May 8, 2021. 01:47. Rome.
There's no hesitation.
As the first Neo-Tanwir soldier clears the smoke, my rifle comes up, sending three shots straight at him.
One sparks harmlessly against his chest plate. Another clips the side of his helmet, jerking his head sideways. The last slips through the gap beneath his arm as he raises his rifle.
He stumbles.
Whether he's dead or not, I don't stick around to find out.
"DOWN!"
I reach out from cover, grab Dante by the shoulder, and yank him behind the nearest section of collapsed marble just as a storm of rifle fire tears through where we'd been standing.
Chunks of stone explode over our heads while another burst chews through the pillar behind us.
"...Thanks," Dante mutters.
"Don't sweat it."
Nearby, Remi's Sandevistan activates with the now-familiar afterimage of him standing still for a split second before turning into a blur.
One moment he's beside us. The next he's already halfway across the room, diving behind another section of cover before incoming rounds shred the marble where he'd been standing.
Tetra throws himself behind an overturned banquet table, rifle already shouldered. "Where's Wissen?!"
Nobody answers.
I glance back.
WHERE DID HE GO?
Whatever conflict existed between the Camorra and the Cosa Nostra is instantly overshadowed the moment Neo-Tanwir enters the building.
Multiple breaches erupt throughout the gala almost simultaneously as explosions shake every inch of the complex. Gunfire tears in from several directions at once, with Camorra soldiers dropping beside Cosa Nostra gunmen before either side even realizes who's shooting anymore.
Anyone still focused on the mafia war is dead within seconds.
Neo-Tanwir keeps advancing with frightening discipline, barely slowing as Camorra security desperately throws themselves into their path.
One guard empties an entire magazine into a soldier's chest before a burst of rifle fire cuts him down.
Another charges with a shotgun, only to disappear beneath overlapping streams of automatic fire.
"STOP THEM!"
"They're heading for the railgun!"
A squad of Camorra soldiers rushes into the hallway after us, only to realize they've arrived too late. A Neo-Tanwir strike team has already grabbed Dante's fallen briefcase, securing the railgun.
One operative tosses the reinforced suitcase to another while the rest immediately pivot outward, forming a tight defensive perimeter around it.
Several Camorra defenders try to break through.
None of them make it.
One falls before reaching the stairs.
Another manages two steps before rifle fire tears through him.
The last nearly reaches the platform before a soldier calmly plants two rounds through his head.
"No..." Dante breathes, helplessly pinned down by suppressing fire.
In my peripheral vision, the railgun is already moving.
By the time anyone can react, it's disappearing through the breach under heavy escort.
Then tragedy strikes.
"Don!"
My head snaps toward the voice just in time to see the Don stumble.
A dark stain immediately begins spreading across the front of his suit before his knees buckle beneath him.
"NO!"
Security rushes him from every direction.
Despite his mangled shoulder, Rafael immediately abandons everything else.
"Protect the Don!"
He practically throws himself toward the old man, ignoring the blood pouring down his side as the remaining guards desperately form a human shield around them.
Dante freezes.
For one horrible second, I can actually see the choice written across his face.
The railgun or the Don.
"Fuck..." Dante mutters, his jaw tightening as he turns back toward the wounded Don.
Suddenly, thick grey smoke begins pouring through the shattered sections of the building.
Within seconds, visibility collapses as the room dissolves into shadows.
Gunfire erupts somewhere to my left.
Someone screams while another voice shouts in Italian.
I can't tell who's shooting anymore. Friend or enemy—it doesn't matter. Nobody knows.
Then Dante's voice cuts through the smoke.
"NO! CAZZO! DON! NON PUOI MORIRE COSÌ!"
One glance is enough to know he's not leaving, and neither is the Don surviving this.
"We need to GET THE FUCK OUT!" I shout, turning toward Tetra.
Before either of us can move, a deep rumble rolls across the night sky.
At first, I think it's another explosion.
But it isn't.
Something tears overhead, and I catch a split-second glimpse of a sleek aircraft screaming across the venue, its engines cutting through the chaos below.
For one brief moment, everyone looks up.
"...What the fuck?" one of the security guards asks.
A figure separates from the aircraft, falling fast without a parachute.
He crashes into the shattered courtyard with enough force to crack the pavement beneath him, dust exploding outward in every direction.
When the dust finally settles, a man in a tailored black suit stands in the center of the crater, crimson eyes glaring through the haze with two katanas already drawn, lightning coursing along their blades.
The unmistakable Arasaka insignia catches the emergency lights.
Michelangelo.
"...Holy shit," I breathe.
"The fuck?!" Remi blurts.
Tetra simply stares. "...You've gotta be kidding me."
Michelangelo doesn't waste a second. The instant he lands, his crimson eyes sweep across the battlefield that the gala has become.
Smoke. Gunfire. Dozens of armed combatants. Dead civilians. Camorra. Neo-Tanwir.
His gaze briefly settles on Dante, pinned behind cover with me.
Then he's gone.
I barely catch the first step before he disappears into the smoke.
One Neo-Tanwir soldier swings his rifle toward him, but the barrel never finishes turning. A flash of steel cuts through the haze, and the soldier's body crumples before the rifle even hits the floor.
Another operative pivots.
Too slow.
Michelangelo slips past him like he isn't even there. The man takes another step before collapsing in two separate directions.
"Holy shit," I mutter.
He's fast and horrifyingly efficient.
Neo-Tanwir soldiers adjust immediately, breaking into smaller fireteams and using overturned vehicles, marble pillars, and shattered walls for cover. Others reposition through adjoining corridors while another squad blankets the area with smoke and suppressive fire from stolen corporate weapons.
"Artemis, we need to get moving."
Dante's voice is steady again as he leans out from cover just long enough to fire two controlled shots into a lightly armored Neo-Tanwir rifleman advancing down the corridor before ducking back behind the wall.
"Go."
"Right." Keeping low, I sprint to the next stretch of cover as rounds crack through the smoke overhead.
Whoever trained these bastards knew exactly what they were doing.
Michelangelo cuts straight through them anyway.
It reminds me of someone trying to swat dozens of mosquitoes in a room.
Every swing kills one.
The problem is there are always three more.
By this point, the gala has completely fallen apart.
The surviving underbosses dive for cover while the few Camorra soldiers still standing desperately try to hold a line that no longer exists.
Somewhere off to my left, Remi finally appears through the smoke as his movements abruptly slow down.
He ducks another burst of rifle fire.
"Nah! Nope! Absolutely the fuck not!" He throws himself behind an overturned display before scrambling toward another piece of cover.
I raise an eyebrow, confused. "What the fuck?! Why aren't you doing the Sandevistan speed thing?!"
"BRO!" he yells over the gunfire. "I'M ON FUCKING COOLDOWN! WHAT TYPE OF GONKASS RIPPERDOC PUT LIMITERS ON MY SHIT?!"
Another burst slams into the marble behind him.
"ALSO WHAT THE FUCK?! WHY IS BIG M HERE?! THE REST OF US ARE JUST LITTLE DUDES! WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?!"
Even now… really?
"Remi, I don't know if you've put this together yet, but we need to LEA—"
Another burst slams into the wall beside me, forcing me back behind cover before I can finish.
Beside me, Dante stares through the smoke toward the railgun's last known position.
His grip tightens around his pistol.
For a split second, I genuinely think he's about to charge straight into the middle of Neo-Tanwir by himself.
Then he closes his eyes and takes one slow breath.
When he opens them again, the rage is still there—but now it's under control.
Nearby, Michelangelo reaches another pair of Neo-Tanwir operatives.
They don't even get a shot off.
One loses his weapon. The other loses his head.
I almost don't see Wissen either.
He's still moving through the chaos at a walking pace.
A Neo-Tanwir soldier in powered armor sweeps past one of the halls ahead, but Wissen slips just out of his line of sight, never breaking stride.
Seconds later, one of the regular infantrymen rounds the corner and spots him instead.
Wissen sidesteps the man's lunge, catches his rifle, twists it free, and fires one round straight into his chest without wasting a single movement.
The body drops.
Wissen simply lets the rifle fall before continuing toward the same corridor Dante and I are trying to reach.
"...The hell..."
Wissen barely seems to react to the chaos around him.
Seeing someone his age carry himself like that makes me pause for half a second.
He's still moving at the same steady pace.
Michelangelo appears beside us so suddenly I nearly pull the trigger out of reflex.
"FUC—"
He doesn't even acknowledge me. His attention stays on Dante.
"Your security is sloppy." His voice is completely flat. "Take Dante somewhere safe."
"YEP!" I answer before Dante even gets the chance, grabbing him by the sleeve. "We're moving!"
Tetra pops up from behind another section of cover, squeezing off several controlled shots before ducking back down as Neo-Tanwir pushes through the opposite corridor.
"Artemis!" he bellows. "What is the plan?!"
"New plan!" I shout back. "GET THE HELL OUT!"
He nods without hesitation, immediately abandoning any idea of holding the hallway.
Instead, he sprints toward the nearest survivors, hauling one wounded Camorra guard to his feet before shoving another toward the exit.
"If you can run," he shouts, "RUN!"
Remi falls in beside him without hesitation.
"FUCK ME, BRO! THESE GUYS CAN KISS MY ASS! WHY DO THEY HAVE SO MUCH SHIT?!"
"I DON'T KNOW, REMI!" I yell back. "HOW ABOUT YOU PAY ATTENTION TO WHEN WISSEN SAID THEY'D BEEN RAIDING CORPO—"
Another bullet whistles past my head.
Tetra ducks behind another pillar, returns fire toward the advancing Neo-Tanwir troops, then shouts over his shoulder.
"STOP TALKING AND KEEP MOVING!"
Michelangelo never follows.
Instead, he steps into the corridor behind us and flicks a small explosive toward the entrance.
The blast collapses part of the hallway, sending marble and steel crashing down behind us—just enough to slow anyone trying to follow before he turns back toward the remaining Neo-Tanwir forces.
Only then do I realize what he's doing.
He's making sure we get out.
And making damn sure Neo-Tanwir stays in here with him.
By the time we reach the next corridor, Michelangelo is already standing ahead of us.
"How the fuck..."
I slow for half a second, caught somewhere between awe and absolute terror.
I don't even know when he passed us.
He simply points farther down the hall. "This way."
None of us wastes time arguing.
Instead, we run.
Unfortunately, the corridor isn't any safer; it's just quieter than the battlefield we left behind.
Gunfire still echoes throughout the gala, but it's different now. With Neo-Tanwir securing the railgun and Michelangelo unexpectedly turning the tide, the fighting has become far more controlled. Most of their forces are already pulling out while smaller squads stay behind, deliberately buying time for the rest to escape.
Every few seconds another burst of rifle fire echoes through the smoke, followed by the unmistakable sound of Michelangelo carving straight through whoever was unlucky enough to stand in his way.
"...Fuck," Remi mutters. "Remind me to never get on Big M's bad side."
As we round another corner, Mister, Shock, and Wissen emerge from the opposite hallway at a jog.
"Holy shit, where were you?" I ask.
"I went to retrieve Mister and Shock," Wissen replies calmly, barely sounding winded.
Mister keeps pace beside him, pistol in hand as he scans every intersection they pass.
"Good. Everyone's still alive."
He checks behind us before continuing.
"The Cosa Nostra has withdrawn. Wissen's theory about Neo-Tanwir appears to have been correct. Whatever opportunity this gala presented is over. Our priority now is getting everyone out alive."
Shock glances over my shoulder toward another flash of blue lightning somewhere behind us.
"Fuck's sake."
"What?" I frown.
"I thought we finally got rid of that guy." She shakes her head. "His timing couldn't have been any better... or worse."
A bloodied combat knife remains in one hand while her pistol stays trained down the corridor in the other. Without another word, she falls into formation beside us as we continue toward the nearest exit.
Behind us, Neo-Tanwir continues falling back in disciplined fireteams, laying down measured suppressive fire before retreating farther into the complex. At the same time, Camorra security slowly begins reclaiming sections of the venue one hallway at a time, encouraged by the fact that Michelangelo is systematically dismantling anything unfortunate enough to cross his path.
I still catch glimpses of him through collapsing walls and drifting smoke.
One moment he's fifty meters away.
The next he's somewhere else entirely.
Every time I see him, another Neo-Tanwir operative is hitting the floor.
"...Wow."
With Michelangelo occupying the remaining resistance, we finally manage to regroup around Dante.
I stay beside him while Remi covers our left.
Tetra hangs a few steps behind, refusing to leave anyone behind if they can still be rescued safely. Twice he breaks away just long enough to haul wounded Camorra soldiers to their feet before pushing them toward the evacuation route.
Shock continues calling out friend-or-foe identifications whenever she recognizes someone through the smoke, while Mister keeps up a disciplined fighting retreat, only firing when absolutely necessary before immediately moving again.
Nobody says much.
We're all too busy trying to stay alive.
As we round the next corridor, four Neo-Tanwir operatives step into view.
I immediately grab Dante by the shoulder and shove him behind the nearest section of cover while bringing my rifle up.
Before either of us can fire, four suppressed shots ring out in rapid succession.
All four operatives collapse before they even manage to shoulder their rifles.
My rifle stays trained down the hallway, sweeping for the shooter.
Remi skids to a stop.
"...Who the hell—"
Tetra immediately drops behind cover, rifle snapping toward the far end of the corridor as he searches for whoever had just erased an entire fireteam before any of us even saw them.
My rifle stays trained down the corridor.
A woman lowers her suppressed pistol almost casually, as though dropping four armed Neo-Tanwir soldiers in the span of two seconds was nothing worth acknowledging.
She has a slim, athletic frame with pale skin and a short black bob framing delicate features. Matte-black cybernetics run across the backs of her hands, while a faint chrome seam disappears beneath her left eye into her hairline. An asymmetrical black dress leaves one shoulder bare, its layered belts cinching neatly around her waist.
Shock immediately freezes. "Wait... Linh?"
Mister's helmet tilts ever so slightly toward her.
"Miss Tcheou," he greets politely. "It's a pleasure to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."
Linh's gaze shifts toward them, giving a small nod.
"Hello again."
As her eyes drift to Wissen, she inclines her head ever so slightly in quiet respect.
Wissen simply returns the gesture.
Nothing more needs to be said.
My eyebrow slowly rises.
"...So this is the Linh you've been talking about? The one you wanted me to meet earlier?"
"That would be me," she replies without missing a beat. "Linh Tcheou. Biotechnica Special Operations."
She holsters her suppressed pistol with a small smile.
"I've been tracking this insurgent network across Europe for months. Italy was simply their next destination, though unfortunately I arrived too late."
Her eyes briefly sweep over the rest of us before returning to me.
"We can exchange proper introductions later."
Before anyone can ask another question, Dante cuts through the conversation.
"Not now." His voice is firm. "We move. Now."
Nobody argues.
Instead, he immediately opens a secure comm channel.
"Rafael."
A burst of static answers. "Dimmi."
"Riattiva la sicurezza. Riporta online le difese automatiche. Blocca tutto quello che puoi."
"...Ci sto già lavorando."
Dante holsters his communicator as the channel cuts, his attention already returning to the corridor ahead.
"Let's go." Dante turns back toward us before his eyes settle on Linh.
For a brief moment, nobody says anything.
Shock notices immediately. "She's with us."
Mister gives a small nod. "I can personally vouch for Miss Tcheou."
Dante's expression doesn't change.
"I'm sure you can." His eyes never leave Linh. "But you're still Biotechnica."
Linh doesn't seem offended in the slightest.
"No." She gives a small smile. "I'm Biotechnica Special Operations."
"...Exactly."
Another brief silence.
Then, to my surprise, Linh simply nods.
"A reasonable decision. Not gonna argue that."
She slips her pistol back out of its holster, glancing toward the distant gunfire echoing through the gala.
"There are still a few people I'd like to observe."
I follow her gaze.
Somewhere beyond the smoke, blue lightning flashes again.
Linh catches me looking.
"Besides," she says calmly, "I suspect I'll learn more staying here than following you."
Dante gives a single nod. "Good luck."
"And to you."
Without another word, she turns and disappears back toward the fighting.
For a moment, I just stand there. "...She's voluntarily going back?"
"That's a corpo for you, choom," Remi mutters. "Besides, you see her implants and shit?"
"Damn," Tetra quietly replies. "I don't even know what to think of her."
"Move." Dante's voice snaps everyone back to reality.
With that, we fall back once again.
Mister and Shock fall in beside Wissen. Remi keeps glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, Tetra remains at the rear to make sure nobody falls behind, and I stay close to Dante as we push deeper into the complex.
Behind us, the sounds of battle continue echoing throughout the gala.
Every so often another distant explosion shakes the building, followed by the unmistakable sound of Michelangelo continuing his work somewhere within the smoke.
None of us need to look back.
We already know who's making that noise.