Four days until Ravager.
The tactical briefing room felt smaller than its actual dimensions. Eight Elite Champions sat around conference table. Two hundred sixty-two standard Champions present via video feeds from various New York positions. Director Mitchell Chen representing Operations. Tanaka for Intelligence. Zhang Wei for Training assessment. Sekar coordinating logistics.
And Rama, standing at head of table, about to deliver final pre-battle briefing. Words that would either inspire confidence or reveal the doubt consuming him.
He hadn't slept in seventy-two hours. Not since Central Park conversation. Mind cycling endlessly through projections. One thousand four hundred deaths. Forty-one percent survival odds. Eight Elite Champions probably dying. Numbers wouldn't stop. Wouldn't let him rest. Wouldn't allow peace.
