Will Wick walked away from the shattered Tactical Suite. The heavy, sucking sound of his mud-caked boots slapped against the ruined synthetic marble of the executive corridor. The ambient temperature of the bunker dropped rapidly now that the freezing saltwater had completely breached the lower levels. He rolled his dense shoulders to shed the phantom weight of the Sovereign Core-Band pressing into his skeleton. He gripped the teeth of his blood-soaked leather gauntlet and ripped it off his right hand. He tossed the ruined armor onto a waterlogged velvet couch before he even heard the rhythmic grinding from the kitchen.
The rusted metal wrench shrieked as Zeraya ground it into the cracked marble countertop. She didn't look up when Will stepped into the room. She just hammered the improvised tool into the coffee beans again. A brutal, rhythmic mechanical crunch echoed off the damp bulkheads.
