The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp barely illuminated the crumbling old building on the outskirts of the city. Hidden deep within the abandoned structure, the air was thick with dust, the scent of rusted metal, and the faint stench of dampness. The few surviving bulbs overhead cast weak pools of yellow light, flickering as if on the verge of giving up entirely. Shadows danced erratically along the cracked walls as a cold draft whistled through broken windows.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Three men sat around a makeshift table, an overturned crate acting as their center. One of them, a wiry man with a jagged scar along his cheek, tapped his fingers against the wood impatiently. "Where the hell is he?" he muttered, his eyes darting towards the entrance for the hundredth time.
"Relax," the second man, a broad-shouldered brute with a shaved head, grunted. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "He'll show up. He knows we don't have time to waste."
