The days ticked by. As the Nightingale completed assembly and underwent testing, the day Char had spoken of finally arrived.
The Commanders-in-Chief of the Federation's Atlantic Sector, Pacific Sector, and the American Regional Garrison all gathered at the New York headquarters.
Kenneth, sporting dark circles under his eyes after being tormented by a barrage of Federal Bureau of Investigation paperwork for quite some time, looked at the two middle-aged men in Federation uniforms and took a sip of coffee from a paper cup.
"Looks like the FBI gave you quite a hard time, Kenneth."
Mike, the Commander-in-Chief responsible for defense affairs in the American region, looked at Kenneth and smiled.
"The FBI has turned into a pack of mad dogs because of Mafty. As long as there's a chance to catch them, they won't let anyone off the hook."
"Since the battle at Oenbelli, Mafty has been launching various attacks all over the world. Federation officials, Man Hunter units... their methods are becoming increasingly precise, moving toward a surgical style..."
At this time, George, the Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Sector, offered his analysis. "Thinking about it, those few guys getting hit might have just been a case of a blind cat running into a dead rat."
"Perhaps, Mike, George... but that's in the past. What matters most now is the upcoming Earth Regional Joint Conference," Kenneth said, draining his coffee in one gulp and tossing the cup into the trash. "Their decision not to station MS in that zone is too risky. We have to ensure the security detail can hold out until our MS arrive."
"Hmph... if Mafty dares to show up, I'll let them experience the 'local flavor' of the American region."
Mike appeared dismissive of Kenneth's concerns.
Likely considering that the presence of armed Federation MS in the city would incite panic among the populace, the authorities had, at most, allowed unarmed Man Hunter Jegans into the urban area.
Consequently, the Federation's MS were confined to their bases, standing by to provide reinforcement at a moment's notice.
Yet, even with only Man Hunter units entering the city, civilian protests and demonstrations occurred frequently—one could call it a long-standing historical tradition of the American region.
However, due to Mafty's focused strikes on the Man Hunter units whenever Federation officials proved elusive, the operational range of various Man Hunter squads had shrunk considerably.
Presumably to diminish Mafty's influence, the arrogant cabinet members had chosen to use a massive number of infantry for security, using the logic: "Even with all these high-ranking officials and aides here without a single MS, those cowards from Mafty won't dare come." It was a move designed to mock Mafty's incompetence.
This placed immense pressure on the guards at the conference building.
Numerous armored vehicles blockaded the roads and guarded various sectors.
Infantry searched everyone entering the building, and a vast number of patrols—including several anti-vehicle teams—had been deployed.
Given the high profile of today's event, many residents of the American region had gathered outside to protest the increasingly draconian residential regulations.
But for Char and his group, they didn't need to sneak in today.
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A young blond man wearing blue janitorial coveralls and a cap pushed a cleaning cart into the utility room.
Inside the room, over a dozen people who had already changed their clothes were quietly waiting for the young man before them; he was the literal "protagonist" of today's events.
Days ago, Char and the others had used internal contacts to scout the venue under the guise of cleaners and maintenance workers, smuggling in weapons through various toolboxes and cleaning carts.
"Everyone..."
Char removed his janitor's cap and pulled off his gloves. His sapphire-like eyes scanned the crowd. "This operation is a one-way ticket—a narrow escape at best, and a death sentence at worst."
"We are in the heart of the Federation. Though there are no MS in the venue now, Federation MS will certainly launch an assault shortly."
Char spoke while looking into their eyes—eyes that held a trace of panic but remained resolute. "This is not the minor skirmishing of the past. Today, alongside our allies, we take the first true step toward changing the world. It all depends on today."
Char paused for a moment, as if having reached a definitive conclusion.
"Many will be sacrificed in this process, be it myself or Hathaway."
Char placed a hand over his heart. "But for the sake of our descendants, for the sake of all people, we are at the final step. Please, lend your strength to Mafty—lend it to me."
Silence fell over the utility room.
Though Char wore an ordinary janitor's uniform that would vanish in a crowd, his steady gaze and the raw emotion in his words left them all in a daze.
Hathaway's sense of trance was even more profound; it was as if he were seeing the spirited Char of the past, galloping across the colony's prairies on horseback.
"To think... that it would eventually evolve into this."
A Marine leaning against a steel locker toyed with a standardized mask painted with a white skull. "But having come this far, there's no room left for regret, is there?"
For the assault team responsible for seizing the venue, everyone wore uniform black balaclavas and skull masks, with the sole exception of Char, who held a pumpkin-head mask.
"Or rather... if we shrink back now, we'll live the rest of our lives in regret."
Hathaway snapped back to his senses, adjusting his own mask.
"Life, soul, whatever—take it all. There's nothing to regret."
A Marine sitting on a toolbox took a deep breath and pulled on his mask. "Hathaway, remember to follow the plan and stay by Damien's side."
"Otherwise, no one here would be able to pilot that custom machine you received recently."
One by one, the Marines donned their masks, signaling their resolve.
Hathaway put on his mask and pulled out a blue suit, handing it to Char.
This was a specific style requested by Char, intended to match the one worn during the Dakar Conference.
"Understood... sync watches. Action begins in five minutes."
Char took the suit and the pumpkin mask. After a brief silence, he announced the start of the operation.
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At this moment in the venue, various Federation aides had taken their seats, and the media had activated their cameras to begin the live broadcast.
Although most of the agenda consisted of the same old platitudes regarding space emigrants, Earth residency policies, the environment, and regional development, the masses on Earth remained deeply concerned about residency regulations.
However, in contrast to their concerns, the Federation's increasing deification of Earth in the public sphere had triggered residency policies that grew stricter every year.
This pushed many civilians to their breaking point; for many, it meant the difference between being a legal citizen and becoming an "illegal resident."
"Sigh... I wonder when this will ever end."
A male cameraman complained in a low voice to the reporter beside him. "If this keeps up, it's a question whether I'll even get my residency permit next year."
"Don't even start, I'm worrying about the same thing," a male reporter whispered, still organizing the questions for the upcoming press conference in his notebook. "Those big shots in the hall just flap their lips and a policy is made, never giving a thought to how many people a single decree will drive to their deaths."
"Alright, that's enough," a male cameraman from another TV station chimed in. "All those big shots see are a pile of numbers. How could they possibly imagine the reality of the situation?"
Though the three felt a surge of resentment, they couldn't curse openly and could only bury their anger deep in their hearts.
Just as everyone expected the meeting to pass in its usual dull fashion, with the Federation aides continuing to promulgate policies that sanctified Earth—
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
A series of dense, loud gunshots rang out, causing everyone to freeze in shock.
The first to react were the security guards inside the hall; they drew their pistols and spun toward the entrance.
But faster than them were the 7.62mm rounds erupting from rifle muzzles.
The Kalashnikov series—even in the year UC 105, its countless variants and sheer reliability ensured its place among modern weaponry.
A dozen Mafty members wearing skull masks and wielding rifles stormed into the venue, swiftly neutralizing all security personnel and seizing control of the entire hall.
The operation was so rapid that the infantry and patrols outside didn't even have time to respond.
Tap... tap... tap...
The sound of leather soles clicking against the floor echoed from the entrance.
A man in a blue suit, wearing a pumpkin-head mask, walked calmly into the venue under the escort of a masked member wielding a rifle.
"Ma... Mafty?!"
Seeing that figure—an image that could be described as a "nightmare" to the Federation's elite cabinet members—appear in the hall, almost every high-ranking official instinctively widened their eyes, their trembling pupils betraying their terror.
"How did you get in here?!"
At that moment, the reporters who had just been grumbling instinctively turned their cameras, filming the Mafty group as they paced leisurely into the venue.
"It was quite simple; we just walked in."
Char looked at the terror-stricken aides, a mocking smile hidden beneath his mask. He even had the composure to wave at the dense cluster of cameras. "Members of the press, please feel free to continue filming. However, to the Federation aides present, I suggest you advise the soldiers outside to withdraw from this building immediately."
"After all... we might accidentally suffer a 'stress response' and send a few bullets into your bodies."
Upon hearing Char's words, several Mafty Marines standing near the high-ranking officials pressed their muzzles directly against the heads of the nearest aides.
"Retreat! Fall back first!"
Watching the Marines' gloved fingers resting on the triggers, the sheer fear of death and the instinct for survival forced the Federation aides—with guns to their heads—to scream at the top of their lungs.
Likely seeing the situation unfold through the live broadcast, the soldiers and armored vehicles that had been surrounding the building and the hall began to retreat to a safe distance, all under the watchful eyes of the external media cameras.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
Listening to the observation reports over his comms, Char smiled. Under the fearful gazes of the crowd and the focus of the lenses, he stepped slowly up to the podium.
With a brief hum signaling the activation of the microphone, Char looked down at the people below—some trembling with fear, others glaring at him in fury—and smiled.
"Members of the Federation Cabinet, I am Mafty Navue Erin. I am the one you fear every waking moment, the one you wish to eliminate above all else."
Char's voice, amplified by the podium's microphone, echoed throughout the hall.
At this moment, whether it was the reporters, the Federation aides present, or the millions watching this live broadcast via television or the internet, everyone held their breath.
They wanted to see what this man—this self-proclaimed Mafty—truly had to say.
"The Federation believes that by killing me, by destroying my image, they can cause the organization known as Mafty to collapse..."
Char's playful, mocking voice echoed through the loudspeakers. "But in the end, 'Mafty' is merely a title—a philosophy. Anyone can exist beneath this mask. No one has ever truly seen the face of the person who wears it."
"The Federation thinks that one man, Mafty, is responsible for everything."
As he spoke, Char casually flipped through the speech manuscript left on the podium, one that hadn't been removed yet, and let out two short laughs.
These mocking chuckles were like sharp blades, piercing into the hearts of the aides who were desperately trying to maintain their thin veneer of pride and arrogance.
"How utterly corrupt... and how incredibly arrogant."
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