***
Quinn's eyes were locked in place, staring at a scene so very foreign.
Men, once strong and tall... Women, once beautiful and deadly, were now nothing more than crying slabs of meat.
Limbless creatures that barely resembled humankind, bleeding out onto the dirty concrete.
Such a scene was taking place at the third drop-off point.
It was where her cohort operated.
In the first few hours, they were simply defending low-ranking hunters as they put up lightbulbs and blocked off holes, plugging them with foam-like liquid that expanded to fill every crevice.
With each point done, they headed to the next, picking up any leftover targets on the way, and adding them to their group as they continued their task.
They were judged as a weak cohort, so they were allowed up to six people and were given only the easy jobs.
It was a formulaic operation—a recurring one.
But that slow scene suddenly changed...