The government made their move quietly. No speeches. No declarations. Just silent vans pulling up outside NovaCorp's primary server hub in NovaCity. Black-suited agents stepped out, masked, armed, coordinated. No insignias. No names.
Just authorization.
The world had gone too far, they said. Powers bleeding into real life. People levitating, warping light, surviving things no one should survive. Someone had to take control. NovaCorp had refused to speak for too long. Refused to hand over code. Refused to comply.
So they sent in the Directorate.
Ten men. Six women. The best they had.
Inside, the main tower was quiet. No alarms. No resistance.
They thought that was strange.
Too late.
They reached the central server room. Glass-walled. Floating glyph-circuits lit up the floor and ceiling, running like veins through the structure. Machines hummed, soft and alive. At the far end of the room stood a single figure.
Back turned.
