Sven had already finished what he had set out to do.
One by one, the Scalpel's non-mutant subordinates had dropped like puppets with their strings cut. A snap of the neck here, a quick slice there - every motion was surgical, clean, and ruthless. No wasted effort, no remorse. Just precision.
He'd avoided the mutant ones, not out of fear, but because he couldn't help but feel an underlying worry for his companions, who were in the deep end. He needed to support them.
And right now, Nadya needed that more than anyone.
With a flash of his blade and a quick sidestep past the burning husks of crates, Sven darted toward her position. She was already facing off with The Scalpel, who appeared frustrated by the sudden swap of opponents, blood on his blade and madness in his eyes.
"Don't die," Sven muttered under his breath, quickening his pace.
-
Meanwhile, across the port, the heat began to build.
