Vance Prime
The door opens onto cool air, the hum of ventilation fans, and the slanted, golden light of the same August morning they left three months ago.
They're in a dilapidated airplane hangar with holes in the roof, random stains on the floor, and one wall that looks like it's been torn open by something very large and very angry. The hangar contains a single vehicle, a four-man civilian helicopter; it's easily the cleanest thing in the room.
It also contains the crumpled figure of an elderly, one-legged black man on the floor a few yards away.
They're in a dilapidated airplane hangar with holes in the roof, random stains on the floor, and one wall that looks like it's been torn open by something very large and very angry. The hangar contains a single vehicle, a four-man civilian helicopter; it's easily the cleanest thing in the room.
It also contains the crumpled figure of an elderly, one-legged black man on the floor a few yards away.