WPCA - Clear.

A successive flash of hand signals flew up the line. Two enemies behind the door. Flashbang prepped. They waited on the tap. It came along with a flurry, then hell was unleashed. A hand gripping the door handle was given a nod. It flew open, the grenade flew in, the door shut. The wake of the boom and the crashing waves of the det clawed their way into the room amid a standard of hacking, coughing and teary eyes. The exercise of room clearing came along with the echoing staccato of trigger pulls, the sudden rapture of the enemy identified as dead-man stares.

Clear.

The quick spastic motions of hands across bodies policed for their weapons and ammunition took place. They began to move again. Firefights started and died as fast as a trigger was pulled, the quick cry of fire echoing long and loud in the corridors. It was quick and quiet -- but for all the stealth, the rude scream of weapons clatter was a prevalent banshee. The quarry was spotted. Stifled laughter evoked by the burp of a machine gun perforated the guardsmen. Choked-on blood congealed languidly beneath still frame macabre art style stills of dead men plastered to the floor.

Mission accomplished.