The global transmission room of the External Alpha Coalition smelled of cold marble, heavy cologne, and the sharp bitter scent of panic. Deep within a fortified glass fortress thousands of miles away from Aethelgard, seven high ranking Alphas sat around a curved obsidian table. The room was cast in deep shadow, illuminated only by the massive holographic displays projecting real time data from the eastern trade borders. The bright red lines that had previously indicated a flawless economic chokehold over Dante Sterling’s territory were beginning to fracture.
This is impossible, Prime Alpha Vance snarled, his voice dropping into a guttural register that caused the ambient lights in the room to pulse violently. His fists slammed against the obsidian surface, cracking the localized holograph
