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Those who reserved a spot, you know what I mean.
Edited in the wee hours.
The elevator doors opened and a tide of noise rushed in, accompanied by billowing black smoke.
Bi Fang coughed twice, the black smoke cleared, and he looked around the office in surprise. For those in the know, it was Yao Jun's office. To the uninformed, it looked like a rock band's recording studio—plus a recent fire.
Yao Jun set down the wrench, supported himself against the wall to turn on the light. There was no Vanguard Band, just an antique engine booming loudly, its chains and gears clacking together like the tight bite of skeletons, constantly emitting thick smoke, like a dark steed from Hell.
Pop!
A clear, cracking sound echoed.
