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Metin had never seen anything like what slid into his computer. All three screens slipped out of his control.
On the left-hand screen, a very sexy green monster—like if Zoe Saldana from Guardians of the Galaxy had a love child with a Tyrannosaurus rex—grabbed the edges of screen, peeled his code away from the edges, and read it for a moment. Then crumpled it up in its tiny hands before stomping the s**t out of what was left.
“Why are you playing video games, Metin?” General Firat asked from somewhere beside him.
“I’m not.” Metin tapped the keyboard, but nothing happened. “I’m not in control.”
“What do you mean you’re—”
Metin ignored him.
His middle screen, which had been showing the plane flights and how the GPS was being locally altered, went pure white—like pristine snow.
The
