Lin Mei choked on the rising chemical steam.
The red clause-ink covered the concrete floor fifteen feet below, boiling at two hundred degrees. Thick crimson foam bubbled against the steel rims of the press vans, releasing toxic waves of methanol and industrial formaldehyde.
“My eyes are burning,” Lin Mei rasped, wiping her watering eyes with her sleeve. “The formalin concentration is rising fast.”
“Breathe through your collar, Mei,” Elena Rostova said. “Don’t take deep breaths. Formalin binds to lung tissue in thirty seconds.”
Elena stood on the narrow mezzanine landing. Her titanium trauma crowbar was clamped under her right arm. In her left hand, she held her grounded surgical trauma shears, their heavy stainless blades open at ninety degrees.
“How long can human lungs tolerate this vapor concentration?” Lin Mei asked, coughing into her elbow. “My throat feels raw.”
“Two minutes without a respirator,” Elena answered grimly. “After that, pulmonary edema sets in. We need to neutralize these fumes or get out of this room.”
“There is no way out through the stairs,” Julian said, checking the sealed fire-shutter. “Vane’s hydraulic locks have us pinned on this landing.”
