The hum of machines filled the Citadel's main control room like a low, constant breath. Smooth. Mechanical. Almost bored.
Gary stood in the middle of it, arms loosely folded, eyes flicking between two monitors that sat just off-center from the curved array dominating the east wall.
One screen displayed the Deadly Damsels auction page—garish and unashamed, its interface dressed in dark reds and glossy blacks.
The latest bid had just ticked upward with a soft ping. 1.4 million. Anonymous handle. No attached message. Just money talking the way it always did—loud and without morals.
The other screen? Less abstract.
Barclay.
Gary leaned slightly forward, narrowing his gaze as the feed played out in grainy, shifting frames. It wasn't a stable signal—the entoptic crawler unit had to crawl after all. But it was enough.
Barclay's voice came through low, but clear enough for context.
