Debug system activated. Logic error solved.

  6:51 pm. 17 hours, 38 minutes, 56 seconds remaining. KYZDKYU:WRATH ver. 173.00475.3.012 is desperate about its failure. He heads to the Bar Libra in Montemarcone to drink a beer alone.

  “We are desperate, too,” Berto noted, reading the message. The night sky was black, and the stars were yellowish—not much different from the night sky Berto was used to.

  “At this point, why don't we go and have a beer with him?” Vanni proposed.

  Berto sighed. “It seems like a good idea to me. We need to talk to him. It is now clear that we cannot save it by acting on external factors. The boss... the System Node has decided that he must die, and money, intimidation, and persuasion will not make him change his mind. Quintino must save himself. He must flee far from here. It's his only chance."

  Vanni nodded. “It seems so simple… in fact if he ran away everything would be solved. But if it were that simple he would have already done it, right?”

  “Well, then we'll find out why he didn't escape and then we'll convince him to do so,” Berto retorted.

  After a nod of agreement, the two friends galloped towards the Montemarconi roundabout.

  The Libra bar was built on an open space on the right side of the roundabout. Even though it was bitterly cold, Quintino drank his beer at one of the outdoor tables. There was no one else out there but him.

  Berto and Vanni entered and asked for two 66cl Peroni beers. When they placed four euro coins on the cash register plate, the barmaid looked at them with a questioning expression. “What the fuck is this, a joke?” she asked.

  “Huh?” said Berto. There was nothing wrong with those two euro pieces.

  “Where did you find those coins, in some toothless old man's piggy bank? Bring me my two thousand lira if you want your beers,” the barmaid said.

  “Oh, I hadn't noticed,” Berto apologized, and put his coins back in his pocket.

  Leaving the bar, Vanni whispered, “Fuck, they still have lira here.”

  “Or maybe they have lira again,” Berto replied.

  They both turned towards Quintino. They could ask him to pay. Vanni came closer, “Hey bud… sir… we're broke. By any chance would you have two thousand lira to buy us a couple of beers?”

  Quintino placed the two banknotes on the table and sighed, “Why not, strangers? Have a drink on me."

  Berto took the money and went to fetch the beers. Vanni sat down next to his old friend. It was hard to pretend he didn't know him.

  “You have our gratitude, you're very kind!” Vanni thanked him, "Since you're alone, we’ll repay you by keeping some company."

  “You don't have to repay anything. I’d rather be alone and you don't need to be out here. Go inside, in the heat,” Quintino refused.

  “You seem rather upset,” Vanni observed.

  “What a roving eye!” Quintino muttered sarcastically.

  “I'll tell you more, you seem to be in pretty deep shit,” Vanni added.

  “Did he send you?” Quintino asked scared.

  “No, but we might know something about your problem,” Vanni said suggestively. Berto returned and placed the two beers on the table. Vanni took one and sipped it.

  “Are you cops? Who the fuck are you?!”

  “We are not cops and we are not enemies,” Berto replied reassuringly, “But I strongly advise you not to investigate our identity, or hell will break loose. See us as two guardian angels. Imagine us as if we were your little inner voice.”

  Quintino hiccuped and spat a lump of phlegm onto the ground. “Ah, here it is. I understand. Then you don't know shit. You're playing mentalists. I'll tell you clearly: yes, I have a money problem. But I will solve it, I have always solved my problems.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “No, it's not a money problem,” Vanni insisted, “To hell with beating around the bush. Today you went to sell your shit in a different place than usual. You thought it was someone else's square. But are you really sure it was?”

  “Of course, they guaranteed it!” Quintino exclaimed.

  “But can you be sure of it? What if someone wants to screw you over? What if they sent you to turf that already belongs to Rosselli?" Vanni asked.

  “Oh no…” Quintino realized very quickly, “No, no, no! It can't be! Do they want to cut me off?”

  “They want to put you off,” Vanni corrected him.

  “Oh, fuck! Who the fuck are you?!”

  “I repeat that we cannot reveal our identity to you,” Berto reiterated. “But rest assured, we are here to help.”

  “But why do they want to get rid of me?” Quintino asked desperately.

  “It's not important. The point is that now you have to think about covering your ass. You have to get out of here,” Vanni tried to keep the conversation in.

  “Is there any place far from here where you could hide?” Berto investigated.

  “My wife – my late wife – had relatives in the mountains, near Villa Santa Maria. Maybe I can hide there for a few days. But then what will I do? I have no money, nor a job!”

  “You'll think about it when you get there,” Berto advised him. “Do you know how to get to Villa Santa Maria? Do you have a car?”

  “No, and I can’t get there through public transport… at least not until tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, and the bus routes are too predictable,” Vanni added.

  “Look, I have a solution, but you have to trust us,” Berto proposed, “Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock sharp, come to the statal road and start hitchhiking. A car will stop. I don't know what model it will be and I don't know who will be on board. The driver will ask you where you are going, and you will say Villa Santa Maria. You go up. Then don't ask questions. Stay quiet during the entire journey. The driver will drop you at the exit for Villa and you will walk to the village.”

  Quintino seemed to have grasped it. “Okay,” he replied.

  *****

  It was Thursday morning, and a family of four was merrily traveling on a station wagon. They had just left their terraced house in Atessa to spend a very long weekend on the ski slopes of Roccaraso. The father, Pasquale, was in the commercial division of one of the factories in the Sangro Valley, and the mother, Assunta, had a beauty center. Kevin and Beatrice were in the back seats, eight and six years old respectively.

  The children, firmly secured in the back seats with their seat belts, played with their phones with the volume turned to maximum.

  Descending towards Montemarcone Pasquale’s vision blurred, but it only lasted an instant. Then, along the straight, he saw an elderly gentleman with his hand raised.

  Pasquale felt a little nostalgic. He hadn't seen anyone hitchhiking for ages. That didn't mean he would stop.

  But unexplainably, at the last moment, he decided to pull over next to the gentleman. He didn't understand why he did it but since his wife didn't protest he rolled down the window. "Where you go?"

  “At Villa Santa Maria,” the man replied.

  “Oh, perfect, that’s on our route!” Pasquale exclaimed lively. “Come ahead!”

  The man opened the back door, and Assunta told Kevin, “Kev, make room for the gentleman.”

  Kevin obeyed, moved to the middle seat, and reattached the seat belt. The gentleman sat down and closed the door. Pasquale drove off again.

  “Dad, won't you tell the gentleman to fasten his seat belt?” Beatrice asked her father.

  “Right, Bea. Sir, would you please put your seatbelt on?”

  The gentleman nodded, then attached the belt.

  Pasquale turned left at the first roundabout, then right, then took the Sangro Fondovalle main road towards Isernia. He reached a speed of ninety kilometers an hour and maintained it on the long straight.

  “Mom, the gentleman stinks,” Kevin observed.

  “Kevin!” the mother thundered, “Sorry, he's such an impertinent kid – Kevin, we’ll come to terms with you later!”

  The gentleman smiled and pretended nothing had happened.

  At the LEX petrol station before Archi's exit, two souped-up Vespas appeared in the rear-view mirror approaching at high speed.

  “Damn, they're crazy fast,” Pasquale commented.

  Then there was a bang, and the car spun. It hit the guardrail and the airbags exploded. Despite the airbag and seat belt, Pasquale hit the steering wheel with his head and lost consciousness, his glasses flying off. Assunta put her hands over her mouth and screamed. Kevin and Beatrice were screaming too.

  On the fly, the gentleman unfastened his seat belt and jumped out of the cockpit. He started running along the busy road, but the two Vespas accelerated and cut off his escape. The rear passenger of one of the Vespas raised a pistol and fired a volley of bullets into the gentleman's knees and chest.

  Two more guys appeared out of nowhere. An old man in a military green trench coat and a young man in a red and black jacket. The old man jumped on the thugs on the Vespa, while the other shouted at him as if he wanted to stop him.

  Then time got laggy. The old man, frozen in his leap, advanced and retreated a few centimeters.

  There was a fade, and then the street reappeared. There was no sign of the men fighting anymore; there were only cars driving in both directions. The station wagon was on the road, and Pasquale was driving alertly, the speedometer showing ninety kilometers per hour.

  Pasquale asked, “Kids, are you sure you don't have to pee? The road to Roccaraso is still long.”