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Never have you explored that smaller wooden door in Señor's office. You had your suspicions, yes, but you were never certain of what laid beyond it. You creep over to the exit, carefully evading the growing puddles of blood staining the floor. The last thing you needed during your escape was trying to explain that much blood on your shoes. You do not enjoy killing; it is merely a chore like any other, and you therefore do not see the reason to cause conflict before news spreads of the acts you just committed.

Trying the handle, you cannot cause the door to open. The lock is sturdy, but it does not look too difficult to pick. You remove a bobby pin and the knife from your pocket. Ear against the door, you slide the pin into the fixture, noting the point where the tumblers click. Once the pin is fully inserted, you inject the knife, slowly applying torque, twisting the lock. Continuing to twist, you fiddle with the pin, sliding it in and out slightly, rotating it left and right, pushing it up and down, trying all angles. Eventually, the mechanism clicks loudly, and the knife rotates quickly, opening the lock completely.

Slowly, you open the door. Creaking, it reveals a dark, dry concrete staircase, untouched by outside light sources. A wooden railing lines the left wall, descending into the invisible abyss below, but nothing else decorated the cement tunnel. You presumed that it was built before the war, like much of the headquarters, but there was no way to be sure. You were dealing with Zetas, after all.

Turning on the light in your PIP-Boy 3000, you plunge, taking the first step down.

[TO BE CONTINUED]