Ian mouthed the count down. One. Two. Three.

As he finished mouthing the count, Anders swept through their makeshift door. Carefully watching his footing as he passed over the loose bricks and plaster littering their chosen entryway. He raised his gun, quickly pivoting from left to right as he’d done hundreds of times over the years. Ian immediately followed, having to duck his head where Anders had not. Ian paced close behind as they began their sweep, their eyes adjusting to the dim sunlit interior.

In every direction, they saw demolished crates, rotting piles of lumber, telltale signs of a rat infestation, and mounds of other unidentifiable detritus. A mass of deformed metal in the center of the expansive room. Scorch marks and severe burns surrounded the lump. Ian had to assume that it had once been a pallet jack, although now it was more like a failed attempt at modern art. All this created an obstacle course that forced the pair to move around the perimeter of the room.

Overhead a series of grated catwalks with corroded metal railings crisscrossed the entire ceiling. The whole apparatus hung in the air suspended by thick steel cables. A few of the cables had failed, causing some sections of the grating to dangle precariously.

They headed towards the one-story square office structure on the far side. A building within a building, the office space was nestled flush against the corner of the warehouse. A set of stairs ran along one side that led up to the catwalks above.

As they neared the offices, Anders pointed with his elbow and a jerk of his chin towards the wall next to him. Ian felt puzzled by this until he noticed that the smaller holes in the wall didn’t match the rest of the deterioration. They were bullet holes. And the stains on the ground were definitely dried patches of blood; there was no mistaking that rusty-red color.

Must’ve been one hell of a fight. How did we not get a 9-1-1 call on this? Ian wondered.

So far there were no bodies, which was surprising judging by the clear intensity of the fight. Footprints were everywhere on the grit covered floor. Ian noted more bullet holes in the walls as they drew closer to the office. Etched in the concrete floor were deep gouges, like they’d come from a blade of some kind. The best on-the-fly assessment that he could come up with was that a gunfight had broken out and that had then devolved into a chainsaw fight.

Focus, Ian! He chastised himself as they reached the double traffic doors. They looked like they belonged in the back of grocery store, with their chipped black paint and worn steel kick plates.

Anders drew up to the left side and Ian took the right. After casting a quick glance through the porthole window on his side, Anders slid back and shook his head, indicating that he couldn’t see into the pitch-black space. The pair held a silent conversation of head nods and hand motions. Anders kept signaling that he was ready to move into the offices, but Ian kept waving him off.

Ian couldn’t say why, but he didn’t want to step into that office. He could sense Anders’ frustration with him. The veteran detective let out a muffled but exasperated sigh, holding up three fingers in a countdown while Ian was lost in his thoughts.

There is something more to all of this… Ian’s mind raced, trying to see the pattern in the chaos. His gaze drifted across the room, searching for the source of his apprehension.

Anders dropped one of his fingers, holding up the peace symbol now.

Ian’s eyes traveled along the trail of footprints that they had made in the dust a few moments ago.

Anders dropped another finger, and had Ian been paying attention to his partner, he might have been offended by the one remaining.

At last Ian saw it, and his eyes went wide. There were a series of elephantine tracks amidst their own in the dust behind them. He hadn’t noticed them right off because they were too far apart, too alien, but looking from the office doors it became a clear trail. Ian reached out to stop his partner, but Anders had already dropped his last finger and kicked the door open.

“D.C. POLICE!” Anders shouted.

“WAIT!” Ian cried.

The doors came flying back and smacked into Anders and Ian. The pair went skidding in opposite directions as a section of the wall came down. Ian landed on his back with every trace of air forced out of his lungs. Sounds of desperate gasping spilled from his lips. His vision blurred around the edges as he fought to breathe.

Survival instincts took over, arresting control and forcing Ian’s body to breathe. His mind cleared with each breath, affording him the luxury of asking questions. And it only had one for him, fight or flight?

He settled on fight.