six months later.....
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Rome, Italy
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In the sweltering heat of Rome's busy streets, the relentless sun beat down on the city, casting shimmering waves of heat across the asphalt. Lorenzo, the truck driver, maneuvered through the tangled traffic, his vehicle groaning with each bump and turn. Sweat dripped down his face, soaking into his shirt as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. His bald head gleamed under the midday sun, reflecting the harsh light. Each glance at the clock on his dashboard deepened his anxiety.
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Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lorenzo turned off the bustling road and steered his truck into an old, derelict warehouse on the city's outskirts. The building's crumbling facade and sagging roof stood in stark contrast to the modernity of the surrounding area. It looked abandoned, and Lorenzo eyed it warily as he parked the truck, the engine's rumble fading into uneasy silence.
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He stepped out, the oppressive heat pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. Just as he was about to pull out his phone to make a call, the sound of an approaching vehicle drew his attention. A sleek, black car glided to a smooth stop beside the truck. The man who emerged from the vehicle was impeccably dressed in gray trousers, a light shirt, and a hat. His presence seemed out of place in the grimy surroundings, exuding an air of calm authority.
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"Hello, Lorenzo," the man said, his voice smooth and controlled, cutting through the oppressive heat like a blade. "I've been waiting for you. Do you have my package?"
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Lorenzo squinted at him, confusion flickering across his face. "Yeah, it's in the back. Do you have my payment?" he asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. Financial relief was palpable, but his unease lingered.
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The man in gray nodded toward a figure in black who stepped out of the car, carrying a bag with deliberate, unhurried steps. The bag was placed on the ground beside the truck, and the man in gray reached for it with a practiced, almost casual grace. Lorenzo's eyes lit up as he unzipped the bag to reveal a neat stack of cash. He eagerly snatched it up, the rustle of the bills like music to his ears—yet oddly hollow.
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With a sense of relief, Lorenzo turned to the truck and retrieved a box from the cargo hold. His hands trembled slightly as he handed it over to the gray-clad man. The man's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he opened the box. Inside, nestled among packing material, was a sleek black drone, its surface glinting menacingly in the sunlight. The man's smile broadened as he admired the prize, his gaze lingering on the drone with a mix of fascination and greed.
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Lorenzo, his relief growing, watched the gray-clad man. But his triumph quickly soured. The man's smile had turned cold—predatory. The air seemed to thicken with tension.
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The man in gray, cradling the drone, walked back to his car with a faint smirk. As he slid into the driver's seat, he pulled out his phone with deliberate calm, dialing a number. His gaze drifted toward Lorenzo, who was still counting the cash, oblivious.
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"Take out the target," the gray-clad man ordered, his tone indifferent.
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Lorenzo's fingers fumbled with the notes as his face suddenly went pale. A sharp pain tore through his chest. Blood stained his shirt as he stumbled backward, clutching at the wound. His wide, horrified eyes locked onto the truck as a beeping sound grew louder.
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Before he could react, the truck exploded. The blast was deafening—a thunderous roar that tore through the air. A blinding flash of flames engulfed the area, followed by a thick cloud of black smoke. The ground trembled, debris scattering in all directions.
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Unperturbed, the gray-clad man leaned back into his car, watching the scene with detached satisfaction. He pulled out his phone once more, dialing another number.
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"Yes, sir, it's all taken care of," he said, his voice steady and composed. "The package is secured, and there are no loose ends. I'm on my way now."
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Without another glance at the burning wreckage, he drove away, leaving the smoke and flames behind. The thick plume of smoke rose into the clear blue sky, a dark omen of the chaos yet to unfold.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
