Scene 1: Open Plan Office

  Warehouse 4 was vast, echoing, and smelled of dead fish and abandoned dreams. Dust motes danced in the beams of light cutting through the cracked skylights.

  "Welcome to the new Headquarters," I announced, my voice bouncing off the corrugated metal walls.

  Daniel stood in the center, looking around with sheer horror. He pulled a silk Hermès handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it firmly over his nose and mouth. "It... it has an ambiance," Daniel muffled through the silk. "Sort of... 'Post-Apocalyptic Depression'. Is that asbestos falling from the ceiling? My lungs are insured for two million dollars, Solomon. Two. Million."

  "It’s not asbestos, it’s 'Industrial Charm'," I corrected him, taking a piece of chalk. I began drawing lines on the dirty concrete floor.

  "Daniel, this square here," I drew a box around a pile of old pallets. "This is the Executive Lounge. Your job is to clear the... organic matter."

  "Organic matter?" Daniel pointed a trembling finger at a dried rat carcass. "That’s a dead rat! It’s mummified! It’s staring at me!"

  "Think of it as the previous tenant," I said dryly. "Evict him."

  I pointed to Gara, who was eyeing the copper wiring in the walls with a hungry look. "Gara, stop calculating the scrap value of the walls. This is the Logistics Hub. I want the car parked there, facing the exit. Create a barricade with those crates. If we get raided, I want cover, not a coffin."

  "And Benny?" Daniel whined, poking the dead rat with a broom handle, looking ready to vomit. "What does he do? Why is he sleeping?"

  We looked at Benny. The giant had found a stack of cardboard boxes, curled up on them, and was already snoring. "Benny is the Chief of Security," I said. "He is conserving energy. Unlike you, who is wasting calories complaining. Sweep, Daniel. Consider it cross-training for your upper body."

  Daniel grumbled, sweeping the dust with the enthusiasm of a prisoner of war. "I’m a Chief Relationship Officer... I shouldn't be sweeping rat poop... I’m going to call HR..."

  Scene 2: Unboxing

  An hour later, the sound of the Cadillac’s engine announced Gara’s return from the black market. He backed the car into the warehouse. The trunk popped open, revealing heavy duffel bags.

  "Christmas came early, boys!" Gara grinned, unzipping the bags.

  He tossed a heavy, black weapon to Daniel. The fashionista caught it caught it, nearly dropping it on his foot. "Whoa," Daniel’s eyes widened. "It’s... heavy. What is it?"

  "AA-12 Auto Shotgun," I explained, picking up a drum magazine. "It fires 300 rounds per minute. No aiming required. You just point it in the general direction of the problem and hold the trigger until the problem disappears."

  Daniel held the gun, posing like an action hero. "So... I’m the terminator? I like it. It matches my boots." He aimed at a stack of empty oil drums. "Should I test it? Just one little bang?"

  "NO!" I snapped.

  Daniel froze, finger on the trigger.

  "Do you know how much a 12-gauge slug costs?" I walked over and pushed the barrel down. "Two dollars. You hold that trigger for three seconds, you burn through $60. That is a steak dinner. Are you going to shoot a steak dinner at a wall?" I glared at him. "Also, gunfire attracts the Port Authority. Unless you want to explain your 'startup' to the SWAT team, keep the safety ON."

  Gara handed Benny his gear. No gun. Just a pair of terrifying Knuckle Dusters reinforced with tungsten, and a heavy Kevlar vest that looked like it was made for a bear. Benny put on the vest. It was tight. He flexed, and the velcro strained. "Tight," Benny grumbled. Then he punched his palm with the knuckles. CLANG. "Good."

  I took my own purchase. A Sig Sauer P226 with a suppressor. Simple. Reliable. Professional.

  "Alright," I clapped my hands. "Inventory check complete. Now we—"

  PENG!

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  A high-pitched crack echoed through the warehouse. The bottle of water Gara was holding in his hand exploded. Water and plastic shards sprayed into his face.

  For a split second, nobody moved. We just stared at Gara’s wet, shocked face.

  Scene 3: The Cold Call

  "COVER!" I screamed, diving behind a concrete pillar.

  "Sniper!" Gara yelped, scrambling over the hood of the Cadillac, sliding to the other side. "He shot my water! He shot my water!"

  "My dad was right! Crime is dangerous!" Daniel shrieked, clutching the shotgun and diving behind a thick wooden crate.

  Daniel's Internal Monologue: As he curled into a ball, the smell of dust and old grease filled Daniel's nose. Tears pricked his eyes. Why? Why did I do this? He remembered his bedroom at the mansion. The Egyptian cotton sheets. The temperature-controlled air conditioning. The chef who made him avocado toast at 10 AM. I could be watching Netflix right now, Daniel thought, hugging the cold shotgun. I could be getting a hot stone massage. Instead, I’m hugging a crate of rusty nails, waiting to get shot by a maniac. I’m an idiot. A handsome, dead idiot.

  Gara's Internal Monologue: Gara wasn't thinking about his life. He was looking at his car. From his hiding spot, he could see the Cadillac’s rear bumper exposed. Oh god, Gara hyperventilated. If a bullet hits the fuel tank... boom. If it hits the paint... $500 for a respray. If it hits the leather seats... I can't replace those! They’re vintage! He started mentally calculating the insurance claim. Coverage: Fire, Theft, Acts of God. Does 'Acts of Sniper' count as an Act of God? I need to check the policy fine print!

  Solomon's Analysis: I pressed my back against the pillar. My heart was beating fast, but my mind was cold. I looked at the floor where the bullet had struck. It had punched through the concrete, leaving a small crater. No ricochet. Muzzle velocity: High. Entry angle: Steep, approximately 45 degrees. Sound Lag: I heard the impact before the crack of the rifle. That meant supersonic ammunition. Distance: At least 50 meters. Likely from the top of the port crane across the channel. Weapon: Based on the destruction of the water bottle and the concrete... .338 Lapua Magnum. Or a custom modification. Conclusion: This is not a street thug. This is a military-grade specialist.

  "Daniel! Move!" I roared, seeing the wood splinter near Daniel’s head. "Wood doesn't stop rifle rounds! Get behind the engine block! Benny! Get low!"

  Benny stood in the open. He was looking up at the skylight. Suddenly, a tiny glint of light flashed in the distance. A reflection on a scope. Benny didn't think. His body moved on pure instinct. He tilted his head to the left.

  ZZZIP.

  A bullet sliced the air where his ear had been a millisecond ago. It buried itself in a steel beam with a spark. Benny blinked. He looked at the hole in the steel. He hadn't seen the bullet. He had felt the intent. The killing intent. "Fast fly," Benny mumbled, unimpressed. He slowly shambled behind a stack of steel beams.

  We were pinned. My phone rang. The ringtone echoed in the silent warehouse. Unknown Number.

  I answered. "Aegis Urban Solutions, CEO speaking."

  "Hello!" The cheerful voice of Niko filled my ear. "Service request update! I seem to have missed the head. The wind off the harbor is tricky today. Lots of updraft. Did you know wind speed can affect a bullet’s trajectory by 5 inches at this distance?"

  I signaled to Gara. Flank left. Gara shook his head violently, mouthing: No way! My car is safer!

  "Niko," I said calmly into the phone. "You call yourself a professional?"

  "Excuse me?" Niko sounded offended. "I was top of my class in the Sayeret! I can hit a falafel from 500 meters!"

  "You missed a stationary target standing in an open room," I sneered, checking the bullet hole in the floor again. "You hit a water bottle. My mechanic is wet, but he’s not dead. For twenty thousand dollars, Tommy got ripped off. I would demand a refund."

  There was a silence on the other line. The cheerful tone vanished.

  "I missed on purpose," Niko snapped. "It was a warning shot. Psychological warfare. To induce fear."

  "It induced moisture," I countered coldly. "And frankly, your trivia is boring. Wind speed? Please. That’s Amateur Hour. A real pro adjusts for the Coriolis effect."

  "I KNOW about the Coriolis effect!" Niko shouted. BANG! Another shot tore through the crate Daniel was hiding behind. Daniel squealed like a piglet.

  "You’re making me angry, suit-man," Niko growled. "I was going to make it quick. Now? I’m going to shoot your kneecaps off. One by one. Starting with the big idiot in the Prada jacket."

  "Daniel," I covered the mic and whispered to the trembling giant. "He’s targeting you. Stay down." Then I spoke back into the phone. "Come and try, Niko. But be careful. We just opened for business. And we have a very aggressive return policy."

  I hung up.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! Three shots in rapid succession. Niko wasn't playing anymore. He was pissed.

  I looked at my team. Daniel was crying about his life choices. Gara was praying for his car. But Benny... Benny was looking at a heavy iron crowbar on the floor. He weighed it in his hand.

  "Benny," I whispered. "Can you throw?" Benny nodded. "Throw... yes."

  "Good," I adjusted my glasses. "Time to bring the bird down."

  End of Chapter 9

  Welcome to the Seed Round... where the dividends are paid in lead.

  Solomon Gats just moved into his new HQ, but Niko (our favorite hummus-loving assassin) decided to send a "housewarming gift" from 150 meters away.

  Question for you: If a sniper is pinning you down, do you: A) Cry like Daniel ($2M insured lungs). B) Pray for your car like Gara. C) Think about the ROI of every bullet like Solomon.

  ?? Unlock the Executive Vault

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  Copyright ? 2026 by Gats VII. All rights reserved. This story is officially published only on Royal Road, Scribble Hub, and Patreon. If you are reading this elsewhere, it has been stolen.