She walked into the center of the clearing, her boots echoing on the wet concrete.
He was a ruin of a man. Colonel Miguel Ochoa was withered, his skin yellowed, his head bald and spotted with lesions. An oxygen tube snaked into his nose. But his eyes—those cold, clever eyes—were still sharp as shards of glass. black lagoon: roberta
The old colonel slumped in his chair, the oxygen tube hissing. “What now, bloodhound? Will you give me a warrior’s death?” She walked into the center of the clearing,
He pressed a button on the arm of his wheelchair. And the fog around them erupted. his skin yellowed
“Ochoa!” she called out, her voice echoing into the fog. “I am here! Face me!”