Chapter 27 - 27

The screens in the Director's office were a mosaic of fire and flood, a high-definition testament to the failure of corporate containment. The Forge-Master was a silhouette of bronze against the burning, orange skyline of Chicago, his hammer bringing down skyscrapers with a rhythmic thud that sounded like the heartbeat of a dying giant. In the East, the Lady of Sorrows stood upon a tidal wave that was currently swallowing the port of Singapore, her expression one of stagnant, ancient grief that had finally found a physical outlet. The world was screaming, a dissonant chorus of billions of voices, and the sound was being broadcast directly into the heart of Geneva, vibrating the very glass of the Director's sanctuary.