The large obsidian monitor in the War Room flickered to life, the magical crystal stabilizing into a crisp, high-definition view of the dungeon's exterior.
"Here come the guinea pigs," Reed muttered, leaning over the black stone table. He clutched a mug of coffee that Maira had somehow sourced from a dimension composed entirely of caffeine, hatred, and dark roast beans. It was the only thing keeping him upright after the sensory overload of the last five days.
"They are not guinea pigs, Sir," Maira corrected, standing beside him. Her posture was razor-sharp, her new pencil skirt and blouse perfectly pressed, though her tail twitched with a lingering restlessness. She opened her fresh ledger, the spine cracking audibly. "They are 'Tier 2 Revenue Generators.' And they are late."
Reed blew on his coffee, watching the screen. "Same thing, Maira. Just different marketing."
