The helicopter's heavy rotor blades cut a deafening, rhythmic cadence through the cold city air as it touched down on the rooftop helipad of the Medical Center. The bright strobe lights flashed against the steel structural frame of the pad, illuminating the swirling exhaust fumes against the midnight skyline.
Yang Muchen stepped out onto the concrete the instant the side door swung open, still wearing his dark shirt, heavy combat pants, and mud-dusted boots.
His face was carved from solid granite, completely devoid of warmth or hesitation. Behind him, his secretary and six high-ranking security guards formed a tight, intimidating perimeter, their leather shoes clicking sharply against the polished marble as they descended directly into the private VIP floor via the restricted elevator.
