The warehouse is on the corner. It's tucked behind a couple of shops, and you probably wouldn't notice it at night-time.
A car stood there, one night, and the pair sat inside it were watching the place. The music was off, and they were out of cigarettes.
Both were quiet types, described by the few witnesses there were. Long coats with hats. Grey. Unseen faces. Balaclavas? No. Long shoes. Leathery ones. Heights? Dunno. Like 6 feet.
The pair got out of the car. They were tired of waiting. It was soon going to be midnight, and they were already past the curfew.
They had arrived at around 7, and then left at around 1 in the morning. They crossed the street, then followed the sidewalk 'til they got to the back. A fence.
They cut through it with some bolt cutters, then opened the back door. They weren't seen until they got back in the car at, again around 1 in the morning. They walked in.
The warehouse wasn't unoccupied, as many of the local residents believed. Bodies were found the next morning, totalling to 103. Almost all of them were lab overalls and masks.
What the fuck had happened here?
The two walked inside. No-one noticed at first. Dismissed them as another pair of "associates". Technically they were, but soon they wouldn't be.
They whipped out shotguns and fired on the lab-coats. The first slammed face forward onto the table, his face into the white powder. Red blood landed on the coat and floor.
He fell of spluttering, his face white, and his eyes red. He couldn't react in time. The second blast made his face explode off, leaving only his eyes and teeth.
The second turned around, drew a gun, and was two-timed into the kneecaps and face. He fell back, then forwards. 8 more collapsed dead onto the floor, before they stopped to reload.
The rest of the 'coats weren't even screaming in terror and panic. The place was silent, except for the clicking of the shells. They had a better chance of escaping quietly.
The screech of tires. Doors slamming. "Where are you dickheads?" shortly before the guy flew back because the force of the rounds.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! FUUUU-" The pistol in his friend's hand silenced him. Click-clack-click-clack----click-----clack----------click---------------clack. The shoes gave their tactics away. Wasted.
The cops came too late after that. All they found were bodies upon bodies, blood mingling with other blood. Eyeballs and teeth and chunks of flesh floated in the blood. The cops didn't notice.
They were wearing boots, and they didn't have human noses. A search of the area found no-one who fit that description. There was a city-wide lock-down, but they still escaped.
An international arrest warrant was place, with the words "Brutal force authorised" high-lighted. Never found. A news-paper article almost everyone forgot about after a month or two.
What was it? They debated about it for weeks on end, but it was simple. It was a message.