The massive, interlocking tungsten blast doors slid shut with a deafening, metallic slam, instantly and violently severing the wailing shriek of the Stadium-wide emergency klaxons.
Inside the twelve-by-twelve-foot industrial freight elevator, the sudden, absolute silence was heavier than the noise. The harsh, strobing crimson light of the Sector One corridor vanished entirely, replaced by the flickering, sickly yellow glow of a single caged halogen bulb bolted to the heavy steel ceiling of the lift. The air inside the iron box was completely stagnant, completely devoid of the synthetic lavender pumped through the upper levels. Instead, the enclosed space tasted sharply of ancient, oxidized iron, the lingering ozone from Ren's deactivated vibro-sword, and a faint, putrid undercurrent of decaying marrow seeping up through the rusted floor grates.
