Early morning.
Sea Sky Garden, Room 1903.
The lights weren't on inside the house, and in the darkness, only the faint blue flames of the kitchen gas stove flickered.
The lid of the soup pot slightly rose and fell with the steam, producing a series of muffled "glug glug" sounds.
The rich aroma of meat seeped through the glass door cracks, filling the dim space.
Yet, it couldn't overshadow the faint smell of engine oil and the cold, hard scent of rust in the air.
The spacious living room barely contained any decent furniture.
Instead, the floor was covered with blue sports rubber, and the walls were lined with impact-resistant soundproof padding.
Beneath the ceiling, a custom load-bearing steel beam spanned across, suspending a tall black weighted sandbag.
In the weak light from the street lamp slipping through the curtains, one could barely discern the cold outlines of the equipment, like silent guards standing firm.
