The warehouse doors groaned open.
Cold air rushed in first, carrying the smell before anything else reached them.
Blood.Old metal.Concrete dust.Cordite.
One of the officers stopped just inside the threshold, hand lifting instinctively to his mouth.
"…holy shit."
Lights snapped on one by one, harsh white fluorescence flooding the main floor.
Bodies.
Too many to count at first glance.
Men sprawled where they had fallen—some near the entrance, some deeper inside, some piled where they had tried to regroup. Blood smeared the concrete in wide arcs and dark pools, footprints tracked through it in overlapping directions. Shell casings littered the floor, scattered but deliberate, like punctuation marks left behind by someone who knew exactly where to stand.
An officer stepped forward carefully, his boot sticking slightly as he lifted it.
"No survivors," another voice said, lower, already resigned.
They moved deeper.
