Don pushed the driver's side door shut with a muted **thunk**, the sound barely echoing in the huge expanse of the underground garage.
His gaze swept across the towering gray walls and metallic scaffolding stretching toward the high ceiling like steel ribs. The dim overhead lights cast a sterile, almost surgical glow across the expanse, intensifying the base's secretive, military-grade aura.
He adjusted his collar with a flick and walked forward, his boots **clicking** steadily against the cold, reinforced flooring.
As he neared the far end of the space, his eyes tracked the armored vehicles arranged in combat-ready rows—armored SUVs, tactical trucks, and rugged motorcycles—all bristling with modifications meant for function, not flash.
Yet Don's head never turned, his attention locked forward, every glance calculated.
