Malachi did not gloat publicly. He did not need to. Instead he appeared on every screen on Earth—billboards in Times Square, holographic news tickers in Neo-Tokyo, cracked tablet displays in refugee camps along the flooded Bengal coast—wearing a simple white lab coat over a charcoal turtleneck. No insignia. No corporate logos. Just a tired, handsome man with silver-streaked hair and gray eyes that seemed to look directly into every viewer’s soul.
