The headquarters buzzed with quiet intensity.
Slade stood at the central table, studying the map Lyric had projected onto the main screen. The fragments were scattered across the globe—Eastern Europe, Asia, South America, North America. They were regrouping, consolidating, preparing for something.
"They're not just regrouping," Lyric said, her voice tight. "They're recruiting. They're pulling in former operatives from every faction we've dismantled. Society remnants. Inheritor survivors. Congregation affiliates. Even some Foundation defectors."
Slade's jaw tightened. "How many?"
"Hundreds. Maybe thousands. They're building an army."
Kane stepped forward, his face grim. "An army for what?"
"The Grid," Lyric said. "They're planning to activate a new version. More sophisticated than any
