Somewhere deep down in an old palace on the edge of NYC, shadows stuck to the crumbling walls like mold. Flickering lights cut through the darkness, showing over fifty armed guards, their rifles gleaming like teeth.
There were no windows, no fresh air, just damp stone, a heavy sense of despair, and the constant buzz of security cameras.
In the rusty cage at the center, a man was chained to the bars like a forgotten animal.
William Arthur was just thirty-five, but years of being ignored had made him look way older. His beard was grown, and his clothes were torn-up rags hanging off his skinny frame. His skin was really pale, and his muscles had shrunk from being locked up for so long, leaving his empty eyes staring off into space.
Once an incredibly talented engineer—like, a true genius. He was the brains behind a project that could totally change how wars are fought.
