The interior of the abandoned Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle was a pitch-black, sensory-deprived sensory tomb.
Outside the three-inch-thick armored hull, the catastrophic February sleet storm raged with unyielding, mechanical violence. The thousands of jagged ice shards striking the heavy, V-shaped steel exterior sounded like a relentless, deafening barrage of low-caliber machine-gun fire, completely drowning out the howling wind. Yet, inside the sealed, airtight cabin, the atmosphere was perfectly stagnant. The air tasted sharply of ancient, preserved military canvas, settling dust, and the heavy, metallic ozone radiating from Ren's dormant vibro-sword.
The only illumination in the cramped, utilitarian space came directly from Ren's mutated biology.
