[CENTER][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/314e05be-6f69-47ee-9543-5bbc310ccd84.jpg[/img][/CENTER] [center][h1][color=#7D5CB3]Wulde Riddenhouse[/color][/h1][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Location: [/b][/color] Warehouse Number Twelve [color=#812442][b]Time: [/b][/color] Night[/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Interactions: N/A[/b][/color] n/a [color=#812442][b]Mentions: N/A[/b][/color] n/a[/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] The wardens noted the rising tendrils of smoke from several blocks away, but only when they drew close enough to see the bay doors could they tell that it issued from their warehouse. [color=#00ced1]”Shit,”[/color] grumbled Barton. [color=#ffd700] “Not unless they were storing dry dung,” [/color] Wulde rejoined as he rolled down the window to peer at the building with his optics. [color=#ffd700] “Stop the truck so I can get a better look.”[/color] [color=#00ced1]”Smartass,”[/color] muttered the other Warden, even while he complied. Wulde set the binoculars to thermal. The smoke itself lit up the display, unsurprisingly, obscuring nearly everything else. He could just make out a faint heat source somewhere behind its glowing cloud. The hot spot appeared to be ground level, and in the middle of the floor. Also, there was a tiny, intense spot a few feet above it, probably a light bulb. An insurance fraud investigator by day, Wulde had seen arson attempts before. If whoever started this fire had wished to burn down the building, then they hadn’t done it right. More likely, they were trying to burn something small inside. [color=#ffd700] “Crew Van, you there?” [/color] Wulde called out, only moving a finger around the optics’ controls as he took a picture. [color=#b0c24a] “What is it, Pickup?” [/color] came a voice from the speaker in the dashboard behind him. The Wardens hadn’t bothered to come up with more imaginative callsigns before heading out. [color=#ffd700] “We have eyes on the back entrance, the loading dock”[/color] Wulde reported. [color=#ffd700] “No vehicles present, no detectable movement inside or out. One of the bay doors is open, and smoke is exiting. Whatever fire might have caused it seems to have already burned out. Over.” [/color] There was a pause that dragged on for a couple minutes until the dashboard speaker sounded once more: [color=#b0c24a]”Pickup, this is Crew Van. You’re clear to enter as long as you think it’s safe. Over.”[/color] Wulde watched the smoke wafting out of the warehouse and hesitated. [color=#ffd700] “You have oxygen in that medical kit?”[/color] [color=#b0c24a]”Roger, it’s a small unit with about a fifteen minute supply. You want to borrow it?”[/color] [color=#ffd700]”Correct. Charlie Oscar doesn’t just stand for Commanding Officer, you know. I’m on my way to you. Out.”[/color] ------------------------------------------------------------------------- About ten minutes later, Wulde stood at the bay door, sweeping a pencil of light through the smoky interior with the lamp mounted on his shotgun. As he was about to enter a structure of dubious integrity, he wore a hard hat, and beneath that, an oddly medieval-looking iron mail coif, meant to offer magical as well as physical protection. He thought it made him look like a character from [i]Monty Python and the Holy Grail.[/i] In yet another sacrifice of style to utility, he wore his ballistic vest over his trench coat, so that he could attach things like his bodycam to it. About his neck hung the oxygen mask. A knapsack carried other gear, as well, including lockpicking tools. Having cleared the inside of the warehouse as best he could, he lowered rock-salt-lensed goggles over his eyes, to shield them among other things from the irritating smoke. He then keyed his communicator. [color=#ffd700]”Crew Van, this is Riddenhouse,”[/color] he announced, using his personal callsign now that he was no longer transmitting from Barton’s truck. [color=#ffd700]”I’m going in.”[/color]