I shouldn't have shot him.
Ivan, the hulking eight-foot-tall agent in a golden exosuit, sat on a bench that groaned under the burden of his weight. He wasn't tired. This exosuit was made of a strange metal that strengthened its wearer, and several cores had been integrated to provide mana when necessary.
The cores also powered the heavy suit. On his own, he could stand for hours; with the suit, more than a day.
Yet here he sat, in a corridor on the highest floor of the Headquarters. They waited for the crowd to disperse before returning to the building. Faintly, he could hear Mr. London making calls in the office.
It was his fault. Ivan knew that. Yet he felt no guilt. It had to be done. The world needed to understand. Show even the slightest aggression toward a Council member, and the last thing you'd see would be the muzzle flash of a gun.
"The best agent?" He scowled. "I'm far from it."
