May 8 2021. 00:43. Rome.
The walk—no, the speedwalk—back to Dante feels like an eternity despite taking less than a few minutes.
By the time I slip back into the demonstration hall, most of the guests have already arrived.
The room is enormous.
Yesterday, I'd only seen it while workers were still preparing everything. Empty walls. Equipment crates. Technicians measuring distances. Nothing particularly memorable.
Now? Now it finally makes sense.
The reinforced chamber looks more like a military testing facility disguised as part of a luxury gala. Thick steel panels line portions of the walls. Temporary blast barriers have been installed around the far end of the room, and rows of guests stand behind clearly marked safety lines while security quietly guides everyone into position.
Then my eyes find it. The railgun.
For the first time since arriving in Italy, I finally see the damn thing properly.
But this time, it's not inside the reinforced case.
Finally, after everything we've gone through to get it, the railgun is actually out.
Dante holds it firmly with both hands while several technicians finish their final inspections nearby.
Even without understanding the engineering behind it, the looks around the room tell me most of these people know exactly what they're looking at. This thing was never designed for ordinary people—or ordinary targets.
A low murmur spreads throughout the room as more guests get their first proper look.
"So it really exists..."
"Incredible..."
A few people don't even bother hiding their excitement. Others simply stare.
Then my phone vibrates.
Mister sends a message into the group chat.
"Stay alert."
Another message follows almost immediately.
"Bear in mind the name Giovanni Bianchi."
That's all he writes. No explanation. No elaboration.
Fuck. Again with this Giovanni guy.
A second notification appears. This time from Shock.
"Going analog for a bit. Don't trust digital comms unless absolutely necessary. I don't know which channels are compromised anymore. Looking for Sergio. Need another pair of hands on the tech side."
What the fuck? Even the network's compromised too?
I barely finish reading before my phone buzzes again.
A new message from Tetra appears. "Multiple people are heading into the demonstration room. More than before. I'm on my way. @Artemis, be careful."
I slowly lift my eyes from the screen.
He's right, people are still entering. Damn it.
Some are Camorra members. Others are security. A few look like ordinary family associates without any obvious rank or title.
Some naturally drift toward the walls while others quietly position themselves closer to Dante than before.
My pulse slows instead of quickening.
Alright… who are you?
My eyes begin working almost on instinct, sweeping slowly across the room without ever settling on one person for too long.
Faces. Hands. Posture. Distance. Breathing.
My ears sift through overlapping conversations, separating laughter from whispers, footsteps from shifting chairs. Even the way people carry themselves starts standing out.
One guard looks relaxed, maybe a little too relaxed, but his attention keeps returning to the exits. Another underboss folds his arms, though his body language matches the conversation he's having. A technician wipes sweat from his forehead for what feels like the tenth time tonight, but he's been doing that since I first arrived.
Nothing. Or maybe too many little things.
My fingers twitch ever so slightly near the concealed pistol beneath my jacket before I force them still.
Don't rush. Observe first.
At the front of the room, Dante continues speaking as though nothing has changed.
I catch his eye for only a fraction of a second.
Thankfully, it's enough.
His expression doesn't change, but he subtly shifts his attention toward Rafael.
Nothing dramatic. Just a small gesture, barely visible to anyone who isn't actively watching for it.
Rafael immediately understands.
He quietly says something into his earpiece.
Within seconds, several guards begin repositioning.
Two drift closer to the Don. Another subtly shifts toward Dante's flank, while a fourth quietly closes off one of the side approaches without making it obvious to the guests.
Nobody seems to notice.
From everyone else's perspective, the demonstration continues exactly as planned.
Dante adjusts his grip on the railgun before looking around the room.
He speaks in Italian first, addressing the underbosses gathered around him before smoothly repeating the important parts in English for the foreign guests.
"As a precaution, this demonstration will take place inside a room specifically reinforced for the occasion," he says calmly. "The walls, flooring, and firing lane have all been prepared to ensure the safety of everyone present."
One of the older underbosses raises a hand. "What is the effective range?"
"Significantly farther than conventional firearms. It is more comparable to an anti-material platform." Dante answers without hesitation.
Another voice follows. "The power source?"
"Self-contained."
Someone else leans forward. "And the targeting?"
Dante rests a hand near the weapon's controls. "The calibration process compensates for electromagnetic drift before discharge."
I almost smile. Bullshit.
Of course, it isn't a complete lie. But for the rest of us—the group of edgerunners sent halfway across the world to steal this damn thing—it's very confident bullshit.
There's enough truth mixed with the right technical language that anyone unfamiliar with the weapon assumes he understands every component.
Which, to be fair, is exactly what this presentation is supposed to accomplish.
Nobody here expects Dante to be an engineer. At best, they expect him to look like the man capable of acquiring something nobody else could.
Mission accomplished.
Dante continues explaining the weapon's capabilities, occasionally gesturing toward the reinforced firing lane farther down the hall where several steel targets stand behind layers of concrete and composite armour plating.
The questions keep coming, becoming increasingly more technical.
Cooling systems. Maintenance. Power output. Logistics.
Dante answers each one calmly.
Sometimes correctly. Other times vaguely.
But calm all the same, carrying himself with the confidence of someone who knows nobody else in the room understands the weapon well enough to challenge him.
Several underbosses exchange approving looks while the Don watches quietly.
When Dante reaches the end of the presentation, he steps onto the slightly elevated firing platform. He lowers the barrel toward the prepared targets, and the room gradually falls silent.
Every eye follows the weapon as Dante places a finger near the trigger.
"For the demonstration—"
Before he can finish, the lights die.
Everything disappears as darkness swallows the room.
The music from the public section of the gala cuts off so abruptly that the silence almost hurts.
A split second later, confused voices erupt throughout the hall.
"What happened?"
"The power?"
"What's going on?"
Nobody understands.
But I see it. Movement.
My eyes don't need much light to work.
Several silhouettes are already moving, advancing toward Dante while drawing weapons from beneath their jackets.
Suppressors. Compact rifles. Pistols. Knives. SMGs.
The "guards" from earlier.
Okay. It's go time.
One reaches for the Don. Another angles toward Dante. Several more spread outward—not to shoot civilians—but to cut Rafael and the legitimate security teams off from the rest of the room.
"DOWN!" I shout, my pistol already in hand.
Without even a second of hesitation, Dante throws himself to the ground, trusting my voice completely.
The closest assassin never even realizes I've drawn.
Two suppressed shots punch through his chest before he can raise his weapon.
A second man turns toward me.
One round punches straight through his head.
He drops instantly.
The first gunshots shatter the room, and screams immediately follow.
"TETRA!" I yell, diving behind cover near Dante. "I'M HERE!"
Stealth disappears.
Tetra bursts through the crowd, driving shoulder-first into another attacker before the man can reinforce the ambush.
Both crash through a nearby table. Wood splinters. Glass explodes across the floor.
Three more conspirators try forcing their way toward Dante.
I intercept one.
Tetra catches another.
The third barely gets two steps before Rafael reaches him.
"No, you don't!" Rafael roars. "Bastardo!" His fist slams into the assassin's ribs with enough force to launch him across the room. The crack of breaking bone is audible even over the screaming.
All of it happens in only a few seconds.
Then, around us, the legitimate Camorra guards finally understand what's happening.
Weapons are drawn.
Orders are shouted in rapid Italian.
"Proteggete il Don!"
"Chiudete le uscite!"
"Abbatteteli!"
They surge into the fight alongside us, and the demonstration hall erupts into complete chaos.
Gunfire erupts throughout the room, with chaos breaking out everywhere.
Not the scattered shots from a failed ambush anymore.
It's a full-on firefight as legitimate Camorra guards immediately return fire on the imposters.
Some guests scream, throwing themselves behind tables and reinforced barriers. Others simply freeze, unable to process what's happening.
I stay low behind cover, quickly glancing toward Dante.
"You good?" I ask without taking my eyes off the room.
Dante nods once. "I'm fine."
Good enough.
He glances back at me for the briefest moment before looking toward the Don instead. "...Thank you."
"No problem."
A burst of automatic fire tears across the hall.
Tetra dives into cover beside us a second later. "You two alright?"
"We're good," I answer. "You?"
"Still breathing."
"I'll take that."
Across the room, Rafael has completely abandoned subtlety as another assassin rushes him with a combat knife.
"No!" He catches the man's wrist and drives him bodily into one of the reinforced walls. "Fuori dai coglioni!"
The assassin crashes into a marble pillar hard enough to crack both the stone and whatever remains of his spine.
He doesn't get back up.
Several of Rafael's men engage two more attackers trying to push deeper toward the Don. Muzzle flashes illuminate the dark room in rapid bursts as bodies dive between overturned tables and shattered display stands.
Elsewhere, legitimate security personnel finally stop hesitating.
Weapons are fully out. Orders overlap one another in rapid Italian.
"Protect the Don!"
"Left hallway!"
"Watch the flank!"
The underbosses aren't exactly helpless either.
Several immediately dive behind cover while drawing concealed pistols of their own. Others begin barking orders to their own men.
And with that, the succession ceremony completely falls apart.
My phone vibrates repeatedly against my jacket.
I quickly check my corners, making sure nobody's rushing my position before pulling it out for only a second.
This better be good.
Shock sends several messages into the group chat.
"Trying to restore security. Blackout wasn't accidental. Multiple users fighting me for control."
My stomach sinks. Fuck.
Another message from her appears almost immediately.
"Whole network compromised. Swapping to damage control."
"...Shit." I sigh as my senses pick up movement from an assassin rounding the corner.
I turn and fire almost on instinct.
One shot catches him square in the throat. He drops before getting the chance to pull the trigger.
I duck back behind cover as another burst of gunfire tears through the room.
Before I can process anything else, Mister sends another message.
"Outside is under attack. Confirmed. Cosa Nostra."
Almost as though the message itself summons it, gunfire erupts somewhere beyond the demonstration hall.
Even through the reinforced walls I hear sustained automatic fire instead of isolated shots.
The echo rolls through the building, followed almost immediately by the sound of screaming guests.
More notifications appear from Shock.
"Multiple entry points breached. Hostiles entering public gala."
Mister immediately follows.
"I'm with Shock. Identifying friend from foe. Tracking suspicious movement."
A final message from Shock pops onto my screen.
"DO NOT ENTER PUBLIC AREA!"
"...Great." I stare at the messages for half a second before locking my phone again.
My grip tightens around the pistol. This is fucked.
We've got assassins inside the demonstration hall disguised as Camorra personnel. Whether they're traitors, infiltrators, or spies doesn't even matter anymore.
Outside, the Cosa Nostra has launched a full assault on the gala itself.
They're hitting us from both sides.
Another explosion rocks the building. Dust rains from the ceiling. The screams outside grow louder.
Panic spreads through both the guests and the Neapolitan Camorra alike as people begin running in every direction while security desperately tries to redirect them away from the fighting.