André advanced slowly, each step weighed down by a thousand thoughts. His eyes darted sharply, taking in the fresh air of the new room. Following Daniel, he found himself in a shooting range: targets hung on the walls, some battered and distorted from countless shots – silent testaments to long and methodical training.
Six targets were meticulously arranged on a wooden board. Daniel raised a gun, moving it in a smooth, linear motion towards them, as if tracing a line the eye couldn't miss.
A rapid series of shots rang out… a disciplined staccato… and the bullets settled in the heart of the targets, in the center of each circle, with undeniable precision.
He turned slowly towards André, a fleeting look of mild disdain on his face, then casually extended the gun to him.
"See that?" His voice was calm, seemingly innocent. "Six targets, one after the other. It was almost too easy. Now, I just want you to hit one. Think that's too difficult? I just want one target."
The words landed on André like another lock clicking shut.
Inside him, an echo: One target? But I… A pang of fear, and a rebellious desire to understand; why the seemingly simple test? And why did life here feel like training to become something else?
André hesitated. His eyes were fixed on the outstretched gun. He knew one thing for sure: he had no choice but to take it now.
He reached out his fingers slowly, grasping the grip. He stared at it for seconds, as if time had stopped around him. His thoughts didn't linger for long before Daniel spoke in a soft, soothing voice, his hand in his pocket, his eyes staring ahead with a quiet glimmer of hope.
"That target hanging there… it's just an obstacle. Get rid of it. There's a rule: if you want to survive in this life, you have to get rid of obstacles first. Now choose: will you survive, or will you let the obstacles stop you?"
The words pierced André's chest, a strange feeling seeping into his mind: If I want to survive… I have to get rid of my obstacles. I have to overcome everything… to reach the top.
A moment of silence. The tension in his eyes began to transform into a strange mixture of resolve and fear. Daniel watched him, trying to understand what he was going through, but he couldn't. The look was different, holding a touch of madness.
A strange, distorted smile appeared on André's face, as if his mind had wandered for a moment into its own world, disconnected from reality.
André began to move the gun slowly. His hands were shaking, every attempt to control his grip seemingly futile. He raised the gun towards the target, his grip tight on the handle, sweat pouring from his forehead to dampen his hands.
He didn't dare look away. Everything around him vanished, except for that hanging target… and the echo of his heart in his ears.
With a small surge of resolve, he squeezed the trigger.
Crack!
The bullet reverberated with a sharp echo in the space. It pierced the target… but didn't hit the center perfectly.
André felt his heart leap, a mix of shock and pride. It wasn't perfect… but he'd done it. A strange feeling crept over him: the fear hadn't disappeared, but it no longer controlled him completely.
"That's good, kid," Daniel said.
But the words did nothing. André just looked back with a cold, steady, indifferent gaze.
André returned the gun to Daniel. His hands were still shaking, his heart pounding.
Daniel grasped the gun, looking at him silently.
"You sad?" he asked in a calm voice.
Sad?! Am I sad?
Then the words dissolved in his mouth, but he finally spoke, his voice almost breaking. "I lost my father… I lost my freedom… I'm hurting… my body isn't the cause… the pain's here." He pointed to his heart, where the real, invisible, deep, incurable pain was hiding.
After hearing André's confession, Daniel placed the gun on his belt, quietly, as if he didn't want any disturbance. He raised his hand and ruffled André's hair lightly, a small, simple gesture, but full of care, as if secretly comforting him.
"You'll be alright… trust me." His voice was calm, sharp enough to remind him of the control he held. Then he added, as if the words themselves had weight: "And also… I'll give you back your freedom."
André felt a strange pang in his chest. Relief? No… it wasn't complete relief. But there was something different… a faint feeling of reassurance, despite all the horror that still lurked.
Then André nodded in agreement. Daniel smiled slightly, and moved his hand from his head.
"Come on… I'll take you back to the others now."
André ran his fingers through his hair, still staring at Daniel with a look full of curiosity and suspicion at the same time. Then he moved with hesitant steps towards the outside, following Daniel, each step heavy, as if it carried part of his fear and new experience.
They retraced their steps until they reached the special cell. Daniel inserted the key into the lock, but stopped before turning it. He turned towards André, placing his hands on his shoulders gently, but firmly at the same time. A mysterious smile never left his face, and his eyes held a heavy seriousness.
"Try to stay away from Enzo as much as possible… and also… don't tell anyone what happened between us."
André felt the weight of the words, but they weren't just orders. There was a warning in Daniel's tone, but also an implicit promise… that there was something bigger on the road waiting to be discovered.
"Alright," André said in a faint voice, before Daniel finished opening the door.
He entered the room with slow steps, weighed down by what had happened. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the door closed behind him with a faint metallic sound, as if announcing the end of a chapter and the beginning of another.
Daniel stood for a moment, staring at the closed door. That last look in André's eyes… a look of determination… remained stuck in his mind, reminding him of another face.
I promise, Mr. Ricardo… I'll protect your child. I'll make him great like you were… I'll do the impossible to keep him safe.
His jaw trembled, and his gaze dropped. Then he punched the wall with his fist, with a muted force, as if the pain wasn't in his hand… but much deeper than that.
André was standing in the middle of the cell, his fingers pressing against his nose, trying to block the foul smell. But it was useless. The rotting corpse still lingered in the place, as if it had become more concentrated after being moved from its position.
In the cell, Armanda and Logi remained. When they noticed André's return at that late hour, they exchanged surprised glances, then rose with cautious steps towards him.
They approached slowly. Armanda spoke: "Are you alright? What happened?"
André looked at them, nodded, and spoke in a broken voice, without any expression: "I'm fine… at my best."
He headed towards his corner, but his mind was completely chaotic, confused, full of what he'd seen and what he'd felt.
Armanda and Logi exchanged glances in amazement, then fell silent. They didn't want to burden him more than he already was.
And the next morning, the sound of footsteps echoed approaching the cell. Enzo pushed the door open and entered, his eyes scanning the place with contempt, then clapped his hands with an annoying force.
"Come on, come on! Don Dante wants to see you. Move quickly, I don't want him to wait long."
Everyone exchanged glances, tense, waiting to see who would dare to move first. But Enzo's patience ran out. He kicked the door violently, the iron vibrating forcefully.
"I said move quickly, you insects!"
André sighed inwardly, angry, suffocating: This guy… disgusts me.
I think I understand now why Mr. Daniel asked me to stay away from him.
André's eyes were piercing Enzo's back, his eyes charged with a deadly aura that couldn't be mistaken. He moved first, followed by Armanda, then Logi.
The three of them walked in silence, each step heavier than the previous one, towards the Don's office. Enzo preceded them with arrogant steps. His clothes were untidy, as if chaos itself was embodied in him. His shoulders were shaking with every movement, waving his hands without any balance, an exaggerated vanity.
Upon reaching Don Dante's office, they were overwhelmed by the thick smell of cigarettes, so thick it suffocated them, as if it were a dark cloud that permeated every corner of the room. André moved his hand in front of his face, trying to block the smoke, his eyes showing clear resentment.
That addict… can't he relax until he covers the whole room with smoke?
Don Dante was sitting in his chair, the cigarette between his fingers. The smoke was twisting around his head, like a hazy vortex devouring everything, creating an imposing aura despite all his recklessness.
This is the main Don of this headquarters, terrible in every sense of the word, André thought, disgusted.
Dante pointed with the hand that held the cigarette towards the wooden table. On the table, weapons were arranged with cold precision.
"You're going on a mission with Enzo. Take these weapons," he said indifferently.
But his eyes never left André. Scrutinizing him with unmistakable sarcasm.
"Let's see if you'll come back alive from your first mission," he whispered, as if it were a bet.
André smiled coldly. He stepped forward first and grabbed the weapon. He raised his head, looking at Dante with a look that held open defiance.
"Don't worry, I'll come back alive… because I still have to kill you," he said with cold certainty.
The faces froze for a moment. Silence mingled with the cigarette smoke. Even the guard at the door stopped, his eyes widening in amazement.
Armanda and Logi advanced with quick steps, trying to extinguish the spark before it grew bigger. But Enzo didn't wait. He pounced. He grabbed André's hair and pulled it violently, the veins in his neck bulging, and his voice sharp: "How dare you threaten my master?"
Dante felt a pang of insult. He slammed the table with his fist, the sound of wood echoing in the room. Enzo stepped back and released André's hair, but Dante's gaze remained fixed, sharp, as if the mission was more important than anything.
"Get out of here now, you fools," Dante ordered in a hardened voice.
"Your order, sir," Enzo said, and pushed the group out of the office towards what awaited them outside.
The group set out from the headquarters, getting into a long car, its metallic body gleaming slowly as if layers of old paint had preserved it from time, and its large wheels were equipped with heavy rubber that created a low echo with each revolution, heading towards their mission.
André lowered his gaze to the weapon in his hands, running his fingers over the grip slowly, and thinking deeply. Every movement here could mean life or death… every wrong step would pay a heavy price.
Am I ready? Will I be able to come back alive?
The car stopped at the foot of the mountain. Enzo got out first, loud and arrogant, his heavy steps shaking the ground, his voice rushing out like a slap: "Come on, get out, you idiots!"
André remained, his eyes on the weapon, his fingers caressing the grip as if it were a lifeline in a sea of chaos.
I must control my fear… if I lose focus, I won't survive. Everything depends on me now…
Armanda and Logi got out cautiously, trying to control their tension, but the sounds around them... branches snapping under their feet, the mud slipping... increased the tension.
They made their way through the rugged slopes. They reached a high spot overlooking a small valley. On the outskirts of the valley, a secluded wooden hut. Faint smoke was rising from it.
Enzo raised his finger, and his malicious smile filled his arrogant features. "See that bald guy over there and the men with him?" he said, then laughed briefly. "They're our target."
André pressed his lips together. Tightness wrapped around his chest, each heartbeat weighing him down. They're laughing, drinking as if the world is theirs. Will I be able to face them? How will I steal that from them? he asked himself in a voice that no one could hear.
He watched them with a cold eye. Every movement of theirs was a small trial: a cup being raised, a louder laugh, an obvious recklessness.
He began to count in his head: doors, windows, guard points, dark corners. A simple map being built from possibility to possibility.