Raymond stared up at the rusted lid above them, listening to the faint vibrations of footsteps and muffled chatter echoing through the metal. The lid was old, and any attempt to push it open would screech like a banshee and blow their cover before they even had a chance to breathe.
He tilted his head slightly and muttered, "I've got a very bad idea."
Rosa rolled her eyes. "Your last bad idea yesterday ended with a car fire and me pretending I was a street magician."
Raymond pulled out a small lockpick set and got to work on the padlock. "This one won't involve card tricks. Besides, we did catch that killer, and no one will miss his car."
The lock clicked open. He paused, took a breath, then tapped gently on the underside of the lid.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
The sound echoed softly. Then silence.
He tapped again, a little faster this time.
Two taps. Pause. Three more.
A beat later, someone tapped back.
Clank. Clank.
Rosa's eyes narrowed. "No way."
Raymond suppressed a grin. "Idiots."
He tapped again. This time with a little rhythm. The unmistakable beat of "Shave and a Haircut."
Clank-clank. Clank-clank. Clank.
There was a pause. Then...
Clank-clank.
Raymond blinked like he couldn't believe it worked.
Rosa looked disgusted. "Are we really communicating with terrorists using Looney Tunes morse code?"
"They're curious," he said, raising his weapon. "And curious people make great targets."
A few more taps. A longer pause.
Then the lid creaked.
It lifted slowly.
A beam of flashlight shone down. Two heads peeked into the darkness, one above the other, both squinting, faces lit like campfire ghosts.
Raymond and Rosa fired at the same time.
Pfft. Pfft.
Two clean suppressed shots. Both heads jerked back, then dropped like puppets with cut strings.
Raymond climbed up first, sweeping the area. "Clear."
Rosa followed, quick and quiet. The maintenance hallway was empty except for the two crumpled bodies and the faint smell of cheap cologne and fresh blood.
He crouched and yanked off one of the tactical vests. "We'll need their comms and gear."
Rosa started checking the other body's earpiece, but paused when she noticed Raymond pulling off his shirt.
"What are you doing?"
"Blending in," he said, unstrapping his vest and tugging off his undershirt. "We wear their gear, we move like them, we don't get shot in the back by their friends. Besides..." He pulled out two ski masks from the terrorist's pocket. "Ski masks. He was carrying spare... How lucky."
Rosa raised a brow. "You're really committing to the full costume change, huh?"
Raymond stood shirtless, "Hey, if you've got a kink for moldy drain tunnels and corpse cosplay, now's your moment."
After that, he took off his pants, standing confidently in nothing but tactical boxers and boots. "Alright, Rosa. Try not to faint."
'Nice abs! Fuck! What the hell am I even thinking?' Rosa didn't blink. "Seen better."
"You wound me," Raymond said, pulling the dead guy's cargo pants up and tightening the belt. "Not even a 'wow, what powerful thighs you have'?"
"You look like a Calvin Klein ad from a war zone," she muttered, already stripping off her top layer. Her eyes drifted, just briefly, down toward Raymond's boxer line, then snapped back up with a blink like a reset button.
He caught it and grinned. "Wow. I feel objectified. It's kind of flattering."
"Don't flatter yourself," she said, pulling on the dead man's tactical shirt. "I was staring at your bruises."
He flexed. "Hot girl shot me. Terrible aim. Hit everything but my vital organs. Still counts as flirting."
They quickly dressed up.
Rosa finished buttoning the last strap on her borrowed vest and gave Raymond a once-over. He adjusted the ski mask on his head, tilted slightly like he was trying to find the least sweaty angle.
"You know," she said, "for a guy who spent the last three days barely saying two words other than crime solving and reminding me of my past mistakes, you're surprisingly chatty today."
Raymond shrugged. "I thrive in high-stress, possibly fatal, deeply unsanitary situations. It brings out my best self."
"Yeah," Rosa muttered. "Your best self's a jackass."
He struck a pose. "A stylish, tactical jackass."
She rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "This mask smells like an armpit."
"Yeah, welcome to terrorist couture. Real exclusive line."
They stepped over the bodies and began moving out of the maintenance hall, weapons raised, steps silent.
Rosa adjusted her earpiece, then whispered, "You sure we won't get shot by Alpha or Bravo? Wearing this mess?"
"I sent Boyle a ping," Raymond replied as he put his phone back in his pocket. "Told him Echo team would be wearing stylish death pajamas."
"So if we get lit up, it's his fault."
"Entirely."
They moved out...
...
They reached a junction. One corridor split left toward the emergency exit, and the other toward the food court. Faint voices echoed from upstairs. Shouting. Orders.
Rosa pointed toward the right.
Raymond gave her a thumbs-up. "Always follow the smell of expired hot dogs."
They crept forward, past flickering ceiling lights and soda machines that hummed with oblivious capitalism. One was still lit with a "2 for $1.15" deal on Lemon Fanta.
"I swear," Rosa whispered, "if we die here, I'm haunting this vending machine."
Raymond leaned in. "Promise to knock over lemon bottles every time a kid walks by?"
"Only the lemon ones."
They rounded the corner and froze.
Two terrorists. Fully geared. Standing guard outside a locked service door.
Raymond whispered, "How's your improv?"
Rosa raised her rifle. "Silent. Violent. Minimal rehearsal."
He nodded. "Love your work. There are cameras here. Can't take risks. We gotta find the control room and the hostages, plus open up a way for the team."
"The security room is on the second floor," She whispered.
"Then let's get to it. You take over the security room and I'll take care of these guys," He said, giving her a thumbs up. "Take left, there should be a fire escape, use that. Here..." he took out a small device from his pocket and gave it to her. "Jammers. If you get close enough, their comms and phones will be jammed. Good luck."
"Don't die, White," Rosa said as she took the device and put it in her pocket. Then she simply walked toward the fire escape, pretending to be one of them.
Meanwhile, Raymond...
"Hey," He shouted. "Over here. I think I heard something in the maintenance room. Come quick. No one is responding." He turned around and waved his arm.
Behind him, the two terrorists followed like meat-scented lemmings in tactical vests. One of them muttered, "Why aren't comms working?" while the other made a noise that might have been agreement or just indigestion.
Raymond reached the maintenance room door and turned to face them, just enough to keep his face angled away from the hallway security camera.
"Something's off," he said, voice low and gravelly, like he gargled sandpaper for breakfast. "Comms dead. Other squad didn't check in. Stay alert."
The two exchanged nervous glances. One grunted. The other pulled out a knife like he was trying to impress someone in middle school gym class.
"I'll cover the rear," Raymond added, stepping to the side and subtly raising his gun, pointing it at the door.
They kicked the door open.
Inside, flickering lights. Storage shelves. A mop bucket in the corner that had definitely seen things. And two naked, dead bodies were lying near the hatch.
The two men stepped in like rookies in a haunted house.
Raymond closed the door behind them.
They noticed the dead bodies.
One of them nearly jumped up, "What the fuck?!"
The guy with the knife whispered, "Intruders."
Raymond raised his silenced Glock and muttered, "Correct."
Two quick pops.
Pfft. Pfft.
Both men crumpled forward in synchronized ragdoll fashion. A moment of silence passed, broken only by the slow drip of a broken pipe and a surprisingly loud fart from one of the dead guys.
Raymond holstered his pistol, knelt, and patted them down.
"Ugh," he grimaced.
Raymond was on the move again. With Rosa off toward the second floor, the floor was his. And with his disguise, it was easy for him to move.
He peeked around the corner of the food court, eyes scanning.
Clear.
And now… time to start cleaning.
The first lucky trio lounged beneath a stairwell, puffing like discount Bond villains. Their rifles were slung low. One guy was vaping and smoking like he was trying to set a world record in bad decisions.
There were no cameras there. Like, who would place cameras under the stairs?
Raymond walked right up to them, casual, head down, ski mask on.
"Hey," he whispered. "Boss needs help upstairs. There's movement."
The nearest guy squinted. "You new? Never seen you before."
Raymond paused. "Transferred from the Midtown crew. Just yesterday."
"…Midtown's all dead."
Raymond shrugged. "Exactly. Fastest promotion ever."
Before they could raise a brow, Raymond raised his silencer.
Three shots.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
Three bodies. A soft thunk. One cigarette still burning on the ground, slowly fizzling in a puddle of whatever mall food court floors are made of.
Next...
Raymond ducked behind a fake jungle planter by the Rainforest Café. Luckily, someone shot the cameras there. So, it was an easy job. He pulled a pack of smokes from one of the dead guys and popped out a couple like bait on a hook.
Then he stood in the hallway just long enough for two guards near a frozen yogurt shop to notice him.
He waved the cigarettes.
One guy elbowed the other. "Dude. He's got reds."
They jogged over like it was a Black Friday sale. Raymond handed one a cigarette, leaned in like they were trading secrets, then pulled the silencer up like a magician's final reveal.
Two more shots. Necks. Clean. Crisp.
Raymond caught one body before it hit the ground. The other face-planted straight into a pile of discarded napkins with "YOLOberry" logos on them.
Next...
Raymond yanked a bottle of bad whiskey from a kiosk gift basket labeled "Man Cave Essentials." Then he walked into the electronics wing like he belonged there. Two guards sat on an abandoned massage chair, watching mall security cam loops on a portable screen like it was Netflix.
He noticed that the active camera had just turned off. Rosa must have succeeded in taking over the security room.
"Tsk. Signal problem again. Damn it! I hate wireless shits," One of them complained as the feed got cut off.
Raymond raised the bottle. "Break time?"
One guy stood. "Hell yeah. What is it?"
"Terrible taste and a hint of rat poison," Raymond muttered.
Pfft. Pfft.
The guy fell back into the massage chair. The chair activated automatically and started vibrating like it was confused about its job.
Raymond didn't even blink.
He turned to the second guy, who hadn't stood up yet. His mouth opened.
"Here, drink," He gave the guy the bottle.
The second guy took the bottle with his trembling hand. His eyes were on Raymond's gun as he opened the bottle and stopped.
"Go on, drink up. You finish that bottle, and I'll let you live. You fail, I'll kill you." Raymond warned, aiming his gun at that guy's face.
Gulp! gulp!
Pfft.
Raymond shot the guy while he was drinking. He caught the bottle before it could fall. He shook his head. "No one reads labels anymore. Well, at least he had one last drink."
The final lower-level moron was trying to pry open a vending machine with a crowbar. Not for anything useful. Just a pack of trail mix.
Raymond walked up behind him, leaned in close, and whispered, "Try the code 4-2-0."
The man turned, puzzled, right as Raymond raised his Glock.
"Never mind," Raymond said.
Pfft.
Trail mix guy fell backwards.
Raymond caught the crowbar before it could hit the floor.
After hiding the body, he checked the final hallway. Empty. He crouched near the maintenance control panel behind a juice stand, popped the lock, and started flipping switches.
Metal shutters lifted. Emergency doors slid open. Magnetic locks disengaged with a chunk.
He tapped into his earpiece.
"Echo to Alpha. Bravo. Entry points are green. Lower level's clean. Hostiles down. No alarms. I'm moving up toward the hostages."
Jake's voice came in first.
"Holy crap, he really did it. That's, like… Batman-level awesome."
Amy followed, calm and focused. "Copy. Moving in now."
Raymond smiled behind the mask. "Oh, and try not to shoot me and Rosa. We are wearing ski masks and dead guys' clothes. Keep an eye out."
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[31 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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