Draven's Point Of View
I turned my back on Adrian, leaving him sputtering blood onto his collar, and shifted my weight toward the other three. They sat straighter now, their bodies rigid with anticipation. The basement air tasted like wet concrete and burnt ozone… thick, stagnant smell of men losing their nerve. It settled in the back of my throat, sharp and metallic, tasting like progress. Like victory already won.
The electrical transformer on the wall gave that dull, rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack, sending just enough current to keep their fingers twitching against the metal armrests. I didn't rush. Rushing is for people who aren't sure of the outcome, and I knew exactly how this would end. I'd seen this scene play out a hundred times before, in a hundred different basements, with a hundred different faces wearing the same expression of defiant terror.
