"Zeta, if you do not stop now, your brain will be completely fried before this mission even begins," Mara whispered, her voice barely rising above the low, mechanical thrum of the ventilation fans.
Zeta did not turn around. He remained fixed on the projection of complex data that shimmered in the stagnant air of his cramped apartment. His fingers danced with a frantic, rhythmic intensity, mirroring the chaotic flow of the code he was manipulating. He looked like a man possessed, a conductor leading an orchestra of digital ghosts. He knew Mara was right, but he had no room left for caution.
"Let it fry," Zeta replied, his voice raspy and devoid of emotion as he kept his eyes locked on the algorithms pulsing before him. "The only way to destroy them is to become part of the chaos ourselv
