The tension in the room was palpable, as thick as fog on a winter morning.
Arthur turned from the panoramic window, his custom-made shoes clicking sharply against the obsidian floor,a sound that seemed to echo in the silence left behind by the fifty elite operatives who had just filed out with military precision.
They moved like shadows, their expensive footwear making no noise on the sound-dampening flooring. Only when the doors sealed shut with a pressurized hiss did Arthur break the silence.
"Now that we've settled personnel matters," he said, his voice smooth and rich like aged whiskey, "let's dive into how we'll actually rebuild this shattered nation of yours."
With a swift motion, he tapped commands into the sleek table interface.
The air above it shimmered, and three massive holographic blueprints materialized,each one representing an industrial complex so grand it would have been unimaginable in pre-war Varenya.
