The scent of scorched metal still lingered in the air over Port Viridia as Dann Riddect stood in his private war chamber, staring down at a live feed of the World Trade Consortium's emergency summit. The screen flickered slightly, as if the signal itself were afraid to remain connected too long to the man watching it.A roundtable of leaders from across the globe—politicians, financiers, military brass—sat cloaked in arrogance inside a gleaming conference hall somewhere in the Alps. Their voices buzzed with tension, arguments cloaked behind tailored suits and diplomatic smiles. Every single one of them had blood on their hands."We can’t afford to let him control the east ports,” barked Chancellor Vaelin, a bloated oil baron turned pseudo-diplomat. “If we don’t push back now, Riddect becomes a sovereign state without ever holding an election."General Crowley leaned forward, his voice a growl. “You think we can control him? He buried our elite force in under ten minutes. We didn’t los