Dre didn’t know what had been going through his mind when he walked up to the smog-baked factory. Maybe it was something in the air that made him feel so apprehensive, maybe it was the excessive use of his lungs to breathe through the thick air of crud... who knew? But Dre did know immediately, as soon as he pressed a palm to the heavy doors of the warehouse, that he was supposed to be here.
It smelled like blood. Days old and dried, crusted and congealed with the grime of the place; so much for factory health standards. This factory was a shithole to say the least. With a heave, Dre pushed open the heavy doors, the deafening squeal of the hinges making him grimace. What the hell was he here for? He had felt the pull of something new, something important, all the way back in New York. He had hopped trains and traveled all the way here to Houston of all places. What did this city have in store for him and why did he feel like something existential and powerful was calling to him? Maybe it wasn’t even powerful, just desperate, needy… something that was somehow linked to who Dre was.
Dre knew he’d find some answers once he went inside… and there the doors were, just waiting for him to walk through the gape of their part, into the abyss that lay beyond.
The smelly abyss of course.
Dre took the first few steps into the empty factory, he was hours early to find anyone here, and finances never allowed for a rundown place like this to afford security guards. The metal of the place was already as stripped as could be without disassembling the machinery, so all in all it was a stink trap of musk.
Wait. Hold the fuck up.
Musk? What the hell was Dre doing smelling musk in a taint like this? Musk and blood. This was making up to be more than some ordinary dying pressing plant.
Dre walked a bit faster, clearing the hallway into the main atrium of the factory and he stilled, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. He inhaled again, sulfur.
Now he knew why he was here. The signs were undeniable. Evidence pointing to a violent /end/ could be presumed as soon as his vision adjusted, the place was a hell hole. And Dre had felt compelled to come over here, as if to witness some historical meteor shower or something like that.
A new demon was about to awake.