Ned hadn't noticed that the storage room not just reeked of floor cleaners but of disinfectant and stale incense as well. Perhaps it was because he had a lot on his mind, and he was running out of precious time.
The bomber clown could already be dead for all he knew. Maybe, caught by someone else. But since he hadn't received a failed quest notification from the system, he assumed he was still alive.
Now that he saw Tanya holding a tattoo machine, he could smell it – a cloying mix that clung to everything like a desperate lover.
'How the hell did she prepare all this in the short time she had been waiting for me in here?' Ned thought, intrigued.
Amidst this olfactory assault, Tanya - all five-foot-nothing of her - flitted about like a hummingbird on a sugar rush.
