Milan — Underground beneath the Palazzo di Giustizia
The early morning was cold and damp beneath the streets of Milan.
Vera, Luca, and four other resistance fighters moved slowly through the old service tunnels — narrow, forgotten corridors that reeked of iron and rot.
The stone walls dripped moisture.
The floor was slick.
Every step echoed like a whispered warning.
Luca led the way, clutching a rough map.
— The secondary access should be just around that bend — he whispered.
Vera felt the blood pounding in her temples.
They were directly beneath the enemy's headquarters.
Above their heads, the corrupt power still clung to its illusion of control.
But down here, hidden in the filth, the true strength of Milan was advancing.
When they reached the bend, they saw an old iron grate.
Locked.
Vera handed her small lock-picking tool to Enzo, who quickly worked on the latch, muffling every metallic sound with oil-soaked cloths.
Click.
The lock gave way.
They slipped inside.
The new corridor led straight to the archives — the heart of the fraud, the schemes, the secret orders.
Vera looked at Luca.
He nodded, his expression hardened by pain and hope.
There was no turning back.
It was now or never.
And Milan, suspended between ruins and dreams, waited for the final spark.