We all froze. Even Valisera's groaning stopped for a moment.
"Terrorism?" Damian whispered, his eyes widening.
"Us?"
Suddenly, the red message disappeared, replaced by a high-definition live broadcast.
It wasn't directed only to our lounge; it was a public broadcast, displayed on every screen in the intelligence headquarters, and on every advertising screen across the streets of Elysium City—from the Golden Sector down to the Lower Sector F.
On the screen stood "Alexander Vance."
The FBI Director. The foremost authority of internal security.
He stood behind an elegant wooden podium bearing the emblem of Magical Intelligence: an eagle pierced by a sword.
He wore a formal black suit and a dark tie. His face carried an expression of deep sorrow, absolute resolve, and sacred anger. A performance worthy of an Oscar.
"Citizens of great Elysium," Alexander Vance began his speech, his deep, steady voice echoing through our crimson-lit lounge.
