Dried detoxifying foam crunched underneath the cyborg’s feet as he walked through the meeting hall, passing a handful of dead men, and made his way over to Patron Sylvus, who despite having breathed in the toxic fumes, was still hanging on to life as he lay on the ground.
“Venator,” Sylvus managed to say after some effort. “It was Morinth. He and that… planetfaller…”
Before he could finish, Sylvus collapsed and the cyborg pulled a small device from his front jacket pocket and injected the Patron with a green liquid that could be seen as it traveled from the entry point on his neck and dispersed throughout the veins until the color vanished.
“Take Patron Sylvus to the medical center,” the cyborg said to three accompanying soldiers who bore the crossed golden keys mark of Patronage on their armor. “I will inform Patronage.”
“What about New Jericho Security,” asked one of the soldiers.
“They are beholden to Oligarchy and can’t be trusted,” the cyborg replied. “And they’re likely already en route.”
“Look around, sir,” another soldier spoke up as he motioned to the men on the ground. “Oligarchy is finished.”
“Wrong,” the cyborg said. “With no one left to keep Morinth in check, he alone has become the Oligarchy.”