"DING!"
The cheerful, high-pitched elevator chime sounded incredibly loud in the tense silence of the grav-lift. It was a perfectly polite sound, the kind you would hear in a luxury hotel. Out here in the smog-choked Frontier, it just sounded like a sick joke.
The smooth ascent abruptly stopped. The feeling of weightlessness vanished, instantly replaced by the crushing, unnatural gravity of the Monopoly Field.
Arthur Sterling stood in the center of the spacious elevator car. He let out a slow, controlled breath. He rolled his shoulders, fighting through the agonizing heaviness settling deep in his bones. His perfectly tailored charcoal suit was covered in grey dust and splattered with black mutant blood from the floor below.
He reached up with a completely steady hand and adjusted his ruined tie. He wiped a speck of blood off his cheek. He dropped his hands to his sides, ready to draw the heavy Ebonheart Sword at a microsecond's notice.
"Clock in, team," Arthur said softly.
