Blood finely sprayed (in either direction) by a high-speed saw. Flesh brutally ripped in the wake, with tiny bone fragments propelled like shrapnel (sticking to the walls). "It's loud." And a heavy odor, as dark as the smoke that carried it... "Guess the blade's not as sharp as we thought." She reached in, grimacing as her gloved hand probed the entrails, then shook her head. "Maybe deeper?" She repositioned the blade. (Sparks popped from the frayed cord, contributing an electrical tang to the sordid pungency.) "Maybe." Another stream of fluid trickled onto the floor, spattering her shoes. "Not much time left." So, she dug even further, until the blade ground to a clamorous halt against the stainless steel table. Then she reached in again... "Nothing. This one's empty."