The roar of the crowd sounded like the howl of a wounded beast in the distance. The sky above the Embassy District burned red, not from dawn, but from the reflection of flames as dozens of Molotov cocktails slammed into the front lines of The Cleaners’ barricade. Thick black smoke billowed upward, obscuring the optical sensors of surveillance drones that circled restlessly in the air.Vittorio Valdieri stood in the shadows of a narrow alley, just two blocks from the embassy’s main gate. A thin black mask covered his face, his eyes narrowed as he studied the electrified barbed wire crowning the high wall.“Do you hear that, Silas?” Vittorio whispered. His hand brushed the grip of The Black Mamba beneath his tactical jacket.“The sound of people starving for justice, Don,” Silas replied, adjusting the backpack filled with plastic explosives. “Or maybe just people who want to watch the world burn.”“Same thing.” Vittorio glanced back at Elena, who stood behind them, her face pale. “Elena

The garbage truck jerked to a rough stop in an abandoned landfill on the outskirts of the Western Industrial District. The stench of rotting organic waste mixed with the sharp tang of rusted metal, but for Vittorio Valdieri, it was the perfect camouflage.Silas jumped down first, his AK-47 sweeping the area with practiced vigilance. “Clear, Don. Pico has the replacement vehicle ready behind those containers.”Vittorio stepped down more slowly, his hands gripping the black metal briefcase and Antonio’s notebook as if they were his own heart. Leo Ravelli’s body trembled violently, the effects of the cardiac stimulant Silas had injected earlier beginning to fade, leaving behind a crushing exhaustion that felt like tons of concrete pressing down on him.“Elena, get down,” Vittorio ordered without turning.Elena climbed down awkwardly. Her midnight blue dress was ruined now, torn at the hem and smeared with dark stains. She looked at Vittorio with an expression that was hard to read, a mix

The freezing mountain wind swept across the mouth of the mining tunnel, carrying the scent of snow and the lingering trace of ozone from the battle against the Inquisitor. Vittorio Valdieri stood firm at the edge of the darkness, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the first light of dawn began to cut through the gray sky. Behind him, Malphas’s body lay like discarded scrap metal, stripped of all value, while Elena curled on the cold ground, hugging herself as if trying to keep her soul from shattering.“This world never gave us a choice in being born, Elena,” Vittorio said, breaking the silence. His voice was low, trembling with the exhaustion of Leo Ravelli’s body, yet it still carried a steel-like resonance. “But it does give us the right to choose how we die.”Elena looked up. Her face was pale, her swollen eyes now burning with a hollow hatred. “Die? You talk about death like it’s a medal of honor. I’m not human, Vittorio. I’m just a control variable in their laboratory. And Leo?

The explosion of liquid nitrogen vapor engulfed the entire Main Laboratory of The Hive in a dense, freezing white fog. The shrill wail of air pressure alarms pierced the ears, competing with the roar of ventilation systems struggling to expel the excess gas. In the midst of the visual chaos, Vittorio Valdieri moved not with his eyes, but with sharp spatial memory and the instincts of a predator long accustomed to hunting in the dark.“Don’t fire blindly, Silas! Hold your angles!” Vittorio shouted as he slid beneath a steel console table.“It’s not easy, Don! Their thermal sensors are adapting to the cold!” Silas replied, unleashing short bursts from his AK-47 toward the upper balcony. RATATATAT!Vittorio wasted no time. He crawled toward the service stairs on the right, where he was certain Dr. Hans Weber was hiding behind a bulletproof barrier. Every breath felt like inhaling shards of ice slicing through Leo Ravelli’s lungs, yet he forced his heart forward.“Vittorio! You cannot esc

A dense fog crept low across the frozen vineyards, wrapping Lorenzo’s villa in a cold veil of silver mist. Inside the main hall, the scent of Sicilian cigars and heavy red wine filled the air. Flickering candlelight danced across the surface of a teakwood table where Vittorio Valdieri had spread out an old map marked with red ink.“The world is never free of rats, Lorenzo,” Vittorio said, pointing to a spot on the edge of the Southern District, specifically an old winery called Cantina di Sangue. “Even in the land you consider sacred, there’s the stench of betrayal.”Lorenzo “The Wall” Moretti frowned, his wrinkled hand tightening around a crystal glass. “Don, all of us here are remnants of your era. We swore an oath to protect this territory from The Circle’s influence.”“An oath is easy to speak when your stomach is full, Lorenzo,” Vittorio replied flatly. He glanced at Antonio’s open notebook in front of him. “But according to Antonio’s records, one of you has been receiving regula