There were far fewer people at Sky Ring Base. Whenever he had come here before, he had always seen staff hurrying through corridors nearly two cars wide, sometimes bumping shoulders or stepping on the shoes of the person ahead.
But today, only scattered figures remained in the hallways, and most of them looked distracted and uneasy.
That was only natural. The S.P.E.A.R. Agency had sent nearly half its personnel to Centaurus, drawing elites from all over the country. Naturally, headquarters had contributed an even greater proportion. After all, the S.P.E.A.R. Agency had four hundred thousand employees, and only the best of the best could work at headquarters.
Old Zheng was very pragmatic, and his personal strength meant he did not need to follow many of society's unspoken rules. There were basically no well-connected freeloaders at S.P.E.A.R. Sky Ring Headquarters. Every person there was an expert in some field.
When he reached the door to his office, Su Ming raised a hand and pushed it open. But instead of entering immediately, he stepped aside and ducked behind the doorway.
A cloud of thick smoke burst out through the door, driven into the corridor by the air pressure. The heavy stench of nicotine and tar was enough to sting the eyes even of an old smoker like him.
"Hey, Old Zheng, are you lighting up a furnace in your office again?" Deathstroke poked his head around the doorway after temporarily avoiding the blast, peering into the room. But the smoke was so thick that he could only make out Zheng Xian's rough silhouette, not his expression. "How many times have I told you? Turn on the ventilation system. Where are your guard and housekeeper?"
"Hehe, brother, you're here. The only time I, Old Zheng, feel truly free is when I'm smoking. Why