02:00 AM (Two days after the Sector 3 incident)
An old basement beneath an abandoned Opera Theater.
Inside the vast underground chamber, representatives from five of Ironport's mid-tier factions sat in a circle. There were delegates from The Iron Skulls, Red Lotus, and several independent mercenary syndicates. All of them arrived on high alert, their hands never straying far from their respective weapons.
In the center of the room sat a long table covered in black velvet. Atop it lay several closed steel briefcases.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed. From behind a torn, aging stage curtain, two figures emerged. Both wore long black cloaks and plain white porcelain masks, devoid of expression. No names, no emblems, no identities. Only voices, digitally altered by Funin's technology.
"Thank you for being punctual," a heavy, distorted voice—Rion's—boomed through the room.
"Who are you? And why should we risk our lives coming to this godforsaken place?" the leader of the Iron Skulls asked gruffly.
The second figure—Ren—stepped forward. Her voice sounded soft yet carried a threatening resonance. "We are the answer to your powerlessness. Are you tired of being squeezed by Seifong? Are you sick of paying tribute to Cosa Nostra? We offer the fangs you need to bite back."
Rion pried open one of the steel cases. Inside, an XM-22 Rail-Pistol gleamed blue under the lamplight.
"This is no ordinary weapon," Rion stated. He lifted the gun and aimed it at a thick concrete block in the corner of the room. Zzap! Without the sound of an explosion, the concrete block shattered into pieces, struck by a tungsten projectile traveling at supersonic speeds.
The faction leaders flinched, their eyes widening as they looked at one another.
"No sound. No gunpowder residue. No ballistic trail," Rion continued. "This weapon will make your men ghosts in the eyes of the police and angels of death to your enemies."
"How much?" asked the Red Lotus representative, his voice trembling with excitement.
"We aren't asking for full payment in cash," Ren replied coldly. "We ask for loyalty to the target. We will provide these weapons to you for free, provided you use them to dismantle Seifong's supply routes in the West District tonight."
"You want us to be your soldiers?" one of them asked suspiciously.
"No," Rion answered. "We want you to be chaos. We don't need your names, and you will never know ours. In Ironport, we are merely shadows. And shadows have no names."
Rion placed five briefcases in front of each representative. "Take these. Use them. If you succeed, the next shipment will be larger. If you betray this agreement or try to uncover who we are... remember what happened in Sector 3. We can destroy you before you even have the chance to pull the trigger."
Without waiting for an answer, the two masked figures retreated back into the darkness of the curtains. When the faction leaders tried to pursue, they found only an empty room. The curtain merely concealed a solid concrete wall—Rion and Ren had vanished through a secret door prepared by Garry.
That night, five of Ironport's mid-tier factions went home with weapons of the future in their hands. They didn't know the donor; they only knew that they now had the power to set the city ablaze. And behind the scenes, the "Black Group" smiled as new chess pieces began to move.