While Xavier slept in his room high up in the Nexus Tower, dreams lost somewhere deep in the fog of his mind—the city was wide awake.
Far across the glowing sprawl, past the noise and haze, in a heavily guarded basement chamber lit by cold blue lights, a fat man with a gold chain tight around his neck sat slouched in a throne-like chair. His name was Victor, and the walls around him pulsed with monitors—news feeds, digital reports, satellite pings, and encrypted communications scrolling endlessly across the screens.
One screen replayed a familiar headline:
DOMINIC HART ANNOUNCED DEAD IN THE HOSPITAL – POSSIBLE FOUL PLAY FROM HOSPITAL STAFF.
Another followed it:
ALEXANDER STERLING'S CONFIRMED DEAD.
Then:
PRISON MASSACRE: JOHN KANE, EX-MEDICAL LEADER, DEAD IN HIS CELL.
LEONARDO KANE'S BODY FOUND.
And most recent of all—
ETHAN STERLING'S MUTILATED BODY PARTS DISCOVERED FROM ALL OVER THE CITY.
