The rusted iron door slammed shut. The locking mechanism engaged with a brutal, echoing clank, sealing Elias and Marcus inside the lower sublevel of the captured government building.
Torqa's heavy footsteps retreated down the corridor, leaving the two defectors alone in the heart of the Vanguard barracks. Rows of narrow military cots lined the scarred concrete walls. Fluorescent tubes flickered overhead, casting erratic, pale shadows across the faces of dozens of fodder soldiers. These were normal men and women, stripped of the pristine tactical armor utilized by the Federation. They wore patched leather, torn canvas, and scavenged riot gear pieced together with wire. The air in the cavernous room tasted of stale sweat, sulfur, and crushed rock.
