The door yields to Ice Pick's electronic bypass tool—a device that makes short work of the keycard access system. We enter in tactical formation, weapons ready but suppressors attached. Gunfire is a last resort; this operation prioritizes stealth and evidence collection over confrontation.
Inside, the building is eerily quiet. The layout matches Cara's description perfectly—central hallway with offices branching off, security desk at the junction currently unmanned. A quick check of the monitoring system shows multiple cameras offline—not from our interference, but deliberately disabled from inside.
"Something's not right," Ghost murmurs, echoing my growing concern. "Where is everyone?"
"Beta Team reporting minimal resistance," Cara's voice comes through comms. "Two guards, no additional personnel."
"Gamma Team clear," adds Osprey from his location. "Evidence of recent evacuation."
The pattern becomes clear—all targets showing signs of hasty departure, reduced security, preparation for our arrival. Somehow, they knew we were coming.
"Proceed to primary objectives," I instruct all teams. "Collect whatever evidence remains. Timer running."
We move deeper into the building, clearing rooms systematically. Where we expected to find Reapers members, we find empty spaces. Where we anticipated resistance, we encounter none. The absence is more concerning than opposition would have been.
"Office complex ahead," Ghost reports from point position. "Signs of recent activity."
The administrative section shows evidence of hasty evacuation—drawers left open, papers scattered, electronics missing from desks. But unlike a complete cleanup, certain items remain. File cabinets pulled open but not emptied. Computer towers present though monitors are gone.
"They left in a hurry," Condor observes, rifling through abandoned documents. "Like they prioritized certain things and left the rest."
"Or wanted us to find some things but not others," I counter, suspicion growing. "Bag everything. Every paper, every hard drive, every Post-it note."
As the team collects evidence, I notice a discrepancy in the building layout. According to Cara's information, the server room should connect to this office space, but no door is visible. I run my hands along the wall where it should be, feeling for seams or hidden panels.
"Help me with this," I tell Ghost, pointing to a heavy filing cabinet positioned against the suspicious section of wall.
We move it aside, revealing a reinforced door with an electronic keypad—more sophisticated security than anything else we've encountered in the building.
"Jackpot," Ghost murmurs.
"Ice Pick," I call. "Need your expertise."
He hurries over, examining the security system with professional appreciation. "High-end. Give me two minutes."
While he works, I check our operation timer. "Three minutes to extraction, people. Wrap it up."
Team members quicken their pace, stuffing documents into tactical bags, photographing what can't be taken. The electronic lock clicks open under Ice Pick's ministrations, and the hidden door slides sideways into a recessed pocket.
Beyond lies exactly what we hoped to find—a server room humming with active equipment. Multiple racks of servers, external drives, and networking gear occupy the climate-controlled space. Unlike the rest of the facility, this room shows no signs of hasty evacuation. Whatever data these systems contain was too valuable or too large to move quickly.
"Can you download it?" I ask Ice Pick, already knowing the answer.
He shakes his head after a quick assessment. "Not in the time we have. These are enterprise-level systems. Terabytes of data, encrypted six ways from Sunday." He studies the setup, calculating options. "We'd need to take the actual servers."
"Then that's what we do," I decide. "Condor, get the vehicle to the rear entrance. We're taking hardware."
As the team shifts to extraction of physical servers, I examine a workstation still logged into the system. The screen displays a partially deleted file directory with intriguing labels: "Judicial Arrangements," "Enforcement Protocols," "Political Assets."
I attempt to open several files, but access prompts encryption keys beyond our current capabilities. What I can see, however, suggests organization far beyond typical MC operations—corporate-level structure, professional database management, systematic record-keeping of what appears to be blackmail material on public officials.
"One minute to extraction," Ghost warns.
"Copy that." I photograph the screen contents, then assist with disconnecting the primary server rack. "All teams report status."
"Beta secured target. Extracting with financial records and product samples."
"Gamma clear. Weapons cache is smaller than intelligence suggested, but documented."
