Galen's hands were shaking.
He poured the thick, green liquid into a clay wine amphora. It hissed when it touched the ceramic, releasing a wisp of vapor that smelled of rotten garlic.
"Naphtha," Galen whispered. "Quicklime. And sulfur. If I shake this too hard, we evaporate."
"Don't shake it," Marcus said.
Marcus sat on the floor of the safehouse, methodically loading bolts into a repeating crossbow. Click-clack. Click-clack.
He was furious.
The meeting with Lucilla had stripped away any illusion of diplomacy. She wasn't a sister anymore. She was a CEO liquidating his family. She had called him a rat.
"Are we really going to burn the Temple?" Narcissus asked. He was wrapping his axe handle in fresh leather strips.
"It's not a temple," Marcus said. "It's a router."
He looked at the crude map drawn on the floor in chalk.
"She controls the city through the Network," Marcus explained. "The semaphores guide the drones. The speakers give the orders. If we cut the cord, the puppet falls."
Galen sealed the amphora with wax. He carefully wrapped it in straw and placed it in a backpack.
"I have modified the receiver," Galen said, patting a small wooden box wired to a copper coil. "If I plug this into their main switchboard, it will create a feedback loop. It won't just jam the signal. It will scream."
"Good," Marcus said. He stood up. He strapped the crossbow to his back.
"She likes efficiency," Marcus said. "Let's show her what chaos looks like."
The Capitoline Hill was a fortress of light.
The ancient Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus still stood at the summit, but it had been violated.
Copper wires draped over the marble columns like vines. Massive mirrors—the semaphore stations—rotated on the roof, flashing light signals to the distant watchtowers. Steam pipes hissed from the base, powering the dynamos inside.
It hummed. A low, constant vibration of industry.
"Sentinels," Narcissus hissed.
They were crouching in the shadows of the Tarpeian Rock.
At the top of the stairs, two guards stood watch. They weren't normal men.
They wore "Pneumatic Armor." Crude exoskeletons made of bronze and iron pipes. Steam vented from backpacks, powering pistons attached to their legs and arms. They carried massive riot shields and clubs that looked like railway sleepers.
"They are slow," Marcus noted. The Ghost analyzed their movement. "Heavy. Clumsy."
"But hard," Narcissus countered. "My axe will bounce."
"Then don't hit the armor," Marcus said. "Hit the boiler."
"Distraction?" Narcissus asked.
"Distraction."
Narcissus slipped away into the dark.
Marcus and Galen moved to the back wall of the temple complex. It was a sheer drop—sixty feet of stone.
Marcus pulled a grappling hook from his belt. He spun it. Whoosh-whoosh.
He threw.
The hook caught on the marble balustrade above. Clink.
Marcus waited. No alarm. The hum of the dynamos covered the sound.
"Go," Marcus whispered.
Galen climbed first, the bomb strapped to his back. He moved carefully, terrified of the liquid death he carried.
From the front of the complex, a roar shattered the night.
"FOR JUPITER!"
Narcissus.
Then came the crash of wood splintering and the scream of steam.
The Sentinels at the gate turned. They lumbered toward the noise, their pistons hissing loudly. Chug-hiss. Chug-hiss.
"Now!" Marcus hissed.
He scrambled up the rope. The Ghost pulled him up with unnatural speed. He vaulted the railing onto the temple roof.
He reached down and hauled Galen up.
They were in.
They ran across the roof, dodging the rotating semaphore mirrors. They reached the skylight above the central cella—the inner sanctum.
Marcus looked down.
The statue of Jupiter was gone. In its place was a massive switchboard.
Dozens of technicians sat at desks, tapping telegraph keys. Wires ran everywhere. It looked like a 1920s telephone exchange dropped into an ancient ruin.
"That," Galen pointed to a thick bundle of copper cables in the center. "The Main Trunk. If I plug in there, the scream goes everywhere."
Marcus kicked the skylight glass. Crash.
He dropped.
He landed on a desk, crushing it.
A technician screamed. Marcus spun, slamming the butt of his crossbow into the man's face.
"Don't kill the workers!" Marcus yelled as Galen dropped beside him. "Just the guards!"
The room erupted. Technicians scrambled for the exits.
"Intruders!" a voice boomed.
The door burst open. A Sentinel filled the frame.
The armored giant raised a steam-powered bolt gun.
Marcus rolled. A metal bolt the size of a spear smashed into the switchboard, sparks flying.
"Galen! The wire!" Marcus shouted.
He charged the Sentinel.
He was an ant fighting a beetle.
The Sentinel swung a massive iron club. Marcus slid underneath the blow. The club smashed a marble pillar, cracking the stone.
Marcus didn't strike the armor. He circled behind.
The Sentinel tried to turn, but the suit was slow. Whir-clank.
Marcus saw the exposed rubber hose on the back of the leg. He fired his crossbow. Point blank.
Thunk.
The bolt severed the hose. Steam sprayed out. The leg piston lost pressure.
The Sentinel wobbled. The heavy armor became a cage. The guard toppled over with a crash that shook the floor.
"Done!" Galen screamed.
The physician had jammed his wooden box into the copper cable trunk. He flipped a switch.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH.
The sound was physical. It blasted from the monitors in the room.
But it didn't stop there.
Outside, in the city, every PA horn amplified the feedback loop.
It was the sound of a microphone held too close to a speaker, magnified by a thousand times.
Technicians clutched their ears, bleeding. The glass in the windows shattered.
"The fuse!" Marcus yelled over the noise.
Galen lit the rag stuffed into the amphora.
The Sentinel on the floor was struggling to rise, his suit venting steam.
"Out!" Marcus grabbed Galen and threw him toward the window.
They dove.
They hit the cool night air just as the Greek Fire detonated.
KA-BOOM.
A ball of green fire blew the roof off the temple.
The shockwave pushed them mid-air. They crashed onto the roof of the Archive building next door.
Marcus rolled, skidding to a halt on the tiles.
He looked up.
The Temple of Jupiter was a torch. The semaphore mirrors were melting, dripping molten glass down the columns.
And the city...
The city was dark.
The electric streetlights flickered and died as the central dynamo exploded. The searchlights sweeping the sky winked out.
Above them, the clockwork drones stopped circling. Without the guidance signal, their simple logic boards failed. They drifted aimlessly, crashing into rooftops like dead birds.
Silence fell over Rome. The screeching feedback loop died with the power.
"We did it," Galen gasped, staring at the burning ruin. "We blinded the eye."
Marcus stood up. He looked out over the darkened city. The Palatine Hill was black. The factories were silent.
But it wasn't quiet.
From the slums of the Subura, a sound began to rise.
It started as a murmur. Then a shout. Then a roar.
Thousands of voices.
"The cage is broken," Marcus whispered.
He loaded a fresh bolt into his crossbow.
"Now the animals are loose."