Clank, clank, clank.

    Clonk, clonk, clonk.

    Clank, clank.

    Bzzzzzz. Brrr-bzzz.

    The sound of cheap lights cracked. The multiple booted steps was the only thing that was heard before the two guards were shot on the face, the only place with no protection on their bodies.

    The door to the office was opened with a kick instead of a key.

    And only emptiness received the group that had entered it. Because nothing was just like a month ago, when Chamán had been called there. All of it, now defaced, including the map and the locations of the Divisions.

    The first one to enter, of clearly a higher rank, looked at first just a normal agent from the western forces, but when his hand took a big, chunky heavy phone and dialed a number on it, part of the uniform below was visible. But it was all alright. Because all the group had patches of the Fourth Reich beneath their CIA soldier uniforms.

    "They know we are moving."