Mirella takes Mr. Simpson's knife, and AR-15, along with the ammo. She then gets out of the car, stumbling a little, and makes her way toward the garden, where she can hopefully stash his items in the bushes. Then she turns toward the factory. She knows she looks beat up. She hopes this is sufficient to look legitimate waking away from a car crash. She is sure to put on a limp as she makes her way up to the front door and knocks.
Mr Simpson somehow turns his head to stare as Mirella loots his hear. He is bleeding from multiple internal injuries, and his skeletal system has suffered critical failures. But he's conscious. So Mirella cuts his throat with his own knife for good measure. He tries to scream, but can't get enough air in his lungs. He manages some gurgling and raspy hissing as he twitches through his death throes, strapped in the seat of a burning car.
Stashing the gear in a bush, Mirella walks up to the gatehouse...
"Private property! Can't let you in, ma'am." A chubby guard challenges.
"Accident..." Mirella pants. "One block back. I need an ambulance."
His fat face squinches together. "Not my problem! Get lost!"
He's certainly being helpful.
Addressing everyone: "Alright boys, once Mirella heads on up the front and distracts em, we NEED to be fast. I'll cut the fence. Union boys, you'll be in 2 teams of 3, one secures the stairs, the other secures the delivery entrance. Run into any civvies, try and keep it non-lethal. They fight back, put em down how you see fit. See how long we can keep this quiet. Don't want the cops on our ass."
Get ready to cut the fence at the sight of Mirella.
Joe makes a little hole in the fence with some wire cutters. Then a guard dog appears round a corner and starts running towards the incursion, barking all the way. You see the beams of a flashlight from a guard following behind the dog. They are about 40 meters away.
Follow. Kill anything that isn't us or our union allies.
You shoot at the attack dog running straight for you with a double-barrelled shotgun. It's slightly out of range, but you roll criticals. Two 12 Gauge slugs turn its face and most of its upper body into pulp.
Sally readies her MP5, but makes sure her Bowie knife is ready as well.
You stand ready.
At the report of the shotgun fire, all the other guards have sounded the code red and are mostly going to try and get out of the way until help arrives.
Except the guard at the gatehouse, he is helpfully refusing entry to an "accident victim".
"Real smooth." Comments one of the union men as alarms around the premises start to howl.