The Tuscan soil beneath Mateo Rossi's feet felt far colder than he remembered from his dusty memories. The faint light of dawn on Italy's horizon no longer carried the sweet scent of grapes, but the smell of gasoline from the lines of tactical vehicles patrolling along the provincial roads. The sky looked pale, as if exhausted from witnessing how the digital world that had sustained it collapsed in a matter of days. In the distance, the usually tranquil green hills now looked like a line of looming giants, each peak concealing the barrel of a sniper rifle from the private paramilitary units hunting for the Ghost Pilot's head.
"Crazy, the security's insane. Are you sure we can get in through this back route?" Elena hissed, tightening the scarf that covered half her face. She was carrying G
