The heavy, suffocating stench of scorched flesh and vaporized arterial blood completely overwhelmed the sharp peppermint cologne that had previously dominated Major Sterling's penthouse suite.
Ren stood over the slumped, headless corpse of the Warlord, his breathing slow and entirely controlled. The amber light from the shaded floor lamps cast long, jagged shadows across the opulent Persian rug, highlighting the dark, viscous pool of crimson rapidly expanding from Sterling's ruined chest cavity. The ambient hum of the Stadium's subterranean generators bled through the thick mahogany walls, a constant, low-frequency vibration that masked the complete absence of human life in the room.
Ren did not linger over the kill. He turned his back on the butchered Warlord, walking directly toward the massive, steel-reinforced safe bolted securely to the far wall behind a heavily varnished executive desk.
