A Contract With My Demon
The Sahara was not a desert anymore. It was a gold plated graveyard.
A thousand miles from the nearest paved road, where the shifting dunes usually reclaimed everything, stood a structure that defied the laws of both man and physics. It was a skyscraper made of black glass, thrusting upward from the sand like a jagged obsidian needle. There were no lights, no windows just a hum that vibrated in the soles of Elara’s boots.
"He always did have a flair for the dramatic," Sarah Vance muttered, checking the action on her silver shotgun. She looked at the GPS tracker. "We’re here. Coordinates 24.52, 11.38. The new headquarters."