A biting gale howled through the exposed steel rebar and concrete pillars, sounding like the shrieks of trapped souls.
On the top floor of the unfinished twin towers, there were no walls. Cold moonlight washed over the dust-covered cement.
Zen's heavy boots pounded up the temporary steel stairs, stepping onto the roof. He was panting hard. His left hand gripped the black handgun, the safety already flicked off.
His brown eyes, once so arrogant, were bloodshot in madness.
His gaze swept through the dark and the swirling dust. And there, dead-center in the concrete clearing.
The small figure in the oversized dress shirt sat quietly on the rusty steel chair. Moonlight fell across his face. He didn't look away. Those wide eyes stared back at the Zen with glacial calm.
The rose-colored marks on his pale neck were stark and undeniable. Mocking Zen with every step he took.
