Gordon led the SWAT team into the apartment. As they fanned out, he tentatively entered the rancid master bedroom. The curtains were drawn, the windows taped over, and the room was filled with flies. They buzzed around a partially mummified corpse strapped to the bed; rigor mortis had long since passed by this poor soul, who was little more than a contorted, dismembered skeleton silently screaming at the ceiling.
A floorboard creaked and Gordon whirled around, a heartbeat too late to stop the hulking man pouncing on him, duct tape in hand, a gleeful smile plastered to his leathery lips.
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