one side—

BANG. BANG. BANG. I don't even have time to react before my vest eats three shots from an M9 and I'm on my ass. Thank god for the wimpy ass round, and cop training or I’d be bleeding or dead if he panicked enough to fire anywhere else. I glance up to see who the hell it is that has the honors of bruising the shit out of my chest.

McDavid. Oh, you son of a bitch. He hesitates for as long as I hesitate. Not that I can complain too much. My gun's better. I squeeze the hair trigger.

THUPTHUPTHUPTHUPTHUP. The draw was significantly lighter than what I'm used to, and I must've dumped a quarter of the mag into the poor bastard.

The silencer doesn't quite make the thing one hundred percent silent, but it's enough to ward off the usual ear-ringing you get after firing a gun in a closed off area. I don't think McDavid would bitch too much, considering that more of his insides are on the outside than the inside as it stands after I'm done with him.

The adrenaline isn't enough to cover up the stinging, and it takes me a few seconds to catch my breath for long enough to get to my feet. Off to a bad start, and I don't have enough time to figure out if they actually managed to punch through my body armor.

Saba's still at the other side of the room, remaining still. Like a spooked alley cat. When she's noticed I've gotten back up, she starts signaling. Two past the door. Armed. Waiting on either side. She flags me over to cover the door as she starts to unsling the grenade launcher at a tepid pace.

Ah, fuck. This isn't even remotely close to the best idea. There's no way we're not going to get singed by her lobbing a round this close to us. I bound across the room and take station behind the furthest possible desk. I'm going to be so fucking sore once this is over—

I barely have time to brace myself before the signature ‘GASHONK’ of the RX6 fills the air. I actually have a minute to contemplate on how not loud that was—

The explosion that trailed along afterwards was hardly quiet, on the other hand. My vision nearly goes fully gray as the shockwave ripples through the room. My ears start ringing. Which isn't assisted any further by the fire alarms going off and the sprinklers sputtering to life. I don't figure she fired an incendiary, but there's a lot more smoke than I expected. I used one of those things back when I was still in the military, but never fired it danger-close. I wouldn't be surprised if she was chomping at the bit to use the thing. Even the special weapons teams get absolutely screwed by Black Wolf's unwillingness to actually give us nice gear.

Before I can get my bearings, Saba's already dropped the grenade launcher to let it rest on the three-point sling, bringing the AM-77 back to bear. I scramble up to follow her, despite the fact that I'm feeling like I was just put through the rinse cycle. There used to be a door. And a door frame. And— A lot of other things here. I realize the smoke flooding into the room isn't actually smoke. She managed to nail the wall-mounted fire extinguisher with the shockwave and shredded it open, causing powder to fill the room.

Repeat from before. She sweeps left, I sweep right. I see one of the poor sons of bitches that was waiting to hold the door. Can't recognize him, but judging from the fact he was carrying an AMP, he was definitely one of McNamara's men. And the lack of a Black Wolf logo pushed that suspicion even further. That's definitely non-standard tactical gear from an outside corp. How many of these guys are from outside corps?

“Clear!” Saba shouts over her shoulder, booting the shredded remains of another security officer. This one I recognize. Same guy that tagged along with McNamara when he showed up on the first day on the job. I have no idea how he got so many people in his pocket, but I guess when you find someone that lets you bend the rules and get away with it, you stick with him no matter how morally corrupt he is.

“Clear,” I respond. We still have an entire bottom floor to sweep, but at least knowing a solid number gives us better expectations. She kept her steady pace forwards. Realistically, I'm going to have trouble shooting around or over her, but I know she's got the better reflexes—

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I hear someone's boots crunching on the debris behind us and spin around. Draw on the trigger without even thinking. THUPTHUPTHUP. At least this time, I manage to keep my trigger finger a little more disciplined. I guess I shouldn't undersell myself too much on the reflex part of things.

By the time I can properly see through the remnants of the fire extinguisher powder wafting through the air, it's readily apparent it was another corporate stooge. Thank gods. It would've been real fucking awkward were it anyone else.

Mag check. Feels like I've emptied about half from the weight alone. I would've killed for a HUD on this thing or a smart ammo tracker, but beggars can't be choosers. And it's not like I have a specialist to keep any intrepid hackers out if I'm putting my ass out to the digitalverse like that.

“Nice shot,” Saba calls out, a hint of amusement in her voice. Eight guys left, if Bobrovnikov's estimate was on point.

“I try.” I laugh in return. Fuck. I probably shouldn't be laughing. Four guys just died. Even if they were all assholes. The offices to our sides are more than likely clear, but it doesn't hurt to check. Saba boots the door, I take point. Sweep with my AM-77, and back out. Almost rhythmically. Another thing I’d been trained to do in the military, but was never put to use when I was on the force. Shit, I could've made special weapons if I didn't rub so many of the big wigs the wrong way.

As I thought. Everything's clear. Even the chief's office. I wonder if he's on vacation, or where the hell he's off to. Kind of don't want to shoot the old coot. We might've gotten into a few rows over things, but I don't think was a bad cop. Just was tangled up in the tape that the people above him wrapped him up in. Still, sticking with the plan, I step into the place that I was all too familiar with. The old floor plans I had access to pointed out there was a breaker box along the back wall somewhere. I pause.

Always thought that old metal thing on the wall was a fucking safe. I pop it open. Yeah. Breakers. Now I feel like an idiot. I run my hand down the switches, killing the power to the building. I've got a flashlight, and I'm guessing Saba doesn't have much issue with the dark.

I can't help but think this is a little weird. There's a whole lot less resistance than I’d have expected. They're way less organized, too. This could be a—

—Trap. I hear the distinct ping of a cylindrical grenade bouncing off the floor. I grab Saba by the back of her vest and pull her into the chief's office. Feel like I'm going to tear my arm off with how much I had to give it to get her off of her feet and into cover. I slam the door shut and brace.

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The pressure from the blast must've knocked me out for a second. My vision is blurry as shit. I forgot where the hell I was for a few minutes there. Saba's already back on her feet and covering the door. Doc's gonna have a field day chewing me out when we get back home. Past the ringing in my ears, I can hear a shitload of boots in the hallway.

Saba must've heard them too, because she holds down the trigger on her AM-77 and rakes it across what little remains of the wall between us and them. First she sprays high, and then she sprays low. She must've clipped someone, because I hear a shitload of screaming.

These guys aren't cops. High Explosive grenades are definitely not in our armory. I glance up and notice her arm's bleeding pretty bad. She must've been clipped by some shrapnel when the grenade went off. Fuck.

I rip the door open and lob another flashbang into the hallway, before diving out to check her work. Three guys down, solely from blind fire. We have our work cut out for us. Well, Saba does. Waste of a flashbang, but it doesn't hurt to be sure.

“The chief should have a medical kit in his desk somewhere,” I call out to Saba. I saw him use it once after I pissed him off enough that he punched his desk hard enough to splinter it and gouge up his hand. I stride further down the hallway to make sure there's nobody waiting for us in the locker rooms, hearing Saba thump down the hallway in bounds after me seconds later.

She offers out the kit towards me, apparently unaware that she's bleeding. I give her a look like she's missing something completely obvious.

“—For your arm?”

“For that?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck me, that ain't that bad, Luc,” she laughs, clipping the thing onto her belt. “I'll fix it later.”

I should've figured that would've been the response. She doesn't have time to bleed. Passing into the locker room proper, it looks like they had a killbox set up for us, but didn't stick to their plan. The lockers are all tipped over in a semi-circle around the entrance to the room. Figure they heard us using explosives and decided to go on the offensive because they didn't want us to retreat and lob a grenade straight into their thick skulls.

I pause for a second, noticing my old locker being part of the barricade. Sans my name tag, but I could recognize that dented door that I had to stare at day-in-and-day out for years. Doesn't look like anyone got it after I left, considering the lack of a replacement name tag.

Though, I guess we should loop around and check the holding cells now. That'll be the moment of truth for how many bullets I need to pump into McNamara's skull. I turn on a heel, before something figuratively hits me across the forehead. I practically sprint back to the rows of offices, hoping that the thing I was looking for wasn't—

McNamara's office. I skimmed over it before. I didn't have enough time to dig around for anything incriminating earlier. What with securing the area and having explosives thrown at us.

His terminal. Looks a little worse for wear, after eating the fair share of an explosion, but. I know vaguely what I'm looking for. I pop open the maintenance panel and—Bingo. The storage drive. He's gotta have something the least bit incriminating on this. Not that I have any idea how to break any potential encryption, but at the very least, it's a bargaining chip. Or it'll clear my name. One, the other, or both.

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We loop back around through the lobby, and into the other side of the building. Still cautious as ever, given that any number of people could be coming down the stairs further down the hall. And we have no clue if anyone's waiting for us up ahead. Deep breath.

I should probably brace for the worst, right? I've got the plastic explosives on hand to blow open the cells if they're still breathing. Saba checks the stairs. I have a lapse of judgment for a split second and I rush the door to the holding cells. I should've kicked it, but my shoulder finds itself true and knocks the thing open like it was made out of paper. And—

The cells are empty? Nothing. Not even a drop of blood. Where the hell would he be holding them if not here?