"Your titanium shell is a luxury tomb waiting for the winter to bury it."
Captain Reed keyed the communication terminal sitting on a ruined desk. He leaned back in a plush leather office chair and took a sip of steaming black coffee. The rich dark liquid burned a pleasant path down his throat.
The sniper nest occupied the fortieth floor of an abandoned financial high rise. The ambient climate control of the dead city failed months ago. Reed brought a portable military grade thermal generator to compensate for the apocalyptic weather. The humming device kept the spacious corner office a comfortable seventy degrees.
Reed stared through the reinforced glass window overlooking the frozen commercial plaza. He kept his right eye pressed against the optical lens of a high caliber sniper rifle.
