The wind howled around the top of the crumbling tower. Shattered billboards rattled overhead, broken glass littered the old helipad where Johnquis sat.
Beside him, Dancer perched on a twisted beam, silent, her eyes catching the last glimpse of blue sky before a dark cloud swallowed it whole.
Johnquis tore open a blood pack with his teeth. The plastic peeled with a sticky snap. He lifted it to his mouth and sucked it down like a starving leech. Warm, copper taste coating his tongue, iron filling the cracks in his throat.
"God, that's good…"
He mumbled between gulps. "Didn't think I'd be this hungry. Should've known… all that mess down there… GOD! We're damn lucky there was an untouched loot bag in this place."
The pack crumpled in his fist. He grabbed another — this one darker, thicker. He bit it open too, the rich organ slurry dripping down his chin. He didn't care. He tilted his head back, throat working as he swallowed chunks that slid half-chewed into his gut.
