The monitor displaying the penthouse’s grand entrance hall transforms into chaos. Thick green smoke billows through the space, and bizarre mechanical contraptions—what appear to be wind-up teeth with legs—skitter across the marble floor. “What the hell did you unleash, Lazlo?” Xander whispers into the comm. “Medical grade smoke bombs,” Lazlo responds cheerfully. “Non-toxic, but extremely disorienting. And the little guys? Just some prototypes I’ve been working on. They’re programmed to seek body heat and make terrifying clicking sounds. No real danger, but absolutely nightmare-inducing. I call
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