The Citadel Council Chamber was completely silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the massive, twelve-mile quantum-fusion reactors vibrating deep beneath the planetary bedrock.
The bodies of the eleven Old World billionaires lay scattered across the luxurious, blood-soaked carpet. They had amputated their connection to the terrestrial evolution, and their heavily augmented, localized command implants had been violently harvested by the very anomaly they sought to hide from.
Ren stood perfectly still at the massive, curved mahogany desk.
His Level 50 Abyssal Sovereign architecture did not require rest. His pitch-black, frictionless Iron Skin absorbed the harsh, cold white light now flooding the subterranean metropolis. He did not look at the dead elite. He looked at the massive, completely subjugated holographic interface hovering above the desk.
"The localized infrastructure is incredibly robust," Ren stated, his perfectly smooth voice echoing in the ruined penthouse.
