I didn't want to know. Whatever had happened in there could stay in there, because nothing could make me peer through all that blood or the small crack between the door and the frame to see what the rest of the room looked like.
So I ran away from that hidden terror, trying lever after lever to search for anything made of iron.
One finally popped open, and I stumbled into a set of stairs that rose upward. I climbed on shaky legs and crept out the next door one story above.
I squinted under the glare of a high ceiling full of heat lamps that emitted no warmth from where I stood fifteen feet below. A hundred or so four-legged teralinguas, the Vicio's precious cargo, swept long, bushy gray tails from side to side over the grated flooring in perfect sync, likely communicating an attempt at escape telepathically. Teralinguas were known for their high intelligence and complex getaway plans, but were even better known as an extravagant meat.