-Southern Campobasse, August 1087. Thursday Late Afternoon.-

The metallic ringing of the alarm awoke him from the antique dream which plagued him. Bleary eyes opened to soak in the momentarily overlap of his dreamscape and the reality of a dimly lit living room. Antonio could only jarringly watch his surroundings melt away from the image of a waterlogged foyer, as cold rain flooded in from a ruined doorway. The scene acted as a constant reminder of the night he crawled on his stomach toward the nursery, praying to some unseen god for his daughter's safety. The empty crib eradicated his prayers in the same manner reality erased his dream.

A calloused hand soon zoned in on the noisy contraption, metal slightly straining under his grasp as the noise was silenced. Breathing out a calming breath Antonio gently released the clock, well aware he shouldn't take out his emotions on the inanimate. A glance at the hour told him his nap had thrown him into the late afternoon. Prolonged rest would be detrimental to his goal, yet wasted time aside he didn't regret helping the young woman last night. Even after having his hand sliced open, Antonio could only feel pity for her.

The extent of her injuries wasn't life-threatening, with the only concerns being the blood loss in correlation to her size and any complications with his impromptu chokehold. It was the story behind the wound which was concerning. Antonio didn't need to be a detective to piece together the small clues. Obvious malnutrition, lack of proper weight, insufficient clothing for the cool weather, and most blaring of all, the derogatory words etched into her back.

Personally, he called her Miss out of a form of cautionary respect, due to his previous wife having been of slender build. Thus he was aware the woman could be younger, an idea that further aggravated him when he realized she had been so thoroughly abused. As he dressed her wounds with the small amount of medicinal paste he possessed, it took a conscious effort to stay his agitated hands.

Beyond the injuries sustained, her lack of reaction during the application of paste and wrapping of gauze was worrying enough. Typically coming in contact with an open wound would elicit a bodily reaction even if the person was sleeping. Instead, the woman slept like a corpse. The lack of movement made him check multiple times if her chest still rose in intervals. Antonio didn't need the thought of his chokehold involuntarily causing the woman's death to plague him as well.

Eventually, he had been able to properly attend to her needs and wrapped her in enough blankets to create a facsimile cocoon. Beyond the bandaging, he could only offer her a warm bed to rest. Time would tell if the woman suffered any complications. If she continued to sleep without signs of awakening, he would be forced to request aid from elsewhere. After all, an underground doctor was commonplace in Siracusa.

"Nothing is ever easy in my life is it? Still, I should go out and check the information hubs, see if Pirtanaci didn't put a bounty on my head or something. Might as well pick up groceries as well." he spoke to himself as he rose from the living room floorboards.

That was all he could do at the moment. He had already stayed up 10 hours after his arrival at his base, checking to see if that feeling of being watched meant something. But, throughout his night watch, no one attempted to barge into his base. Even a quick nap didn't erase the feeling from his sixth sense, which was still ringing. Antonio wanted to believe it was merely paranoia eating at his nerves, especially after being allowed to walk away from Pirtanaci's thumb. But, as a precaution, he would look up his previously contacted broker to change apartment. However, to do any of his desired errands he would need to leave the woman alone.

Brushing off the accumulated dust from his trousers, he walked through his empty living room. Beyond his personal preference of a fridge and bed, there was little need for any other article of furniture. Why bother personalizing a place designed to be abandoned at a moment's notice?
Despite the waning sunlight filtering through the curtains, his Lupin eyesight allowed ease of access toward the bedroom. Creaking floorboards heralded his approach as he gently opened the squeaky hinged door. A glance revealed his patient still in the realm of dreams, breathing out in even intervals.

A portion of him regretted leaving the injured stranger but he could only pray no one would break in whilst he was gone. He couldn't wait for the woman to awaken, time was a commodity he didn't possess. Not even his previously beaten body, aching for rest, could dissuade him.
Retrieving a small notepad and pen from the night table, he jotted down a quick note. In case the woman awoke it would serve as a calming message explaining her situation and a reminder that he meant no harm. Antonio was placing a large amount of faith on the vain hope the women didn't awaken muddle-minded.

Placing the notepad on the nightstand, he fiddled with the idea of locking the bedroom door from the outside. However, a shake of his head and the idea was abandoned. If the woman was a normal non-combatant the locked door would contain her, but the stinging originating from his hand acted as a reminder. Should she really desire to leave, the flimsy wooden door would be whittled away by blade strikes.

Preparations set, he exited the bedroom and set toward his destination.

"Hopefully some shops are still open. Chicken soup is always good for injuries" he mumbled within the empty hall, hands fiddling with the apartment key in his pocket.

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-Two Hours later-Between the Central and Western District of Campobasse-

Luck seemed to shine favorably on his quest for future sustenance, the local markets seemingly adopting the Columbian custom of remaining open beyond sunset. It wasn't on the level of 24hr convenience he once knew, but many of the local places offering food held hours well into the night. A sensible business decision when one considered even mafia members needed to eat.

Various ingredients in tow, Antonio was well within his trek toward the Western district of Campobasse. In contrast to the normal warmth of the season, the nights had been feeling particularly brisk. He could spot a few street goers donning their spring jackets, something he didn't feel inclined to do. Years spent traveling had acclimated him to anything below the most bizarre climates. His tieless collared long sleeve would suffice in warding off the cold.

A quick glance at the street's avenue told him he was entering the Western district. Unlike the Southern district which could be attributed to residential slums, the West held a plethora of businesses. Even the atmosphere was different as people were laughing with each other, enjoying their night out, and hauling their purchases in hand. A stark contrast to the depressed air that hung around the southern inhabitants.

However, Antonio wasn't fooled by the glittering windows or the joyful atmosphere. Campobasse was a city held aloft by the machinations of budding mafia families, and the Western district only hide their influence better than the rest. He wouldn't be surprised if almost every storefront held some back door business, or was a money-laundering scheme. One didn't need a Lupus nose to smell the amount of dirty money wafting through the air.
Still, he figured there was little need to suicidally stir the pot. Let the tourists be oblivious and let the non-crooked residents feign ignorance. Afterall, he was no better for using the specialty services of the district.

As he turned the corner onto a less crowded street, his destination came into view. Sandwiched between two stores was a singular rustic red door, inconspicuous compared to the gaudy lights decorating its neighbors. One would assume it was merely a residential entrance or a side entrance to accept inbound supplies. Only the most observant would notice the childish salmon sticker affixed to the doorknob.

Antonio approached the door, making sure to walk with confidence to avoid suspicion. A turn of the doorknob revealed no resistance and he slipped inside. In contrast to the bland entrance, he was met with a narrow well-lit hall. White-tiled floor freshly polished and velvet fur lining the walls. A wall-mounted brochure holder was affixed to his right, overflowing with colorful menus. Grabbing a menu, a quick inspection verified his location to be the "Rickety Salmon".

Leafing through the menu, he walked towards the doorway at the end of the hall. A lone sign hung atop reading "Please Watch Your Step." Closer inspection revealed it was an entrance for a flight of stairs headed downward. Antonio gave a wary glance down the dimly lit path, before cautiously going down the stairs. Soon seconds turned to minutes as he continuously went deeper into the ground, any sounds filtering from the street long gone.

For a miniature eternity, only the seashell-shaped lights affixed to the walls, the black stairs, and the noise of his steps kept Antonio company. However, the equilibrium was disturbed as small noises began to filter from below. Unintelligible whispers soon turned into a racket of noise where multiple voices bled into each other. Eventually, Antonio reached the end of the staircase where only a door separated him from his goal. With a push, the scene of an underground tavern was revealed.

Despite previously patronizing the bar, it never ceased to amaze him how much money was wasted in construction. Logistics of building an underground structure aside, the place was easily the size of a residential block. The domed ceiling was plastered with a mural depicting a stylized ocean with a plethora of swimming sea life. The floor acted as the "seabed", being a mix of sand-colored cement and a beach worth of seashells. Even wrecked wooden dingy's leaned vertically against the walls to act decorations. The circular design of the room created an image of being surrounded by sunken vessels.

Patrons conversed loudly around their assigned wooden tables, enjoying their purchased food. Waiters could be seen ping-ponging to fulfill the needs of all the tables, many bringing in trays of food from a set of double doors. From an outsider's perspective, the place seemed like a rich entrepreneur's dream business come to life, with the only setback being the four obscured street entrances.

As a waiter approached him to ask if he wanted a table Antonio politely waved off them away and made a beeline toward the center bar. Upon arriving he took a seat away from the other patrons and waited for the barkeep to finish their current customer. Calloused fingers idly tapped a Columbian tune his wife loved, as his mind prepared the responses he would have to say.

Soon the barkeep approached, the young man's entire demeanor wafting with a sense of tiredness. Physically there was nothing impressive from the man, his frame donning an ill-fitted tuxedo and features being bland. The only thing of note was the silly pink hat, shaped into the vestige of a limp salmon trying to eat the man's head. The thing made the man look more like a clown than a barkeep.

"Welcome to the Rickety Salmon the saltiest bar in Campobasse." the man spoke in a tone that screamed his unwillingness to be there. "I am Pinky and I hope I can bring you the best Iberian-inspired service today." After saying hi greeting the man did a miniature bow. The action causing the tailfin of his hat to swing down and slapped him against the face. The man didn't even twitch a facial muscle, seemingly accustomed to the act.

Antonio patiently waited for the man to rectify his hat before ordering. " Greetings, may I have a Dublon Chaser." Passing the back of the brochure to the barkeep and pointing toward the drink name.

"Certainly sir." The young man gave a hollow smile. " Would you like it shaken or stirred?" he inquired, while at the same time taking Antonio's menu.
"Shaken please" Antonio replied, eyes no longer on the barkeep and focused on gauging the distance to the bathroom.

"Please wait momentarily as I make your drink." the young man replied, seemingly unfazed with Anotion's disregard of him.

Barely a minute passed before a murky black drink served in a wooden half-pint cup was situated in front of Antonio. A single melting ice cube floated lazily in the salty-smelling concoction. Once the ice was fully melted, Antonio grabbed the drink and downed it in one fell swoop. He didn't flinch as the hidden object in the drink passed his lips, only making sure his teeth clenched onto the foreign item.

Placing the empty cup on the counter, Antonio immediately started heading toward the western side of the room. Dancing around the various tables in his path he eventually reached the male bathroom. The inside was a stark contrast to the extravagant dining area. The metal sinks seemed to have the onset of rust creeping along the edges, and the wooden stalls had moss growing on them in large portions. A variety of questionable smells made Antonio scrunch his nose in disgust.

It seemed he wasn't alone in the bathroom either. The noise of a man messily vomiting in one of the stalls filling the small space. Briskly walking past the suffering man's stall, Antonio entered the last stall. Once inside he spat out the metallic item onto his awaiting palm. After shaking off any lingering spit, he inspected the stylized coin in his hand. It appeared to be made of bronze with one side depicting a howling wolf and the other showing a dead fish.

Satisfied his ticket toward the onsite information broker was intact, Antonio extended his arm beyond the toilet's tank. In quick succession, he knocked a specialized code against the bathroom wall.

*Knock Knock Knock...Knock Knock...Knock Knock Knock Knock*

Antonio returned his arm to his side and waited for a response. Minutes passed before a small opening appeared along the wall. A white-gloved hand stuck out with its palm upwards to accept the "toll". Antonio tossed the coin into the waiting palm and watched as the hand disappeared back into the fake wall.

The coin needed to be "verified" so for the next 5 minutes Antonio merely stood in the wooden booth listening to the sounds of one of his booth neighbors fighting a losing battle with diarrhea. Before the smell could get too strong, the entire fake wall moved silently to the side. In the wall's place, a masked Lupo wearing a tuxedo suit appeared. The mask being a grey-toned featureless piece with two eye holes that shrouded the man's eyes.

"Take this and wear it. In case we pass any other customers don't interact with them and just follow me. If you don't, it's not my responsibility if you get caught by enforcement." An electronic voice spoke out from the man's mask, as the man threw a similar mask toward Antonio.

Antonio deftly caught it and affixed it to his face. The plain piece of headwear seemed to be one size fit all as it easily slide on. Maneuvering around the toilet he followed his guide into a dark hallway. Before they moved on, the guide activated an unseen mechanism and the doorway behind Antonio slid shut. As the light from the bathroom was cut off, the only remaining source of light came from the lantern the guide carried. Soon the guide began to move down the hall and Antonio was forced to stick close or risk getting lost.

No conversation was made between the two as only the sounds of their footsteps impacting the stone floor echoed through the space. The pseudo-silence allowed Antonio to mentally parse his situation.

There were multiple shops in Campobasse where one could purchase information or contact a broker. The Rickety Salmon was just the best place to go to in the city.

The tavern portion acted as a front giving the illusion of a cool dining spot young tourists could enjoy. As the civilians enjoyed their oblivious lives, only the well-informed could access the true services of the place. One needed to know the proper code to give the barkeep before being given a chance to meet an informant. The code changed weekly to avoid snoopers, but one only needed to correlate a drink name on the menu with the phrase "Looking for Wealth". Afterward, one would be led through a series of hidden passageways until they reached a private room.

Even by mafia standards, the entire place was structurally convoluted and a gross misuse of money. Unfortunately, that was the point.

The tavern was sponsored by all Six of the main families and acted as a reminder to all the sprouting gangs in Campobasse. It reminded the players that they existed because the Big Six tolerated them, and their "Big Brothers" were always watching. Instead of dealing with noisy children in their own cities, the Six graciously gave out a playground. Thus all the children needed to play "nice" and follow the rules. Campobasse was their experimental city and they ultimately held the decision to cull any unwanted weeds.

Although the place was sponsored by all of the Six, Antonio was aware that only the Sicilians and the Maglianas ran the place. The Magliana were the ones in charge of knowing anything, and that wasn't an understatement. If you wanted to know how many times your rival Don wiped his ass each day then call the Magliana.

The Sicilians were the blood-sucking loan sharks of Siracusa. Their family dealt only in services pertaining to money, meaning they had a pinky in everything from loans to real estate. Need a new money-laundering front? Call the Sicilians. Need some financing to step up your gang to a new level. Call the Sicilians. Every mafia family dabbled in this business, but the Sicilians just offered the best rates. They were the gold standard of dirty banking.

However, one still needed to realize the Sicilians were a mafia family foremost of all. In the event you reneged on your loan, the spiking interest would make the royalty of Ursus tremble and debt collectors would hound you to no end. If you couldn't pay back the money, then your body was used as collateral.

This was the den of wolves Antonio was going deeper into. The only thing he could do was square his shoulders and continuously follow his guide. Only the thought of knowing he didn't slight the main families calmed his nerves.

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-Rickety Salmon-Bar-

Back at the bar, a drunk patron was loudly hollering at the attending bartender for another drink.

"Oi, PINKY! I need another refill of the Squid Nector. Bring the whole bottle while your at it Pinky! hahaha." the bolstering man jeered out in a joking tone. The man not hiding his laughter at the bartender's attire.

"Certainly Sir. Hold on." Pinky reached toward the liquor display behind him and grabbed one large bottle. "Ah" Pausing at the lack of weight, Pinky shook the bottle to reveal the lack of contents.

"I'm sorry sir we appear to be out. I will need to go down into the cellar to get some more. I apologize for the inconvenience." Pinky bowed his head, fishtail flopping onto his eye.

"Bah. Youngins can't even stock booze correctly. Back in my day, I had to carry crates of supplies over the mountains of Yen! Just hurry up before the buzz disappears." The drunk man said forcefully. Spittle flying into Pinky's face.

"Certainly Sir." Pinky replied back in a dull tone.

Disengaging from the irate customers Pinky walked along the bar until he reached the area housing the trap door. Grabbing the rope laid out on the floor, he tugged opened the trap door to reveal a set of wooden steps. Before heading down he rummaged through the bottom shelves of the bar until he found a small lantern. Turning the Originium powered device on, he descended the steps and closed the trap door behind him.

The lantern's glow illuminated his surroundings to reveal a compact cellar, full of shelves housing various liquors. Pinky looked dispassionately at the scene before calmly breathing in and closing his eyes.

*SHaTter*

Suddenly the sound of shattered glass resounded through the small space. The cause being Pinky's fist which had lashed out against a bottle of Don Perri. The innocent bottle had barely offered resistance before the fist plowed through and impacted the cellar wall. Slowly, Pinky retracted his fist to reveal unblemished skin below a torn glove.

Pinky stared at his torn glove before clicking his tongue and moving further inside the cellar. Soon he came to a stop at a specific shelf. Reaching out Pinky grabbed and tilted a bottle of Ursus imported clear- vodka. The action caused the sound of a mechanism to echo out, as the adjacent shelf suddenly sank into the ground. Pushing the lantern towards his front, Pinky walked into the newly revealed passageway.

Time seemed to flow like molasse as the bartender moved through the dark hallway. Eventually his the lantern light revealed a metal door along the right side of the wall. Walking closer to the door he could make out muffled noises from the other side. Calmy, Pinky proceeded to knock a special code on the door.

*knock Knock Knock......Knock.....Knock.....Knock knock*

Without waiting for an answer Pinky simply opened the door to reveal the scene of an ongoing poker game. Four individuals were seated around the game table with their masks askew. One was casually drinking a bottle of beer as the other three were staring intently at their cards. Muffled sounds from one side of the room made Pinky turn his head to find the cause.

There strapped to the wall and extremities spread wide was a gagged Lupo. The man's face was an ugly sight. Seemingly swollen from a beating, tears and snot were running down his face. The muffled noises were coming from the man's attempt to call for aid, eyes begging for release. The cause of the man's distress was quite apparent, given the number of daggers that were sunk in the wall around him. There was even a lone dagger stuck in the man's right thigh.

Suddenly the noises of laughter and surprise rang from the poker table.

"FULL HOUSE! Suck it losers!" one masked man exclaimed as he slammed his cards on the table to reveal his hand.

"Bullshit that's the second time in the row, you gotta be cheating." Another said with vinegar infusing his tone.

"Whatever. Take your shot Number 61 before mister "Pinky" over there makes us work harder." One said as he pointed toward the barkeep.

The last merely chugged down on his beer as #61 took out a dagger from his belt. The masked man turned his head away from the struggling man on the wall and blindly threw his dagger. A muffled scream erupted from the trapped man as the dagger hit his torso.

"Torso shot. But, looks like you hit a rib since it didn't sink in enough. That or you're slacking off wrist day."

"Shut it #1142, you're just jealous of my luck." #61 spat out at his poker mate.

"Jealous? More like fed up with your cheating!" #1142 slammed his hands against the table as he glared at #61.

"Fight Fight Fight!" the beer chugger exclaimed. Before events could escalate further Pinky intervened.

" Shut up all of you! I just got an ID for a job." Pinky bellowed out in a firm voice, devoid of his previous tiredness. An air of authority seemed to radiate from the bartender which caused the masked men to quiet down. Fishing around in his tuxedo Pinky pulled out a single photo. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it toward the table, where it landed atop of the deck.

All the men looked at the image reflected in the photo. Seconds passed before #1142 snorted.

"The hell am I looking at? All I see is some poor Lupo who got his ass beat and tied up like a sausage. How the hell can you tell his facial features with all that swelling?" 1142 argued out. For emphasis, the man grabbed the photo and started waving it around Pinky's general direction.

Clicking his tongue the bartender responded. "That's why your a Sicilian and I'm a Magliana. It's my job to ID someone even if they're covered in shit. Besides the client told me enough of their mannerisms to associate the hair color and jaw structure we see in the photo." Pinky grabbed the photo from 1142 and pocketed it.

"Now who's taking the job. We only need one messenger." Pinky spoke out

"Not me"

"Not me"

"Not me"

"No- Fuck you guys." 1142 cursed out at his fellow teammates. Number 61 just laughed and banged the table. "That's what you get for taking so much smack!"

Before 1142 could go ballistic on #61 Pinky walked up to him and shoved a paper with a scribbled message into 1142's hand.

"You have until the end of the night to deliver that to the old manor on Slickwood road in the Southern District, building number should be 520." Pinky turned around and opened the door. " Don't fail or you're going on the wall " he let out in an ominous tone before exiting and slamming the door shut.
1142 could only grumble and pocket the message in his clothes. Turning to his teammates he addressed them.

"I hate you guys. I should have just accepted my cousin's offer to go work with him." Grabbing a spare lantern from the floor, 1142 began heading toward the door.

"Oh, what was it? This place really works us to the bone, I need options with my skill set." Number 61 called.

Pausing 1142 looked back and answered. "Eh, apparently some medical research place with a lot of scientists to protect."

Number 61 let out a low whistle. " So Rhine labs?" he leaned forward in the chair, interest soaking his tone

"Nah some new joint. That's why I didn't accept." 1142 shook his head." If it was Rhine labs I would have accepted but this place is sketch. Too new, and apparently the Magliana's picked up an interesting rumor about the place. Apparently, there's some big-time backer that smells of royalty. I didn't feel like being an Ursus pawn or Terra forbid a part of the shitshow that's happening in Kazdel's royalty scene."

Number 1142 didn't wait for his teammates to respond as he opened the door and exited into the hallway. He would need to make haste to deliver the message by the end of tonight.

"Time to make my way to the Southern Exit," He grumbled to himself as he hoisted his lantern ahead of him to guide his path.