Lower District, within a dim, crude factory building.
A jumble of equipment had been casually piled into the corners. Stolen vehicles that had not yet been dismantled hung in midair from chains or hoisting rigs, swaying faintly in the cold wind like dead pigs awaiting butchering and disposal.
The scrape of steel produced ear-piercing creaks.
In the silence, no one dared speak. Only heavy breathing sounded from the corners.
A middle-aged man whose lower body had been replaced with mechanical prosthetics paced anxiously in the center, wandering back and forth as he waited. Whenever faint sounds came from outside, he would nervously look up.
No one dared laugh at or scorn the boss, who had once been so imposing and absolute but now looked so cautious. In truth, almost no one there dared make the slightest mistake. Even their greetings and welcoming words had been rehearsed again and again, for fear that they might fail to properly receive the distinguished guest about to arrive and suffer some mishap.
The appointed time had long passed, yet they did not even dare show annoyance. Instead, like dogs on leashes, they waited with utmost patience.
Until the sound of tires rubbing against the ground came from outside, rapidly drawing closer.
A report came through the radio from the sentry, jolting everyone awake.
Soon, as the iron doors slowly opened, a man in an immaculate formal suit and gold-rimmed glasses strode in with his head held high, casually shoving aside an underling who had rushed forward to curry favor.
Behind him followed a hunched man in plain clothes, with motor oil still staining his cuffs and hems. He likewise looked straight ahead, as though he could not see the ants right before him.
"Welcome, welcome!"
Martin, who had waited for a long time, spread