I entered the door quietly, eyeing my new surroundings from behind a large storage box covered in a tarp with "HANDLE WITH CARE" stamped on it.
I was in some kind of storage cum garage. Various cars were lined up in the massive room, with many boxes and tires stacked in many places. I saw two forklifts; one was parked near the entrance of the room, and the other at the far side of the room.
There were car parts piled up in one corner, some of which were stacked with care. A small, glass-walled side room housed a desk, a computer, and enough exposed engine parts to build a death trap. Bright-colored tool chests with tools scattered were near the parts. A bunch of license plates were hanging on hooks on the wall nearby.
The walls had graffiti here and there. I looked for any kind of digital surveillance in the garage.
No cameras... either they're cheap, cocky, or smart enough not to film their own crimes.
The warehouse likely had good sound insulation, as I didn't hear any noise from the back. Of course, I did hear when I was in the front, but those were from the mechanics working in the front.
But inside, the whole building was filled with various noises. It was not loud since I was at the very back. The clanging noises of hammers hitting metal, the whirs and buzz of drills and saws, which I would absolutely stay away from whoever was using them. Engine noises, music from the stereo, conversations, and so on.
However, these noises were a pleasant welcome as they would cover up any noises I might make while making my way to the office.
There were a few gangsters in the room. One was beneath a car held by the vehicle lift, with only his feet visible, working on it. Another was in the small side room, fiddling with the computer and the car parts. I couldn't see what weapons they were carrying from here. One was noting down something on a clipboard, looking at the various cars in the storage. He had a distinctive bulge of a pistol at his waist.
Another two were working on some cars while talking, but due to the distance, I couldn't hear them. One man was using a buzz saw to cut open a car, while the other was using a drill on another car. I had no intentions of going near either unless I wanted my eulogy to include "cut in half by a buzz saw."
The last one I could see from my position was the nearest to me. He had a machete at his waist as he sat on a small box facing away from me while playing with his phone, likely slacking off.
The only problem, he was sitting on the only way I could proceed without alerting everyone and being targeted by a bunch of angry psychos.
Should I just leave?
Sigh, fuck.
I took a breath, trying to calm my racing heart. My skill [Gamer's Mind] played a significant role in helping me calm down. Without it, I was sure I would have turned tail the moment I saw six armed guys hanging around like this was just another Tuesday.
After a moment's hesitation, I looked at my target, the gangster playing with his phone. With determined eyes, I moved slowly and quietly while crouching behind the cover of boxes.
I stopped at the edge of the last box and peeked in front. No one was looking. Using that opportunity, I hurriedly left my position, crossed the gap, reached the other box, and hid behind it.
Drip.
A drop of sweat fell. I wiped my chin and realized my whole face was wet with sweat. I waited a few seconds to cool down. Then, I resumed my journey, which was starting to feel never-ending.
I put each step with great care to ensure I wouldn't make any noise. Each step felt like I was carrying hundreds of kilos on each leg.
I once again peeked at the edge and saw everyone busy with their work. Confident, I was about to rush to the next group of boxes, but halted and ducked behind the box. The guy in the side room suddenly turned his face towards me from the glass. My heartbeat was hammering in my ears.
I moved to the other edge and peeked carefully. The guy's gaze was not fixed, and it looked like he was just casually looking outside while stretching his hands and yawning. His gaze swept the room a few times, and then he returned to his work.
I waited for a minute, and when he looked like he was focused back on his work, I moved and reached the other edge once again.
With a cautious glance from the edge, I didn't find anyone looking and hopped to the boxes group for the cover.
The last cover-hop was uneventful, and I reached my target. The thug was still deeply absorbed in his phone.
"New high score, baby. Who's the king?" The gangster muttered while playing some game on his phone.
I went behind him, covered his mouth with one hand, and chopped the side of his neck with a knife-hand strike. The thug didn't fall unconscious. My hand muffled his painful screams.
His phone fell from his hand and clattered on the floor. The much louder noise in the warehouse drowned out the clattering sound.
He didn't go down as intended.
Of course, he fucking didn't.
I fucking knew that I shouldn't believe those bullshit movies. I cursed every spy movie that had lied to me.
I felt a strange mix of anger and fear at the situation.
Fine, if one weren't enough, then two would be. If not two, then three.
I yanked him back and punched him hard in the kidneys. Another knife hand to the neck, and he was down.
Just as I took down the thug, I received a new notification.
Skill Unlocked
Stealth (Novice): Enables quieter movement and awareness of visible exposure.
I felt different somehow.
Nope, I didn't become a better ninja than a Kage.
But compared to before, it felt slightly easier. Previously, I had to take every step carefully, making sure not to make any noise, but now it felt a bit natural. I suddenly knew how to conceal myself more effectively in the cover than I had previously and how to utilize my surroundings to my advantage.
I suddenly felt more confident in completing today's job, but I didn't let this feeling cloud my mind. Getting cocky in this situation would be a one-way ticket to hell.
I patted the thug's body and found a wallet in his back pocket that I took without hesitation.
What? Looting after defeating an enemy is the birthright of a gamer.
I didn't get this opportunity previously while fighting the gangsters in the alley, but there was no way I was letting go of my sweet loot.
There was a stack of large tires nearby, with a few more tires around it. I pulled the body and dumped it inside the hollow center. With two more tires on top, no one would now find him here.
I opened the wallet. It had a condom packet with some money in it. I took out the money and used the [Observe] skill on it.
Normal Bills: Unmarked cash. Easy to spend, no strings attached.
I pocketed the cash with relief and threw the wallet inside the tire stack hole.
Next, I took a wallet out of my pocket. The thug patrolling outside graciously gave it to me when I respectfully left his body behind a tree.
Inside, I found another condom, some cash, and a photo of a girl, either in her late teens or early twenties. His girlfriend?
I took out the cash and left everything else inside.
All the bills were fine, but one caught my attention.
Marked Bills: Traceable money. Spending it could draw unwanted attention.
Nope. No thanks.
I put that bill inside the wallet without hesitation and threw it in the tire stack.
I didn't care where he got that from, but I wanted none of that.
A few hundred dollars richer and hopefully not flagged by the feds, I peeked at the room while hiding behind a box and planned my next move.
This next stretch? Felt easier. Or, it might be that the [Stealth (Novice)] skill was kicking in.
I slipped through the remaining rows of cars, hiding in the shadows cast by the overhead lights and ducking behind tool carts and crates while hiding from the sight of the hard-working gangsters.
As I exited the room, the sounds hit harder. Hammering metal, engine revs, loud music, clanging tools. The air reeked of oil, rust, and frustration.
I crouched behind a car and scoped out the area ahead. The front of the warehouse was already visible, with more mechanics and gangsters working on the vehicles.
On the left side of the front area, I could see stairs going up.
If my assumption was correct, the office, which should also be the boss's room, should be upstairs.
But, since I hadn't signed up for Suicide Squad, I wasn't taking that route.
To my right, I saw the door to another room. No guards, no one near it.
Promising.
The door was closed. Now, how to enter without interrupting anyone's good time inside.
I crept towards it and pressed my ear to the door. I could hear some muffled voices.
"—and that's a beautiful cross into the box! Can he finish—YES! GOOOOAAAL!" It sounded like a game commentary.
"Hah! That's what I'm talkin' about! My boy never misses from the left wing!" One person said with an excited voice.
"—shut up. Defense was sleeping. Even my grandma could've scored that." Another voice, scoffing.
"Your grandma didn't get 18 goals this season. Sit down," the first guy said, annoyed.
"—the stadium explodes as the visitors take the lead—" the game commentary came again amidst muffled cheers.
"—we lose this; I'm flipping that table," the second guy said irritably.
"You say one more word, and I'll flip your face. Watch the damn game, clown," the first guy threatened.
"…you see that pass? That was clean as hell," the second guy said excitedly.
"...nah, ref shoulda called offside. Guy was already—" the first guy said, but his sentence was drowned in the sound of a loud hammer strike.
"GOAL!" The game host's voice came, which I now assumed to be a television.
"BOOM! Told you! Left corner, baby. That's skill, not luck," the first guy's excited voice came out.
"Whatever, man. You only cheer when your bets don't suck," the second guy said.
I removed my ear from the door; I had listened enough. There were probably only two thugs inside, focused on watching the soccer match. But probably wasn't definite. And I hated those odds.
There might be more watching the game quickly, but that was a risk I had to take.
Time to gamble.
I opened the door slightly and looked inside while crouching. I saw two thugs sitting on a large, worn sofa and watching a soccer game on a television. They looked engrossed in the game.
No third guy in sight. I opened the door more, enough for me to pass inside. Hesitantly, I came inside and quietly closed the door.
I saw no one else except for the two gangsters, who had their full attention on the match. The room looked like a breakroom. Other than the sofa and television, it had a jukebox on the right wall, a snooker table to the left, a vending machine beside the television, and lastly, a microwave with a few dishes on a counter.
There were two doors on the left: one beside the jukebox and the other directly in front of the one I had come in from.
The one beside the jukebox was slightly open, with a washbasin peeking from the gap. Probably a toilet.
Next was the second door, which was completely open, revealing a dimly lit corridor.
While looking at the room, I had already sneaked behind the sofa.
"I think I heard the door," the second thug said with confusion as he looked at the closed door.
I stayed crouched behind the sofa and held my breath unknowingly.
"So what? Watch the game, fool," the first thug said dismissively. "It might be Bobby who wanted to eat something. He came by twice already and bailed."
"That's possible. That guy is still scared of you after you nearly chopped off his finger," the second thug laughed.
"Deserved it. Kid thought he could mouth off 'cause he went from schoolyard punk to part-time thug."
"Right? These newbies think one tattoo and a knife make 'em untouchable."
I stayed crouched, unmoving, until they both started yelling at the TV again—some kind of missed goal or bad ref call.
I didn't wait for a second round of threats and slipped out the open hallway door.
The corridor was not too long. The corridor ended at a reception area with a few sofas and a reception desk. It might be used for their auto shop front.
It was midnight. Midnight meant no receptionist, no customers, and no Karen at the front desk.
I finally saw what I wanted. Another set of stairs went up near the front door. Now, I just had to take the stairs and go up.
But there was a problem. Why's there always a damn but?
There were two thugs in the room, standing near the half-open front door, looking outside.
Why couldn't things be easy?
I'm a gamer, but why doesn't my system have a difficulty slider? I demand a refund.
One of the thugs had a gun, and the other had a metal bat.
"You feel that? Like someone's watchin'," the thug with the bat said while looking around the room with a twitchy look.
I was already two steps back in the corridor, ready to sneak out from the other side at a moment's notice.
"Yeah. It's called paranoia," the thug with the gun joked.
"Still… somethin' ain't right," the thug with the bat said worriedly.
"Just go out and get some fresh air. It is already time for a shift change for the patrol," the thug with the gun said dismissively.
The bat-wielding thug grumbled and left the warehouse.
Of course, my shitty luck once again shat on my head.
Why did it have to be the thug with the gun to be the one to stay behind?
There was no way he couldn't catch me going up when he was alert and standing so near the stairs. My only saving grace was that his gun was tucked at his waist and was not in his hand.
The thug was standing at the front door, looking outside. This was my only chance to take him down. If he turned, it might become ugly. Moreover, I had to do it as quickly and quietly as possible. If those two in the breakroom heard a disturbance or if the two guards patrolling saw me attacking their fellow low-life, it would be game over.
I crept behind him while crouched. I got up, and then my foot connected with the back of his knee, and my hand covered his mouth at the same time.
I locked him in a sleeper hold with the other hand. His arms flailed as he tried to free himself, but the pain he felt was too much, and with the blood flow cut off, his thinking was slowing.
He tried to go for the gun at his waist, but I kicked him in the ankle of the same leg I had hit previously. He lost his balance and missed the opportunity to grab his gun.
"Shh. Sleep. As long as you sleep, you will no longer feel any pain," I said in a low, soothing voice in his ear.
Soon, the struggle diminished, and he went limp.
I hauled his body and dumped it behind the reception desk. Next, I took his gun, a Glock, and tucked it at my waist.
No, I had no plan of going all Rambo. I just didn't want it used against me later, in case I got caught.
Next was his wallet.
Cash, More condoms, a receipt, and something sticky that I didn't want to investigate. I took the money, discarded the useless trash, and then threw the wallet behind the reception desk.
After looking outside on both the left and right sides, as if I were about to cross a road, I nodded to myself and crept back inside.
I climbed the stairs, each step slow and careful.
Stage 1 cleared. Let's start stage 2.
"Hey, rookie, where are you? I have arrived in the office," Felicia's voice came through my earpiece, crisp and smug.
"On the stairs. Didn't find the office on the ground floor," I whispered back.
"Not bad. You're on the right track. It's the first room at the top of the stairs from the garage. Hurry up," Felicia said and cut off the connection.
I reached the first floor, more of a mezzanine than a full second story. There were rooms on one side, lined up, and a roughly two-meter-wide overlook in front of the rooms. A few tool racks, tools, some parts, and occasional crates were lying on the overlook.
A thug sat in a chair by the railing, swaying slightly, watching the floor below. Probably. More likely, dreaming about pizza rolls.
I spotted my destination, which I had concluded from my conversation with Felicia. It was the last room on the line. Naturally.
Fuck.
I slowly made my way forward. A painful, screaming voice that was muffled by the door and outside noise came from the first door. An occasional whirring with sounds of something being cut, followed by more painful screams. My legs sped up without permission until I passed the room.
The door to the next room was ajar. Peeking inside, I found many beds with some snoring thugs on them. A few weapons were visible, kept near them, with a pistol resting on one of the side tables. I had no intention of disturbing the sweet dreams of such hard-working men, so once again, I sped up and passed the room.
The next room door was also open. It resembled a combination of a guard room and an armory. There was a table and a chair with a weapons rack. Most were melee weapons, such as machetes, knives, and bats, but there was also a gun on one of the racks.
The thug sitting in the chair in front of the room was likely the guard on duty. I peeked at him from behind a tool rack, and as I expected, he was already in dreamland.
I sneaked into the guard room and took my second gun. It was a Uzi this time. I took whatever bullets I could find and kept them in a small bag I had with me.
I looked around the room to find anything else valuable. In the table drawer, I found another Glock. Score. It was likely from the guy outside. He probably didn't even bother keeping his gun on him, likely thinking he wouldn't need it inside the warehouse.
Finder's keepers.
What? Felicia did say to take anything shiny. I was just being a good thief.
I even wanted to take the one on the side table in the room with the sleeping gangsters, but then I remembered I was not stealing from a poor sob's house but from a gang hideout where a misstep could be life-threatening.
So yeah, let's not tempt fate.
I quietly passed behind the sleeping guard, crouching, and made my way past the room. Finally, my destination was in sight.
I opened the office door and slipped inside.
The room resembled a typical den of a gang boss. There was a stylish leather chair that screamed that it was the boss's chair. In front of it was a desk with two more chairs, with quality worse than the boss's chair, as if to remind the difference between them to whoever sat in those chairs.
There was classy wallpaper on the walls in contrast to the graffiti I found outside. A few paintings adorned the walls. A bookshelf was lined with books, ledgers, showpieces, and occasional 'trophies'. The drawers in the file cabinet were open, with the utility locker door ajar. An old couch sat under the window.
The only occupant of the room was Felicia, who took a glance to check who had entered, and when she found it was me, she resumed whatever she was doing.
I walked curiously towards her and saw that she was trying to open the safe beside the boss's desk.
Realizing it was outside my expertise, I let the expert do her job. I looked around the room to find anything valuable, which turned out to be useless as my fellow thief had already thoroughly turned the room upside down to do the same. Not a shiny thing left in sight.
With nothing to do, I just spent the time watching Felicia work. Five minutes later, I heard a satisfying click as the safe opened.
Felicia turned to me, and we smiled at each other. Inside the safe, there were a few files, some cash, and a watch. Felicia bagged everything without looking.
"These files are the ones the client wants?" I asked, watching her put the files in her bag.
"Yep," she answered in a smug voice.
"How much are they worth?" I asked curiously.
"15 grand," she answered.
Damn. That's what I call a payday.
"Let's leave," she said after bagging everything.
Just as I was about to reply, we heard some shouting outside. We moved towards the door to listen.
"Rico. Rico. What the fuck are you doing sleeping on the job? Get up quickly. I think someone snuck in!"
"Huh? What? What happened?" came a confused voice — Rico, sounding groggy and busted.
"Check every room. They might be in one of those," the first voice ordered.
…Shit.
I realized that one of those thugs might have found one of the bodies.
I glanced at Felicia. No words — we both knew. We had to leave. Now.
"Where'd you come in from?" I asked Felicia.
"From there?" she answered, pointing towards the window.
I had no idea how she even managed to pull that off. I could only see a thin ledge going to the side.
She was right. Whatever method she used, currently, I was not capable of emulating it.
"You leave from here. I will find another way outside," I told her.
"What? Are you insane?" she whispered, angry — but her eyes betrayed worry.
"Listen. There is no time to argue. You leave from here. I promise I will find another way outside," I said with a tone of finality.
She hesitated. "You'd better meet me outside, rookie," she hissed, but her eyes looked more worried. With a final glare, she slipped through the window and onto the ledge. She moved onto the ledge while hugging the wall.
With one last look at her, I closed the window so that the thugs who came inside wouldn't think someone jumped outside.
Voices echoed outside the room. Close now. Too close. Sounded like they were done checking the other rooms, and this was next.
I quickly hid under the boss's desk. It was closed from the front. I wouldn't be visible from there. On the other side, the chair covered half of the open area. A jacket was hanging from the table, and I shifted it to cover more of the open side.
Perfect? No.
But good enough to bet my life on.
Footsteps closed in. Finally, three thugs entered the room.
If they found me, I had three guns and zero good plans.
I took a breath to calm my heart.
Stage 2 cleared. Let's start stage 3.
*********************
Mission: Motivate the Author
Description: Gather Power Stones to fuel the Author's energy reserves and push him into overdrive. Succeed, and he will deploy one extra chapter during the corresponding week.
Objective 1: 200 Power Stones in Week 1 (Completed)
Reward: One bonus chapter for the week (Delivered)
Objective 2: 220 Power Stones in Week 2
Reward: One bonus chapter for the week
Objective 3: 250 Power Stones in Week 3
Reward: One bonus chapter for the week
Objective 4: 300 Power Stones in Week 4
Reward: One bonus chapter for the week