The Pentagon should've been peaceful, secure, and bustling with AMC operatives.
But now?
Well, let's just say it wasn't exactly peaceful anymore.
High above, suspended inside an obsidian-coated airship drifting just beyond radar range, Dr Nyx lounged before a wall of monitors. His stained lab coat was undone, boots kicked up on a steel rail.
This was peak entertainment that he had prepared for himself.
The screens displayed feeds from every major angle of the Pentagon - thermal sweeps, pressure sensors, grid schematics, and satellite overlays. The five-sided building was laid out like a diagram beneath his fingertips.
Nyx's hands moved swiftly across a holographic control pad, glowing lines of blue light bending to his commands. With his other hand, he tinkered with the exposed plating of his bionic left arm. Pistons whirred as he twisted a dial embedded near the elbow.
"System latency… 0.03 seconds. Acceptable," he muttered.
He had control of everything.
