The trading salon of the Hague Financial Center dissolved into a deafening roar of panic, glass, and ruined careers. Across four tiers of curved monitors, the crimson glow of the central clearing terminal flashed in rhythmic, unrelenting strobe pulses. Every fifteen seconds, an automated claxon emitted a flat electronic whine that echoed off the mahogany paneling like the siren of a sinking warship.
Brokers in drenched dress shirts tore their headsets away and flung them across the desks, smashing plastic casings against the wall. Two junior account executives sat huddled beneath an auxiliary terminal, weeping into their trembling hands as the numbers on the master board collapsed past every statutory limit.
Margin call exceeded, the robotic audio feed announced from the ceiling speakers
