In a sleek, high-tech chamber lined with blue holographic panels and silver monitors, President Godwin Babama sat at the edge of a polished glass table. His hands were laced together, eyes staring intently at a giant screen on the wall.
Footage from Vernon Slade's rogue broadcast replayed in fragments his grim face, his threats, the flickering Crow hologram.
Across from him stood Richard, the acting field representative of HOPE. Calm, focused, arms behind his back like a soldier at rest but his eyes watched everything.
Godwin Babama finally broke the silence.
"So. Two days from now."
His voice was steady, but tight.
"They want to make their move."
Richard nodded.
"It was carefully timed. They're trying to shake us… put pressure on the public, the heroes, the Hope Organization."
Babama's fingers tapped once on the table.
"And Crow? Is it really him, or—?"
Richard shook his head.
