An abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city.
Several men in Mafia suits lay on the ground, blood seeping out beneath their bodies.
The warm liquid mixed with dust, turning into dark red sludge.
Their weapons were still in the holsters at their waists.
They hadn't had time to draw them.
A baby-faced blond young man stepped over the corpses.
It was Shalnark.
He held an old-fashioned phone with an antenna.
His fingers flew across the keypad.
Streams of data constantly refreshed on the screen.
Several people stood beside him.
They couldn't even be bothered to glance at the bodies on the ground.
"Location confirmed."
Shalnark snapped his phone shut and slipped it into his pocket.
"An underground Mafia safe house."
"Thirty kilometers from here."
"That idiot Uvogin is there."
Feitan said nothing.
A slender blade slid silently out of the handle of his black umbrella.
The blade was dark and reflected no light.
"Then let's go."
His voice was dry and raspy.
"Get the big guy out."
"And clean out the rats while we're at it."
Machi didn't say a word.
Several nearly invisible Nen threads wound around her fingertips.
The Mafia's underground base.
The air was stuffy and damp.
The ventilation duct rattled noisily, on the verge of falling apart.
Dalzollene sat in a swivel chair.
He stared fixedly at the wall of surveillance monitors.
His right eyelid wouldn't stop twitching.
His CPU was about to fry.
Kurapika wasn't there.
The kid had gone to meet some informant.
Of all times, he'd chosen now to buy information, leaving Dalzollene with this mess.
There weren't nearly enough guards at the base.
In the basement.
Uvogin hung from thick steel chains.
His eyes were closed, and he made no sound.
Even so, the palms of the Mafia members guarding