Raven paced the now-empty showroom, her eyes scanning every inch of glass and tile. Grand Theft Autonomous had been stripped bare of everything above ground—vehicles, tools, fuels, even the last bolt in the maintenance bay. All of it stored away into the infinite architecture of her system space. But this place still had more to give.
She could feel it.
In her past life, she'd learned to read patterns—of people, of businesses, of secrets. And when it came to illicit operations masquerading under legal fronts, there was one universal hiding spot they always used. Not the manager’s office. Not a warehouse cage. Not even the elevator shaft.
It was always the restroom.
Not just any bathroom. The staff-only one. The mysteriously out-of-order one. The one that no employee ever actually used.
She pulled up Smoogle Maps.
There it was.
Senior VIP Executive Bathroom – Closed for Repairs Until Further Notice.
A faint curl of amusement tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Too obvious," she whispered. "Which makes it perfect."
She slipped through the silent halls, past dusty offices and deactivated kiosks. Fluorescent lights flickered softly overhead. At the end of a narrow hallway, she found the door. The paint around the frame was newer than the walls, but the sign on it had been there for years. Raven could tell by the curled corners of the laminated tape job.
Out of Order.
She slowed her steps. Voices.
Two men, just behind the door.
"Did you hear something out there it sounds like something is happening on the show floor."
"Shut up. Just watch the door. That’s our job or do you want to be killed like the last guy who talked to much."
Raven stepped back into a dark alcove near the wall, hidden between a vending machine and a half-assembled desk. She closed her eyes for a moment, called up her loadout, and summoned the gear she’d need.
Full black tactical assault armor materialized in her hands: chest and leg plating, arm guards, elbow and knee pads. She suited up with swift precision, her body moving like it remembered how to do this even before she told it to. Her fingers slid a tactical helmet into place, the mounted night vision lenses folding down and powering on with a soft click.
She checked her vision. Perfect.
Then came the weapon: an MP5 submachine gun fitted with an Omni Silencer, twin magazines taped together for a rapid swap. She slung it against her side and clipped on a smoke grenade.
Raven knew those guys could not call for help. "No alarms. No calls. No cell phone signal would work under this much concrete."
She slid along the wall toward the door. Footsteps inside. Low muttering. Nervous pacing.
Two fewer scumbags now meant two fewer zombies later.
Raven positioned herself just outside the bathroom door, taking a knee. Her hand hovered over the smoke grenade's pin.
She spoke softly to herself, just loud enough to break the stillness in her helmet.
"I'm not doing this for justice. I just don't like sharing air with men who run terrorists cells under car dealerships."
She rolled her shoulder, took a breath, and gripped the MP5 tight.
"Wonder what they were planning to unleash down there... shame they never got the chance."
Her voice went flat. "Let’s see what you’ve been hiding down there, gentlemen."
And then, with mechanical certainty, she moved.
Raven raised her boot and braced herself to kick it in.
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