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The winter night could devour everything.
It was probably past three in the morning.
Suddenly, two beams of light pierced the darkness; beneath the golden columns of light, countless specks of radioactive dust danced and flitted about, like a frenzied swarm of insects.
A Jeep sprinted down the long street and stopped in front of a four-story apartment covered in marble.
The car door slammed open, and Zhuoma stepped out in black leather boots, covering her nose as she saluted into the car, then turned and headed upstairs.
The apartment was designated for some officers of the Black Star armored vehicle, with roughly twenty separate suites—Zhuoma's key hung at her waist, belonging to the one at the very top.
With her extraordinary night vision, Zhuoma had no intention of turning on the lights but made her way straight up the stairs, her boots making a clear, crisp sound on the wooden staircase.
