To hell with your Italian Pasta...
The nasty smile on Mussolonia's face and the fake sorrow in his voice made Cornelius want to smash the tablet over his head, mix his blood and brains into a sauce, make Italian Pasta with it, and force-feed it to him.
"This was computer-generated, wasn't it?"
He held the tablet and eyed Mussolonia warily.
Creating a video this realistic would be technically difficult, but not impossible if enough money had been spent. Perhaps the Italians had used the latest technology to make it, hoping to trick him into giving them evidence.
Yes. That had to be it.
The more Cornelius thought about it, the more convinced he became that this was exactly what had happened.
Poor Cornelius had already begun deceiving himself.
Mussolonia looked at Cornelius with pity. He too had thought it was a hoax when his secretary told him Typhon had appeared on Sicily. But as it turned out, lying to yourself offered nothing but a little comfort.
"God will protect you."
He spoke in a sympathetic tone. "President Cornelius, we Italians have always been hospitable, but after something this serious, I know you must be frustrated, remorseful, and distressed. You have my deepest sympathy, so I won't keep you here for Italian Pasta..."
"Antonio, see President Cornelius out. Arrange a private plane for him—the fastest one available. I'm sure our president is desperate to get home."
The secretary named Antonio immediately stepped forward to escort Cornelius out. At this point, suspicion had largely been lifted from Cornelius.
The reason was simple: no one would be foolish enough to release those monsters in their own country, just as no one would drop a Nuclear Bomb on a densely populated part of their own country.
Cornelius knew none of this. Even if he