Elena Markov, former curator of hidden technologies, runs her gloved hand along a wall that shouldn't be there. It gives slightly—not solid, not liquid. A membrane. The moment her fingers make contact, a soft chime resonates through the structure, and the wall dissolves into a cascade of silver light.
Behind it: rows upon rows of weaponry that defies logic. Rifles that fold into the size of a wedding ring. Armor that repairs itself mid-combat. A single gauntlet that, according to the holographic tag floating beside it, can rewrite the gravitational constant of any object within a fifty-meter radius. New Arsenal- script
"We do." Kael gestures toward the far end of the row. "The final piece. We call it the Echo." Elena Markov, former curator of hidden technologies, runs
"Beautiful, isn't it?" The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere. The moment her fingers make contact, a soft