The footsteps outside the underground detention cell no longer formed a predictable patrol rhythm.
The sound grew dense.
Dozens of steel-clad boots halted in unison at key choke points, sealing off every avenue of escape and movement.
From behind the steel-plated walls trapping them, mechanical creaks and the continuous cocking of steam rifles echoed in rapid succession, rattling like the teeth of a meat grinder.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
Inside the stuffy cell, illuminated by a single dim steam bulb, everyone had already risen from their positions.
Roland Sudrath stood at the absolute front, facing the steel door dead-on.
His dark blue diplomatic coat draped neatly over his frame. His hands hung loosely at his sides, relaxed yet ready.
His gray eyes stared unblinkingly toward the source of the noise.
