Red-Red

Red-Red

Aaron and Shane moved cautiously through the warehouse, guns drawn. The air was thick with dust, every step kicking up faint clouds that swirled in the dim light. Rust coated the old steel beams, and the scent of mildew clung to the air, mixing with something metallic—probably dried blood from long ago.

Aaron checked his laptop again, brows furrowing. This had to be the place. The signal had led them here. But the building was completely empty.

Shane moved beside him, eyes scanning every shadow. “Something’s off,” he muttered.

Aaron nodded but kept walking, his grip tightening around his gun. The warehouse had the right setup—secluded, large enough to hide multiple people, and yet, there was nothing. No crates, no equipment, not even the faintest noise of movement. If someone had been here, they were long gone.

Shane glanced at him. “You’re sure about this place?”

Aaron exhaled sharply. “The coordinates led us here.” He tapped at his laptop screen, but the signal was flickering now, as if it had been bouncing between multiple locations. A deliberate misdirection.

Shane cursed under his breath. “I hate tech.”

They kept moving, checking every corner, but it was just more of the same—dusty floors, rusted beams, remnants of a past long abandoned. Aaron’s chest tightened with frustration.

Then, something creaked.

Both men froze.

Shane’s fingers curled around his gun, eyes darting toward the sound.

A second later, silence.

Aaron swallowed, suddenly aware of how exposed they were. The open space, the lack of cover—it was too easy for an ambush.

Another noise. Closer this time.

Aaron exchanged a glance with Shane.

Something was here.

Or worse—someone was watching.

"I don't like this." Aaron whispered. "I don't like this at all."

Aaron and Shane split up, moving carefully through opposite sides of the warehouse. Every step echoed, making it impossible to tell if they were truly alone.

Aaron swept his flashlight over the walls, the peeling paint and rusted metal adding to the eerie silence. He checked behind old crates, pushed open a half-rotted door, and found nothing but dust and broken furniture. His laptop flickered again, the signal still hovering but giving him no clear read.

Shane’s voice crackled lowly through the earpiece. “Anything?”

Aaron sighed. “No. You?”

“Nothing but a rat the size of my fist.”

Aaron moved deeper into the building, stepping over shattered glass. It didn’t make sense. If someone had been using this place, there’d be signs—trash, footprints, equipment. Instead, it was as if the warehouse had been deserted for years.

Shane met him back at the center of the room, shaking his head. “Dead end.”

Aaron ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “No way. The signal led here. We’re missing something.”

Shane exhaled through his nose, gripping his gun. “Or we walked into a setup.”

Aaron’s stomach twisted at the thought. If this was a trap, it was a damn good one. His laptop was still glitching, the signal bouncing, almost like—

His thoughts were cut short by a sudden crash.

Shane barely had time to react before two masked men lunged from the shadows.

The first slammed into Shane, driving him back, while the second swung at him with a knife. Shane dodged, but the man was fast. Too fast.

Aaron’s pulse spiked.

"Oh God" He whispered.

Shane barely managed to block the first hit, but the second attacker was on him in seconds, slamming him hard against a metal beam. His gun clattered to the ground.

The masked man drove a fist into his ribs, knocking the air out of him. Shane gritted his teeth and retaliated, throwing an elbow into the attacker’s gut. The man staggered but didn’t go down.

Aaron rushed forward, but the second man turned on him, swinging a knife. Aaron barely dodged, stumbling back. His heart pounded as he reached for his gun—too slow. The attacker lunged.

Aaron did the only thing he could—grabbed a steel pipe from the ground and swung. The metal cracked against the man’s side, making him grunt in pain.

Shane tackled the other guy, forcing him back, but the attacker fought viciously. The fight was brutal, fast, and dirty—no wasted movements, just survival.

Aaron turned just as his opponent charged again. He ducked, twisted, and caught the edge of the man’s mask. Without thinking, he yanked it off.

His breath caught.

A tattoo. Inked in dark red on the man’s neck. A familiar, jagged design.

Red Eye.

Aaron’s eyes widened in recognition. This was the guy from the SUV.

The attacker snarled and surged forward. Aaron reacted instinctively, clawing at his face. His nails scraped skin, drawing blood.

The man reeled back with a curse, clutching his cheek.

Shane shoved his own attacker away and grabbed Aaron’s arm, yanking him up. The masked men were already recovering, their fury unmistakable.

Shane didn’t hesitate.

“Run,” he whispered.

Aaron didn’t argue. They bolted for the exit.

Boots pounded against the warehouse floor as Shane and Aaron sprinted toward the exit. The two attackers recovered fast, their heavy footfalls closing in behind them.

Aaron risked a glance back. The redhead he’d scratched was right on their heels, face twisted in fury, blood streaking down his cheek.

They burst through the rusted door and into the open night air. Shane veered left, dragging Aaron with him as gunfire erupted behind them. Bullets pinged off metal, ricocheting against the walls.

They kept running, darting between abandoned crates and machinery. Finally, after rounding a corner, Shane yanked Aaron into the shadows of a loading dock.

Panting, they pressed against the wall, listening. Footsteps slowed, then stopped. The men weren’t following.

Aaron caught his breath, his pulse still racing. “Why aren’t they chasing us?”

Shane smirked despite the situation. “Guess you scared Red-Red off.”

Aaron blinked. “What?”

Shane wiped sweat from his brow, grinning. “Redhead. Red Eye tattoo. Red-Red. Get it?”

Aaron stared at him, still catching his breath. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Shane chuckled but then his expression hardened. “They wanted us here.”

Aaron’s stomach sank. “What?”

Shane’s jaw clenched. “This was a distraction. There was nothing in that warehouse. No hostages. No setup. Just us, wasting time.”

Aaron felt the pieces clicking together, dread creeping up his spine. His mind shot to the others—Hera, Thompson, the General.

He looked at Shane, alarm clear in his voice.

“Which means…”

Shane’s expression darkened. “The General and Hera.”

They exchanged one final look before shoving off the wall and bolting back toward the van.