The two of them parked their vehicles in the ruins about a mile away from the building and began getting ready. There was no doubt that their approach had been noticed at some point, either by other watchers or by someone in the building itself.

Since they didn’t know the terrain, sneaking up on the location would have been a nearly impossible prospect.

Now that they had discovered the operations base, the main part of the job could begin. That consisted of them mainly reconnoitering the area. Ensuring that this was actually the correct location for one and two, getting a general idea of how many people they would be up against.

Trace sent the location to Stick-Point, as he strapped on all of his lightweight armor pieces, growing hotter by the second. They were another layer underneath the boiling sun, and he hated it. That didn’t mean he was going to remove them though. They might be uncomfortable, and a little annoying to put on, but he well knew the value of armor.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be going up against anything with as much firepower as what Monroe carried in nearly all of his guns. The man didn’t seem to understand the concept of restraint. The sole exception was his semi-auto pistol, which he wasn’t even wearing that day.

Trace unstrapped the scout rifle from his courier bag and instead strapped the assault rifle to it. Extra magazines for both were inside the outside pockets, along with a first-aid kit, just in case. He would be carrying the scout rifle for now.

It had a scope and a suppressor on it, making it his go-to gun for most things, and this time was no different. Since they were tasked with learning how many people there were, a scope was vital. Granted, the sniper rifle would have been better, except it was also far heavier and more awkward to carry. He wouldn’t have been able to carry the assault rifle as well if he was going to use that gun.

The sniper rifle didn’t fold down like the scout rifle did, which made it nearly impossible to strap onto his bag.

It was simply easier this way, even if it was slightly less efficient. He would need to see about upgrading the scope of the scout rifle to something better in the future.

Together, he and Monroe moved through the shadows of the ruins that lined the immediate sides of the road. A little farther away, they could see the blasted-out ruins of what had once been a neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses. Even in death, enough of their rotted frames remained that they still looked almost identical.

Those houses were where a scavenger would find the items they really wanted. It was also the place most likely to contain some form of unexploded ordinance, trap, or, if they were really unlucky, a deathbot of some sort. Those monstrous machines had once been famous for preying almost exclusively on civilians.

Keeping their eyes open, they made their way slowly back to the grocery building.

Trace had to admit, it was much easier to do all of this with another person by his side. Having a partner to watch your back and other extremities was far more useful than he had first believed.

It allowed them to make better overall time, without the coverage of their surroundings' suffering. It wasn’t by much, but it helped.

The mile took them a little over two hours to traverse, during which time they saw and eliminated two watchers along the path. The gear they were carrying was just as crappy as the first one they had come across back at the crumbling warehouse. Although both of these at least had a couple of grenades.

Monroe took the bulk of those; however, Trace clipped a couple to his bag for emergencies. They were loud, but he had also seen how effective they were when you needed them.

They stopped in the remains of what appeared to be some sort of restaurant that had once been a holy site for the people there. It had faded golden arches that had probably once invoked proper feelings of respect in the visitors. Unfortunately, those days had passed, and the site of holy appetites was nothing more than a forgotten memory, just like everything else around it.

Crawling onto its roof, Trace used the scope of the scout rifle to peer into the windows of the building across the way. The entrances on each of the floors, the ones that Monroe had mentioned, were for flying robots, had all been boarded over. Many of the windows had been painted or covered with age-yellowed paper to block out the sun and prying eyes at some point in the past.

If he had to guess, this wasn’t the first time that a gang or other such organization had used the building for their own purposes. There were a few locations where the paper had fallen down, or where the paint had been scraped off by careless people throughout the years. Those gaps were small, and if they were any farther away, he wouldn’t have been able to get any details with the scope he currently had on the rifle.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

However, it was good enough, and they were close enough that, combined with the magnification from his eyes, he could glean a few details.

The first of which was that the inside of the building had been completely stripped at some point in the past. All the hardware it had needed to be a functioning robotic-centric grocery store was gone. At least on the floors and areas, he could see.

What he did see though, was interesting, and somewhat concerning. At least if he was interpreting what he thought he was seeing through those gaps properly. Because he kind of hoped he wasn’t.

It looked as though they had managed to create a properly automated system for the creation of their drugs. Unfortunately, that was all he could see at the moment. It was hard to even keep track of the number of people inside the building, as they all wore the same outfits.

They would need to get a better vantage point if they wanted more information.

Before heading back down, Trace took a minute to scan the rooftops and various windows for watchers. As far as he could tell, there were three of them. One on the main building, and then one on the roofs of the second-story ruins to either side of it.

He steadied the barrel of the rifle using its built-in tripod and aimed at the one on the roof of the larger building. That one would be first, just as soon as they turned away or did something. Then he would repeat that with the other two.

He and Monroe had been maintaining a call ever since he climbed up to the roof. Trace whispered his intentions to him, making sure he knew everything he had seen.

“Hopefully, they’re not doing something similar to us,” The big man said, keeping watch out down below.

“Yeah, hopefully. Not much I can do if they are. It’s too dangerous to just leave them where they are. It will put us on a timer of sorts. No matter what, even if this goes flawlessly, someone will go up to check on them at some point.”

Monroe could be heard snorting and hocking up a ball of phlegm. “Let’s do it. I’ve got no love for skeeters, but the ones who make the drugs to get them that way are even worse in my book. No personal vendetta, you understand, just general disgust.”

A skeeter was a sort of catchall term for drug addicts, drug mules, and more. Really anyone that might be getting the shaft by those creating or selling the drugs themselves.

Trace mentally nodded and took aim, keeping his breath even while he waited for his chance. He had already accounted for the distance, the wind, elevation, even humidity, or rather lack of humidity. He was as ready to take the shot as he could be. Now he just needed the watcher to step back from the edge. It wouldn’t do to have him fall over the side of the building and hit the ground in full view of everyone.

That would be announcing their presence with an unwanted bang and starting off the job on a very bad note.

He waited, resisting the urge to scratch his nose, then the small of his back, the inside of his thigh, the back of his knee, and his balls. EVERYTHING! It was one infuriating item after the next that called for his attention, each worse than the last. He refused to give in, but it was such a close thing, and all he wanted to do was scratch at something.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the watcher stepped back and opened his fly. Suddenly, Trace had to take a leak as well.

With a barely contained growl, and his head beginning to twitch in desperation, he corrected his aim and squeezed the trigger.

On the roof, the man crumpled into a puddle of his own making. Trace was a little happy about that, feeling as though the man had gotten what he deserved with that particular indignity.

He brought his aim down and sighted in on the watcher sitting on the roof to the left. With how desperate he was feeling at the moment, the plan needed to change. He clicked the elevation dial on the scope but left everything else the same and squeezed the trigger again.

There was a burst of blood as a new hole appeared in the man’s head, and then he was swiveling the last of the targets. No changes were needed to the settings this time. All he needed to do was to acquire the target and squeeze the trigger. Which he did as quickly as possible.

He took an extra second to confirm all three were dead and then flopped onto his back to begin scratching at everything. His shirt came partially up as he rubbed his back against the rough dirt on the roof, while his pants went down to his ankles.

A minute later, his skin was red and streaked with marks from his fingernails, but he was finally feeling much better.

Climbing back down from the roof, he found Monroe looking at him oddly.

“Uh, you know our call is still ongoing, right?” Trace slowly nodded, his head tilting to the side in puzzlement. “Well, I’m not one to question other’s hobbies and kinks, but uh, maybe next time, keep your private time to yourself, yeah?”

Trace blushed as his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “I was scratching myself, you annoying hulk of a man.”

“Ah, is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Trace kicked some dirt at him with a laugh. “Shut up, you’re like, what, five years older than me? But, nah, laying up there waiting, I couldn’t scratch anything in case my chance to shoot came. It was initially just one itch, then it was two.” He gritted his teeth at the memories, phantom itches beginning to come back. “By the time I could take the shot, everything itched. It felt so good to finally scratch.”

Monroe smirked and turned away. “Like I said, keep your private time to yourself.”

He bent over and picked up a pebble, tossing it at the bald man’s pate. “You could have cut the call at any time. I think we know who the real pervert here is.”

They both chuckled and refocused on the job.

“Where to next?”

“We can either go up to one of the roofs where the other watchers were and see what is up there or go around to the back of the building,” Trace suggested.

“I feel like the roof option would be better if we wanted to sneak in. Except that isn’t our explicit goal at the moment. That said, getting the number of people involved with this operation would be easier from the inside.”

“The roof it is then, and hopefully it has some sort of entrance into the building. Or at least reveals another way in.” Trace agreed readily enough.