[b][u]Hawthorne, Nevada[/u][/b]

"Yeah, yeah - I've got the money." Michael sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. Unceremoniously rifling around, he extracted a hefty bundle of crisp, twenty dollar bills - and shoved it into the tan-uniformed guard's hand, rifle slung across his back. The man pulled the rubber band holding the bundle together away, rifling through them - and nodded, handing half to his partner before stepping out of the way. 

"Looks good to me. You ever think about telling us [i]why[/i] we’re getting these bonuses?” The guard said. His face was hidden behind a balaclava, but the smugness dripping from every word told Mike that he was almost definitely wearing a shit-eating grin.

[i]Asshole.[/i]

“So you don’t ask questions.” Mike snapped back, pushing his way past him and into the concrete hallway beyond., past the label of “2073” above him. He felt like a weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders - as often as the conmtractors needled them, he doubted they had any idea why he was actually here. In this post-visitation world, and especially with the EALN being an active problem, most of the under-the-table bullshit that went on was the black market sale of military-grade munitions, not a quartermaster making his way down dry, poorly lit concrete hallways at hours so unholy it was a wonder he could even stay awake.

Michael hated it. He hated sneaking around, he hated being forced to bribe corporate soldiers of fortune, and he hated being constantly afraid that someone would catch him in the act and put a bullet through his brain after a short, unceremonious trial. Legally speaking, he did deserve it - but the scumbags that built the place ‘deserved’ it far more than he did. 

Scanning his way past another, final airlock, he patiently waited as the blast door ahead of him [i]creaked[/i] open on its hinges, groaning loudly thanks to years of rust and improper maintenance. He stepped inside, and after a few moments of his eyes adjusting to the darkness, was greeted with a chamber full of artillery shells - stacks upon stacks of 155mm howitzer ammunition, piled high from the floor to the ceiling in huge wooden crates packed with plenty of cushioning.

He cautiously made his way over to one of the crates, checking to make sure that the airclock had rolled shut behind him before detaching a small satchel from his hip. 

Wires, a small block of C4, a blasting cap...

He didn’t have much time before the guards changed shift, and so, quietly bending over the crate, he set to work. Setting the explosive was a relatively simple matter for a EOD expert - but time was of the essence, so he quickly got to work, gingerly setting the plastic explosive into place before connecting the detonator; a tiny little electronic thing with dozens of small wires - and a tiny computerized clock - hidden inside.

The minutes rolled past without any interference from the outside, his work undisturbed by not a single sound aside from the muffled droning of the bunker’s ventilation fans, and then...

He was done.

Shifting the cushioning back into place over the tiny charge, he slid the crate’s lid closed, stuffed his things back into the satchel - and turned, making his way back outside, through the airlock.

“What were you doing in th-” one of the guards began.

“Nothing exciting.” Michael shrugged, pausing for only a moment. “Just making sure everything’s in the right place, this time.” He explained, continuing down the paved path ahead of him without so much as turning around to speak to them.

Minutes later, he was in his truck, driving quietly down the ‘359 in the dead of the quiet Nevada night, north toward Hawthorne. He whistled a quiet tune to himself, near-silently enjoying the drive until he was suddenly interrupted by the beeping of his watch. 

[i]3:30 AM[/i], it read. Suddenly, he pulled his truck to the side of the road, stomping on the breaks as he dropped down into a bracing position, covering the back of a dull neck. 

First came the sound of a dull thud, the rush of air path his vehicle - and the sound of shattering safety glass, falling onto the backs of his hands. 

Daring to push himself upward, Michael glanced back, over his shoulder - and laid eyes upon the towering, orange mushroom cloud that lit up the Nevada sky.