Kmart Reconnaissance Mission

My contract at work winds up in a couple of weeks - something about productivity levels. Economic rationalism. Anyhow, I've been spending my lunch breaks exploring the staff-only areas out back of Kmart - you know, the places that are meant to be off-limits to the general public. That was when I stumbled upon some really hair raising shit, which I thought I'd better record here for posterity in case I meet with a suspicious accident any time soon.

You see, I notice things. Always have. It's a gift. Where the common man sees a doorway to a loading bay, I see a gateway to another dimension. Cleverly disguised as a down and out up and coming game developer in a pair of ripped jeans and a Van Halen shirt, I snuck through the loading bay and down a deep, winding corridor out back of the Frankston Kmart, just behind the discount lingerie aisle. I figured if anybody asked me what the hell I was doing back there, I'd just tell them I'm a local crack addict on the prowl for an eight ball.

Maglite in hand, I strode down a flight of concrete stairs and through a winding maze of dark corridors, using my Priceline card to jimmy open the occasional security door. Approximately eight floors below ground judging by the air pressure and relative humidity, I found myself in a chamber adorned with swastikas and a large satanic looking mural on the far wall. As I edged closer, two figures suddenly emerged from the corners of the room beyond the reach of the suspended fluorescent lighting.

The hairs stood on the back of my neck as my worst fears were realised - I had been sprung, by two Kmart employees. I'd guess about late teens / early twenties. "Chad" and "Mykayla", going by their name tags.
"We have an intruder in sector seven", spoke Mykayla into her shirt collar. "Australopithecine appearance. Unarmed. Caucasian. Thirties. About 6'2". Deep, soulful blue eyes with kind of a suggestive glint to them that sorta says 'hey girl, come over here'. Van Halen tee shirt. Beard. How should we proceed?"
Realising that the situation was critical, I had to think fast. "Wassup niggas? Hook a bro up with a couple primos? Sheeeyit!"
"False alarm", called Mykayla. "Just a lost local tweeker."
Their cold, fixed gazes were replaced by a veneer of saccharin retail deportment.
"I'm sorry sir, we don't carry that product." said Chad. "But we do have 'LA Ice' Cola in two litres. It's chemically similar. Aisle five."
With a "cheers bro" and a thumbs up, I was on my way.

I don't think the illuminati have been tipped off yet that I have uncovered their elaborate doomsday shelter concealed beneath a popular retail outlet, but that's exactly what we're looking at here. I'm gonna blow this whole thing wide open.