The command sanctum didn't look like a battlefield. No alarms screamed here. No bulkheads were torn open. The floor was clean, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the faint glow of tactical displays lining the curved walls. The chaos Xavier had carved through the carrier felt distant, sealed off behind layers of authority and design.
At the center of the room stood the Chairman.
He wasn't panicking or hiding. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture straight, chin lifted, eyes fixed on Xavier as if this meeting had been scheduled rather than forced at gunpoint. The emblem of AIL shimmered faintly on the wall behind him, projected in muted gold.
"So," the Chairman said, voice calm, almost conversational, "this is what imbalance looks like up close."
Xavier didn't answer. He stood a few meters away, blood drying along one side of his jaw, Serpent's Fang hanging loose in his hand.
The Chairman took a step forward, unbothered by the weapon.
