The machine gun clinked and clattered  rhythmically against his carbonfibre enhanced armour.<br/>At about a third of the way to the armory Pjotr realized that the randomly falling footsteps he was hearing approached the same designation he was headed at.  He let one long glimpse wander over the motley group, looking at each one briefly with narrowed eyes. He came to the conclusion that these must be the team he was supposed to work with. Pjotr took the cigarette out of his mouth and raised his hand in greeting, exhaling lightly. His path was shorter than theirs, which meant he would reach the armory ahead of them. Still, he accelerated his steps by a barely noticeable amount, knowing that the new additions to NestBusters would need some time to find what they were looking for. His eyes focused back on the entrance again.<br/><br/>Pjotr flicked what was left of his cigarette over his shoulder into the puddle with a short hiss. Without slowing down, he pushed open the door to the armory. It was brightly lit by the same kind of lamps used in the garage. Apart from that, the room presented itself quite differently. It was by far larger, since it was made of multiple garages connected together to create one larger space more suited for storage of equipment. The majority of the armory was closed off to someone entering through the front door by a reinforced chicken wire cage surrounding a space of 15x12 feet in front of the door. It extended almost all the way to the ceiling. Beyond the chicken wire stood, evenly placed, row after row of shelves packed full with weapons, ammunition and explosives, enough to level a whole city the size of Neo-Atlanta, it seemed. There was a small booth shielded with glass in the corner to the left of the entrance, currently occupied with one slightly disapprovingly looking woman, slightly surprised by Pjotr's sudden entry. Sheila, the bosses secretary.<br/>She quickly recovered, though.<br/>"Mr. Tschebyshev. A pleasure as always." She smiled, rather artificially. He nodded in greeting. The secretary slid a thick green folder containing the armory's entire inventory over the desk integrated into the booth toward Pjotr. She had an unspoken question in her eyes, at the same time managing to express a slight of doubt. He shook his head and pointed at the door opposite of the entrance.<br/>Sheila sighed.<br/>"Of course. I wonder why I even bothered." She walked around the cage, occasionally blinking out of Pjotr's line of sight because of shelves placed at the chicken wire, but nevertheless still moving as was indicated by the clicking of her pumps, and opened the door.<br/>"Please, enter. I don't think I have to remind you of the rules," she hesitated, "again." Sheila turned and took up her place in the booth again, to wait for those who might come from hereonafter - and hopefully were more outspoken than Pjotr.<br/><br/>Pjotr picked up a basket at the entrance, dismissing the cart as being to large for his purpose. He also picked up a scanner, which was made customary to simplify keeping stocks.<br/>Simplemindedly, he strode through the shelving of this gun nut's equivalent of a candy store, only in passing looking at the occasional piece of equipment he had not seen before or silently greeting one of the storage workers. As he walked, a loud slam resounded through the hall, indicating the arrival of his new team mates. Eventually, he reached his destination.A few dozen of cylindric pouches (http://www.m249accessories.com/images/13133449554191576669339.jpeg), with an urban camouflage pattern printed onto them, were neatly placed to stacks of six beside each other on a shelf at eye-level. Pjotr picked one up and opened the zipper on the side to look inside. Having verified that these were, in fact, filled with the correct rounds, he closed the magazine again and retrieved two additional ones, as well as scanning a sticker with a barcode on it next to the pouches three times.<br/><br/>The next items to be collected were in the explosives section at the west wall of the armory. Pjotr quickly got there and, after short consideration, grabbed three fragmentation grenades of an type specifically designed to penetrate the tough carapace of all but the largest bugs.<br/><br/>After confirming the time on his watch, he headed back to Sheila, who was occupied with dealing with the newly assembled NestBuster squad. He approached her at her desk. This only elicted another sigh from her when she glimpsed at him.<br/>Still, with her attention mainly focused on someone else, she managed to print out a form for him, which she handed to Pjotr without looking. He picked up a ballpen and signed it with his name, 'Пётр Чебышёв' , then dropped the scanner and the form on the desk behind her.<br/><br/>After exiting the warded-off area, closing the door behind him, Pjotr observed his new<em>tovarishch</em>s. Without bothering if anybody was looking at him, or even listening, he began to proclaim loudly and in broken English: "Velcom to NestBuste<em>r</em>s. I am Pjot<em>r</em>Tschebyshev. Vhen too 'eavy, you call me Shev. You 'ave fiifteen minutes, afte<em>r</em>, you com out and ca<em>r</em>vill stand in f<em>r</em>ont."<br/>Showing the same intense consideration as he had before, Pjotr walked brusquely past everybody, through the exit and over the courtyard to the garage.<br/><br/>He added his helmet to the items in the basket and turned around to enter the Marauder, a beautiful oversized beast of an armored vehicle. Bubbling, almost unnoticeable through the heavy plating but for faint vibrations discernible through the flooring,  it came alive. Pjotr reved up the engine with disengaged clutch, turning the faint sounds to a deafening roar. The steering wheel shook visibly.<br/>After about ten seconds, Pjotr let the engine calm down, shifted to first gear and let the martial conglomeration of metal roll forward and out of the garage.<br/><br/>Pjotr stopped the Marauder directly in front of the armory, letting the engine idle while he grabbed his machine gun and the basket from the front passenger seat and moved to the back. In the middle of the car's roof was a lid, fitted with a weapon pod. He set down the basket and began to fix his machine gun to the pod, beforehand lighting a cigarette. A short glimpse at his watch told him the others should be done and ready in about ten minutes.