The cold woke him before the pain did.
Concrete pressed hard against his cheek. A fluorescent tube flickered near the ceiling, buzzing with the erratic, high-pitched hum of a dying wasp. It was an annoying, pointless sound. It made Michael want to rip the fixture from the drywall.
He tasted copper and ash. His bespoke suit felt heavy, plastered to his skin with thick, congealed blood.
He pushed himself up. His left arm immediately gave out. He collapsed back to the concrete, his shoulder grinding against the floor with a wet, sickening crunch. Silver. They had used silver-laced hollow points. The metal was currently burning through his veins like battery acid, paralyzing his healing factor.
He didn't care about the silver.
Where was she?
Michael forced his eyes open. The sub-basement
