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The smell of metal; disintegrator

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The steel door opened with a loud screeching noise. The first thing that hit Dex was the smell of metal in the warehouse and the cool AC air. Then Daniel turned on the lights, illuminating a man who was tied to a chair, bruised from head to toe, and bleeding, and to his left, a dismembered body.

"Who the fuck's that?"

"The dead one's of the shitheads who fired at Rose and your boy. The second, a cartel rat, Eduard." Daniel stepped closer to the unconscious man. Dex followed, and then he glanced at the other body. "You're wicked sick, man." Dex couldn't fucking believe his eyes.

"Look who's talking," Daniel mocked, almost feeling sorry for Dex and his pathetic MC. "Wicked sick gets shit done." He walked to another table, where he had other knives and tools. Dex watched him wake up the man with a bottle of smelling salts, jolting him back into consciousness.

Whatever happened next would stay with Dex forever. He had never seen someone skinned alive before. Eduard took it with barely a sound, which creeped Dex out even more. But when the man started singing about Monroe and Rose, Dex didn't want him to stop and even felt like putting a bullet in his head himself.

It was too much, and he threw up on the floor.

"You'll be cleaning that up, chief." Daniel put down the knife and took off the blood-soaked apron along with the gloves. Dex was still heaving, looking at his dinner on the floor.

He learned plenty during that night, especially because Daniel couldn't stop yapping while they dismembered the bodies to put them in barrels of acid. He was on coke and over-the-top garrulous, talking about cartels, his golf trip with Reyes, sports, women, hoes, and snooker, of all things... Dex was just nodding, responding with the bare minimum while trying his hardest not to faint or throw up again. But he did well for his first time handling corpses ; most people wouldn't stomach a second in that room.

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