Chapter 6: Warehouse 4B**
The industrial docks of Newark smelled of sulfur, diesel fuel, and rotting wood. Warehouse 4B sat tucked between two decommissioned freight cranes, its corrugated steel walls rusting into the dark harbor water.
Leo kill-switched his bike fifty yards away and approached in the shadows.
The side entrance had been forced open, the padlock sliced cleanly with an angle grinder. Inside, the cavernous space was dimly lit by flickering sodium vapor lamps. Rows of massive wooden crates were stacked three stories high, covered in thick layers of undisturbed dust—except for a central aisle where fresh forklift tire tracks marked the concrete floor.
Leo stepped cautiously, his senses on high alert.
He approached the nearest open crate. Stenciled in faded black paint were the words: *VANCE LOGISTICS - RELIEF SUPPLIES - 2006*. But when Leo pulled back the rotting burlap sacking inside, there were no medical kits or emergency rations.
Inside were heavy steel canisters marked with industrial warning symbols: experimental lithium-composite batteries and prototype drone guidance systems.
"Looking for family heirlooms?" a rough voice echoed from the catwalk above.
Leo looked up. A silhouette stood on the rusted iron grating, holding a tactical flashlight aimed straight at Leo’s eyes.
"Who are you?" Leo demanded, shielding his eyes.
May you like
"I’m the reason your father’s brake lines failed in Ohio ten years ago," the man replied coldly.
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