The landing gear of the Deviloy-1 hit the private tarmac of the GEM Matrix Hub with a screech that sounded like a premonition. Outside, the sky of Gwenreen City was a toxic soup of neon green and industrial grey, the air heavy with the scent of ozone and high-voltage electricity.
As the jet taxied toward the specialized hangar, the energy in Malcolm Ford's blood—which had been a low, manageable thrum during the flight—suddenly mutated.
It was Malcolm's own Alpha core reacting to the proximity of Gwenreen's unique atmospheric pressure, or perhaps a deep-seated biological trauma resurfacing at the worst possible moment. This was the Aggressive Rut—a rare, catastrophic surge of aggression that had only happened once before, three months ago, and had nearly leveled a city block in Freenly.
Inside the cabin, the temperature rose.
"Sir?" Marcus asked, standing up to unbuckle his seatbelt. "We've arrived."
