The wind blew again—heavier this time.
The scent of engine oil.
And something faint.
Sweet. Metallic.
Rick:
"…Blood?"
777, suddenly alert:
"You smell that too?"
They both turned, eyes locked on the darkness beyond the shed.
Something had happened here.
And whatever it was—
It wasn't over.
Rick:
"Shit."
777:
"Things just got dark. Good thing we're ready. Let's check that mess."
Rick:
"Yeah. Fast."
They rushed to the scene.
Blood soaked the mud—dark, thick, freshly churned by recent movement.
Rain hadn't washed it away.
It was still warm.
Still wet.
But no body. No prints. No drag marks. Just the crimson smear left behind.
777:
"Now what? No body, just blood?"
Rick:
"Jennifer, send a sample collection drone."
Jennifer (AI):
"One fast-sample drone deployed."
Rick:
"We need to open up that shed. Now."
He paused. Calculating.
Rick:
"777, collect the blood samples. I'll crack open that son of a bitch."
777:
"Copy."
Jennifer:
"Drone hovering near you, 777."
777:
"Got it."
Rick:
"Deploy a drone with wireless data capture capabilities."
Jennifer:
"Sir, we don't have an all-in-one wireless capture drone at this location. Three separate units are available at the base of operation. The type you're requesting is stationed at our main base in Japan."
Rick:
"Send whatever's available."
Jennifer:
"Deploying DCWLV1, DCWLV2, and DCWLV3."
777:
"Sample loaded. Recalling the drone."
Jennifer:
"Acknowledged."
777:
"Alright, Fx-Spider. You're working with the DCWLV series now."
Rick:
"Got a question for you."
777:
"Hit me."
Rick:
"Why the hell don't we just use all-in-one drones?"
777:
"You're starting to sound stressed, man. But alright, listen up—
First off, all-in-one drones are bulky. Like, obnoxiously heavy. Takes a whole team to haul 'em around without making a scene.
Second, they're expensive as hell. If one breaks mid-mission, congrats—you just lost half your tech budget.
Third, they're a pain to repair. You fry one system, the whole thing goes down.
And last? Flexibility. Split modules mean we can deploy what we need, when we need, from where we need. Try moving a tank when a bike will do."
Rick didn't respond. He just nodded grimly.
777:
"Jennifer, deploy a multipurpose search drone. Scan for wired connections in and around the shed."
Jennifer:
"Copy that. Multipurpose search drone deployed from base of operation."
Jennifer:
"DCWLV series has arrived. Awaiting further orders."
Rick:
"Jennifer, scan for any wireless communications from the shed. Anything it might be talking to."
Jennifer:
"Roger that. Beginning scan."
777:
"Jennifer, how much time left on the drone I requested?"
Jennifer:
"Sir, the drone units are already active and scanning. Also—
Update: the shed is not communicating wirelessly with any external device."
Rick:
"Good. Jennifer, deploy a drone to jam wireless communications. No signals in, no signals out."
Jennifer:
"Negative. Jammer not required. DCWLV units are equipped with wireless communication interference protocols. Zone already isolated."
777:
"Guess you'll have to wait, Rick."
Rick:
"I know. I'll grab the laser cutter from the van in the meantime."
Jennifer:
"Update: only two physical cables are connected to the shed. One is a standard electrical power line. The other is a fiber optic cable."
777:
"…What? A fiber optic line?"
Rick:
"That's not standard for a storage shed."
777:
"Jennifer, guide me to the fiber optic cable."
Jennifer:
"Yes, sir. Follow the lead drone—designated DCWLV1."
[Scene: 777 trails behind the drone]
The small drone lit up its undercarriage LEDs—cold white beams slicing through the fog. Its tiny rotors hummed, steady and sharp like a scalpel gliding through silence.
Jennifer:
"DCWLV1 locked onto the cable route. Tracking source now."
The drone darted forward, weaving smoothly between rusted tools and overgrown grass. 777 followed closely, boots crunching against gravel and dried leaves.
It ducked under a twisted metal pipe, rose over a cracked wooden plank, and halted near the far left side of the shed—its light focusing on a section of ground disturbed and muddied.
A small rectangular junction box, half-buried under wet soil, blinked once.
Jennifer:
"Fiber optic line is routed through a sub-surface relay node. Connection appears stabilized and active. Estimated uplink integrity: 94%."
777, crouching near the box:
"…This isn't old hardware. This is military grade."
He gently brushed the mud away and traced the line with his glove.
777:
"This thing isn't just relaying data—it's pulling from something. Rick, we might be sitting on something serious."
Rick (over comm):
"You saying this shed has a backdoor to something bigger?"
777:
"Bigger than it should be. And if someone tried to erase evidence—this line could've been the exit route.
While you're at the van… bring me the case labeled FORAPC."
Rick:
"Roger that. On it."
[Scene: Rick at the van]
Rick popped the back doors of the armored van. Rain tapped on the metal like a countdown.
Inside, rows of gear glinted under dim LED strips—cases labeled, locked, and ready.
He scanned quickly.
FORAPC.
Third shelf. Black case. Heavy.
Rick grabbed it, slammed the doors shut, and sprinted back toward the shed—boots splashing through the mud.
[Scene: Rick returns to the fiber optic relay node]
Rick:
"Here's your briefcase, hacker boy."
He dropped the case beside 777 with a thud.
777, cracking it open without hesitation:
"Perfect. Time to plug in."
He pulled out a sleek black box—no labels, no lights, no branding. Just matte finish, smooth edges, and a few ports that looked too advanced for standard tech.
Rick, raising an eyebrow:
"What's that thing supposed to do?"
777, smirking:
"It listens… and remembers everything the shed wants to forget."
He popped open a small compartment on the side and took out two fiber couplers.
One snap—clean cut through the fiber optic line.
No hesitation.
He connected one end of the cut fiber to the left port of the black box.
Click.
Then the other half to the right port.
Click.
The black box hummed softly—almost like it had just taken a breath.
Jennifer:
"Foreign connection detected. Passive intercept protocol initiated."
777:
"She's listening now."
Rick:
"And what are we hoping she hears?"
777:
"Secrets."
He stood up, wiping mud from his gloves, watching the lights on his wristband sync with the device.
777:
"If someone was sending data through this cable… this box will reconstruct the fragments."
Jennifer:
"Estimated time until initial packet recovery: three minutes."
Rick:
"Good. Because I have a really bad feeling about what's inside that shed."
He cracked his knuckles. Took one slow breath.
Rick:
"Jennifer, isolate the shed. Cut it off from the outside. Power. Net. Everything."
Jennifer:
"Affirmative. The shed is now completely disconnected."
No more signals. No more escape routes. Just steel, secrets, and the sound of the rain.
Rick:
"Perfect."
He stepped forward, pulling the laser cutter from its holster like it was a sword from a sheath.
Rick (under his breath):
"Alright… time to cut this shit open."
The red beam flicked on—humming with heat, slicing the air as it made contact with the door's edge. Sparks flew.
777 watched from behind, silent, the black box still collecting data as the glow from the cut cast shadows across his face.
Jennifer:
"Warning. Internal temperature rising. Something inside is responding."
777:
"…Oh, we just poked something alive."
Rick:
"Too late now."
The final slice hit the latch.
CLANK.
He kicked the door open.
And the darkness inside stared back.
What's Actually Happening Here:
The shed has a fiber optic cable, which is super fast and usually used to transfer important data.
777 suspects someone used that cable to send out info secretly—maybe something shady or top secret.
He cuts the cable and connects it to a black box (from the FORAPC case) that acts like a spy tool—its job is to listen in, reconstruct past data transfers, and maybe even hack into what was being sent or received.
When Jennifer (their AI system) says "Passive intercept protocol initiated," it means the black box is quietly watching the data stream like a ninja—not interfering, just copying and decoding anything it finds.
777 is basically saying: "If this shed was used to send out secrets, my little black box is gonna snatch those receipts and piece the puzzle back together."
And Jennifer says it'll take about three minutes to start pulling up that data.
Rick, sensing the vibes are off, is like: "Cool, but I swear this place is cursed and something's inside that damn shed."
and note That I am taking 1 day off