The door to the conference room opened, and a young messenger stumbled in, his face already pale before he'd fully crossed the threshold.
The air inside was suffocating. Six figures sat around a long table, their presence alone enough to make the temperature feel like it had dropped. The empty seventh chair at the table seemed to radiate its own kind of menace, a silent accusation that hung in the room.
The messenger's hands trembled as he clutched a folded piece of paper. "S-sir," he stammered, his voice cracking. "It's been confirmed. All loot houses... hit."
Braun Ironside rose from his seat at the head of the table, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed the messenger whole. He moved slowly, his footsteps echoing as he closed the distance between them.
The messenger tried to step back, but his legs wouldn't cooperate.
