Linha Quente Fluminense

God gives his strongest battles to his strongest soldiers, doesn't he?

It is now two decades since *it* started. I was nine back then, and helped my mom make it by selling water on the beautiful beaches of my home city, Rio.

The city, one day, lost contact with the outside world. Shipments stopped coming in, the internet went out, and weird things started happening.
Gigantic animals jumped out of the woods and into the hot asphalt of the city. Human-looking individuals started stabbing people in the middle of the street. In the span of an hour, the once brightly-lit and active city was transformed into a dim warzone.

What used to be rats now became human-sized. They dominated the city’s streets for a while, until the Favela kingpins decided to put an end to this.
Gangs of un-organized, assault-rifle wielding teens poured out of the favelas, and fought as they did against the government.

They managed to hold the tide and stem the wound until the government stepped in, and the local Military garrisons took over control. 
The kingpins of the Favelas stopped shooting at the government, and the government stopped shooting back. 
Two sworn enemies decided to band together to protect us. The morros took care of the rats, and the government shielded the metropolis from outside threats.

Rio, a place ridiculed by the amount of crime and violence, within a week became peaceful. The multi-million population started working together like a rusty gear.
Millions of people volunteered for construction work. A Wall started being built around the perimeter of the city, including the favelas. 

Everything was going well. It seemed as if God himself blessed here for once.
But then, *They* came.

Walking corpses, from lands close and far away. Four months after relative peace, a weak old man called ‘Lord Joseph Benefaccius Secundo’ appeared on the outer perimeter.
Behind him? Millions of men, women and children. Chunks of their flesh torn out of their bodies, bone exposed. The ocean of humans chanted and weeped, their eyes pitch-black. 

Thousands charged at the unfinished walls. The military, although well equipped, could not hold them off. 

By the end of the first day, Rio was lost. The rich, accustomed to their laxed lifestyles in protected communities, tried fleeing. Helicopters took off from high skyscrapers and luxurious mansions, heading southwest, attempting to flee to Angra dos Reis.

Unexpectedly, they failed. Bright lights came from the waves climbing over the unfinished walls, guiding themselves and striking these aircraft, bringing them to the ground alight.

The ones who tried to escape by boat didn't fare that well either. Some ran out of fuel before even making it out of the bay, and the lucky ones got pulled under the waves by something.

Many tried running for the woods, hoping to reach the nearby cities. Most of them weren't heard from again.

To say it was desperate is an understatement. After the initial breach, Rio's suburbs fell and it was a matter of time until the city was lost.
Those who didn't have any kind of way out turned to their only hope: The hills.

It was a recipe for disaster. Thousands of souls flocked to the various favelas's streets. Condensed terrain, cut off from basic sanitary systems and now housing refugees.
It became a meat grinder. For the Lord, that is.

The "Morros" held. Millions of hidden guns and ammunition were dug up from abandoned shacks and house foundations. People parked their cars, blocking the narrow roads inside of the slums. Machine guns and assault rifles were emplaced ontop of turned-over buses and houses, and tons of tires blocked small entrances

The initial assault was repelled, and the people inside breathed relaxed for once. Scouting parties started being sent downtown to bring supplies, lead by old Pacification Policemen. 

It was beautiful. Refugees volunteered to defend the communities, while the residents took care of the streets and supplies. Me and mom used to live in the favela before the happening, so we were told to just stay home and help the kitchens.

We stayed like this for around a year. Every day the same routine of making stew, treating the wounded, and cleaning the streets.

But modern cities aren't meant to last sieges, and you can only do so much before the food dries out.
Famine hit, and a lot of poor souls died. Luckily, those who passed away were burnt, not to be tormented post-death.
People started moving out of the Morros, attempting to go back to their homes and work something out. It usually didn't work, and it only helped to lessen the population over time.

When I turned 10, everything came crashing down. The undead Lord has launched another offensive and this time he has weapons. 
First, it was the Dendê favela who fell. Then Alemão, Rocinha, and like dominoes, ours fell.
The horde breached the main avenue in, and branched off to the nearby houses. My mom picked me up and ran for the streets, going south. 

But the horde catched up.


I don't remember well what happened at the moment, but all I know is that she threw herself to the ground and hugged me tightly.
I woke up later, the night had already fallen.
Laying ontop of me was her. Or what remained.

Being in Rio hardened you, even as a child.
My dad died when I was two, hit by a stray bullet at work. Gunfire was a very common sound, and even served as a clock for us.
Slowly, I pushed her to the side. Her back was torn open, and she had no innards left inside of her torso.
My instinct was to cry, but I couldn't. Mom had saved me, and I couldn't put it to waste.

All I felt was something burning deep inside.
This fucker came to Rio, and stole everything I had.
Brazilians steal from Brazilians, but gringos don't steal without paying.

And he *WILL* pay… 

K-year +20
Rio de Janeiro, Barra da Tijuca
00:00

*Now playing: https://youtu.be/LorSij6Hs5E *

***RING! RING!***

Ow… fuck…

***RING! RING!***

I take my head off the steering wheel, and pick up my phone from the dashboard.

**INCOMING CALL: Private Number**

I swipe up on the screen, accepting the call.

‘Who is this?’
A semi-robotic feminine voice answers the phone
“FoodI. The motoboy is already at your doorstep.
Remember to give him a tip, and invite him in. 
Embarrassment is the word.”

‘Alright. Did you send him off with extra toppings?’

“Yes! Second saché of mayo and toasted **B**...read. Do remember him about it, though. He is forgetful.
Extra cost was R$ 2,05.”

‘That’s a good price to pay for some mayo, honestly. Do you know anything I should do after he is here?’

“Yes. Show him around, and take care of the pets. They’re special.”

‘Pets… Hm. Alright.’

“And don’t forget. The lady is a non-issue.
If he brings anyone else, that is your issue.”

‘Gotcha. The payment is already processed, yes?’

“Of course. How could we be a reputable service if not?
Enjoy the meal.”


Hanging up, I turn my phone off and slide it in one of the pockets. 
I grab a small suitcase that is laying at the passenger seat beside me, along with a polaroid camera.
Checking my holster, I find my TX-22 neatly tucked inside. It has a can on the end, and is hot with subsonics for the night.
This should be a simple job. In ‘n’ out, like the old days. My client’s initial briefing was “Do it in the most disrespectful way possible”, and getting holed by a .22 is something I wouldn’t wish for even my worst enemies.
Pushing on the door handle, I open the car and get out.

The dimly-lit street is oddly empty today. I’m in barra da tijuca, a very tourist-y location of Rio.
It’s usually filled to the point of clogging the city’s highways. Weird.
My car, an Uno 90, is parked in front of a motel. Simple construction, metal windows from the 00’s, and triple-floored. A perfect place for taking your one-night date for some fun times.
But I wouldn’t bring anyone here even if I was paid.
This one has two sections, with three floors each. One section is more ‘premium’ than the other. What is considered premium, though, is up to imagination.

I put on my usual work attire. A solid-flap soccer team cap and a pair of polarized ‘Vipers.
The cheapest stuff available, not original by any means. The goal is looking generic, and it sure does cut it.
Although, I really need to get something more professional and anonymous. Petty crime in this city always used to be caused by people wearing this or biker helmets, and I really don’t want to lower myself to that bar.
...Maybe I'll hit up the boss for something. He’s the one who handed me the stuff.
Entering the motel, I’m greeted by a lady in her mid-50’s.

“Welcome! Do you have any reserved rooms, or do you want to rent one out?”
‘None. I’m simply a delivery man, I work for FoodI.’
The lady is surprised, but nods along.
“Well, one of the guests called up a while ago, notifying me about a delivery. You know the room, yes?”
I nod, and she looks around before giving me a thumbs up.

The advantage of working high-class is that, well, they make your job easier.
Clients must be super wealthy to be able to bank bribing and setting everything up perfectly.
Target’s at the “B” section, second floor, room 205. 
From what I could muster, the dude’s a serious idiot and hasn’t paid his… debts yet.
Or, rather, at all. Boss told me the client has money from before the happening on him.
The final straw was when he decided it was a good idea to “hook up” and not pay.
Man… sometimes I don’t know why people like this exist.

The corridors leading up to the place are quite well maintained.
Light beige walls, fluffy carpet flooring, and the classical yellow light bulbs.
Not a single dust particle on the ground, and the walls’s paint hasn’t cracked. Even after probably forty years.
Engineering around here was very focused on utility and survivability back then. Not many people had money to reform their houses every five years.

Alright, I’m getting near… 203… 204… There it is.
Arriving at the place, I take a second to look around.
No-one in sight. And, the cameras that were supposed to be watching this corridor are laying on the ground, beaten to all hell.
Well, the premium housing is really showing its colors.

I kneel near the door, opening the briefcase.
Inside is one of my most prized possessions, a Taurus LT-40. The barrel’s in tip-top shape, sights don’t have a single indentation and the old polymer construction is still holding up to time.
My beauty’s only modification is a cup on the end, meant to wrap around door handles. 
Thing’s piping-hot with a 40mm Birdshot round. 
It’ll make short work of the lock.
Picking it up, I place the end of the launcher’s barrel onto the door’s lock, and with my non-dominant hand pull my TX-22 from the holster.

1...2...3…
I press the trigger on the grenade launcher.
***BANG!***
A muffled gunshot comes out of the beast. What used to be a metal lock turned into a gaping hole in the door’s wood.
I drop the launcher, and kick the door in, pistol in-hand
From what I can see, It’s a small apartment. Pretty generic for motels.
Bed, TV, bathroom, cuck chair, window…
Well, there used to be a window. I’ll have to get my hands on some actual breaching ammunition soon.
I can’t see everything inside of the room from my angle, so I peek around the corner...
Oh, what the fuck?!

There’s a land whale of a dude on the bed. He’s butt naked, and his skin is so oily the small amount of light that entered the room is being reflected.
Beside him is an equally disgusting woman, but clearly a hooker. Lanky body and high-heels still on her feet.
They were… well, in the act.
“HOLY SHIT!” he screams, jumping from the bed in reflex.
The woman beside him gets spooked, but then relaxes and reaches for the nightstand, pulling a cigarette out.
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!”Sitting on the ground, he raises his hand up.
I point my pistol at him
‘Good lord, you’re in debt and you still do this?.’
“I- I CAN EXPLAIN!”
‘Then what’s the explanation, eh? Fuck man, you couldn’t even get one of the elves!’
He gags, and tries getting up
Oh, hell no.

Engaging 100% of my neurons, I rapid-fire the plinker
**pspspspspsps pspspspspsps psps**
20 very angry hornets were launched at him, his chest turned into low-quality swiss cheese.
“AAAAAH… aaaahhh… you fucking… faggot!”
I fiddle with my pistol, trying to remove the magazine. It’s stuck inside.
‘Hey, hey. Look, you had years to settle the business okay?’
“HUH…. Uh… You’re gonna fucking PAY!”
He’s laying on the ground, gasping. Still not fucking dead, fat surely works as body armor
I manage to force the bottom of the magazine out, and get ready to insert a fresh mag in… Oh. Which pocket was it in again?
“F...FUCK! FUCK YOU!” He spits on the ground next to him, and throws himself up
Uh oh.

I step outside, and the glorified mass lunges at me
Swerving to the right, I manage to get out of the doorway just as the biomass flies through
*THWOMP!*
His graceful glide cut short by a cement wall being in the way. 
The beautiful, well-painted beige wall is now cracked. Damn, at least I won’t have to pay for collateral damage.
He is squirming on the ground, yelling in pain. Won’t be getting up anytime soon
Now, where did I put my other mag…
Oh shit, the briefcase!

I walk over to it, grabbing the fresh mag from a holder and shoving it into my pistol.
Racking the slide, I unload on his sorry ass
**pspspspspspsp sppspspspsp spspspPOW!**
A loud gunshot echoes through the still-empty corridor, and I can hear commotion starting in the rooms nearby
FUCK!
The oil filter strapped to the end of my gun tore open, rubber flying everywhere
The guy’s on the ground, limp. His lubricated back filled with small wounds, and the rear of his head has a hole
Damn… I got lucky with that one.
I look back into the apartment, the woman already put on clothes and is picking up her purse off the ground.

‘You know how it goes, yeah?.’
She nods, and puts her hand out
Bitch is requesting money! How dare she.
I didn’t memorize the pimp’s holy prayer, so I'll just save time and deal with it.
I kneel near my briefcase, and pull a small stack of 200 reais from it.
Lightly throwing it at her, she picks the money mid-air and darts from the scene.
Still in her high-heels.
...How do women manage that?
I quickly gather my equipment and shove them in the case
Empty mag, grenade launcher, the remains of my can…
Fuck. I’ll never buy chinese again.

Closing my briefcase, I pick it up and dart down the corridor.
I hear a door behind me opening and quickly closing again. 
The commotion ceased after, I guess the sight of a big fat guy laying on the corridor with a pool of blood around him tends to scare people.
Or it’s just the thought that they’re gonna be next. 

I get to the reception area, the lady at the counter checking out some bills.
'It's done. Tell the Boss he went out as the client wanted.’
She nods, and starts phoning a number.
“I’ll have to call the blues. Get outta here.”
'Aye, aye. Good luck with them!’
I run to my car, open the door and get in.
Shoving the keys into the ignition, the old engine starts and I start driving outta there.
Man, that was… something. I better call boss.


K-year +20
Rio de Janeiro, Copacabana
00:30

God… I need a drink.
I brace myself on a light-cyan wall, slowly going up the stairs
The damn elevators are closed for maintenance, and I live in the fifth floor
When you look at the numbers, it isn’t really big. But this is Rio, and apartments close to the beaches have two or even three levels each. Well, at least the ones close to Copacabana are. I don’t have any knowledge about how they’re built near the other beaches.

Mine was a shot-in-the-dark, and I hit bullseye. When the government stepped in, they auctioned off a lot of the derelict buildings to remaining construction firms and some gringos.
The complex under and above me is ten-stories tall, and was finished only two years before the event. It housed the most upper class of tourists that came to this shithole.
After Rio fell, there weren’t any tourists anymore, and the building was left onto nature’s welcoming arms. 

The winning bidder of this building’s government auction is an old gringo beast-man, from a place called ‘West Atlantic Coalition’. When he took over his prized acquisition was overgrown and looted. 
Through what can be described as divine interference, he managed to repair and reform the entirety of the building’s 20 duplexes in less than two years, and opened the apartments for rent. But, the man’s definition of ‘rent’ is foreign in nature. It’s more alike buying the apartment and paying monthly for security.

I was personally invited to visit his building, and the monster of a man offered me a special, one-time price to live in it. I still don’t know why, but the thought of having one of the few surviving fluminenses living under him brought a smile to his skull. 
His name? Well, we don’t exactly know, but we just call him ‘Mister Dream’. 
He’s taking the process of accepting new joint owners very slowly and carefully.
Probably doesn't want to house a hoodlum in his very loved condominium.
Currently, only me and another family live in this building. Excluding security folks, those live in a glorified nuclear bunker, called the ‘basement’.

Oh, thank God. I'm finally on the 5th floor.
I take a left, down a small corridor and get to a red wooden door. ‘No. 501’
Part of the reforms Mr Dream made is changing the entire building’s metal doors to resin Pau Brasil. Simply one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen done to a building before.
Feels good finally being home.
I take my keys out of my pocket, and insert one of them in the keyhole.
I turn it twice, and the door smoothly opens

**Now playing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qY725AQDLZg&ab_channel=LoneWolfLazarus**

The apartment is pitch-black, and I instinctively hit the light switch that is nearby
In a split second, my beautiful duplex is slightly lit up by an assortment of colors.
Some white, ceiling lights illuminate the entire thing to an acceptable level of dark, while blue and orange shoot out from holes in the floor, reflecting off of the walls.
In front of me is a living room, and a large, black L-shaped leather sofa sits in the middle. It’s facing a glass wall, where a widescreen TV is strategically placed.
Behind the glass wall, there’s a metal stairway that leads up to the 2nd floor, where I spend most of my free time at.
Unlike the first floor, the second one is sectioned. The stairs end at a corridor, going straight down leads to my room.
There’s two other rooms in the same corridor, both currently vacant.
I use it for guests, but rarely. People never visit me anyways.
At the back of the first floor, there’s a small “American” kitchen. Electric oven, white marble countertops, a microwave and the classic Brastemp fridge.
Near it, there’s a beautiful wooden dining table with eight seats.
God, this makes me think I'm rich.

“Slow there, cowboy. We got lots to talk about.” A voice echoes through the first floor
Hold up… I left my apartment locked, didn’t I?
At the corner of the table, a human silhouette is sitting on a chair.
Pointing what I can expect to be a ‘pipe’ at my direction
“Drop the stuff, no sudden movements. Now, get over here and take a seat.”
“It would be a shame if I got the table for myself, wouldn’t it?”
...fuck, it’s already over? Damn it.
God-damned well-funded police… How did he even go past the security?
I reluctantly drop my briefcase, and slowly walk over to the table
I can see the man more clearly now, and from what I can make out he is wearing a suit and a fedora.
Taking a seat, he kind of relaxes, but still pointing the gun at me
“So, was the delivery fun?”
They are really onto me.
‘You know how it goes. Pretty uneventful, I'd say.’
He chuckles
“How you left the guy says otherwise. Anyways, this is not the matter.”
The man pulls the gun closer to me
Gun has a big can in the end.
I don’t know what the police were thinking by issuing literal pipes to their agents

“Well, you DID ask if the payment was processed. And, well, it’s here.”
Hold up, this guy sounds familiar…
He quickly gets up, and hits a light switch to his left
OH, MOTHERFUCKER!
Lowering the pistol, he sits down again, laughing his ass off
‘You bitch.’

The man sitting across from me is my boss, Sérgio. Dressed in his purple suit and fedora.
“HOLY… shit anon. You should’ve seen the look on your face, my guy.”
‘Man, you could have at least called! I’d have cut up some colds.’
“And, what’s the fun in that?”
‘I guess you’re right’
He 's an old vet. I don’t even know how old, but the stories I've heard from him are... Interesting to say the least. He was part of the Manaus offensive, I don’t know when or where. 
Keeps talking about ‘how he lost her’ or something. It’s probably the meds getting to his head.

“Well, here’s part of your pay, as you requested.”
Sérgio puts the gun on the table,and slides it across the wood.
I grab it, and appreciate the beautiful piece of steel.
A MSM machine pistol, to be exact. Chambered in what I can only hope is 10mm, it’s the Brazilian answer to the MAC-10 question.
Well, I don’t think anybody asked, but the engineers sure did a good job. At the end of it’s barrel is…
Ugh. An URU suppressor. It is double the length of the gun itself, and has a pair of bulky swedish-style sights.
Where did he even get this?

‘You know, some actual breaching ammunition would be nice… But thanks.’
“You’ll get it eventually. The client was expecting a humiliating death for the fatty, but he didn’t expect 40 bullets that didn’t even go past his belly!”
He cracks a laugh, and continues on
“Official cause of death is head trauma, although that little drill you hit sure helped to easen the job. The blues are already off of the case, since the whale DID have a criminal record.”
‘So, another vigilante hit for the media?’
“You know it. The pay will be very handsome, sexy even. And will be deposited on your piggie accordingly. Get some rest, my dude. You did well.”
‘Heh, thanks. You could warn me about targets needing armor-piercing next time.’
“I will. Anyways, I just came here to give you the good news. Check the box near the door when I leave. Let me just tell you, your stylish uniform has officially arrived.”
OOOOOOH, finally something new to wear. 
I wonder what he’s planning for the next job.
The old man gets up, and heads for the door
“I’ll catch you later, anon. Tell Mr Dream I said hello.”
‘Alright, have fun. Give me a notice next time you come here.’
“Sure, I'll expect a cold one.”
He leaves the apartment and closes the door, a small cardboard box revealing itself behind the entrance.
Thank you, God, for my boss.

**Now playing: https://youtu.be/Jb-RCSYuCu4**

I get up from the chair, and neatly tuck them under the table
So, about that drink. Usually, I don’t buy many drinks. 
Or, rather, used to. Nowadays, I *have* to keep some stock of good quality liquor, beer and bed bulls. Sometimes I get some Beast energy drinks, too.
Mr Dream semi-consistently comes to my apartment on friday nights, to both get a rating of the service and to keep me company.
I don’t know why he likes to get a rating *every single week*, I always give him a 10/10

Walking over to the fridge, I put my hand on the cold steel handle and pull
The cold air escapes slowly as the door opens, revealing…
Well, not much. There’s a couple of small plastic containers full of beans, yesterday rice, a pot full of cheese and salami, and the obligatory stack of re-utilized plastic water bottles. Classic for every Brazilian home or apartment.
Man, I need to get some stuff from the supermarket. I’ll ask Dream what he keeps in his fridge later. I’m not accustomed to stocking foods.
I open the ‘extra cold’ drawer. There’s a few cans of bed bull, a can of Beast, some tonic water and coke bottles.
Hmm… I can either make a Rum and Coke, or some Gin…
Both of them are too classy, honestly. I’ll just make a classic caipirinha.
I open the freezer section and pull out a tray of ice cubes, and close the fridge
Now… I need some cane liquor, lemon and sugar.
I kneel and open a cupboard, inside there’s a variety of glasses and bottles
Rum, gin, vodka, whiskey…
Oh, shit. I don’t have any cachaça. Vodka will have to do.
Grabbing the bottle of russian juice and a glass, I close the cupboard
I pull on a handle above the cupboard, and a drawer opens up
Spice, salt, pepper… AH! SUGAR CUBES! Yeah!
I grab two perfect cubes and drop them in the glass cup
Where did I put the lemons?
...fuck. I forgot to buy lemons.

I guess I’ll call downstairs and see if anybody has some lemon.
I put aside the bottle and the cup, and head for the telephone
It’s an old dial-up, closed circuit. The phone is on top of a small table.
There’s a small paper duct-taped to the side of the device, a small spreadsheet of the numbers available to call
So… who should I call? Security doesn't have lemons, the concierge is probably asleep already
There’s the other family that lives here. They’ll-
Oh yeah I never talked to them.
Hm, I guess there’s Mr Dream. It wouldn’t hurt to call him
Looking at the paper, there’s five numbers listed. 
*PORTARIA 88-01, SEKURITY 89-11, JOHN 88-03, ANON 88-04, ~~FRED~~ D R E A M 88-14*
Hm, his number is 88-14. Interesting.
I dial the number on the phone’s old keypad
The familiar sound of a telephone dialing comes out from the phone’s speakers

“BEEEEEEEEEEEP.”
“BEEEEEEEEEEEP.”
“BEEEEEEE-”
The sound is cut off as somebody picks up from the other end
“ANON, Hello! Incase you forgot, this number is for **EMERGENCIES** Only. I hope you have an emergency, else call on the other number.” A raspy, but affirming voice answers
Heh. That’s the classical Dream alright. 
‘Good night, Mister Dream. Yes, I’m not mistaken. I truly do have an emergency, my friend.’
“AAAAAH, Alright. I hope it isn’t one of those pranks you guys pull on the police. What is it?”
‘Well, my life didn’t give me lemons.’
There’s a few seconds of silence, until the owner breaks it
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I told you this phone number is for serious applications only! I’ll have a talk with you later, Anon!!”
‘No, seriously, Mister Dream. I’m out of lemons and I need to make a drink with them.’
“OH SHIT!! HOLD ON!”
He hangs up, and I can hear some commotion a few floors above me.
I walk away from the phone, and stand near the door

A few moments later, I can hear some very *loud* thumps on the corridor.
*RING! RING!*
A muffled “ANON! I BRING LEMONS!!” comes from the other side of the door
Man, he 's great.
I twist the handle, and when the lock disengages the door gets pushed in
It almost sends me to the ground
A deer skull pops out of the door opening, staring directly at my soul.
Light is reflected from the eye cavities, but it is pitch black like the rest of his body.
Well, I did say he was a beast-man. Maybe more to the side of ‘beast’.
Doesn't matter, honestly. I could see him getting all the women. 
“MY FRIEND! Good to see you! Life didn’t give you lemons, but I will!”
Slowly, a very skinny, down-to-bone hand comes out of the doorway
It is carrying a transparent plastic bag, and inside? An assortment of limes and lemons, almost filled to the brim
‘Hey Dream! Thanks, man. I only needed a single lemon, but you always surprise me don’t you?’
“That’s what a 10/10 service gets you, my friend!”
I grab the bag from the hand, and it quickly pops back into the hallway
‘Don’t you want to stick around, bud? It’s nice to have you around.’
“I’ll have to sadly decline, anon. You know our time is on friday, I’m busy going through the fffffffUCKING applications all week.”
‘It’s rough, but you’re doing a great job. If you need help, you can call me up if I’m free.’
“No need, anon. You’re living in my building after all! I wouldn’t annoy you with such tasks.”
He sighs
“Anyways, I need to get going. Enjoy the lemons, my friend!”
‘I’ll pay you back sometime. Enjoy yourself too!’
“I ALWAYS DO!”
He brings his head back into the corridor, closing the door shortly after.

Ever since the thing happened, things like him roam around normally.
I’ve gotten accustomed to it. They’re pretty cool in all honesty.
Personally, I don’t know where Dream got these lemons from, but asking questions is usually not very wise when dealing with beastmen like him.
At least I have some limes now. Great.

Getting to the kitchen, I put the sack onto one of the countertops and take one of the limes out
Pulling on a drawer, I take one of the neatly-stacked knives and cut it in two. 
Then, I juice the two lime halves onto the glass cup, pour some vodka in and…
Voilá! A Not-very-authentic Caipirinha. It’s one of the simplest drinks a man living here can make, honestly.
Oh yeah, I need to stir it. I forgot to buy a professional bartender stir bar, so I just pull out a plastic spoon from the drawer and mix in the liquid
It takes a while, maybe using sugar cubes wasn’t really very smart. After they are diluted, I pop one ice cube and gently put it in.
Now it 's done.
Yeah, easy as that. Brazilian drinks aren’t really full of glamour.
Simple, refreshing, tasty and most importantly: High in alcohol.
Just as my old man would’ve liked it.

I gently raise the glass to my mouth and take a sip of the cloudy liquid within
...damn this is good. Very sweet, with a little bit of sourness.
Maybe I put too much sugar, but oh well. This is great.
I put my free hand in my pocket, and pull my cell phone out
I swipe to the right, and the camera app opens up
*SNAP!*
Taking a photo of the drink, I put in my password and send the photo to Mr. Dream’s whatsapp
Man has completely adapted to Brazil, and even uses the local app.
I don’t know how the zap is still working, but it’s truly a blessing.
OH MAN HE ALREADY VIEWED IT?
“THAT IS VERY NICE. PLEASE MAKE ONE FOR ME NEXT FRIDAY”
I send him a thumbs-up and turn off the phone
Man, it is WEIRD seeing a gringo using the ‘zap. I’ll get accustomed to it eventually.

I pick up the box and my briefcase next to the doorstep, and go up the stairs into my room
What could be inside? He did say it was stylish.
Knowing Sérgio, it’s probably one of those expensive suits in Oxford. But it honestly wouldn’t fit with the ‘vigilante’ cover he has going on. 
Seeing a sharply-dressed man pepper a fat guy would really bring suspicion, and the local police still haven’t accepted that organized murder is in larger scale.
Now that I put it this way, maybe my job isn’t very… socially acceptable. I need to get a cover story set up before I meet a woman.
God, imagine the silence after saying ‘Oh, I’m a hitman.’ Hell, I wouldn’t even wish it for my worst enemies.
I’ll probably have to take a page out of agent 47’s rulebook, and go with ‘Freelance Liquidator’.
Hah, that actually sounds nice. And, as a bonus, it wouldn’t scare the hoes away.

Getting to the second floor, I’m greeted with a long, perfectly clean corridor.
Man, it feels nice living here. OH! I should probably take my shoes off.
Taking a look back, I notice a very noticeable red trail from the apartment entrance
Fuck. I’ll call someone to clean it up later.
Wedging the end of one of the shoes onto another, I take off my pair of blood-stained max airs and continue down the corridor
There’s three rooms here in total. Well, calling them rooms is an understatement. Not even suites.
The two guest rooms are more in the likes of kitnets instead of rooms. 
Each one of them has two beds and a bathroom, all separated with move-able drywall. In a small corner, there’s a minifridge, a small stash of sweets and snacks, a water boiler and even a coffee machine. Non-capsules, of course. I wouldn’t want my guests getting aluminium-induced autism.
It’s quite beautiful, honestly, but I really want to get to my bed. It 's tiring.
Maybe I'll check up on them tomorrow, and replace the condiments.

Eventually, the corridor leads down to a double white door with a sign above it
‘ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISQUÉ’
Hah, I still remember buying that. It was at an artisanal market.
The hippie didn’t believe his little sign sold, and thanked me five times in the span of a minute.
It wasn’t cheap, but man, It’s pocket money compared to the more mass-produced stuff.
...On the hindsight, it’s kind of dumb. But I don’t plan to have any long-term visits anytime soon, so I shouldn’t worry about it.
I get to the door handle, and push it down with my elbow
The door gently swings open, revealing the ‘Master Suite’ what was called.
But I lovingly named it the ‘Kave’.

** NOW PLAYING: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MimAy4kHoUc **

The room is dimly lit by external lights. I forgot to close the curtains, again.
I slap the switch to my left, and a very pleasant white light comes to life
My personal domain is actually pretty small compared to the other rooms, I’m the owner of the house after all. I can leave my room whenever I want, without a worry in the world.
My room is about half of the size of the guest suites, there’s only my king-sized bed, it’s nightstand, a small table with a laptop and a television. There’s no wardrobes or closets, I just fold up my clothes in several travelling suitcases under the bed. If it works, it works.
There’s also two doors, one leading to my balcony, and the other one leading to a pretty good bathroom, even equipped with a luxury two-people tub. That I use for myself. 
It’s pretty comfy, don’t judge.
For decoration? Well, I forgot completely about it until the initial reform was done, so I just made the walls my armory. Metal racks are attached to the four corners of the room, and two of them have stuff hanging.
One of the corners is dedicated for clothing, backpacks and rigs. The other one is the weapons corner.
Sadly, it isn’t really full of equipment, most of it I took with me in my briefcase. But, hanging in the weapons wall, there’s a 9mm Beretta and my proud PARAFAL which sits in the middle of the rack. I used it for 20 years now, and it keeps going up.
God, I love that rifle. I’ve even given her a name, ‘Carolina’, in honor of Sérgio’s lost interest.
I don’t know why, and I don’t remember when, but he suggested giving it a name. He almost broke down when I named her. Seems like a big issue to him, even 15 years after his ordeal.
It’s a beautiful name, honestly.

I set my drink on the nightstand, and slowly put the briefcase and boxes on top of the table. 
First, I unpack the stuff in the briefcase and organize it in their respective places. TX-22 and grenade launcher on the rack, and extra mags and rounds go into a drawer.
Empty casings go into the “bubba bin”, a place no-one dares to go. When it gets full, I bring them up to Mr Dream and he reloads the casings for me. I keep saying he’s a nice guy, and it’s not for dramatic purposes. 
After organizing the stuff I put my eyes on the gift
I open a drawer and pull a knife out of it. An old IA2.
Unsheathing it, I get to work cutting up the see-through tape holding the box shut.
If it is an IED, I'll be very surprised.
Pushing away the now-free openings, the contents of the box reveal themselves to me
There’s two suits, neatly folded inside. One is a crimson blazer and pants set, the other one is very nice. A 1-1 Replica of Nuclear Kim’s button-up speech set.
Christ, it even has the little pin flag. I don’t like where this is going.
Under the suits, there’s a red butterfly tie and a pair of square glasses.
At the end of the box, someone wrote ‘CALL ME WHEN UNBOXED.’
Well, here goes my plans of having a few days off. Christ.

Grabbing my drink, I head to the balcony, cell-phone in the other hand
My balcony is pretty simple compared to the rest of the apartment, ceramic tiles cover the floor, and there’s a small bar table with two plastic fold-up chairs.
I kind of need to get new chairs, but I don’t come here that often anyways. 
Something that I kind of need to get is someone to share stuff with.
It’s kind of sad having well-made stuff and not being able to get somebody’s reaction to it.
Hmm, maybe I'll invite Sérgio over for a sleepover. My FAL needs a touch-up and from what I know he knows how to clean one up well.

I put the stuff onto the table and take a seat
It’s beautiful outside. There are some navy ships anchored inside of the bay, launching fireworks from their decks. Oddly enough, the sounds of fireworks exploding are very muffled.
The usually-empty beach is… ***very*** full today. But the crowd is controlling themselves pretty decently, it feels like I’m in a supermarket with all the low voices around.
I didn’t even notice it when driving over. 
OH SHIT! It’s commemorating the liberation of Manaus today!
Huh, now I understand why that guy had gotten a hooker. Legally, It’s a working day, but every single boss around the city gives out paid vacation today.
Well, Sérgio didn’t. But the job was fast anyways, so I don’t blame him.

Talking of Sérgio…
I grab my cell phone and unlock it, and eventually open the Contacts app
Now where is he saved… AHA!
**DIALING: DONO SÉRGIO**
The phone dials for a few seconds but the man picks it up quickly.
“Guess you opened the stuff, yes?”
‘Of course, why would I be bothering you again if not?’
“Hah, fair enough. The red suit is actually yours, a gift. The black one, however, you’ll use in the next hit. It’s all planned out, but I wanted to give you a brief explanation before the ordeal. And ask which gun you want there.”
‘Hey hey, easy. Explain it calmly, we don’t have a rush. I have all the time in the world.’
I loudly take a sip from the drink, just to emphasize.
“It’ll be next friday, after the football game, so you have a few days to relax and take notes. Client’s a cartel and I know you aren’t particularly fond of working for them, but hear me out. Having a centralized force running the drugs would bring more peace to the city, and we wouldn’t want another favela situation.”
‘Ugh. Fair. Is the pay good?’
“You can motherfucking bet it is. Anyways, the target is a kingpin. Recently tried forming his own way into the trade, and cut off with the client. He’ll be at a costume party commemorating the game.”
‘Mhm. And I guess the angry korean costume is my way in, yes?’
“That’s why you’re my right-hand man, Anon! You can piece things together without me even touching up on it! Well, the party will be at the Cantagalo Hill, at a local hostel.”
‘That’s near where I live! You sure I won’t get in trouble for this?’
“Trust me on this one. Everything’s already arranged, and your identity is still hidden.You’ll drive there, and use the costume in the box. If asked who you are, say ‘I’m here to negotiate supply and demand.’ Client’s already gotten their hands into the local guards, and they’ll bring you right to the target. He’s expecting a meeting with an investor, so it’ll fit right in.”
‘What about my gun? They’ll know I'm here to kill him if I appear with the steel.’
“That is already accounted for. Even though the guards are already in our pockets, they’re still friends with the Target. Your gun will be in a trash bin, inside the first bathroom you see. I just need to know which one you want, and I’ll come pick it up.
You’ll probably have to deal with the guards after the target is down, too.”
‘I had a gut feeling you had a catch to this plan. It’s fine, I can handle it. That new gun you gave me should do the job well, MXM or-’
“MSM. Made by ENARM, in 10mm. Suppressor will be pre-attached, too.”
‘Thanks. What about the blues?’
“Coincidentally, they also have the target in their sights, but I doubt they’ll actually do something before he’s dealt with. The vigilante cover still applies, who wouldn’t want someone to pop a cap in a drug lord?”
‘I don’t know, man. This vigilante shit is getting too common, they’re probably suspicious already.’
“Fair enough. I’ll think of something for the next hits, but this one will still be under the same guise. One more, Anon.”
‘Alright. Sure thing, boss. Don’t forget the breaching rounds as payment, and after this I want some HE rounds too.’
“OOOOh, getting fancy now are we? If you really want to step up the game, I have a few boxes of fresh T4-”
‘Nah, my FAL is fancy enough. I just want more shit for my grenade launcher. If you want to give me another gun, maybe a sniper rifle or even better: one of those fancy new launchers the army has.’
Sérgio laughs from the other end
“Hey, look man. I used one of those things, and the AT4 is like a ferrari compared to it. I’ll see what I can do, fancy boy.”
‘HAHA! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint, boss. Anyways, I’ll leave you to see the fireworks. Talk to you tomorrow.’
“Ha, boy. If you knew what I had planned tonight, you would stay in the call for hours just to spite me. Lemme just say, these palesdinian girls are something else. Have fun, Anon!”
Before I can interject, he hangs up the call. Huh, I could never imagine sérgio being one of *those* types of people. Banking foreign girls is truly only for rich people.
I’ll get there someday, minus the obvious money sinks he’s currently involved in. 
Poor dude.

Well, now I’m left to enjoy my few days of relative freedom until the hit.
The fireworks are really beautiful, and tomorrow everyone at the beach will be too tired to return.
I think I'll go to the beach, or visit my bar buddies. 
Yeah I should probably visit them, they’re very cool.
Although, they visit the most expensive bars while I’m present. 
Ah, I sometimes hate immigrants. Gold diggers from São Paulo, Horny men from Espírito Santo, Gay people from the South.
The decent ones are from Minas, but they’re beach hoggers and it gets kind of boring after a while.
At Least the beastmen from those regions are pretty normal, but not to the levels of going to a pub and watching a soccer match with the boys.
Even though crime was worse before that happened, I really miss watching flamengo games with the crew. 


**NOW PLAYING: https://youtu.be/yHtgRV7y-4E **
(read it slowly for maximum music enjoyment)
K-year +9
17:00
Dendê’s Hill, Governor’s Island, Rio de Janeiro

‘EY, Rogério, bring me another cold one will you?’

I’m at the cell’s shack, the boys all around me enjoying their downtime.
There’s a bluetooth radio in the corner of the room, blasting some trafficker music from around two decades ago. I’m sitting at the same table the speaker is on.
Sadly, it isn’t my choice in music. Asking for the boys to suggest songs has backfired tremendously.
The table is small and yellow, made out of old 90’s plastic. Basically the only thing that hasn’t rusted or been melted for explosives at this point.
Recently, I was assigned the very prestigious position of ‘Wrangler’. In actual terms, I actually have to lead a component of the cell.

We’re currently in ‘Morro do Dendê’, in the old days it was one of the crime-riddled hills, but nowadays it serves as a hideout for us. It’s hell to patrol, and even if we get discovered, changing houses can be done in less than 20 minutes.
A perfect place for an insurgency. Or, a perfect place in general.
Our shack is a two-story unpainted brick building. Electricity is done via gasoline generators, fuel being siphoned from abandoned cars.
Each two days or so we have to mobilize the men to get more fuel, but it generally gets done within an hour.
Yeah, it’s that many abandoned vehicles. Virtues of living in an ex-society dependent on roads.

The guys are doing various activities, Four of them are playing cards, three of them are talking about bitches, and the rest are playing pool like their life depends on it.
It’s fun being around them, even if I have to stay alert for new missions. Oh, speaking of missions...
My radio comes to life, and the familiar voice of the cell leader, Agnaldo, comes through it
“Anon, our police comrades have found the location of Benefácio’s second-in-command, the mage who took Alemão down. He’s on the same island as you guys are, and is holed up in one of the slums at the Pitangueiras beach. The house is as lit as a christmas tree, so you’ll have no problem identifying it. Get to work.”
Pressing the push-to-talk button, I acknowledge him
‘Consider it done, chefe.’
I get up from my plastic chair, and the people around look at me

'ALRIGHT BOYS! Listen up!’
Everybody in the room shuts up. The music radio is turned off, and the people playing pool put their poles onto the table.
‘Agnaldo’s order has finally come up. The cunt is in the Pitangueiras beach, his house is currently powered and has lights on, so it shouldn’t be an issue.’
I grab my FAL that was sitting beside my chair, and continue
‘Get your shit, bring extra ammo. Enzo, you’ll finally get to use that RPG of yours my friend.’
One of the guys near the pool table smiled. He’s Enzo, the group’s explosive enthusiast.
Our group has around ten members, and is organized pretty well. We have stocked up for this.
‘We’ll depart at 6, so you all have one hour to finish your games and grab your equipment. You all know what to do, stay silent, walk in the shadows. No lights or cigarettes.’
I start walking out of the room, and stop right beside the exit.
‘When we get near the house, set up your guns. Full-auto. We’ll pepper that son-of-a-bitch and bring his cursed shack down with him!’
The men cheer.
‘The RPG fires first, High-Motherfucking-Explosive. After, the machine-guns open up and don’t stop until their belts run out. For the people with assault rifles, two mags is enough. As soon as everybody is dry, the RPG fires a second time and we get the HELL outta there. I do not want a single casualty to these undead fuckers.’
The men return to their activities, and I leave the room to gather my own equipment.

I walk down a corridor for some seconds until I get to my room
Even though I’m a few meters away from the noisy room, it is practically silent.
Most of our requisitions from the cell lead were noise insulating material. I don’t know how Agnaldo managed to get some but eventually we had foam delivered to us.
Our procedure to noise-proof a room is to duct-tape foam to the insides of our recreation room, and glue several layers of cardboard on the corridors and bunks. It works surprisingly well, actually.
We move the hideout once every month, but we have never been found out. That fact brings a smile to my face.
Being the big guy has the obvious disadvantages of leading a bunch of chimpanzees waiting to break out. But, it has its advantages. And they’re very tasty.
It’s a simple room. Single bed, small desk, incandescent lighting. The comfort lies in sleeping privately instead of sharing bunk beds like the others.
Kneeling near the bed, I pull out a cardboard box from under it. There’s a few extra FAL mags in it, an LBV, basic equipment. But, hidden in a corner, there’s the tasty advantages I talked about.

I have been issued smoke bombs and flash grenades. The horde may be dumb, but they still react like animals. A simple way to disorient them and get away is to throw a few smoke bombs ahead of us, start shooting everywhere like monkeys, and throw a flash behind.
The amount of sounds, and the soon-blinding flash sends them crazy, and they slow down. By the time they get past the smoke, we have already disappeared, splitting up and going down various ways.
It’s so effective that it even works in the woods. Don’t ask me how.
The good thing about the men I’m leading is that they know every single small street in this city, so I trust them to make it back to the hideout without further guidance.

Of course, the necromancer is developing tactics to counter it. We just know it because, recently, the horde has started to split up too.
We have a feeling the asshole who is pioneering these tactics is the Target of the night.
By killing him, and destroying his house, we effectively cut off the head of the snake and burn it’s sins with it. At Least for a while.
I put on my equipment, and sling my FAL on my shoulder. Today will be very fun.

***18:00***

I go back into the recreation room, and surprisingly, everybody is geared up and just enjoying music. No drinks, games, or smack talk. 
‘Alright boys. Y’all ready?’
Instantly, I get an unified “Of course big man!”
Hah, they’ve been planning stuff out on their own! I’m proud.
‘Aight, aight. You guys make me really happy. C’mon, let’s give this bitch some hell!’
They cheer, and organizedly, we get out of the hideout and into the deserted streets.

The sun’s already set, just small amounts of light emanate from over the hills.
The streets are lightly lit up, the cunt of a necromancer managed to repair public lighting in a way of detecting us more easily.
Although, after almost a decade of negligence, the lights are glorified flashlights that only dimly illuminate the center of the roads.
Leaving all of the juicy pedestrian paths dark as the night. 

We form up into two groups, one on each side of the streets. We don’t have to worry too much about patrols. When you have an entire city’s worth of people under your direct control, you really don’t need cops to make sure they don’t stray from you.
‘Start moving, boys. We need to get there before 6:30, otherwise we’ll have delayed the other cells' operations.’
I start jogging down the road, and the rest of the men follow suit, following a spacing of roughly half a bar table.
Reaching to my pocket, I pull out my radio and attach it to my vest. 
Pressing the push-to-talk button I report in.
‘Agnaldo, Anon here. We’re moving out. Tell the others to wait for the signal.’
A few seconds later, the radio comes to life
“Roger-dodger, Anon. Good luck. We’ll wait for the fireworks.”
‘I’m out. Radio will be off until we open fire, so contact me only then.’
I get a nod from Agnaldo, and turn off the radio. Here we go.


18:25

**Now playing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umzKprymjzk **

‘Everybody set up?’
I get a nod in return, and set a timer on my watch
‘Open up in five, remember the plan. Two mags for rifles, one belt for machine guns, two rockets and then we dart.’
I calibrate my sights to 300 meters, and point it towards the ‘house’.
We have set-up on a small building, a perfect sight over to the target.
Well, Agnaldo was wrong. It isn’t a house, but rather a 10-floor apartment complex.
Although, he was right on one thing. There is a single place on the entire building that is lit: the Tenth floor.
Buildings around this beach were very rapidly-constructed, mainly due to the enormous growth Rio suffered during the 70’s. The outer structure of the constructions was made out of concrete, but the insides? Pure drywall, with occasional wood-lined corridors. 
We could have gotten more lucky, but I think this will work out pretty well. I doubt the cunt has access to public electricity, so he should be doing the same strategy to get power as we are:
Gasoline-consuming generators. And, since he is high-up in the food chain, he probably has a stock of very flammable fuel.

You can piece together what I'm thinking, can’t you?
‘Actually Enzo, fire three rockets instead of two. Wait for the machine-guns to get the range straight, and then you fire. Fire a pair at the tenth floor, and shoot the third at the ninth. You’ll see why.’
He nods, and whispers something to his loader. Soon enough, they start attaching the propellant to our homemade high-explosive rounds:
80mm mortar shells, filled to the brim with gunpowder. Well, I am not certain if it’s 80 or 82mm, but it sure will fuck shit up.
‘Machinegunners, fire initially with your sights at 300m and slowly go up or down. I’m depending on you boys to get the distance straight.’
I get two nods from the firing line
‘Everybody else? Hold fire until the distance is found. Got it?’
“Sure thing, boss man.” the rest of the men say, again, in unison.
Damn, they have been drilling for a while.

‘Thirty seconds, boys. When you hear the beep, let it rip.’
I shoulder my rifle and aim it at the ninth floor. I want to find where he stores the fuel before Enzo fires the rocket there
‘Ten seconds. Enzo, I’ll find out where you need to shoot.’
Nine
Eight
Seven 
Six
Five
Four
Three…
Two…
One…
***BEEEP! BEEEP! BEEEP!***
 
A fusillade of machine gun fire erupts in the middle of the quiet night. Initially, they hit a little bit low, peppering the 8th floor. But, eventually, they start hitting the tenth.
“350! FIRE AT 350!” A person shouts
‘ENZO, START SINGING!’
*THUNK!*
The room is filled with smoke as the RPG-7 ignites it’s payload. The round flies at an arc, but after a few seconds it impacts. A loud explosion follows, and hits exactly on the right side of the floor. 
It’s completely vaporized, and all that remains from it is the rebar that held the concrete together.
I can definitely see movement inside. Seems he wasn’t expecting it.
‘ANOTHER, ON THE LEFT SIDE! EVERYBODY, OPEN UP!’
Before I can finish the sentence a wave of tracers starts hitting the building’s various floors.
Why tracers, you ask? Well, we’re not the only ones poking the nest today. We’re only the first.
By attracting the horde to our position, we effectively make it easy for the lesser-experienced cells.

The RPG sings again, the left side of the floor now being completely removed.
Pieces of concrete fall down to the street below, and hit some undead that stand guard.
I start methodically firing at the 9th floor, eventually one of my tracers hits home and starts a small fire in one of the rooms.
A few seconds later, the tracers stop flying and the machine-guns fall silent. 
‘RELOAD YOUR GUNS, AND HOLD FIRE! ENZ-’
The loud noise of the RPG cuts my sentence off. The rocket’s tracer gracefully flies to it’s target, and disappears into the darkness of the night
‘ENZO, DID YOU MISS-’
***BOOM!***
‘HOLY SHIT!’
“WONDERS OF A DELAYED FUSE, BOSS!”
A bright orange cloud erupts from what used to be the ninth floor, and engulfs the entire building. Burning people are jumping off of the various windows and balconies, and an entire five floor’s worth of rubble is launched into the air.
‘THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR HOARDING FUEL, BITCH! ALRIGHT BOYS, LET’S GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!’
I slam a new magazine into my rifle, and dash to the exit. Everyone follows behind
Alright, we just have to go through two sets of stairs. It shouldn’t be too much.

Getting to the first floor, I kick the bloc’s entrance open and run out into the dark streets
Huh, it’s silent. Too silent.
Damn it, I need to wait for the slowpokes behind.
I turn on my radio, and scream into it
‘ANON HERE! THE MAGE HAS CAST FIREBALL ON HIMSELF, OVER!’
“HAHAHA! Amazing job anon! Get the hell out of there! Once you’re home, take a day off. You all earned it.”
Agnaldo answers me on the radio, yelling being heard in the background.
‘AYE, AYE SIR! WE’RE BUGGING OUT!’
I turn off the radio again, and look back
Everyone’s already out of the building, and spread out
‘They aren’t here yet, boys. Let’s-’
***AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!***
A deafening unified scream comes from behind, and we see some people running around the corner
‘OH SHIT, RUUUN!’

**Now playing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdIEpCZpjm4 **
(start reading after 0:18. You won’t regret it.)

FUCK, FUCK FUCK! THEY’RE CATCHING UP!
WE HAVE RUN FOR A KILOMETER ALREADY, AND THEY **STILL** HAVEN’T FUCKING SLOWED DOWN
JESUS CHRIST, WE REALLY POKED THE HORNET’S NEST DIDN’T WE?!
DAMN IT! THINK, ANON, THINK! THE FUCKING SMOKES!
‘OH... HOLY SHIT BOYS!’ I stop the sentence to take a breath ‘GET READY FOR SMOKES!’
I hurriedly sling my rifle and open my back pouch
Grabbing two grenades, I pull both pins out and throw them at the next intersection ahead
They explode into two clouds of smoke, covering the entire street ahead.
Pulling a flashbang from the pouch, I pull it’s pin and toss it behind me
‘START SHOOTIN’, BOYS!’
The guys start firing at the air, fully-automatic. Right when the ammo dries up, there’s a loud BANG! behind us and a flash of light briefly illuminates the entire street
Looking behind, the undead are tripping over themselves and slow down considerably.
HAHA! THERE WE MOTHERFUCKING GO!

We pass the smoke, and everybody splits up.
Five people keep going down the road and enter the small streets of the slums, while four take the right. 
I instinctively take a left
OH, SWEET MOTHER OF MARY…
THERE’S A FUCKING WAVE OF THEM COMING UP! OH SHIT!
I turn around just to see the wave behind me catching up
AH… SHIT!
I run up to a two-story house and jump over it’s wall, the stampede behind me crashing into it, bringing it down a few seconds after I jumped over
I vault over a small fence, and leg it towards the entrance
There’s a wooden door leading inside the house and I slam the butt of my rifle into it
*CRASH!*
With the door flying open, I run up the building’s stairs 
AH SHIT!

I trip on one of the stairs, and get fall over at the top of the stairwell
*CRACK*
Ah, FUCK, MY ARM
A sharp pain comes from my left elbow, and I take a glance at it
Shit! It’s a little bit bent to the left
FUCK… FUCK FUCK!
I quickly immobilize my left arm under my LBV
Seeing some shadows from the corner below, I support my rifle with my right hand onto my knee
‘COME AT ME YOU… **FAGGOTS!!!**’
The first head pokes around the corner
*BANG!*
Deservedly, it gets a dose of 7.62 to the head. Immediately he’s pushed to the ground by other undead, and they end up tripping over his body.
Like a domino, the wave of undead clog the stairwell’s corner
I flip my rifle’s switch into full auto and angrily pull the trigger
*RATATATATATATATATATA- CHUNK!*
The FAL sprays wildly downstairs, and the first five bullets end up hitting the struggling mass of undead. The rest of the rounds hit wildly, going through the brick walls, sending dust flying everywhere.
FUCK, IT JAMMED!
I push myself up, and sling my rifle on my back. I grab a grenade from my vest and pull the pin against a door handle
We get issued those to pull the pin in case we get overrun, so we don’t become one of them. But I don’t plan on motherfucking dying today.
Throwing it downstairs, I run up to the ceiling and jump out into the neighboring building

*BOOM!*
I hit the ceiling of the house, looking back
The stairwell has smoke coming out of it, and blood is splattered everywhere
Holy… Shit. I need to get going.
I run down this house, and exit through a small street, disappearing into the favelas.

**Now Playing: https://youtu.be/WjfuLpoRy6k **

19:00

Oh finally… This is the street.
I walk up to a corner, and take peek around
The lord blessed me today! There they are!
The boys are in front of the hideout, pulling security.
‘Oh, thank God! You’re all good!’
Everyone turns to my direction, and rushes down the street to help me uphill
Enzo comes up to me and tries to pick me up, but I lightly slap his hand.
‘I’m fine, it’s only an arm. I can go up alone.’

I manage to muster enough strength to walk up to the hideout
‘C’mon, everybody in. Good job you all.’
I support myself with my free arm, slowly making my way inside my room
Enzo is following me, making sure I don’t fall or hurt myself even more.
He’s a 16-year older, two years younger than me. His face is as clean as a baby’s, and his beard is just starting to grow.
‘You know, Enzo, you’re a good kid. Can you go to the bar and tell Rogério to bring me that cold one I asked before?.’
He nods, and lets out a sheepish “Of course Boss.”

I sit on my bed, and pull out my radio
Turning the knob, the object comes to life. People cheering, and asking about our situation
‘Anon here. We’re back, zero casualties. We sure did kick a hornet’s nest’
The usual radio traffic stops, and stays silent until Agnaldo picks up the radio
“Anon, holy shit man. We watched the undead from here, and man. It was close to a million.”
‘Damn, really? Hah, it felt like two. I’ll need the doc to visit over, I think I broke my arm.’
“Oh, thank God it was only your arm! We thought you guys were toast, for sure. I’ll tell the doc, and don’t you worry, the best treatment we have will be reserved for you my friend.”
‘Thanks, but don’t reserve it for me. There’s probably people that are, you know, more fucked than I am.’
“I doubt so. The other cells have already returned to base after gathering supplies and shooting up some other collaborators. Night’s a No-casualty one.”
Enzo comes around the corner, and has an almost-frozen beer bottle in his hand.
Sheesh, that’s a good one.
‘That is actually very surprising. You all should crack open a cold one for me, I need to rest now. Good luck.’
“Have a nice night, Anon.” Agnaldo responds, and I turn off my radio, putting it on the nightstand

‘You know, Enzo, you did well today. That’s yours.’
He’s initially shocked, but in less than a second pops the cap and takes a swig
“Hah, I wasn’t expecting that one. Thanks, boss. You sure you don’t want one?”
‘Drinking right now would only cause more problems, boy. I trust you to keep the others in check, be sure to put up people for nightwatch.’
“Aye-aye, Boss.”
He leaves the room, and a few seconds later I hear commotion
I’m sure he’s fine. I better sleep, anyways.



K-year +20
Cantagalo Hill, Rio de Janeiro
01:00

**NOW PLAYING: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8piv2Kcd-M **

I take a look around, the road is still very quiet.
There’s a lot of cars parked and I managed to, well, ‘convince’ one of the parkers to leave his vehicle.
I take a piece of toilet paper from the back, and wipe blood off of my wallet.
Look, don’t blame me. I can only go unarmed inside, and the heaviest object in my possession was my wallet filled with steel disks. 
The party the house is being hosted at is on the opposite side of the road, clearly indicated by the tons of flashing lights inside.
I get my phone out, and look at the time
Oh, sheesh. It’s exactly 1 in the morning. The call should arrive soo-

*RING! RING!*
Well, I’ll be damned.
I press the green button, and the now-familiar robotic voice greets me once more

“Hello, motoboy~. The client has already called in to complain about the time you’re taking, but I'm suuuure it’s very… important.” The voice smacks its lips after the end of the sentence

Hah, fuck man. Now sérgio surprised me. I know this is a cover-up, but dayum, I would kind of fall for it.

‘Hello again, sweetie. Daddy’s already bringing the food over, so don’t you worry. Do you have any stories to tell me?’

The other person wheezes for a second, but saves and gives a small laugh.
“Oh ho ho… Seems like the big boy is very ready~. But, yes, I do. You have already heard of the story of the three, big, musketeers haven’t you? Of course you have.”
Another lip-smack emanates from the phone. 

“Well, let’s just say there’s two musketeers and a rifleman inside, if you catch my drift…?”
Ah god damn it. I’m not really… fond of this call now.
Gotta play by the rules, man.

‘Of course I understand, miss. Do you have any juicy~ information for me, hun?’
There’s silence from the other side. I bet I made them crack up.
“Ah… Look, there isn’t much other than give him a lecture about stocks when the time comes. That’s it.”

‘Haha, of course. I’ll be there soon.’
“Good luuuuck~. I’ll be waiting just for… you.”
The call hangs up. God, that was weird.

Well here goes nothing. I pull on my car’s door handle, and get out.
Hm I should really get a better car. Uno 90’s are way out of style.
Eh, I'll think about it when I get back home. Night’s young, anyways.
Adjusting my tie, I walk across the quiet street and get to the door of the house
The entrance is made out of a very thin sheet metal, common for houses in this… locale of the city.
I lightly knock on the door, and instantly a gun pops out of the top of the door
“What the fuck do you want?”
Lightly coffing, I respond calmly
‘I’m here to negotiate… Supply and demand.’
The guy on the other side laughs, and opens the door
“Dayum dude, you could’ve said this sooner. Come in, I’ll bring you to the man.”

The thick person in front guides me through the sea of drunk people dancing. 
This house is built with a party space in the front, and the actual home in the back.
Pretty innovative, not gonna lie. If I ever build a house, it’ll probably be like this.
This way guests don’t need to set foot inside to get to the barbecue area, GENIUS!

We passed by a pool, a jacuzzi and a small outdoor bathtub. Damn, this guy really likes water.
Eventually I get lead inside the house. It’s pretty comfy, white marble covers the floors, and the walls are painted in a very pristine beige.
“Once you’re done with your meeting…”
He coughs forcibly. This is the man they paid, I presume.
“I’ll be waiting outside, even if it gets a little loud. We’ll just have to act a bit, if you know what I mean.”
‘Of course. What is a play without some acting?’
He chuckles. 
“Very well.”

He goes up a set of double-stairs, made out of the same floor marble.
“There’s a bathroom beside the office he’s waiting for you in. If I were you, I'd take the opportunity and piss before going in. It would be pretty awkward having to go to the bathroom in the middle of a discussion, wouldn’t it?”
‘Yes, it would. Very well, I’ll gladly take your advice, mister.’
Gotta keep the high-class play up. 
We turn a corner, and face a corridor. At the end, there’s a white door with two guards beside it.
And, to its side, another room. Unguarded, with the words W/C written on them.
There she is.

I walk up to the guards and politely ask
‘Is he here?’
“Of course he is” the left one responds
‘Very well. If you could warn him about my arrival, It would be greatly appreciated.’
“Aight.”
The left guard nods to the right one, and the latter opens the door and enters the room.
‘I’ll just have to go to the bathroom, so wait a minute.’

I open the bathroom’s door and step inside
I’m greeted by a very beautiful mirror, and beside it a small sink and toilet
God, I look dumb in this outfit. I wouldn’t be able to convince anybody I’m dressed as Kim if it wasn’t for the small best korean flag on my chest.
Under the sink, there’s a small trash can. I open it and…
Nothing. What the fuck?
Picking it up, I look around for any-
Oh. Behind it.
My gun is taped to it’s back, alongside an extra magazine for good measure.
Huh, interesting way of arming me, eh Sérgio.
Veeeery discreet. Imagine if someone had to take a shit here?
Hah, it isn’t hard to imagine. I suppose the client even paid for nobody to be able to shit in here, now that I think about it.
*SNAP!*
Oh, that made… a little bit of noise.
I rip the tape holding my MSM attached, and take the extra magazine, putting it in my pocket.
Sheesh it even has the suppressor attached.
I hear some steps outside of the bathroom
Shit, somebody is coming.

I take cover beside the door and wait for it to open
“Mr Anon, everything fine in there?”
Deciding not to answer, I train my gun where it would open
Eventually, the guy sighs and opens the door. He takes a step inside…
*PRRRRRT!*
 ...And is greeted with a pleasing amount of 10mm delivered to his torso and skull.
I grab his shirt before he can fall onto the ground and slowly lower him
Taking a peek around the corner, I see the other guard remaining still.
Well, it’s time for a little bit of trickery.

In my best ‘big guy’ voice, I let out
‘M-Mister anon? What are you do-’
The man turns towards the bathroom, and starts walking over
I support myself on the door, and point my machine pistol to the corridor
The big man eventually pokes his head around the corner
*PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT- CHUNK!*
I manage to grab him by the arm before hitting, and slowly lower him to the stained marble floor
Damn, dry already. Oh well.
The good thing about open-bolt guns is that they really like to communicate their feelings to you. And their ammo situation.
Bolt’s closed, so I take out the used mag and insert the new one in, pulling back on the handle.
Perfect! Oh, fuck.
By now the blood pooled around the bathroom floor, and my shoes have been tainted with the mark of the beast.
Ah, whatever. He won’t notice anyways.

I step over the man, and walk over to the door with my free hand. The other one is occupied holding my gun behind my back.
I open the door slowly, being as courteous as I can.
“Greetings, Mister Anon. Or, should I call you Kim A-non?”
A man in a fancy leopard-spotted suit and a cowboy hat greets me. He is behind a table, sitting on an office chair.
The room is impeccable... It doesn't even feel like I'm in the favela!
Bright green walls contrast with the same white marble I already grew accustomed to.
To the right, there’s another door. In very well-treated Oak, to be more exact.
Behind him is a beautiful glass window that overlooks the party area. 
I lightly chuckle and respond to him
‘Whatever sounds the best for you, *Parrrrtner*. Really wild today, aren’t we?’
He bursts out laughing, and stays for a solid second.
“Yes, if you haven’t noticed, the party outside is amazing! Now, please take a seat.”
There is a chair opposite to him and the lower parts are hidden under the table.
Perfect.
‘Of course.’

I slowly sit on the chair, moving my gun-wielding hand to the front, under the table.
“Now, onto business, friend. You have heard about my success, haven’t you?”
‘How couldn’t I? You’re making headlines all under the state’s nose. And, I’m here to bring some investment to the table.’
“Ha, that is wonderful to hear. I’ve been actually looking for someone like you!”
‘Well, you have proven to be more reliably successful than the other… alternatives. I have high hopes.’
“Mhhhhm. Wonderful, wonderful… wonderful! Ahem, WONDERFUL!”
He stays there, silently smirking for a few seconds, until his face turns into one of pure shock
I suppose his plan was to summon his guards and take care of me that way. It sadly has been sabotaged.
Under the table my gun’s already pointed at him.
“Ah, sly bastard... I can’t keep this shit up.”
He quickly pulls a long-barreled taurus judge from a drawer under him, and calmly holds it on the table, pointed at me.

“I know you’re not here to invest. Who the fuck are you?”
‘As you were briefed. A representative for a very wealthy investment firm.’
“WHO. THE FUCK. ARE YOU?”
‘You know how the stock market goes. Sometimes, investments make great returns, and sometimes…’
“MOTHERFUCKING CUT IT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE FOR?!”
‘To talk. As you were…’
I smack my lips
‘Briefed.’
“OH, ALRIGHT THEN SMARTASS!”
He aims the gun directly at my head
“Now. Who-”
‘When an investment turns into a deficit, the investors usually pull out, yes? But, theoretically, what if the thing they invested in… pulled out with their money?’
“YOU’RE PLAYING WITH FIRE HERE, BOY.”
‘I think the correction to the situation is, you played with fire. And should’ve known the price you’d pay for it.’
“HA. HAHAHA. FUNNY. Last words, asshole?”
He closes the gun to my face. It’s a solid foot away
I stay silent for a second, poker-facing. Then respond
‘I presume it would apply to you more than me.’
I quickly punch his hand to the side, and the revolver gets pushed away from my face
*BANG!*
‘See?’

I depress the trigger on my machine pistol
*PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT*
The suppressed scream of my gun is cut short by a satisfying *CHUNK!*
He is now thrown back into his chair, the once-beautiful window behind him filled with bullet holes and covered in blood.
People start screaming outside but I don’t worry too much. The other guy was paid, anyway.
A straight line of holes go up from his chest to the window. Absolutely stunning.
Gasping for air, he tries aiming the gun at me again, and I simply whack it away with my SMG
It flies off of his hand and falls onto the ground
‘The truth is, Mister. You shouldn’t play the stock market if you aren’t willing to lose.’
I get out of my chair and move to his side
Opening his desk, I take a look inside
Money…This’ll be useful. Condoms…? Hmm, a fountain pen.
Well, better end as it started. By getting written.
I grab the pen and attempt stabbing it in his throat
a bit of blood escapes from the wound but he’s already leaked too much by now. 
‘Hm. Now you get to think about your last words.’
He’s trying his best to poker face but his 1000-yard stare says otherwise.
Pocketing the money, I turn to the room nearby

I hear a muffled *Why* followed by some whimpers in the room.
Oh, damnation. There 's presumably more than one.
Agh, this high-class shit is starting to get to my brain.
‘Well fuckwad, there’s no reason for me to keep myself in the act. Enjoy!’
Leaving him there, I walk towards the judge
I shove the MSM into my belt and pick up the .410 revolver off the ground
I slowly open the next room and point the revolver inside
‘Who’s the-OH GOD WHAT THE FUCK’

The room I am now in is very… moody, to say the least. There’s a queen-sized bed in the middle, lit up by some purple lights from the ceiling.
On the bed is one of the most deplorable sights I’ve ever witnessed. A naked woman, laid sideways on the bed, chained to the walls, whimpering.

...aaaaaah, fuuuck.

I instantly lower the weapon and ask
‘Good christ! Are you okay?!’
She raises her head and looks directly at me for a few seconds.
There are two round nubs on the top of her head.
“Please… no…”
Her head relaxes onto the bed below, fainting.
Oh shit.
I quickly race over to the side and place two of my fingers on her neck
Pulse, please. Give me a motherfucking pul-
I feel a beat under my fingers.
thankyougod.
Now, what the hell do I do?
Okay… First off, the restraints.
I take a closer look at the ones pinning her arms onto the bed. They’re standard-issue police handcuffs, attached to the bed’s framework. 
Poor gal. Didn’t even know how to escape some cuffs.
I get my wallet out and pull a small piece of wire from the coin holder
I shove the wire in the small gap between the latches and the opening, and tug on the cuffs.
*CRACK!*
The handcuff holding her hand in snaps open, her limb now free to move.
Alright, there we go, one’s off. Now for the second…

A small while later and she has all four gone. Very well, now I have to… uh.
Yeah I should try to wake her up.
I lightly grab her shoulder, trying my best to avoid all possible undesirable sights.
The only place I can look at her is the head. Oh yeah, what were the things on her head again?
...
ohgodjesuschristhelpme
She wasn’t wearing anything on her head. The round things I saw before were two ears. Not mice, not rat, not motherfucking skunk.
Capybara ears. Small, black and pointy ears, sticking out from her brown hair. Damn it, why would one of those be here?
More importantly, what the everloving FUCK was the kingpin trying to do with you.
God, such an innocent thing turned into this.
I take an ever closer look at her face. 
There’s purple on her cheeks, and red markings on the forehead.
...motherfucker. This is going from bad to horrible.
I decide not to inspect for any more wounds, and lightly shake her, looking at the ceiling.
‘Hello? Wake up, please.’
No response. I take a quick glance, and she still hasn’t woken up.
I more intensely shake her again, looking in other directions of course.
‘For the love of God, wake up.’
...well. She ain’t wakin’ up too soon. 

I pick up some of the clothes off the ground, namely a brown suspensory and a grey undershirt.
damn, these clothes are pretty large.
…
…
…
anon what the fuck.
...
I close my eyes, and slide up the clothes
As carefully as I can be
Eventually, I get confidently certain they’re on.
I open my eyes and… oh no they’re backwards.
Ah, whatever. I’m not going to fucking deal with this right now, right here.
I take a look at the nightstands. They don’t have drawers and many items on top.
There’s empty soda bottles, cups, suspicious white powder doused around, but no items I could presume are her possessions.
No IDs, no phone, no wallets, no nuffin’. Zero way of identifying who the fuck she is.
To top it all off, well, I can’t leave her here.
And I can’t leave her at the police station, they’ll instantly get suspicious. Or even triggered.
The last option is to... ugh. Bring her to my house until she wakes up.
Good thing the guest rooms are vacant. For once my money wasted on the interior of my apartment pays off.
I pick her up slowly and put her on my left shoulder… Ah. Damn. She's very heavy.
Fireman-carrying her right now won’t work. I gotta have my weapon ready.
Ah, fuck. Come on Anon, it’s just a few meters, it can’t be this bad.


AAAAAAAAAAAAH, GOD-DAMN IT!.
I slowly lay her down at the foot of the stairs
Jesus. The worst place I could regret not going to the gym is here.
Man I’ll have to fireman-carry this… thing. I can’t shoulder-carry her.
But first, I need to deal with the guard.

I walk down the house and look out the entrance, lightly gripping the revolver 
Outside is completely empty, all the guests left in a rush. 
Minus one man. The man is standing near the grill, leaning against a wall, waiting for me.
“Done?”
‘Well, yeah. Kinda.’
“Mhm. You know I told you about acting, yes?”
‘Oh come oooon. What about it?’
“To make this convincing, we’ll have to shoot at a couple of walls. You don’t need to, but I have to, since I was his bodyguard after all.”
Son of a bitch.

‘And? What does it have to do with me?’
He sighs and continues
“To make it realistic I’ll have to shoot near you. Meaning, well, carry that thing you brought downstairs with you to the car, and I'll pop a few caps nearby.”
‘And I suppose there’s not another option. Ugh, fine.’

I step outside, and stop a few meters away from him
Oh wait, the money.
‘Actually, there may be another option.’

I take the stack of money from my pocket and extend it outwards
“Damn. It still won’t change anything, but I suppose I could do it alone.”
He takes the stack from my hand and quickly counts it, shoving the money into his pocket the moment it is counted.
“In case you were thinking I was going to shoot you, well, I wasn’t. But this has convinced me not to even more. Thanks for the investment, money-man.”

‘Now, can you do the shooty-shoots by yourself? I kind of have an emergency.’
“Mhm. I know what it is. Nice catch.”
‘Uh… catch…?’
“Yeah. The woman. You’re a lucky dude, you know that right?”
‘...Man what the fuck.’
“What? Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss out-”
I start walking back towards the stairwell, shoving the revolver inside of my pants. 
I pick her up and do my best to fire-man carry the still slumbering animal.
“Alright, alright. Each man to his own thoughts.”

I cross the road and open my car’s door
Okay, Slow now.
Carefully, I lower her into the seat, and put on the seat belt around her.
She's still uh... sleeping. Pretty comfortably to be quite frank.
I quietly close the door and go around the vehicle, opening the driver’s door and sitting inside
Taking a quick glance at the house… Well, the man is still at the barbecue area
And he’s point his gun at a wall-
*BANG! BANG BANG BANG!*
The guard lets it rip around the construction, bullets flying everywhere. Some of them hit the pool, some hit the various walls around, and one hits the barbecue grill with a *CLANG!*. I suppose he has the cover-up handled. 
I insert the car key into the ignition lock cylinder and turn it
My UNO ‘90 comes to life, it’s engine roaring after some time of slumber. 
I put the pedal to the metal and start the arduous drive back.

**Now Playing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RL8QF7eWwRY **

I’m driving down the avenue that leads to Copacabana Beach.
Finally! I’m out of the favelas!
Oh thank God. Imagine if I was there when the police arrived?
Maaaan I’d have to pull some serious shit out of my ass. Even worse when I have a person on the backseat with all their clothes fucking put the wrong way.
I don’t even think anythink would fucking work to defuse the situation, to be frank.
The capybara is slumped over to the side of the seat, still asleep.
I could inspect her for more injuries, but honestly? It would be very weird, so I’ll wait for her to wake up to get a diagnosis done.
Alright, I should be nearing home now…

There it is. Mr Dream’s apartment bloc. 
The big Ten-floor, but twenty-story building I love.
I already talked about it, but forgot a few details. Very crucial details. 
Well, the building is sealed like a military base. And I don’t mean it in a figurative way.
There are two outer walls, made out of reinforced concrete, built spaced five meters in between. To enter the condominium you need to pass through a checkpoint with five guards in total.
All heavily armed with the most kino shit you could ever imagine. There’s one with a super-tech'd out Mk.18, another one has a grenade launcher that fires motherfucking birdshot, list goes on and on. 
Until you reach the literal heavy machine-gun dwarf. I’m not joking. 

After you pass the checkpoint, you are *forced* to go into the underground parking garage. And, mounted at the entrance’s ceiling, is a B17-style ball turret, armed with d o u b l e russian 14.5mm guns of doom.
Guess who mans the turret. If you thought ‘DWARF!’, well, good job. 
I never talked to the security much, minus one guy. But as I’m the only joint owner that actually leaves the building on a semi-regular basis, they know me pretty well.
And have grown accustomed to me returning beat-up, tired or soaked in blood.
Thankfully, today isn’t one of those days.

I take a right and pull up on the checkpoint’s asphalt driveway. Instantly, the gate operator recognizes me.
“EEEEY! Anon! Welcome baaaa…” The guard looks at my car’s passenger seat.
And that’s Enzo. The same one I met while in the resistance cells. He still has the same energetic face, and always has a smile when I pull up.
Today seems like an exception, though. The usual smile being replaced with a worrying grin.
‘Hey Enzo. How’s it going my dude?’
“Uh... Y-yeah it’s going well. I… uh, suppose it’s going well for you two- TOO?
He stutters a bit in his response. I can only imagine what is going on in his head.
A guy that you know for decades at this point. Never brought someone to his apartment.
One day shows up with what you can only presume is a sedated woman. I’d be pretty surprised, too.

‘I don’t think so in my case, friend. It’s a looong story.’
“Uh-uh… Yeah... okay. Who’s the thing on your passenger seat?”
And that only makes my assumption right. Maybe Sérgio’s correct, I can really pick up on certain things.
‘To be truthful, I don’t even fucking know at this point.’
“What? Why are you bringing her in then?”
‘Well, imagine if you get into a street brawl with someone while driving, yeah?’
“Oh I don’t like where this is going…”
‘You manage to uh… pacify the individual. And then you take a look at his car, and it is shaking, even though it’s empty.’
“Mhm”
‘And to cut to the chase, you find this in the guy’s trunk. Beat up to all hell. What would you do in that situation?’
“...You got me there. Alright, I gotcha. But, personally, I’d call the cops.”
‘It’s a metaphor, Enzo. You know how the business goes.’
“Ah okay.”
We stay in silence for a few seconds
‘Anyways, can I get through now? I’d gladly keep talking to ya but, you know. I kind of have a visit.’
“OH SHIT YEAH SORRY.”

The man runs back to his kiosk, and pushes a button. And, as if it’s magic, the gate blocking my path lowers itself into the ground. High-tech as fuck.
I slowly depress the throttle pedal and follow the path into the garage.
Going into the tunnel now… Huh.
Turret’s empty tonight. It’s probably the dwarf’s sleep time.
The car eventually makes it to the garage. Well, calling it a garage is kind of an understatement.
It isn’t traditional by any means. Instead of allocated open parking spaces, we get private indoor rooms (i.e garages) to store our vehicles in. They’re opened and closed via roll-up gates, controlled via remote.
Pretty modern, and it follows the ‘luxurious’ trope Mr Dream set out to achieve.
I park my car inside my personal vehicular storage facility and disembark from the old UNO.
It’s very empty. There’s enough space to store like, three cars and a tank inside here.

I’ll buy one someday. Eventually. When the army finally retires their M113 APCs.
I walk to the passenger side of the car and open it, slowly pulling out the still unconscious woman.
I sure hope the elevators are working today.
I put her on my back and walk out of the garage
The stairwell access is to my right, just after a corner, alongside the lifts
I turn the corner and walk down a small pathway
HOLY SHIT THE LIFTS ARE WORKING!
HAHAHA! YEEEEA-
Oh shit the floor indicator is moving
There’s somebody coming down, already on the fourth floor
Well. Nothing I can do to camouflage this situation, honestly.
I’ll just have to take the hit.


2… 1… Reception… Garage..
The sounds of the lift’s motors stop and the doors slowly start opening
Here they come. It’s probably the other fa-
HOLY SHIT!
“HEHE! YOU NEVER EXPECT THE SPANISH INQUISI- Oh.”
Well, it isn’t the neighboring family. And it also isn’t Mr Dream.
Ugh. This is going to be a weird explanation.
Guess who it is.
…
Fine. It’s my boss, invading my apartment building yet again.
How the fuck is he getting through security this easy?! It’s the second ti-
OOOOH. That can be it...
Man I have a feeling that family isn’t really real. And is, instead, Sérgio.
…
This is getting tiring.
‘Inquisition. Hi John. Sérgio.’
I respond in the most monotone voice I can muster
“Oh shit. I'm sorry man, I Di- Didn’t mean to interrupt your business. Well, uh-”
Boss has the biggest frown i’ve ever seen
‘Don’t worry. You actually arrived in the most perfect moment…’
I slightly cough and stand upright
‘Could you give me a small piece of assistance moving this entity up to my apartment, my gentleman friend?’
This instantly easens the mood, and he instantly returns to his smug grin
"O’ COURSE! A good entrepreneur always needs to help the people under him!”
He quickly runs out of the elevator and helps me carry the woman
We get inside of the lift and Sérgio hits the fifth floor button
The doors slowly close, and we stay in silence for a few seconds
“So, anon. Finally decided to join the fun?”
I look at him 
‘I don’t think I'm having fun, my man.’
“Ah, come on! It gets better down the road. Where’d you pick her up?”
‘I think you could have forgotten I just came back from that disgraceful job of yours.’
He looks at me with a dreadful expression
“Oh. Shit, I'm sorry. Completely forgot. Is this the target’s…uh, you know?”
‘God damn it, Sérgio. Can you act more fucking seriously right now? I’m fucked as you can probably piece together.’
*DING!*

The doors open up to the familiar two-way corridor of the fifth floor. 
I step out and pick her up in my hands again
“Sorry.”
‘No need. Feel free to come by tomorrow.’
“Nah, man. I’d be interrupting your stuff. You also need to remember that, well, I got a pack to give attention…”
He speaks in the most young-sounding accent I’ve ever seen him speak in
“IF YOU KNOW WHAT I’M SAYI-”
(https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/710351380975714304/908191489748783114/what_im_sayin.mov)
I press a button on the elevator, and the door quickly closes before he can finish the sentence.
Being around him is usually very good, his jokes being funny most of the time. Right now they aren’t welcome.

I quickly open the wooden door to my apartment and make my way inside
I could simply lay her on my sofa and call it a day, but it wouldn’t be very courteous.
Actually, it’d be just even more confusing for her.
So I’ll put her in one of the guest rooms. Hopefully it’ll be fine.
The problem is? Well, I’m carrying a several hundred pound woman. And my stairs aren’t very, let’s say, spacious.
I take off my shoes shortly after entering the apartment and close the door behind me. And remove the socks. I’m not walking with only socks on.
AAAAAH IT’S COLD!
The cold marble beneath my bare feet motivates me to get to the second floor, and I start legging it 
As expected, I run into some issues going up the stairs. 
They’re too narrow for me to be able to carry her up. So I have to side-step up the whole way. To add salt to injury, the metal floor of the stairs is VERY chill today.
I eventually slog through it, and arrive at the second floor feet-frozen. It could be worse, honestly. If it was hot outside, well, let’s say my apartment would be a giant-sized oven until I managed to turn on the A/C.
Good thing the maritime breeze cools everything off at night.

I set the unconscious capybara down, and support her with my shoulder
Now that I don’t need to do some going up n’ down I can afford some luxurious last steps.
I slowly make it over to the first guest room and turn the doorknob
The door slowly hinges open. I calmly make my way inside.
I hit the light switch, and the dark room instantly becomes visible.
It’s the same way as I organized it, roughly a year ago. Minifridge, coffee machine, snacks, water filter, TV, bathroom and even a drawer.
Not counting the comfy bed and a nightstand for each side. I’m proud of my decorating prowess, but…
It kind of feels weird finally putting the room to use. Even weirder after the debacle that happened…
Ah, I'll think about it tomorrow. I brace against the bed and...
uuuUUP! There we go.
I pick up the woman and gently lay her down on the soft bed
So… That’s it I suppose?
Ah, I should at least write something. Basic brief and a welcome should be good enough I suppose.

I pull a small piece of paper and a pen from my blazer’s pocket, and scribble down on the white processed bark
*This room has everything you need. Bathroom’s on the door to the right, there’s some snacks on top of the minifridge and some drinks inside of it. Feel free to use anything you need. I’m in the room nearby, and will fill you in on what happened and where you are.

Name’s Anon. 
Welcome.*

Okay, I think this is good enough. It’s a little bit weird, and I don’t think she’ll get everything but uh…
This situation’s weird enough as it is.
I place the note on top of the nightstand and leave the room.
OH YEAH! I should probably arrange a fresh pair of clothes…
I quickly walk down the corridor and enter my room
Equipment first. Clothes later. 
I place my submachine gun, spare mag, and the judge on top of my table
Opening the revolver’s cylinder, I take out the remaining shells and store them inside the drawer.
I then superficially wipe both of them off with a rag and sit them on the rack above
Damn, this revolver was badly treated. 
Look at how much carbon buildup there is! Poor thing.
When I have more time, I’ll disassemble them and give ‘em a good clean and some oil. 
For now, just cleaning the dirt and blood off will work.
I walk over to my bed and kneel, pulling out a metal suitcase from underneath
In a fluid motion, I open the zipper around the case and pull the two halves apart. 
Now, what can I lend her…
Of course, I don’t have any women's clothes. But what I do have is a bunch of baggy shorts and soccer team shirts.
That'll have to do.

I separate a pair of cargo shorts and a striped red and black team shirt. 
There’s ‘RONALDO’ written on the back with a pen.
I don’t know who the guy is, but it IS autographed. 
And sérgio insisted I should get it so… Yeah.
I pick the clothes up, fold them, and head back to the occupied guest room
Entering the room, the woman is still not responsive
But at least she’s snoring now. I think that's better?
Man, I really missed out on my science classes. 
I quietly place the pieces of clothing on the vacant side of the bed, and add a new line to the note
*P.S There’s a pair of fresh clothes to your side. Up to you.*

Alright. NOW I think it’s good. Should be welcoming enough.
Hopefully, she’ll only stay one night, and get back to her home.
Enough time to treat any wounds, eat a meal and get right back to life.
Tip-toeing across the corridor, I go back into my room and get ready for some sleep
This was an experience. One that I never want to have ever again.
I gotta have a talk with Sérgio about this. If a single hit for the cartels led up to this?
God, I can’t imagine. 
I grab a pair of PJs, laying them on my bed. Then I close the suitcase and shove it under, back in it’s hiding hole. 
Now all I have to do is take a bath and crash. 



??:??

**NOW PLAYING: --//--**

*fuck*

Aaah, what did I hear?
I open my eyes. My vision’s blurry, but slowly coming to normal
There’s still no light and it is very silent outside. Must still be late at night.
All I see in front of me is my nightstand, the familiar grey of the walls around me, and my door.
My open door. Wait, I swear I closed it-
I look to my right, and am immediately greeted by the wrong end of an FAL.
Ah, such a beautiful thing to wake up to.
The person holding it is tall, but still a tad shorter than me. Very well-built, and… large.
A pair of hazelnut eyes are staring at mine. Oh-
It’s *her*. And she’s wearing those dirty clothes from before the right way, too.

‘Good morni-’
"Where am... I?” I’m interrupted by an assertive, but feminine voice, struggling to talk properly with a pained tone.
‘My apartment. You’re we-’
She pushes the rifle a tad bit forward.
“Who are you?”
I slowly turn my head to face her
‘I’m anon, as written in the note. *Você*?’
She seems surprised by my response, and stays silent for a few seconds. I take the advantage to inspect the gun she’s holding with my eyes.
Hm. It’s on safe, and it seems like she even forgot to remove the chamber flag. 
Girl doesn't know how to handle a firearm. She’s even supporting the stock on her chest... volumes.
I’ll have to teach her before she leaves, that’s for certain.

“N… not important. How do I get out of here?” The beastwoman blushes a little, struggling to compose the sentence and taking short breaks between words. 
The rifle’s shaking in her hands.
Taking the initiative I quickly and gently yank on the FAL’s barrel.
The woman freezes up, with the gun being pulled out of her hands.
Easy does it.
I sit up on my bed while she just stays there, staring at me like a statue.
‘Fifth rule of gun safety. Never point it at something you’re not willing to destroy.’
While looking directly at her eyes, I slowly put the gun beside me, on the bed.
‘Now. The exit is down the stairs, door beside the sofa. But I honestly wouldn’t recommend it in your state.’
She is as still as a stone, save for her eyes tracking my movement. Her breathing is rapidly ramping up
‘I’m not here to hurt you, on the contrary. So take deep breaths, and calm down.’
I get up from my bed and pick up the rifle, walking towards the gun rack
‘First off. What's your name?’
Expecting for the response to take a bit, I start re-attaching my FAL to the rack
It doesn't take long for her to muster some words.

“Maria Albuquerque Guimarães de Oliveira”  She almost robotically recites, eyes dozing off. 
From the names, well, I’m certain she comes from Minas. But I’ll ask later where exactly.
‘Hm, charming. But I only needed something to call you by.’
I can hear the capybara’s heavy breathing slowly calming down, and she nods in acknowledgement.
I clamp some magnets to the rifle's stock and barrel, her now perfectly being displayed.
Good lord she’s beautiful. I love my rifle.
‘Anyways, please try to recall what happened. I’ll go downstairs to get some food, feel free to do whatever.’
Before walking out to the first floor, I grab my beretta and a few dummy rounds
‘And you really need to learn how to properly use a gun, cause damn. You holding Caroline like that made me a little bit sad.’
Maria looks directly at my face, staring blankly.
“C-carolina?”
Oh, she doesn't know.
‘Uh, It’s the… gun. I’ll explain later. Anyways, think. You have all the time in the world.’
Before the woman can ask more questions, I walk out of the room and go to the first floor.

04:30

So. First time’s a charm... What a complete lie.
I never ever cooked for someone and to make it even worse it’s *someone that is probably staying overnight*
I’m currently leaning on my kitchen’s countertop, thinking of what to make.
It’s only four and a half am and I’m already thinking about breakfast. Well, the sun usually rises at five so it’s a little justified.
Think, anon, think. What would be a good, tasty and easy to make breakfast…

Hmmm, oh, yeah. I think some tunes would be able to help me with this.
I take my phone out of my pajamas pocket and unlock it
Camera, whatsapp, discord, steam… Twiddler?
Why do I have it on my phone? Uh, whatever. I quickly move the app to the trash bin
That it is dealt with… there we go! Music player!
I tap on the icon, the familiar grey interface comes up. Now, what do I play?
Dang, I can’t even think of a song. I proceed and tap on the big ‘RANDOM SONG’ button 

**NOW PLAYING: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCkJ5lGPqFs **

HAHA! Oh man, it couldn’t be more perfect. I feel like that was specially selected to target me.
The cellphone’s speakers… well, speak, on a nice volume. It is loud enough to listen to anywhere in the kitchen, but not enough to bother anybody on the rest of the first floor.
Or, even the second floor. Which is an even more important thing currently.
ALRIGHT! That really helped. I’ll make some classic eggs and bacon, seasoned with the basics. Salt, black pepper, and a little bit of parmesan cheese.
Why cheese? Well, uh. I don’t really know from first-hand experience, but my mom always talked about minas gerais and cheese, so I suppose people from that region like cheese.
Haha. That’s too many cheeses in a sentence, I don’t know why it’s such a funny word.
I can’t let Sérgio know it, else he’ll just insert cheese into every conversation.
I open the fridge behind me, and start scouring for the ingredients
Cheese… cheese… cheese… There it is! My cheese box.
Recently, I’ve been slowly stocking up on food items, namely good-quality alcohol. 
The once very empty insulated machine I own now is a little bit more full.
Man, I simply don’t know what to buy at the store.

That ordeal with Mr dream in the middle of the night kind of… freaked me out. Not in a bad way, but…
Shi-... Sheez dude, he probably has an entire supermarket in his home. I called him a few times after to ask for basic stuff. Rice, flour and beans specifically.
And every time, he just walked to my doorstep holding a 5 kilo sack of whatever I needed. Exaggerated is a small word compared to that cryptid.

I grab the cheesy tupperware and put it on top of a small piece of cloth to take the humidity. I pop the latches open and remove the lid
Hmm, it smells so nice. Inside of the plastic container is a pile of assorted wedges.
I start searching for the grated parmesan. There 's brie, coelho, prato, swiss, gorgonzola… Wow, even minas fresh is in here.
Hah, I like to imagine how I looked while buying them. The cashier 100% thought I was the equivalent of a male soccer mom with the amount of random stuff I had in my cart.
There she is. The small, golden packet full of hardened fermented milk.
I take the parmesan out of the tupperware and close it back up, shoving it inside of my fridge.
Now for bacon, eggs and some oranges for juice. Damn, cooking is hard.
I finally put the ingredients in their specific corners, and open the oven, pulling a pan out of the neat stack it was inserted in
Inox steel, of course. Non-stick pans are for people who haven’t been enlightened in the holy light of olive oil and flour.
And I have been bestowed upon this sacred knowledge ever since I was 8. Long time, huh?
Placing the pan over the burner, I turn the gas knob and ignite the propane
It’s set on medium heat and that should be pretty decent to slow-cook the bacon while I prep the eggs.
With my free hand I slowly open the plastic bag sealing the already pre-cut slices from air
Yeh, pre-sliced. I’m sorry, but it’s convenient and It’s easier to make snacks with pre-prepped stuff than cutting the entire slab into small strips.
Look, at least my cheese isn’t pre-sliced. I have a modicum of standards in my apartment. It 's just…
pré-shredded. Now that I think about it, I should get my fridge-restocking straight.
God, it’s shameful. I take the thin slices of bacon and place them onto the skillet
The chilling and satisfying noise of something frying emanates in the air. What’s even better is the smell, God it’s amazing. I missed ba-
There’s a muffled *thud thud* from above
Oh this has caught somebody’s attention, eh?

I hear the slow and…, assuring would be the right word, footsteps coming from the second floor. Right above me.
They eventually move away, and get replaced by the sound of a heavy person stepping on metal. And there we go.
‘Look who it is. I suppose the smell lured you out?’
I don’t get a response, but see a pair of bare feet going down the stairs, completely unphased by the cold metal below them. 
‘Oh, sorry! I should’ve told you where I store my flip-flops.’
She continues descending, and responds a moment later with a more calm and friendly tone than before
“Hah, uh... d-don’t worry, I prefer walking bare as much as I can.”
Maria probably took a bath, since her dirty clothes were replaced by the cargo shorts and flamengo shirt I carefully prepared for her.
Damn, now that I look at ‘er, she’s pretty cute to say the least.
And, well, the clothes may not have been a right fit. Yikes.
Her dark-brown hair has changed to a more brighter tone, the bruises and markings on the face have also easened up. Interesting.
I did not expect the second-hand beauty products acquired for the guest rooms would be very effective. Cool. Wait a moment.
Unless… oh no. She could’ve used my bathroom, and that would mean my carefully sourced chinese soaps were tainted. DAMN IT!

‘And, sorry for the clothes. I didn’t have any better fits.’
She nods at me before responding
“Ah I- I don’t mind. Never c-cared about fashion anyways.”
The capybara pulls one of the countertop stools and takes a seat, curiously looking at what I’m cooking. 

She stays silent for minutes, intently watching the skillet.
“So, i-it's my turn. Sorry about pointing the rifle at you. I should’ve asked before making assumptions and-”
I interrupt her by flipping the bacon.
‘As if I didn’t expect you to make such assumptions.’ I look directly at her eyes, smirking. Shock and awe.
“Y-you what?” She stares blankly at the ground, trying to take in the information
‘Don’t worry about it, You’re good. It’s not easy for me, either.’
We stayed put for a little while after.

“Uh-huh, what are you making?”
Maria breaks the silence, much to my dismay.
‘An American classic! Eggs-and-bacon, but with a little parmesan cheese on top.”
I can see her practically drooling while staring at the cooking pork
“Oh my. It 's amazing, but do you have any vegetables?”
‘Any what?’
“Vegetables. Namely carrots, you have ‘em somewhere?”
I look around myself. Carrots, carrots, carrots…
In the fridge! Yeah.
‘Mhm, I have some, but why? I don’t think it would fit well alongside eggs and-’
“Oh! No, I just want some as a side. They’re my favourite.”
‘...you mean eating them off of the fridge? Without any preparation?’

She looks at me with a curious face
“Yes…? What 's wrong?”
Oh dear. What did I get myself into?
‘I… Well, generally people don't eat carrots by themselves, but who am I to judge.’
I open the fridge behind me and pull a small plastic bag with those small carrots you usually find in hipster markets
I lightly toss the bag in her direction, and she almost doesn't catch it.
“Phew. Could you be a little more gentle?” She says with a more cheerful tone.
Literally unbelievable.
‘Fine, next time I'll just hand them over.’

The cuts of delicious meat are almost done now, so I crack both eggs inside of the skillet and turn up the heat a little. 
‘So, what are you going to do?’
“Hm, do what?”
‘Did you forget already? You’re not in your home, miss.’
She drops the small sack of carrots onto the countertop, staring at a wall blankly
“Uhm…. I-I don’t…” The woman stays silent for a few seconds after, gagging at every attempt to respond. Her voice is frail and her breathing has picked up.
I sigh. She still has no idea of her situation, poor gal.
I press the pause button on the speaker. The kitchen now is silent, save for the sounds of erratic breathing and the eggs cooking.

‘Look. You’re currently at Building No. 148, in Copacabana. There’s more security in this building than in any army base and you can stay here as long as you want’
This breaks her trance and she faces to look at me.
‘Now, I found you in a trafficker's hideout, back at Cantagalo. And you seem too innocent to be from these parts...’
I put a little bit of water inside of the skillet and put it’s lid on. 
‘How the hell did you get here?’

“I- I came for work… by bus.” 
Oh no. No no no no. 
‘Did you get a call for a work opportunity?’ I interrupt her response. 
Maria blankly stares at me, losing herself in a train of thought.
The silence hurts like a knife. I turn off the stovetop heat.
She probably fell for the old prison telemarketing. Damn.

After the konvergence those foul folk at the cartels discovered that the abhumans, recently introduced to modern technology and communications, were easier prey than their old targets.
A myriad of different scam types propped up. It went from the semi-harmless credit card information to, well, human trafficking in it’s literal sense.
Disgusting. I bet Sérgio didn’t know when he picked up that contract for me.
‘I’m sorry. You couldn’t have known.’
I slide two plates out of a cupboard and equally distribute the eggs and bacon between both.

‘I still have some more stuff to talk about, but do you need a drink? Looks like you could use a pick-me-up.’
I don’t get much of a response. The woman tiredly nods, slowly getting off of the stool to take a seat on one of the dining table’s chairs. Plate in-hand.
Usually I would make a very *hard*-hitting drink, like a caipirinha or some iced whisky.
But I doubt she has much booze resistance and alcohol wouldn’t really help the situation at hand. So I opt for the next best thing.
Opening the fridge, I pull on the ‘extra cold’ drawer and pick up two small bottles of caramel gold. Coka Cola.
I close the fridge shortly after and pick up my plate with the free hand. I then make my way to the table and take a seat across from the abhuman.

‘Right now is not a good moment for thinking about the past so I only have one more question if you don’t mind.’
She shakes her head in approval as a pair of fragile hands guide a spoonful into her mouth.
‘Do you have anyone you can contact?’
After what seems like an eternity of chewing I get my answer.
“Noone. They’re on the other side.” Her sentence makes its way through the air like a bullet, the fragile and timid voice disappearing. It’s replaced by a very assertive, serious femine tone.
‘You mean your family is-’
“Across the gates. I d-d… don’t have anyone else.” Her tone cracks at the end, revealing a very high-pitched and worried voice underneath.
She drops the fork onto the table and opens her coka bottle, downing all of the dark liquid in one single swig. 
Immediately after, the woman rests her head on the table, arms supporting it, and starts sobbing.