A figure materializes from the shadows—tall, androgynous, wearing a lab coat that seems to be woven from fiber optics. Kael. The ghost of every black-site project that never officially happened.
Kael's smile doesn't reach their eyes. "The Echo works on anything. Including memories. Including people. Including the person holding it." New Arsenal- script
"No." Kael smiles, and the fiber-optic coat shifts through colors too fast to name. "It's a scalpel. And we're giving it to you because the old rules are gone. The old arsenals—nukes, drones, cyber—they're children's toys now. The next war won't be fought with firepower. It'll be fought with the ability to un-exist things." Kael's smile doesn't reach their eyes
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. Including people