The air in the bunker was thick with a chemical haze and the metallic tang of spent brass. As Zane stepped over the threshold of the first partitioned area, his boots crunched on glass.
The bunker wasn't a series of concrete rooms but a massive, hollowed-out expanse divided by thin, prefabricated light walls that hummed with the vibration of heavy machinery. Through the green-tinted HUD of his goggles, the world was a strobe of muzzle flashes and falling bodies.
The first room they breached was a sprawling production floor where rows of tables were piled high with mounds of drugs and open cartons overflowing with stacks of dollar bills. The workers—men and women alike—were nearly naked, stripped down to their underwear to ensure they couldn't stash a single gram of product or a stray hundred-dollar bill.
"Federal agents! Get down!" Aiden's voice boomed over the gunfire, but the response was desperate, panicked movements.
