Bonfire of the Vanities the story of the fall of Fiorentina.

A lonely figure strolled down the corridors of the Uffizi gallery for the last time as an eerie light flickered through the windows casting long shadows over his time in Florence.

The year is 1497, all over Florence the doors of churches, towers and houses are being forced open. The supporters of Savonarola run like rats through the narrow alleyways, converging into the wider streets before merging into stronger currents an maelstroms like those found in the near bye River Arno. The wealth and valuables of the high and mighty but also the poor and needy were thrown assunder onto mighty pyres. Savonarola scoffed at the lowering of the high and like a crow in his dark robe picked over the remains.

The Assassin watched from high above, normally so deadly , now hopeless again such a large number, such strength. He had gathered so many resources and in a year it would be a different story. His young apprentices would be fully trained and he would be able to guard his home town again. Savonarola was not to know that he would one year on be part of the same bonfire and then would pass into history.

 The manager strolled into one of the side galleries, he wondered how such great works of art survived so many disasters and tragedies over the years. 

Outside the tifoso were cermonially burning their season tickets, which flared with a lilac flame due to the potassium salts hidden in each as a security measure.

When would he return , did it matter, how would the next manager do in Division 2. He left the gallery and turned toward the Duomo looking up at the tower which dwarfed even the mighty red dome.  Even at his lowest point a voice called out from across the ages “The best. May it never change.”,“Even those men you sought to save have turned their backs on you. Yet you fight, you resist, why?”,“Because no one else will!”

The plan was hatched, the deal was done, even as David slipped from his view he knew his adventures were not over.