Here's where shit gets confusing.

I know it'll get confusing, because I was confused about what the fuck was happening for ages, and I was right in the middle of it. I made statements to police from more than just Celestria. I poured over all the files and recordings in the months afterward, my own statements, Markro's Z11's, the receptionist's, the guards, and more. I looked over the security footage and Halo-Core data, and assisted Z11 in analysing results of materials brought in from who-the-hell-knows-where. And still yet despite all this, I hadn't the foggiest idea what happened, starting from that instant. Now, however, I think I understand enough to at least begin to sort it all out for you, and hopefully, when it's written down, it will make sense.

So the madness truly begins with Vayn Baron's disappearing into the vault. He's got the info he needs to get the package from Markro's vault, got all the passes to get there, and nobody's going to stop him because, hey, he's an employee. He's too smart for that. He'll have people all the way down in the depths, spread out for efficiency, brought in and worked into the company weeks in advance, maybe even months, and now they're primed and waiting. We're stuck behind the reception desk, they energy walls in place meant to keep us out doing their fine job, but failing to prevent the theft behind their eyes. Z11 could pull whatever magic hyperadrenaline spy shit she wanted, but we weren't getting through without a miracle.

However, despite what everyone says, miracles do sometimes happen, emerging in a blaze of white holy light. For us, the white, holy lights, were the headlights of the truck barrelling towards the front of the building.

Z11 turned, processed, and flung herself to the side before I'd registered the change in light. My shadow grew crisper on the energy wall in front of me, and that did the trick. Seeing the receptionist duck down behind the desk kick-started all my self-preservation instincts. I followed Z11 to the side, and Markro dived the other way.

The truck bounced up the Ochre Vault steps on its antigrav cushion. The belly of the beast reared up like a howling biomech and smashed through the building's front. Glass shattered like dreams and the ripped metal of the building's front speared across the lobby. The machine dropped onto the floor and cracked the tiled mosaic in a thousand jagged scars before momentum carried it across the room to the desk, where it ripped away the energy wall like paper, crumpling the desk against the far wall. The truck punched its face into the wall, though the cab remained in the lobby. Then, engine still roaring and chucking out thick black smoke, its lights failed and the truck came to a halt.

I never found out what happened to the receptionist, though I hope she died quickly.

Smoke and dust choked us in thick, billowing clouds, and particles of glass stung my eyes. I coughed, wheezed, wanted to puke. My head hurt and I saw stars. Couldn't think straight.

Z11 was up with her gun trained on the driver's door in seconds, though. She ran behind the remains of the far end of the desk, took up a position, and waited for the door to open a crack. She saw the back of the vehicle opening a second later. 'Xayne!'

I stumbled to my feet through the dirt, woozy and disoriented. I tipped over to my left on unsteady feet, and that saved me from a shot to the stomach. I fired back as lights danced around my head and collapsed drunkenly at Z11's feet. 'Thanks,' I wheezed.

Z11 dropped behind the desk's end. 'Not Red Rose,' she hissed as she took out the driver before throwing herself back into hiding.

'How...' I jerked my arm into safety as a shot scorched by my fingers. 'How'dyu know?'

'They're already inside, stupid.' She shot back. Slapped me backhanded across my cheek and drew blood. 'Wake up!'

I have to admit, that did it. That slap snapped me out of my stupor and got me into fighting gear again. I turned myself around and peered out at the situation.

A flood of figures, no more than silhouettes in the settling dust and gas. The hem of their robes covering tough boots that crunched the glass as they moved. They kept pouring from the truck, spreading out, professional. On both sides.

Both sides. 'Markro!' I called out. No reply save the odd wide shot and a scream. Alive, at least for now.

'Plans?'

'Wait for backup,' Z11 replied. We covered our heads as a shot hit the desk and shrapnel ripped up towards our faces. I shot through the fresh hole and took out a figure's leg. Another filled his space through the gloom.

'What backup?'

I didn't have time to answer. Doors behind us opened and an armada of men in black combat gear marched through, guns at the ready. That's when it turned into pandemonium.

I've been in firefights before, as you know, but you never getting used to them. The smell of blood and the chicken-like tang of burning human flesh gets to you quicker than you'd think. Even in the midst of the panic, stumbling back on my ass, firing blindly past the legs of the Ochre Vault security, I could smell it working its way to my nose. I saw its tendril fingers searching through the bodies for me. I think I attract the smell of cooking meat somehow.

And in the carnage, your mind works differently, and you focus on the most minute, insignificant, stupid details. I remember hearing about a woman who survived a highway smash, and her last thought as her kar tumbled off the side was to wonder who would change the broken light in her fridge. Madly, looking out to the truck though black armour with the bright insignia of Ochre Vaults emblazoned on their shoulders, I made out 'TANNON'S BURGERS: THE BEST IN THE 20'S BIZZ' on the side of the truck. I think that's what finally put me off burgers for life, no matter how badly I needed one.

And in that chaotic, mind-melting madness, someone grabbed my sleeve and tugged me like a sledge out through the wreckage of the energy barriers and into the hallway beyond the doors. They slumped me up against the side and patted my bloody cheek. 'You awake?'

'Just about. Probably.'

Z11 snorted. 'Good. Get up. We're going after Baron.'

'What about Markro?'

'No time. He'll survive.'

Not for the first time in my life, or the first time that day, I wasn't so sure.