Noah knew that four years of preparation cost a lot of money—and money was something he was running out of. To get the high-grade gear they needed, he couldn't just walk into a store. He had to hit a specific shipping warehouse in the industrial docks before the military eventually seized it as a "strategic asset" later that year.
"We're stealing? Noah, this is a felony. Like, a 'go to jail for ten years' kind of felony," Mason whispered. He was crouching behind a stack of rusted shipping containers, clutching a crowbar like it was a holy relic.
Noah didn't look back. He was focused on the two security guards walking the perimeter of Warehouse 42. "It's not stealing if the owners won't exist in four years. Think of it as an early inheritance."
In his first life, Noah remembered the news reports about this specific warehouse. It held a massive shipment of industrial-grade solar batteries and high-frequency radios that sat rotting for months because of a legal dispute. During the apocalypse, those batteries had been worth more than gold.
"Listen," Noah said, his voice low and steady. "Strategy isn't just about fighting. It's about not having to fight at all. We move when the guard turns the corner. We have exactly three minutes before his partner circles back. If you trip a sensor, we leave. We don't stay to explain ourselves. Clear?"
Mason swallowed hard and nodded. "Clear."
They moved. Noah didn't run; he glided. He'd spent months practicing how to walk without letting his heels click on the concrete. Mason followed, stumbling once but keeping his mouth shut.
They reached the side loading dock. Noah pulled out a small electronic device—a "skimmer" he'd built using the future schematics he'd memorized. He pressed it against the keypad. A second later, the light turned green.
Click.
The door slid open with a heavy metallic groan. Inside, the warehouse was a cavern of shadows, smelling of grease and cardboard.
"Over there," Noah pointed.
Row 14. He knew exactly where it was. They began loading the heavy solar units onto a motorized pallet jack. Each battery weighed eighty pounds. It was back-breaking work, and the silence of the warehouse made every grunt of effort sound like a shout.
"We have the batteries. Let's go," Mason urged, his eyes darting toward the door.
"Not yet. The radios are in the cage at the back," Noah said.
"Noah, we're pushing it!"
"The grid is the first thing to go, Mason. Without these radios, we're deaf and blind. Keep loading."
As they reached the back cage, a light flickered at the far end of the warehouse. A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, dancing across the crates.
"Someone's inside," Mason hissed, his face pale.
"Stealth isn't just about hiding, Mason. It's about misdirection," Noah whispered. He grabbed a heavy roll of packing tape from a nearby desk and tossed it toward Row 1.
CRASH.
The sound echoed through the hollow building. The flashlight beam immediately swung toward Row 1, and the sound of heavy boots started moving in that direction.
"Now. Move," Noah commanded.
They worked like shadows. While the guard was investigating the noise on the other side of the building, Noah and Mason finished loading the crate. They pushed the pallet jack toward the back exit, their hearts drumming in their ears.
Just as they reached the door, the guard's voice boomed. "Hey! Who's there?"
The flashlight caught Mason's back.
"Run," Noah said.
They didn't head for the car. Noah knew that was too obvious. He led Mason through a maze of shipping containers, turning left, then right, then doubling back.
"Why are we going this way?" Mason panted, his lungs burning.
"He's going to call his partner to block the main gate," Noah explained, not even out of breath. "He expects us to panic and bolt for the exit. We're going to the fence in the back that's already been cut by local kids."
They reached the chain-link fence. Noah pulled back a loose flap of wire, and they shoved the gear through before sliding under themselves. Seconds later, they were in the overgrown weeds of a vacant lot, well away from the warehouse.
A minute later, a police siren wailed in the distance, heading toward the main entrance.
"We made it," Mason breathed, collapsing against a brick wall. "I can't believe we actually did that."
"You learned two things tonight," Noah said, checking the batteries to make sure they weren't damaged. "First, the most dangerous weapon isn't a gun—it's knowing your enemy's routine. Second, stealth only works if you keep your head cool."
Mason looked at the stolen gear, then at Noah. "You're scaring me, man. You didn't even flinch when that guard saw us. It's like you knew exactly what he was going to do."
"I've lived through worse than a security guard with a flashlight, Mason," Noah said, his eyes dark. "This was just a practice run. The real raids won't be for batteries. They'll be for our lives."
Noah looked up at the moon. One more piece of the puzzle was in place. He had the power, he had the communication, and he had a partner who was starting to understand that the old rules didn't apply anymore.
"Load the car," Noah said. "We have to hide this stuff before sunrise."