The atmosphere inside the Citadel was suffocatingly sterile.
After days of breathing the freezing, ash-choked wind of the wasteland and the putrid, rotting stench of mutated pine forests, the hyper-filtered, climate-controlled air of the Old World bunker felt entirely unnatural. It tasted sharply of industrial floor wax, heavy gun oil, and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone bleeding off the molten edges of the ruined tungsten blast doors.
Ren stepped through the massive, smoking breach.
