1 Prologue

In an atmosphere clouded by persistent rain, city X found itself plunged into the chaos of a shootout in the eastern suburbs. The shrill sound of gunfire filled the air, echoing through the narrow streets as mobsters and police clashed in bloody conflict. Under the mist of rain, it became almost impossible to distinguish the sides as they all seemed to be stained with the same crimson blood.

Inside a shadowy building, located in an area close to the epicenter of the confrontation, the flashes of gunshots that echoed outside briefly illuminated the environment as some mobsters gathered amid the turmoil.

Sitting at the end of an elegant table, dressed in a meticulously tailored suit, a slender man adjusted the glasses that rested on his nose. With a serious and penetrating expression, he asked the question that hung in the heavy air of the room: "How did they manage to get here?"

The answer came in a casual tone. A man wearing nothing but shorts and flip-flops, while deftly cleaning his revolver, mused, "Maybe we went a little overboard with the bombs." His voice was calm, devoid of concern.

A heavy silence enveloped the room. The man at the end of the table let out a sigh as he massaged his temples with tense fingers. "Looks like we have a few rats in the family," he pronounced with a gravity that weighed heavily on everyone present.

The impact of his words was immediate and palpable. Everyone in the room felt the tension rise. For mobsters, family is more than just a group of associates, it is a sacred concept. The mere mention of treason within these ranks was enough to disrupt the harmony of the entire system.

"Get the keys, let's get out of here," the bespectacled man ordered, his voice cutting through the silence with unquestionable authority.

"Don't forget the weapons," the half-naked man exclaimed, his harsh voice echoing as he spat on the ground and quickly headed for the exit. In less than thirty seconds, those present moved efficiently, each grabbing their keys and weapons, as the group headed towards the back of the building.

Ten black cars appeared from the darkness, like shadows. In one of these vehicles, the man who appeared to be the leader and his half-naked companion were carrying on an intense conversation.

"It's going to suck," muttered the half-naked man.

"Yeah," the man with glasses agreed.

"What are we going to do?" asked the half-naked man.

"I don't know," the man with glasses admitted.

"Kill them all?" suggested the half-naked man.

"Maybe," replied the man with glasses.

"We can try," the half-naked man insisted.

"Of course," the bespectacled man agreed. But before they could formulate a concrete plan.

A deafening explosion shook the air around them, interrupting their conversation.

*boom*

A deafening boom echoed through the night, accompanied by the blinding glare of the explosion that consumed the first car in the convoy.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed the man with glasses.

Meanwhile, the half-naked man couldn't help the sinister smile that spread across his face. With an almost insane expression of excitement, he grabbed his revolver, his eyes shining with a mixture of anticipation and savagery. "It's dick time! Hahahaha!"

As the residual cloud dissipated, revealing the chaotic scene ahead. A barricade protected by special government agents blocked their path. The train was forced to stop abruptly.

At this crucial moment, a voice resonated within the mobsters' minds, echoing like a sinister whisper that penetrated them to the core of their consciousness. "We will pass by force, fire at will," announced the man with glasses, whose voice now seemed to echo directly in his thoughts. This was a transmission made by the artificial intelligence known as M.I.A.

Instantly, the mobsters got out of their cars, armed to the teeth with shiny machine guns. The government special agents wasted no time and opened fire, the sound of the bullets mixing with the patter of the incessant rain. The bespectacled man and his half-naked partner didn't hesitate to join the shooting.

However, even with their courage, it was clear that they were fighting a losing battle. Police reinforcements soon arrived, surrounding the convoy of mobsters on the highway and further intensifying the shooting.

As the minutes dragged on, the exchange of gunfire gradually weakened, giving way to an oppressive and ominous silence. With each body that fell to the ground, fewer shots were fired, until the last volley of firearms echoed through the air.

Inevitably, the silence of death settled over the highway, as the bodies of the mobsters lay on the cold, wet asphalt from the incessant rain.