The air inside the compound was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of gunpowder.
Broken crates and scattered ammunition littered the floor, the remnants of what had once been an impressively stocked armory.
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows on the bloodstained walls.
Two men in tailored suits stepped cautiously through the carnage, their polished shoes clicking against the cold concrete floor.
The taller of the two, a man with sharp features and salt-and-pepper hair, surveyed the destruction with a tight-lipped expression.
His partner, a younger man with a boyish face and nervous energy, adjusted his tie as he tried to keep pace.
"This is unacceptable," the older man muttered, his voice low and steely.
He crouched beside a shattered crate, running his gloved fingers over the splintered wood. "How does a facility like this — one of our facilities — fall without so much as a single alarm being raised in time?"
