Kairo crouched behind Salt & Smoke, the stall's shutters locked, the air heavy with salt and the fading heat of yesterday's grill. The System flickered in his vision, its voice sharp as burnt garlic:
[Infiltration Mission: 50% progress. Infiltrate Il Ponte's meeting to uncover their next move. Reward: +2 Skill Points, $3,000.
Penalty: Electrocution. 48 hours remain.]
The warehouse waited, a squat beast in the dockyard's gut, its door no longer guarded since Kairo and Milo retreated two nights ago. The inspector's note, slipped under his stall, burned in his pocket: "Profit like yours draws eyes. Explain at the dockmaster's, dawn." Il Ponte wasn't just watching; they were closing in.
The fight last night had left Salt & Smoke standing, its legend sharper for it. Three of Il Ponte's dogs, bruised and limping, had run from Kairo's fists and the kid's thrown rock. The System had rewarded him: a Combat Skill Tree unlocked, Street Brawling now humming in his muscles, three skill points spent to make his strikes land harder. The sixteen-year-old boy, mismatched sneakers and wary eyes, was now his runner, not just a shadow. Kairo's crew, born in blood, was small but growing.
He moved through the docks, boots silent on cobblestones slick with oil. Milo flanked him, hood up, his cracked phone glowing faintly. "Warehouse is two blocks west," Milo whispered, fingers twitching over a hacked feed. "Il Ponte's meeting now, small crew, moving paper, not product." Kairo nodded, his knife tucked close, its weight a comfort. The System pinged: [New Mission: Steal Il Ponte's transaction log to expose their operations.
Reward: +2 Skill Points, $8,000.
Penalty: Il Ponte retaliation. Stealth skill unlocks upon infiltration
Time Limit: 24 hours. ]
Kairo's lips twitched. Steal their secrets, turn their game. He'd played dirtier in the slums.
Santo Russo's cart rattled past outside. Kairo froze, but Santo didn't stop, his voice drifting through a cracked window: "Il Ponte's moving crates through Porto di Napoli, not the docks. Watch your back." No glance, no signal, just a fact, dropped like a coin. Santo's knowledge was a shadow, not a weapon, but it cut deep. Porto di Napoli. Il Ponte's smuggling route, a piece Kairo could use. He filed it away, his eyes on the table.
The warehouse loomed, its windows dark, the air thick with diesel and fish rot. Kairo crouched behind a crate, Milo at his side, the kid trailing as lookout. The System hummed: [Stealth Skill Unlocked: Basic Tier. Move unseen, unheard. 10 Skill Points to advance.]
Kairo's body adjusted, his steps lighter, his breath quieter, like the System had rewired his instincts. He slipped toward a side door, rusted but unlocked, Milo's lockpick ready if it wasn't. The kid stayed back, eyes wide, a nod promising he'd signal trouble.
Inside, the warehouse was a cave of shadows, crates stacked high, papers scattered on a table lit by a single bulb. Three men, not brown-shirted but rough, dockyard muscle, muttered over ledgers. Kairo caught fragments "shipments to Vomero," "cut for the silent man." Il Ponte's web, spun tight. He edged closer, Stealth guiding his steps, avoiding a creaking board. Milo, pressed against a crate, hacked a security camera's feed, looping it empty. The System noted:[Infiltration Mission: 80% progress. Transaction Log Mission: 30%.] Kairo's pulse stayed steady, his slumbered calm holding.
The transaction log sat open, a ledger thick with numbers, dates, payments, and names. Kairo's fingers itched, but the men were close, one pacing, a knife on his belt. The System whispered: [Assign 2 Skill Points to Stealth for enhanced movement?] Kairo hesitated, his 4 remaining points a lifeline. He held off, relying on Basic Stealth, slipping behind a crate as the pacing man turned. Milo signaled, his phone showing a clear path to the table. Kairo moved, silent as Naples' shadows, his hand brushing the ledger's edge.
A floorboard groaned. The pacing man spun, eyes narrowing. Kairo froze, breath held, Stealth keeping him a ghost. The man muttered, turning back, but the moment was razor-thin. Kairo grabbed the ledger, tucking it under his jacket, and retreated, Milo covering his tracks with a fake alert on the camera feed. The System pinged: [Transaction Log Mission: 80%. Extract without detection.] Kairo's heart thudded, not fear but focus, the docks' pulse matching his own.
Outside, the kid signaled clearly, his rock-throwing hand steady now. Kairo and Milo slipped into the alleys, the ledger heavy against his chest. Back at Salt & Smoke, shutters locked, Milo cracked the ledger's code, names, dates, payments to a "silent partner." Not enough to burn Il Ponte, but enough to know their game. Shipments to Vomero, cuts to someone high. Kairo's mind churned, Abele's voice echoing: "Naples hides its kings in plain sight." The inspector's note loomed dawn was hours away, and Il Ponte's eyes were sharper now.
By 2:00 AM, Milo was gone, hacking deeper into Il Ponte's network from a slum safehouse. The kid stayed, sweeping the stall's edges, his silence a contract. Kairo tossed him a lemon roll, sealing it. His crew was three now, the kid, Milo, a spark of something bigger. The System pinged:
[Infiltration Mission Complete: Il Ponte's move uncovered.
Reward: +2 Skill Points, $3,000.
Transaction Log Mission: 90%. Deliver the log to a safe location by dawn.]
Kairo's fingers tightened on the ledger. Safe location. The System's games never ended.
He worked the stall at dawn, the grill hissing, flatbreads sizzling for early fishermen. The docks buzzed, Naples waking with a grunt, its alleys spitting diesel and salt. The crowd was steady, drawn by the legend of the chef who fought, who fed. Kairo served, his hands a blur, the ledger hidden in a Farmland Realm crate, its produce flawless, unquestioned. Tomatoes burned with flavor, eggs rich as gold, no different to the eye. No one suspected his edge, and he'd keep it that way.
Santo passed by at 8:00, his cart rattling, "Porto di Napoli's hot," he said, eyes on the crowd, not Kairo. "Il Ponte's got eyes there. Don't get caught." No threat, no offer, just a warning, dropped like a stone. Santo's knowledge was a map, partial but sharp, pointing to Il Ponte's heart. Kairo nodded, silent, his mind on the dockmaster's office, where the inspector waited.
The System pinged: [Transaction Log Mission: 95%. Deliver to drop point: dockside crate, marked with a bridge.] Kairo's jaw tightened. A bridge. Il Ponte's mark, the same as the silver coin. The drop point was a trap, or a test, but he'd play it. He slipped the ledger into a crate, the kid carrying it to the marked spot, his sneakers silent on the cobblestones. Kairo grilled, served, and watched. The crowd swelled, fishermen and mechanics elbowing for tarts, tea, and flatbreads.
At 9:00, the inspector arrived, not in a suit but a dockmaster's vest, his eyes cold as the water. He didn't speak, just stood by the stall, clipboard in hand, watching Kairo's hands move. The ledger was gone, dropped as the System demanded, but the inspector's stare was a blade. Kairo served a flatbread, chili oil dripping, his voice steady. "Something to eat?" The inspector shook his head, scribbling a note. The System flickered:
[Transaction Log Mission Complete: Log delivered.
Reward: +2 Skill Points, $8,000. New threat detected.]
Kairo's pulse quickened, the docks alive with whispers. The inspector turned, leaving a paper on the counter, not a note but a summons: "Dockmaster's office, the day after tomorrow. Explain your profits, or lose the stall." Il Ponte's hand, heavier now, and the bridge-marked crate was empty when the kid checked. The ledger was gone, and Kairo's name was louder, but the System's voice cut through: [Il Ponte retaliation imminent. Prepare, Operator.]