Rain's POV:
"He's already circling the drain," I mutter. A look passes between us a silent understanding, as we close the distance.
I finally get a clear view of the man on the table. It's a massacre. His vitals are all over the place, the heart monitor chirping in a frantic, irregular rhythm. The skin and fat have been shredded off him in long, jagged strips, leaving raw ends that weep a yellowish fluid. There is a literal hole in his jaw, a jagged void where bone and flesh should be.
I stare at the wounds. It looks like someone went berserk on him, constantly changing their mind about how best to inflict pain.
From everything Danny has told me, I know this kind of violence is "normal" in this world, yet this feels different. It's more cruel. It's more artistic.
We move in closer, the air around the table thick with the copper tang of blood and the sterile, sharp sting of antiseptic.
