He gestured vaguely towards a nearby monitor, which was playing a news report about the ongoing political firestorm that was consuming the DGC.
"You took a stick," he grunted, "and you poked the biggest, angriest hornet's nest in the city."
"And now," he finished, his gaze settling on Michael, "the hornets are angry."
Jinx, standing by the door with her arms crossed, just snorted. "Tell us something we don't know, old man."
Forge ignored her. His focus was on Michael.
"The council is in chaos," he explained, his voice a grim, no-nonsense report.
"Half of them want to give you a medal. The other half want to hand your heads to the DGC on a silver platter to calm things down."
"And Sterling," he added, a flicker of something that might have been grudging respect in his eyes, "has been very, very busy."
"He's painting you as a public menace. An unstable, rogue element led by a walking, talking anomalous time bomb."
He was talking about Michael.
