[h1]9:04 AM, Tuesday, February 18th, 2020[/h1] [h3]Somewhere in the city[/h3] The man in the dark suit advanced through the alleyway slowly, steadily, his boots splashing through puddles of melting snow as the morning drizzle petered off his umbrella. His features were strong, with the iron jaw of a man accustomed to power and the faded silver hair of old wisdom, and he wore no ornamentation save a silver and clearly expensive watch on his wrist. He whistled as he walked, a nameless tune he had probably picked up from some commercial or another. He turned a corner deeper into the alleyway and paused in front of a bundle of wet rags on the ground, piled up on front of a piece of cardboard. He nudged the head with the toe of his boot, and a humanoid shape stirred beneath it. "Get up," he said, in a voice dripping with impatience. The sound of servos whirring rang out as the figure in the rags sat up, a few fingers of stainless grey metal poking out and pulling the shawl around itself. "You shouldn't be here," it said in a hollow, mechanical voice, heavy with reverberation. "It isn't time." "There's been an incident," the man in the dark suit said, glancing down at his watch. "We need to move the timetable up. I'll fill you in in the car." "Does this mean we're going to Phase 2?" The figure in the rags spoke as it rose to its feet, robotic legs emerging from the heap. There was an air of obvious hope in its voice, and the man in the suit grinned. "It does, and well-timed. The mayor is hosting a fundraising breakfast downtown. How soon can you mobilize your men?" "It's done." The two figures turned and sauntered off the way the man in the suit had come, in the direction of the unmarked black limousine that awaited them. "Here's to the new world." [hr] Fifteen minutes later, sixteen armed assailants burst into the dining room of the Marriot Marquis Hotel, where Mayor Lewis Stephens holds a campaign fundraiser. A gunfight with security forces is short-lived, as the attackers mow down all opposition with military efficiency. They are heavily armed and each one has some kind of advanced prosthetic enhancement, from a cybernetic arm to half a body composed of metal. Their leader, almost more machine than man, is identified by security forces as Adam Meadows, formed Navy Seal with a decorated and highly classified black ops record. Two minutes after that, a warehouse on the harbor explodes. Nobody is hurt, but eyewitnesses report a massive cloud of smoke rising up from the scene, and though the doors are blown off by the blast, the structure of the building is suspiciously unharmed. First responders quickly contain the area, awaiting a bomb squad to inspect the incident. At the exact same time, a nondescript older man in a bloodstained shirt staggers into a gastropub, begging the proprietors and patrons not to call the hospital before passing out. [hr]