POV: NOAH WILLIAMS.
The pieces had come together days ago… or even weeks.
After a bit of digging with Miguel's help, it was clear that several students from the school had disappeared in recent months.
These weren't isolated cases, but patterns that lined up like traces on an old map.
The more I looked, the more obvious it became: H wasn't improvising.
He was organizing something serious in this city, and, although we already had evidence that he'd left for São Paulo,
Apparently, some of his associates were still here, in the city, keeping the pot boiling.
That day seemed more like a repeat of the usual than anything else… The hotel followed its same routine: weak coffee, a quick shower, the routine mental vigilance I pretended not to have.
Except, for now… the mood seemed rebellious and wanted to break the script this time, because it was raining hard in the region, something unusual for April.
It wasn't the thin, warm drizzle of that summer, which felt more like humidity; it was off-season rain, heavy and cold.
That, for a moment, reminded me of the rains in Ottawa.
'Ah, come to think of it, the out-of-season rain makes sense; it's a lie to match the day. How ironic…'
The contrast with the usual heat gave me a dumb sense of alertness in my gut—after all, he could be pretty extreme at times, from what the hotel guests said.
I finished putting on my jacket, grabbed my coffee, and left the table for a moment. I needed to check my communicator, which was charging by the bed…
I picked it up as I sat on the bed.
The screen lit up quickly, and there was a message sent a few minutes before that said:
"—27.273612404529477, -48.85089874283865, meet me at these coordinates in less than an hour. —Sunflower."
There was an objectivity in the agents' observations that always caught my attention. All the captains had the same habits.
'Must be a management thing…'
I glanced at the map, and the coordinates instantly matched an abandoned factory cluster on the city's other edge.
The last known information pointed to a report about a fire that happened fifteen years ago. The place had been closed since then due to compromised structures.
I considered all the variables: the hideout was ideal for its distance and isolation; dangerous because of its structural integrity; a concrete lead because of the fire history and the habit of using old warehouses for clandestine operations.
In other words… I needed to concentrate on the investigation.
Not out of heroism, just duty, and that old need of mine to understand the pattern before it turned into tragedy.
I quickened my pace, packed a small suitcase with forensic gear and gadgets that might come in handy.
I threw all the papers on the table, grabbed my jacket, and went down to the ground floor. I had to get to the spot quickly.
The reception was empty; conveniently, I grabbed an umbrella offered by the hotel and headed toward the main avenue that would take me to the meeting place.
On the streets, the rain had turned them into dirty mirrors.
I watched my surroundings as I walked by; every puddle hid a piece of loose asphalt.
There were things the city showed without meaning to: tire marks, burned debris, cracked sidewalks, graffiti scattered across several buildings.
All those marks told a story… Unfortunately, it would have to wait for another day. I had something else in mind.
The distance wasn't huge; following the city's main road, it didn't take more than thirty minutes to reach the marked location.
Turning onto a side street, I saw a long row of buildings next to an open field that sloped down to the bed of the nearby river.
If you followed that field all the way, you'd probably reach the city's second main bridge.
I kept alert so as not to draw too much attention, but the relentless rain helped a bit. After all, everyone had better things to focus on in that downpour…
"Well… Now I wait."
POV: MIGUEL CASTRO.
I definitely wasn't expecting that rain…
I opened the window of the room where I'd been staying for the last few weeks. I chose a hotel downtown because of its proximity to the school and the main city offices.
That made my life much easier to receive reports and documents about recent events in the capital.
Ironically… The rain decided to fall just as we were making key steps in the investigation.
I left the window and moved closer to the bed, grabbing one of the suitcases I'd left underneath.
The suitcase was wine-colored and had scratches on several corners, as well as a missing wheel.
Inside, I found exactly what I needed for today. Two holsters with SLI-modified weapons.
It definitely wasn't typical to carry weapons on an investigation mission that could draw attention.
But, after Noah's latest findings… It became necessary.
There was too much work waiting for me to get caught up in concerns about stealth.
I had a small pile of documents to analyze, and alongside them, my laptop, which had Rosa's summary of the capital investigation open.
Apparently, things had gone sideways over there.
The stacked papers, damp at the edges from condensation, and the laptop still open, bluish screen contrasting with the rest of the room.
The cursor blinked over the report, the summary of the capital's investigation.
I approached. The sound of the rain filled the room, muffling the clicking of the buttons I pressed.
Attached to the report was a video file. "Camera 4B — construction zone (east perimeter)."
I clicked it.
The image was grainy, black and white. The camera looked old, maybe industrial security.
It showed uneven ground, piles of construction debris, overturned cement mixers, piles of damp bricks, ripped sacks of cement, and, scattered among them, syringes and rusty tools.
The sensor light flickered, shifting between light and darkness, as if the recording was breathing.
The automatic swings made the camera freeze for a minute before resuming. Something was interfering with the mechanism, as if the air was denser there.
The background noise was almost absent, but I'd swear I could hear a low frequency, like a murmur, maybe wind, maybe a corrupted system.
Then, he appeared. A man in a gray suit and black tie walked slowly across the lot.
With slumped shoulders, head down, and dragging steps. He seemed lost, but there was something about his movement… too rhythmic for confusion, too restrained for desperation.
The rain fell on him in total silence, no splash, no noise. He didn't react, barely moved.
Only the image shifted, artificially…
With a slight change of angle, it was possible to recognize the face.
Congressman Matheus.
He was found dead three hours later, in the same spot.
The recording continued a few seconds after he disappeared at the side of the frame. The camera turned again, froze… and when it returned to its original position, all the lights in the image were out.
Only the shadow of the construction site and the white hiss of the tape remained.
Nothing else was found there, besides this recording and a letter.
I picked up the yellowed paper that Rosa had scanned and read it once more, quietly, following the distant thunder that seemed to respond:
"Let a new era begin… Good luck, cursed SFR. Sincerely, Orwell."
I closed the lid slowly.
Once I put everything together, the pattern emerged like someone flipping a searchlight on: attacks and incidents like this in various states, signs that weren't mere coincidence.
This wasn't just intimidation; it was a direct message, a clear declaration. GS intended to act, and maybe they'd been coordinating something bigger for a long time…
I ignored the chill and started packing up.
I sent Noah the coordinates, a spot near the cluster of abandoned factories, because I needed someone who knew about sensors, readings, and had a light hand with field technology.
I left the hotel and headed straight for the car. I took both weapons, put them in the trunk with other items.
Weapons were an exception in our work here in Brazil; they were meant for combat agents, for situations where magic and reason alone weren't enough.
Still, in the current state of things, I preferred to be ready for any surprises.
I drove with the radio on, mentally reviewing what I knew: evidence that TT production was being tested on a small scale at places like that, political puppets already being tossed off the board.
Everything pointed to Chatness taking action… But what? Or better yet, how?
He knew that as soon as the elixir hit the market, the results would cause problems and the global front of the Guard-Sun would be exposed…
Was that what he wanted?
There was no way to know right then. I just hoped our agents were ready to hold the line…
Quickly checking the communicator, I noticed several messages sent in the school group…
Since it was muted, I only checked it occasionally. But apparently, something strange was going on…
There were three hundred unread messages in the group…
I skimmed quickly and saw the reason for the commotion.
A man with an axe had entered a daycare in a nearby city, attacked children, and left four dead…
'Bastard… I hope God protects and comforts the families.'
I put the communicator aside, not wanting to be disturbed by that information.
I arrived at the marked location, parked a distance away, locked the car, and grabbed the guns and extra gear.
Walking toward the rendezvous point, I saw Noah.
He was where I expected: calm on the surface, eyes searching, posture like someone who wouldn't let himself be ambushed.
I extended my arm toward him with one of the holsters in hand.
He took it with the hesitance of a rookie who has to adapt to tough responsibilities, even though
Noah was more than a rookie, he was a support agent, used to working behind the firing line.
"You've lately been on missions involving direct danger to citizens and to yourself, so I'm giving you this today, understood?"
Noah looked surprised, held the weapon with a grip blending gratitude and awkwardness.
When he pulled the holster closer to inspect it, I held it firmly.
I wouldn't give that cliché responsibility speech. Those words always sounded empty at the right times and harsh at the wrong ones.
Instead, I said something he already knew, at least in spirit:
"Remember the line's dilemma?"
"Yes, sir," Noah replied. "When we take up a weapon, we're holding an eraser in our hands…"
I smiled, noting the analogy, and added:
"And, when we use them, we can erase stories written in pencil, stories that haven't even properly started, too easily…"
"Then, our job is to make sure erasers are only used in stories that really deserve an ending." he concluded, as if repeating a lesson he'd heard before.
"Exactly… You still remember Rosa's motto, right?" I asked, almost challenging his memory.
He arched an eyebrow and tried a nervous joke.
"You know if I forget, he'd kill me…" he replied, meanwhile he clipped the holster to his belt.
"Fair enough…"
I adjusted the magazine and released the safety on my automatic. The motion was both mechanical and ritual.
"Ready to use Moretti's Devil if needed?" he asked.
"Brat, every day I wake up hoping I won't have to use it." I replied, tucking the holster inside my coat.
There was a strange calm before the action, that quiet before a deep breath. We got everything ready: holsters, bags, field recorders. And then we set off.
The factory awaited us, or rather, what was left of it: soot-speckled walls, windows without glass, and a sidewalk that gave way under heavier steps.
The rain continued, as if washing away the world, as we crossed to the factory's entrance gate.
I took the opportunity to channel energy into my enchantments and get them ready.
"Diamond from Mines, be my eyes!" I said quietly, as my eyes started to glow turquoise with the extra layer forming over them.
With that, I could better sense any energetic movements in the factory.
"Any movement?" Noah asked, using his mental enchantment.
Sweeping my senses through the entire factory, like a long wave stretching across the place, I felt various disturbances—the place was huge. But…
"Apparently there's n—"
Breaking the calm, two energy stones shattered the wave, indicating two QP activities in the place…
"We have company."