Umbra: Tales of a Shadow

By Freddie A. Clark

"Obscurity must be explored, understood, heard. The light of revelation is generated from first-hand experience and knowledge. Will you face obscurity in order for light to reveal itself?"

Trained since his childhood and cybernetically augmented to seek justice in the canal-filled city of Florydia, Fulvio Donati is an assassin and thief who adopted a double identity. When night falls, Fulvio becomes Umbra: a masked vigilante, a charming and lethal shadow.

The intellectual, philosopher and alchemist Soleluna Giordani was only twenty-nine when their search for immortality led them to a terrible mistake. Their consciousness has been trapped inside a mask for almost eight centuries, an irremediable captivity that robbed them of a glorious existence and their place in history.

In a beautiful yet corrupted land in which crime lords, celebrities and ruthless politicians are competing for the highest power, a deadly conspiracy is unfolding. While alchemists and courtesans search for a way to survive and a prince must search for one to save his life, Fulvio finds himself involved in intrigues and machinations.

Soleluna will show Fulvio the way, guiding him with their wit and their boundless wisdom. Fulvio will show Soleluna a world they were never meant to see, an astounding futuristic reality going beyond anything they’ve ever imagined. Together, they shall save Florydia from its downfall.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Freddie A. Clark
• Release date: Feb 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9791221026078

Freddie A. Clark

Freddie A. Clark is the entity hiding in a thread of cables and flowers, a cyborg riding their motorcycle in the streets of a Cyberpunk metropolis, a masked alchemist traversing Venetian canals.Proud human slave of three former stray cats, Non-Binary (they/them), Norse Pagan and hopeless nerd, Freddie is influenced by the work of William Gibson, Neal Stephenson, Pat Cadigan, Anne Rice, and Neil Gaiman among many others.Their creativity draws from ‘80s aesthetic, movies and pop culture, and from an endless pile of books, graphic novels, manga and videogames. A Synthwave music enthusiast, born from Metal, Freddie will take your hand and guide you in their vast high-tech Fantasy world.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

SHADOW OF FLORYDIA

Fulvio Donati had been trained to steal, pickpocket, climb, and hide in the shadows. When he had come of age, he had learnt how to make love. At the age of twenty-four, he was a master in all these arts.

The city-state of Florydia was Fulvio’s nighttime playground. Consumerism and corruption lurked in every artery of that colourful wonderland. Despite its artistic value and its inclusive and virtuous religion, Florydia was in fact rotting on the inside.

Following the mercenary Donatella Cantorino’s directives, Fulvio flew towards the lowest bridge overlooking Canale Imperio, the major waterway, and landed on a rooftop.

When’s the encounter? Fulvio asked through the transmitter placed in his right ear.

In twenty minutes, Donatella replied, "Almost certainly, Principe Leandro is already there."

Now you tell me! Fulvio complained after a sigh.

Donatella huffed. "I told you when we left the house, stulto, she said, Terra, you’re impossible."

Oh, never mind, we’re still in time. Is there something I need to know about Alessia’s house? Does she have an alarm system?

She had one, intervened Cesco, Donatella’s brother. This afternoon, I went over to your current position and checked it. It was easy to violate, but I hope I did everything right. I should’ve done everything right, I mean, it was deactivated.

Relax, my dear friend, Fulvio said, chuckling, I’m sure you did a great job. I’ll sneak in. If you don’t hear from me in two hours…

We’ll come to save your arse, we know, Donatella said.

"You know everything, dulcina, as usual, Fulvio said, slowly standing up. Catch you later, I’ll make it quick."

Fulvio took flight again. Florydia was built on water and connected to the mainland via a colossal highway bridge, and its roads were water canals linked by countless bridges. The historical part of the city was a triumph of architectural masterpieces, while the modern portions were a piling of skyscrapers with their blinding, polychrome holograms. A blend of tradition, stubborn nature, and invasive technology.

The role of protecting its most vulnerable inhabitants belonged to Umbra, Fulvio’s hidden identity; a masked vigilante, defender of outcasts, but especially a cold-blooded thief and assassin.

Fulvio was a heavily tattooed, willowy, olive-skinned work of art. His brown eyes were abysses of mystery, secrecy, and incommensurable passion.

As Umbra, his appearance was partly concealed by the large hood of a black cropped jacket with floral blue embroidery. His wings emerged from two long vents at the sides of his jacket’s back. On the upper half of his gorgeous face was a charming blue colombina mask, richly decorated with intricate black curlicues. His thin lips, beautiful and tempting, were painted in black lipstick.

His beauty, however, wasn’t his deadliest weapon. Umbra carried a considerable arsenal, but most of it was hidden inside him. The lightweight Icarus wings were perhaps the most impressive augmentation he possessed. While spread they appeared gigantic, yet their aerodynamic shape and their extreme foldability allowed them to disappear in his back when he wasn’t using them.

His target that night was Alessia Adalberti, who performed her job of Cortesana Honesta in a beautiful apartment overlooking Canale Imperio.

She had started using her influential position to act as a hitman for hire, killing powerful figures for high society clients. Nothing new, since countless Cortesane offered that service. Alessia’s major clients, however, were the most powerful, despicable men in Florydia. Her next victim was going to be Leandro Aronne Monvalli, twenty-nine, the head of state’s youngest son.

Leandro was a known social activist, a clichéd rebel according to his detractors and a symbol of equal rights according to public opinion.

Alessia had been paid handsomely to lure him to a fake sit-down and silence him forever.

When Fulvio had started his training with his mentor and adoptive mother Aspasia, one of the first things she had taught him was to embrace the darkness and use it to his advantage. To hide in the shadows, you have to become one, she had told him when he was just a boy. Once he had learnt how to master the shadows, he had become darkness.

The nearest buildings to Alessia’s house were full of snipers, one of whom noticed Fulvio and tried in vain to hit him with the rifle. Fulvio quickly avoided that attack by bending down and drawing the weapon in his left arm, a peculiar augmentation that came out from his forearm. He called it stiletto, for its thin yet resistant long blade. He grabbed the hilt and pierced his enemy’s upper belly. Pointed upwards, the blade plunged into the ill-fated man’s heart in a fatal blow.

After that, Fulvio took a run to jump, an impressive leap that brought him onto a beautiful marble balcony filled with luxuriant plants and flowering vines. He snuck into the apartment by crossing the open glass door.

Alessia’s house was a perfect example of the elegant houses located near Canale Imperio, as well as of the luxury granted by a Cortesana Honesta’s lofty income. It was an incredibly large apartment decorated with potted plants and supplied with classic furniture, made of scrupulously carved wood, and tufted seats upholstered with floral-patterned velvet. The area was dimly illuminated by the warm perimetral lights of the adjoining room, accessible through a large rounded arch opening.

Fulvio decided to move with stealthy steps in that direction, following the voices he could hear.

"I have to disappoint you, Dominia Alessia. I’m not mad at you and I don’t feel rage in your regards as you might suppose. I feel pity, instead. I don’t blame you for what you’re doing, but I won’t guarantee our fellow citizens’ forgiveness."

Cloaked in darkness, Fulvio peeked from the left edge of the entrance. In a room furnished much like the previous, two brawny cyborgs, with a pair of cybernetic arms each, were holding a man hostage by pointing their plasma guns at his head. The prisoner was Leandro, indeed a gorgeous young man.

His full rose lips emphasised the pink undertone of his pale skin. His hair was short and messy in an attractive way, black like the thick eyebrows topping his big and passionate round eyes, coloured an outstanding light blue. His style was classy, but casual, as shown by the floral black jacket he wore over a grey t-shirt. He had a jaunty appearance, consistent with the ardent and bold personality he was notable for.

He sat on an armchair in front of Alessia, who was busy loading an injector gun with what presumably was a deadly mix of synthetic drugs. Her hair was a voluminous cascade of red permed curls, certainly dyed judging from her thick black eyebrows and her olive skin.

Dressed in a black silk dress and a pair of high-heeled platform shoes, Alessia sighed in annoyance, clearly irritated by Leandro’s calmness and bravery in front of his imminent death.

Commoners are not my fellows, she said, "I outranked them many years ago like I outranked the amanti. You’re not afraid to give your life for them, though. Why are you so passionate about their worthless existence?"

Do I need a reason to fight for basic rights? Leandro asked without blinking an eye. "No life is worthless. What about you, instead? Who paid you to stop my activism? I can’t believe you’re willing to betray your city only for a bunch of floreti. If that’s the case, wealth won’t be enough to buy back your humanity."

I’m not betraying my city, I’m betraying the poor, Alessia said, Do you really think they’re so different from me? I’m pretty sure they’d tear you to pieces and sell your limbs if they were paid enough, let alone betray you or their own kind.

You’re talking nonsense, Leandro said, and you know it. Go ahead, come on. Kill me. By taking my life, you’ll only give birth to a martyr and start an uprising.

Alessia glanced at Leandro and chuckled softly. "The only thing I’ll give birth to will be a scandal. Leandro Monvalli found dead from a drug overdose in the house of a Cortesana. No one will pay attention to the amanti or the condition of Bassoborgo’s inhabitants anymore when this news is reported."

"How can you be so sure they’ll believe you? My pater will start an investigation, he knows me well. He knows I’d never see a Cortesana."

Nor a female amante, from what I’ve observed, Alessia commented, raising an eyebrow. It’s a shame. For my taste, you’re the most interesting man who’s ever come to this house.

Alessia nodded to give a quick sign to her men. The one at Leandro’s right grabbed him by the hair to raise his head, exposing his jugular vein. Before Alessia could carry out her plan and inject him with the fatal dose, both cyborgs were stabbed in the neck.

Leandro started in the armchair, as shocked as Alessia who instead threw away the injector gun. She quickly grabbed a plasma gun, lying on the wooden table immediately to her right.

Still choking, shaking and vomiting blood, the dying men dropped on the floor in unison right before Fulvio protected himself and Leandro with an unpredictable shield. Icarus wings weren’t mere flight equipment, since it wasn’t rare for him to use them as protection in dangerous situations. Plasma shots were an effective weapon against cyborgs, capable of corroding and melting almost all metals. Fulvio’s wings, however, were of Cybernanian manufacture.

Little did he know that Alessia had more tricks up her sleeves. When his wings folded to vanish inside his back and he climbed upon the armchair’s backrest to jump in her direction, Alessia welcomed him with a frontal blade drawn from her wrist. Taken by surprise, Fulvio used his stiletto augmentation to deviate her attack.

Alessia had the promptness to shoot again in his direction. Fulvio quickly protected himself with a single wing before landing on the floor with a roll. He turned as fast as he could, his wing disappearing again.

Bassoborgo sends its regards, beautiful Alessia, he said after throwing himself in her direction. He tried to stab her with a double attack, which Alessia avoided like she avoided his following strikes. Are you proud of what you’ve become? he added, finally hitting her nose with his elbow. He let go of the other hilt to grab her wrist, finally managing to disarm her, bending her arm behind her back to point the opposite stiletto at her throat.

He immediately let her go and moved away when he noticed that something was about to pierce his chest. A line of sharp spikes came out from Alessia’s backbone, ripping her dress. Before he could realise what was happening, Alessia turned to attack him with a violent shoulder hit. Fulvio ended up on the ground, flat on his back.

Incredibly proud, she replied, blades coming out from her wrists.

Fulvio was fast, too fast to let anyone take his life in such a silly way. As quickly as he could, he pulled a throwing knife from the sheath wrapping his thigh and threw it at Alessia’s forehead. Luckily, it seemed that part of her body wasn’t augmented.

When Alessia staggered backwards to collapse on the floor, Fulvio got up on his knees. I should quit smoking, he thought, almost gasping for breath.

Who the fuck are you? he suddenly heard, a terrified voice coming from behind Alessia’s corpse.

Fulvio had almost forgotten about Leandro. He smiled when he saw him squirming and kicking on the armchair, his blue eyes wide open in horror.

What a princely way to talk, Fulvio commented before standing up. He walked past Alessia’s dead body, collected his bloodied knife, and approached Leandro. The Principe squeezed the armrests, staring at him while panting terrified. He seemed to calm down a bit when Fulvio introduced himself with a bow. "My name is Umbra, Honesto Principe, and you owe me your life."

W-what? Leandro said. He kept staring at Fulvio, who lifted his eyes to return his gaze. Suddenly, Leandro stopped shaking and observed him astonished. The fear in his eyes seemed instantly soothed by Fulvio’s charm.

Fulvio straightened up and observed him from above. It seems the people in power don’t like you. Does someone know you’re here?

Leandro shook his head. Not to my knowledge.

Is your motorboat nearby?

Leandro shook his head again. He didn’t blink once while looking at Fulvio. No, it isn’t.

Fulvio smirked again. That time, Leandro returned his soft smile. Alright, then, he said, I just have one more question before we go.

Leandro appeared puzzled and shocked at the same time, yet he nodded. Ask away.

"May I stop calling you Honesto Principe? It sounds ridiculous."

Leandro started laughing. Fulvio chuckled when he saw him lower his head to bring a hand to his eyes.

It really does, he replied, lifting his gaze again to offer Fulvio a radiant smile. Call me Leandro.

Leandro expressed his scepticism about Fulvio’s wings; however, once he laboriously reached the rooftop of that building in his company, he stopped blathering. Fulvio held him in a tight embrace and jumped.

They flew over Canale Imperio, over Ponte Marchesio and the city at night. A quiet smile appeared on Fulvio’s lips when he noticed Leandro’s silent amazement, a childlike astonishment he would’ve never expected from a famous personage. Leandro was amusing company, no doubt about it.

They finally landed on the top of a building. Once there, Fulvio moved away from Leandro and activated the transmitter that had started vibrating in his ear.

I did it, he said when he heard Donatella’s voice from the other end. Sorry for the late response, I was flying with a gorgeous prince.

Have you hit on him already?

Who do you think I am? You should know I’m a respectful gentleman!

Don’t get me started about who I think you are, Donatella taunted him, "We’re headed to Bassoborgo. Do you think you can take Leandro to Callelungo in fifteen minutes?"

Ten will be enough, Fulvio replied, See you later, dulcina.

When Fulvio turned to look at Leandro, the latter moved his lips like he was about to comment. He just brought a fist to his lips and moved it away immediately, chuckling.

I can’t believe you’re the same person who was facing Alessia before I intervened. You sounded more… Fulvio said, moving a hand theatrically as he was trying to find the right words.

Leandro thinned his eyes, a witty smirk on his lips. More…?

I don’t know. Fascinating, perhaps? Fulvio teased him with a grin.

Leandro shook his head and gave a big smile. Thank you, Umbra.

Fulvio gasped, a reaction that Leandro observed with a puzzled look on his face. You’re finally thanking me, Fulvio said, What are you thanking me for? For having made a slaughter to save your life or for this nice flight?

For saving my life and for this nice flight. I hope it’s not over yet.

It is. I’m leaving you on this rooftop and flying away. You’re alive, that’s what matters the most.

Leandro stared at him with a concerned look. You’re kidding me, right?

Fulvio observed Leandro in tense silence until he couldn’t hold his laugh anymore. Of course, I’m kidding, he said, snorting at his own joke. You’re in danger now. My friends will take you to the safest place in Florydia, then we’ll never meet again.

He attempted to walk towards the rooftop’s opposite edge, but Leandro grabbed his arm to let him turn in his direction. Forget it, Leandro said, looking him straight in the eyes. You can’t expect to appear in my life this way and then disappear like nothing happened.

I can, Fulvio said, I always do.

Not this time, Leandro said, I have too many questions. I need to know why you came to my rescue, who sent you, and I want to see your whole face.

Fulvio blinked surprised. Are you asking me on a date?

Leandro blinked in return. He raised his eyebrows, puffing up his chest.

Before he could speak, Fulvio gifted him with a captivating smile. I killed three people in front of you.

I... Leandro faltered.

Fulvio smiled again. You can’t ask a shadow on a date, he said, "You’ll be taken to the Orchidea, where Matrona Aspasia will take care of you."

Leandro nodded pensive, letting their conversation come to an end. When they reached the district of Callelungo and Fulvio guided him on the motorboat driven by Donatella and Cesco, they parted ways without a chance to say goodbye.

Fulvio followed Donatella’s usual advice of keeping his identity a secret. He disappeared in the shadows to fly over the city of masks, his Florydia finally deserted and asleep, watched and safeguarded by its stealthy guardian. A shadow, one with the darkness, a protector and avenger trained to seek justice.

CHAPTER 2

THE DOVE’S FLIGHT

Would you stay still for a moment?

Fulvio turned his gaze, a lit cigarette tightly held in his closed lips. "I am still," he muttered, softly bobbing his head to the beat of the fast-paced electronic song Gherardino put in the surgery room.

Located in a large basement in Bassoborgo, Gherardino Farnesi’s clinic and workshop was a daily destination for the shadier augmented citizens in Florydia. Maintenance and upgrades were a crucial part of a cyborg’s life, and Fulvio visited Gherardino once every eight weeks.

A metal staircase led from the hardware shop to the mezzanine where the surgery room was arranged, enclosed in an energetic field that looked like a matte white cube. Anyone seeing that place would consider it disturbing like a clandestine doctor’s operating room. Gherardino was indeed a clandestine cerusico, so the comparison made perfect sense. This was the most illuminated area in Gherardino’s shop, the core of his clinic. Six years prior, the then eighteen-year-old Fulvio had undergone a five-hour surgical procedure in this same place.

Surrounded by the holographic monitors of the medical diagnostic terminals, the area was furnished with a white exam table with a raisable backrest and illuminated by the blinding white light of a surgical lamp. Four articulated mechanical arms were connected to the ceiling above the table, but remained folded, since maintenance to Fulvio’s augmentations didn’t require sedation.

Gherardino raised his eyes and goggled, his lips pursed in disappointment. He was a stocky middle-aged man of short stature, with warm-toned olive skin, akin to Fulvio’s, paired with a greyish full beard and grizzled wavy short hair. His large, round dark brown eyes were expressive like his square face, marked with the wrinkles expected of a man in his sixties. He must have been fairly attractive in his younger years and he still was a good-looking man after all, although he couldn’t care less about his appearance.

He always wore a black mechanic’s suit, together with a white medical coat. According to him, that often-bloodstained garment gave him a more professional and reassuring appearance. Reassuring, especially.

You’ll piss me off one of these days, he said, getting back to work. He was tinkering on Fulvio’s left forearm, welding and reassembling electronic components.

Fulvio’s limbic augmentation could only be fully opened by Gherardino. He knew exactly how to unseal the invisible sections all at once and keep them split open to uncover the cables, metallic elements and weapons lying inside. Placed on an armrest, Fulvio’s arm would be the stuff of nightmares for someone who wasn’t familiar with that sight.

Fulvio moved his shoulders to follow the rhythm and withdrew the cigarette from his lips. It hasn’t happened yet. By the way, I’ll choose the music next time.

Terra, no, Gherardino said after a rough, soft laugh, you have awful taste in music, like in weapons. Your stiletti are old as fuck. When you decide to get a pair of laser blades, they’ll be ancient history.

Laser blades are showy crap, Fulvio said, shaking his head for a moment before bringing the cigarette back to his lips. That movement wobbled his flowing, wavy dark brown hair, as well as the medium hoop earrings he always wore.

Gherardino raised his eyes again. Fulvio, come on, look at you. You love showy crap.

Fulvio chuckled and pointed at him with the two fingers holding his cigarette. You’re overfamiliar sometimes, he said. Gherardino stopped operating for a moment and shrugged, nodding with half-closed eyes and a mocking smirk. Any news about the Carnival? Fulvio asked after an amused sigh.

"I’ve never cared and I won’t start now, but I’ve heard the Honestissima Familia will attend tomorrow night with many Nobili, celebrities, and shit like that. It’s the opening ceremony."

The Dove’s Flight. It saddens me that every year they choose a royal soldier who has no idea how to properly use their Icarus, Fulvio said, returning the quick, clever grin Gherardino gave him. Masks will make things difficult for me over the next few weeks. Do you have anything that could help?

Gherardino glanced at Fulvio, blinking with a bored look on his face. Retinal augmentations? He huffed when Fulvio shook his head, repulsed. Either way, you wouldn’t recover in time for tomorrow.

Fulvio started humming and threw some ash on the floor.

Gherardino raised his head abruptly with a shocked grimace. He slowly lowered his eyes and whispered a series of colourful curses. There wasn’t much he could do about it, considering he never offered him an ashtray in the first place.

You said you had a favour to ask when I arrived, Fulvio said.

Gherardino nodded. "Mastro Contini purchased some self-charging yellow lights for some masks he’s creating, he explained, Legal suppliers are more expensive than I am. Since you have plenty of time, you can take them to his shop for me."

You said you didn’t give a shit about the Carnival, Fulvio teased him with a blazing smile.

Gherardino huffed and lifted his eyes. "This is work, an unfamiliar word for you. Come on, do this for me and I’ll give you a discount for this maintenance."

Fulvio threw away the cigarette butt, provoking another series of whispered curses from Gherardino. I could work for you if you were willing to pay me.

I have too many bills.

What bills? Your job is illicit.

Gherardino stared at Fulvio’s taunting smile in annoyance. Alright, Mastro Contini owes me eight-hundred floreti for this delivery. You can keep a hundred.

You’re a darling, Fulvio said mockingly, before winking and blowing him a kiss.

Gherardino snorted an unimpressed chuckle. He took off his disposable gloves and threw them in the tool cart to his right. He then proceeded to close the opened sections of Fulvio’s forearm, which returned to its seemingly organic look. His job might be illicit, but he clearly knew how to do it.

I suppose you’ll pay next time, as always. Gherardino picked up a metal briefcase from the cart’s lower shelf and handed it to Fulvio. Here, take this. Mastro Contini expects his order by noon at the latest.

Fulvio grabbed the handle and quickly got up. His long necklaces clinked to his movements and against his chest, which was bare save for the floral amaranth shirt he wore mostly unbuttoned. His shirt was loose, tucked into black velvet flares he wore with a pair of dress boots.

You suppose well, he said, momentarily putting down the briefcase to wear the velvet blazer hanging on the exam table’s raised back. By noon, you said. I have thirty minutes.

Exactly, Gherardino said, his tone emphatic. "See you next time, puero. Say hello to Donatella."

"Bonudie, Dino," Fulvio said, moving towards the entrance Gherardino opened in the energetic field; he controlled it through the holographic interface of his hologlove, an armband functioning as a portable terminal.

Fulvio crossed the doorway while tossing a precious bracelet, unfastened from Gherardino’s wrist when he handed over the briefcase. He grabbed it mid-air and put it in his blazer pocket, rushing to leave the clinic and join Donatella who was waiting outside.

The Patriciate represented the most relevant political establishment, second only to the Honestissimo Principe. It was a vast Council, divided into seven specialisations. Ercole Argenti was a member of the Inquisitori, a magistrate, judge, executioner, and one of the most feared Nobili Homini in Florydia.

There were many ways to gain respect in such a position of power, but Argenti had learnt to obtain it through violence and force. He was known for his brutality and his legendary iron fists, a pair of shiny silver cybernetic arms decorated with bright white lights.

Trials were usually held in the vast courtroom of Palazzo Aulicus, an immense historic building overlooking Piazza Maiesta and residence to the Honestissimo. Pre-trial interrogations and other duties carried out by the Inquisitori took place in the same site, in breathtaking rooms whose walls and ceiling were frescoed with impressive perspective paintings.

The victims decided to die in the same way, although they didn’t know each other, Argenti said, his voice deep and intimidating. He slowly tilted his head upwards, an elegant yet menacing pose, a cigarette held in his right mechanical hand.

He was an impressively tall and brawny man in his late forties, with warm beige skin, short, thinning hair, and a receding hairline. A grey medium-length full beard grew thick on his rough oval face. His eyes displayed retinal augmentations, coloured bright white. Legal augmentations tended to be quite ostentatious in Florydia.

Only a fool would believe it was suicide. You knew your client worked for both, yet you accepted the case. She was doomed the moment she became a suspect.

The man sitting at the other side of the desk looked down in silence. He was trembling uncontrollably, sweating in fear. In the silence of that room, his breathing was so loud it seemed he was panting. His black hair was dripping with sweat, a drop rolling down to the tip of his nose.

Argenti lowered his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. "Look at me, Egregio. There’s no reason to be scared. The death sentence is no longer applied to lawyers. The Honestissimo made it illegal."

The lawyer swallowed and cleared his throat. My client is innocent, he insisted, finally lifting his eyes. All the victims were illicit cyborgs. She wouldn’t stand a chance, and you know it. You told me there’s no reason to be scared, so I’ll speak my mind. You know who the murderer is, but you’re protecting them.

Argenti remained silent for a bit. He drew from his cigarette again, then pressed it, half-consumed, in the porcelain ashtray on his side of the desk.

I value your passion, Egregio. I’m seriously impressed. Yes, I know who the murderer is, he said, It’s your client. There’s no such thing as opinions in our job. Solid evidence has decided people’s fate since judicial law became one of the main pillars of our civilization. Words are useless when proof contradicts them. Words can also be dangerous when inappropriately directed.

"With all due respect, Clarissimo, the lawyer said, his face trembling in concern, this sounds like a threat."

You’re already in a vulnerable position, Argenti said, Why should I threaten you? Please, tell me, are you interested in the Carnival?

The lawyer looked down again in discomfort and nodded.

Good, Argenti said, The Carnival is not the only occasion in which our respectable citizens wear a mask. Everyone wears masks in Florydia, even when their faces are fully visible. Some hide a rotten soul behind a respectful disguise, others hide beauty behind a horrifying facade. Many others, instead, wear the same mask for so long they become it. Please, get up and come closer.

Following that order, the lawyer got up from his armchair and walked with hesitant steps towards Argenti, while straightening his tie.

Argenti decided to get up as well. The lawyer started shaking visibly when he had to raise his eyes to look at him. The Inquisitore was a living mountain of muscles, a titan, an indestructible and undefeatable statue.

People see me as a monster, Argenti said, staring at the lawyer from his remarkable height. What do you see when you look at me?

The lawyer looked forwards, his eyes frantically moving in the nothingness like he was trying to see in the dark. He puffed up his chest and, after a heavy sigh, raised his eyes towards Argenti’s face again. He was still trembling, but he appeared bolder.

I see corruption, Clarissimo, he dared to say, and a flawed system. Not even in Empiria are lawyers treated this way after a trial. You might be better than this, but you chose to support injustice.

He would’ve screamed if his breath wasn’t suddenly taken away, the choking grip of Argenti’s cybernetic hand squeezing his neck. Nobody batted an eye when it happened. Many things can be said about me, but no one has the right to say I’m a corrupt sheep, Argenti growled, his face rippled with fury, the tendons straining in his neck. The light behind his retinal augmentations got brighter through his rage.

The lawyer gasped for breath, his face turning red and the veins bulging from his forehead. Argenti threw him down with such strength the lawyer almost bounced on the floor, his back probably broken on impact.

Argenti crouched to press a knee on the man’s belly, the latter suffocating and whining in pain and confusion. So, you see a monster, do you?

The man didn’t know how to react, so he shook his head, the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Liar, Argenti said, Typical rat of your sort. This monster will be the last thing you’ll see.

It almost seemed he couldn’t hear the desperate screams of the poor man while his mechanical thumbs pressed his victim’s lower eyelids, the lawyer’s hands and arms waving convulsively, powerless. Argenti gouged his eyes out, the blood gushing out while the lawyer’s screams became unbearable shrieks.

The man vomited and lost consciousness, his body quaking without control. Argenti barely stopped himself from making use of his iron fists. He punched the floor, to the left of the lawyer’s head, crushing a tile in the process.

Argenti took a moment to calm his pounding heart and laboured breath. The men who'd kept a silent guard by the door walked in his direction to come to his assistance. One handed him a tissue, the other made sure the lawyer was still alive and activated his transmitter by pressing his left tragus with a finger.

Vincenzo Costale shall be disbarred for unethical conduct, he said, cleaning his hands. He also needs immediate medical assistance.

We’re providing it, Clarissimo, the one standing at Argenti’s right said, a muscular, handsome lad whose bronze skin was covered in freckles and whose long hair was a shiny tangle of jet-black curls. I also called Mastro Contini, as per your request. Dominia Dionei’s mask and yours will be ready for tomorrow morning.

Argenti stood up. Thank you, Matteo, he said, patting him on the shoulder when finally on his feet. The young man bowed his head. I’ll go see Cornelia immediately. I’m done for today.

Despite the influence of modern technology, Florydia never stopped perpetuating its peculiar traditions. The Carnival, in particular, was one of the most famous and coveted events in Taenand, a festival held for five weeks every year to honour the Spring Equinox. The already magical atmosphere of the city reached its peak through endless celebrations, parades, shows and an exciting display of detailed and eye-catching masks.

During the Carnival, everyone in Florydia wore masks and hid behind a different disguise every day, crowding the streets, bridges, and public areas with intricate costumes. The citizens were free to have fun playing a role different from their true selves or to joyfully experiment with their identities.

Many events took place during the opening ceremony, starting with the Honestissimo’s symbolic wedding to the city, with the blessings of the Ostara in the main hall of Palazzo Aulicus, and the real weddings of thirteen young beauties of any gender from the poorest families of Bassoborgo. Tradition dictated that the Princess Consort selected them among the most attractive, young soon-to-be spouses in Bassoborgo. The widowed Honestissimo handed that role to Fabiola Dei Vittori, his elder son Cosimo’s wife.

After the wedding, the Terdecim and their spouses would be settled on thirteen boats and paraded through Canale Imperio, an anticipated event that followed the acrobatic shows performed in other boats in various Canali of the city and in Piazza Maiesta, where fire breathers and performers, cyborgs usually, paraded their remarkable skills under the lights of the holographic decorations and the incessant fireworks.

In the crowd of masks, lace, silk and feathers filling Piazza Maiesta, two teal figures strode forward to blend in.

The taller was clothed in a magnificent taffeta gown with a rigid corset, embroidered with white flowers. A black veil, customary to Florese garb, covered their head and neck. A feathered tricorn, black satin gloves, and a feather fan completed their attire. The volto hiding their face was mainly white, painted with black flowers and teal curlicues, the lips tinted teal.

The smaller, dressed in the same colours and with an identical mask and tricorn, wore a cropped jacket with large shoulders, puffed sleeves, and a standing ruff collar. The underbust corset was combined with a high-neck ruffled blouse and a pair of embroidered trousers.

I’ll get the masks next time, the taller figure whispered, a young boy.

Stop whining, Cesco, the small figure replied, a lady. It’s just a skirt.

You’d feel the same in my place, Cesco said, This dress is beautiful but uncomfortable.

I know, that’s why you’re wearing it. I could never.

Cesco huffed and started flapping his fan nervously. A gentle chuckle echoed from the smaller figure’s mask, who stared at him for some seconds.

Ah, my dear friend Cesco, they both suddenly heard, Fulvio speaking through the transmitters in their left ears. You look great in that gown. I wore one like yours once, during Carnival 2078. A young man believed I was a tall lady before he approached me.

Did he complain when he found out you were not? Cesco asked, while Donatella slowly shook her head.

I can safely say he didn’t, it was irrelevant for him in the end, Fulvio said, However, he was mad at me for having stolen his rings and necklace. At least, I suppose he was. I was gone before he noticed.

The magic of Carnival. Donatella sighed, looking around cautiously. Remind me why we’re here. I see nothing wrong, except for the usual crowd.

Mastro Contini’s nervousness didn’t sit right with me, Fulvio explained. He was observing Piazza Maiesta from the rooftop of one of the imposing buildings surrounding the area. A strategic position, allowing him an unimpeded view of Palazzo Aulicus and Colonna Maiesta, an ancient watchtower from which every year a royal soldier performed the Dove’s Flight. I haven’t seen a single person whose mask was decorated with the yellow lights we brought him yesterday. I usually don’t care about the Nobili, but something’s going on and it must be stopped.

Meeting Leandro changed you, Donatella said, What’s next? Will you try joining the royal guard?

Jealousy doesn’t suit you, dulcina, he responded in kind. Donatella cursed at him, but he just laughed.

Wait, I saw someone with those lights, Cesco said with a worried tone, and despite the disguise, I have an idea of who it might be.

Shit, Donatella confirmed, You’re right, Fulvio. Something’s going on.

Mastro Contini’s luxurious masks were unique, adorned with precious stones, bioluminescent feathers and self-charging lights, the same used in cybernetic augmentations. The couple crossing Piazza Maiesta were clothed in two of his unmistakable creations; furthermore, the impressive height and build of one of them proved they were precisely Ercole Argenti and his diletta Cornelia Dionei.

The Inquisitore wore a typical bauta, the eyeholes protected by reinforced black glass that hid his retinal augmentations. The mask was white, decorated with lit purple curlicues except for a strip of yellow light starting from the forehead and ending at the tip of the nose. A dark purple silk veil hid the sides of his head and neck, and a black tricorn ensured the veil stayed in place.

Cornelia’s mask was probably one of Mastro Contini’s best creations, richly decorated and inlaid with meticulous care, a volto that in turn portrayed another half-face disguise around the eyes. The flowery curlicues were illuminated by at least four different shades of purple, the lips were painted black, and the whole mask was surrounded by a blooming crown of black roses and luminous purple feathers. A beautiful mask for a beautiful woman, whose hazel eyes appeared striking from the slanted eyeholes. Like Argenti’s mask, Cornelia’s had a strip of yellow light on the nose.

They were followed by five men, all wearing a humbler version of Argenti’s mask and a silver cloak each.

Follow them inside, Fulvio said, getting up from his crouched position to move to another rooftop. Palazzo Aulicus is still open to the public. Find a way to reach the terrace and snoop around.

What about you? Donatella asked, Are you going to join us?

If necessary, Fulvio replied. For now, I’ll keep an eye on the soldier who should perform the Dove’s Flight. Nobody is at the top of Colonna Maiesta yet. It’s weird, don’t you think?

The view from the terrace of Palazzo Aulicus was among the most awe-inspiring in all Florydia, a vision only guaranteed to those who had the luck to lean out from the elaborate perforated parapet in the company of the Honestissimo and his family.

Most of Canale Imperio and the tiled roofs of the quaint buildings were visible, as well as the modern, colourful skyscrapers and the overlaying bridges leading to the modern parts of the city, observable on the horizon.

The ongoing parade on the Canale’s waters was about to be temporarily ignored due to the event everyone was waiting for. The Dove’s Flight was a spectacular exhibition, in which a selected royal guard used their wings to fly over Piazza Maiesta and reach the terrace of Palazzo Aulicus to land kneeling before the Honestissimo. Subsequently, they would be crowned by the Princess Consort, or in the current case by Fabiola, with a flower crown crafted by the Ostara’s children and delivered to the city by the priests attending the ceremony.

Not all the Nobili had the privilege to watch the Dove’s Flight from the terrace. Only the forty members of the Consiglio, the three most prominent Inquisitori and those accompanying them were offered that spot near the Honestissima Familia.

Terra, I’m too old for this shit, Bastiano said, handing his stick mask to Leandro who was standing at his left near the parapet. "I’m starting to believe I’ll get some rest only when I die. I should set up a drinking game next year, like one of those they do in Bassoborgo. Take a shot every time someone greets you with ‘Dominia Maschera’. What do you think?"

Leandro chuckled when his father stared at him with a smirk and thinned eyes, waiting for his son’s reaction. Bastiano was a tall, slim, and distinguished man in his late seventies, his rose-white oval face appearing gruff and mistrustful at first glance. He had thick pointy eyebrows and harsh features, a prominent nose and marked expression lines. His black-dyed hair was wavy and long below his ears, slicked back with gel.

He held a cane with a beautiful golden handle depicting a lion’s head, the only thing that allowed him to walk properly; he could get augmented to solve the ailments of his age, but had always refused the surgery. Dressed in an elegant velvet suit, he sported his princely white cape embroidered in gold flowers, the same colours as his mask. He never put any effort into his costume, although he liked the Carnival after all. That trait was one of the many Leandro had inherited from him, despite the latter’s mask being more peculiar that year.

I think we’d end up drunk within the first hour, Leandro replied, his radiant smile entirely visible since he was wearing a colombina. A stunning owl mask, precisely, so well-crafted that its embellishments resembled real feathers emitting a bluish-grey light. That mask too was decorated with a strip of yellow light. Keep it. I know you’re trying to dump it on me.

Bastiano snorted and looked away, shaking his head. I swear if this thing doesn’t start in ten minutes I’ll freak out. He looked at Leandro again, while the latter’s blue eyes stared at the horizon.

Leandro was distracted, and Bastiano barely held a chuckle when he noticed him puffing up his chest in a sigh.

You got all dressed up this time, Bastiano said, throwing a glance at Leandro’s gorgeously embroidered crop jacket and trousers, coloured like the mask, and the white shirt he wore unbuttoned at the neck to show a pair of gold necklaces.

Leandro recently got his right ear pierced, a small silvery feather that dangled when he turned towards his father to reply. I felt like it, he said, evasively.

Bastiano’s gaze was anchored on his son. Something on your mind?

Leandro blinked and looked behind him, studying the crowd. An ensemble of laces, lights and masks, blurred and blended in an inconsistent mixture to his uninterested eyes.

He spotted his friend Fabiola and his brother Cosimo, the former wearing the simple beige colombina she used every year and an intricate feathered headpiece. She was busy arguing with her scolding husband, who wore a tricorn and a cloak but no mask at all. He never wore one, since he considered it useless.

A handsome man in his late thirties, Cosimo had his father’s skin tone and blue eyes, dark blonde hair and a full beard. If Bastiano’s harshness was apparent, Cosimo’s was genuine. He considered duty to be his primary value, a peculiarity that often put him at odds with his brother.

Not really, Leandro said. Terra, look at Fabiola. I’ve never seen Cosimo show her a bit of affection.

Cosimo never shows affection to anyone, Bastiano said, "and Fabiola is too sweet to properly blame him. Your mater took every opportunity to tell me I was a stulto."

Leandro laughed softly. Bastiano turned to look at him and laugh in return. And now you have me to remind you you’re a stulto, Leandro said.

No, I don’t, Bastiano said, You’re too fond of me to mock me. Can I have a cigarette?

"No, you heard your cerusico. You