FSE

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Four months later

"This is the life, eh Dan?"

"Sure, though I doubt we're supposed to be drinking on the job."

"Not supposed to? Here, it is a requirement, Anderson!"

I sighed and took a reluctant sip of my whiskey. It burned, this weird Brazilian stuff, but at least it made my companions happy.

I'd swore to myself to keep off the booze, for my sake and for...someone else's, but the job apparently required it, so here I was. Where was here? On top of a tower of steel and glass, gazing out over the city that abruptly turned into slums halfway through. Thus was the nature of São Paulo, a city of halves and halves, two sides of the same coin. Poverty running wild in the favelas, drugs and other things rampant in the general populace, while the rich gazed down at the unworthy from their high horses with their champagne and caviar and wondered why their city was going to hell in a hand basket. I understood this city very well; Manhattan felt just like it. Here we were, doing bodyguard duty for one of the rich men who was apparently trying to make this city less of a shithole.

His name was Morgan Stanley Wright, foreigner of course, a Briton who moved here mainly for his wife, native Brazilian Irena Costa. He and his two brothers, James and Levington, moved along with him to help him start a business venture here, selling cheap and affordable housing while working with the government to develop the slums into proper looking housing units, clean up the favelas into nice looking streets and buildings, and generally make the city look nicer from the sky. So far their thing was doing good, the business was handling itself well, the poor were at least getting some form of housing better than a few sheet metal walls and a dirty mattress, and we were getting a nice hefty paycheck to otherwise not bother about what they were doing, so hey, life was good. We stuck around whenever they needed an escort and stayed in our rooms in our apartment when they were in. Bodyguards, what would rich people do without them.

We were recommended by a man named Abayya Tiente, the friend that Brandon knew. Apparently the two of them were long time friends from some stint in Africa, but while Brandon went back to London, Tiente moved here and started his own bodyguard business. When we first met he introduced me to his son as well, a fine young man named Lucas. Nothing much else about the Tiente family, they were Brazilian, knew more Portuguese than I did and they were kind enough to sponsor our stay here until we had a place of our own. After that it was a matter of finding the right type of work, and guarding someone that spoke English was obviously a plus.

We'd been here a long time, the Wrights trusted me and Brandon and Abayya like close friends. We accompanied them to every social function, every gathering, hell they wouldn't go out into the street without at least one of us hanging around, cause apparently a lot of people here didn't like what they were doing. Every now and then we had threats in the form of scruffy looking kids with second hand pistols holding us up for cash. We usually handled those by greasing their palms and hoping they didn't come back, but recently it'd been getting worse. I never expected a peaceful day, up until today. Today was apparently the grand opening of this new apartment building, a swanky looking place that was supposedly for the less fortunate. Sponsored heavily by the government, and by proxy the Wrights, some of São Paulo's homeless were given a place to stay, food to eat and a job, all until they could fend for themselves and repay a meagre debt. We were here as hired help in case things went belly up, which they always inevitably would. All I had so far was a whiskey and nothing else, but Tiente already had had a few beers and Brandon... He was being himself. Guy could hold his liquor though.

The penthouse was luxurious, all open air with a bar and restaurant. The guests were all having a great time, drinking and making merry. Up until the elevator doors opened and a guy fell out. A guy that had several holes in his chest. A guy that was followed by several men armed with pistols and shotguns. They held us up, gave the three of us no time to react as they rushed in, shoved their guns in our faces and yelled at us to get down. We complied, then watched in horror as they dragged our boss away by his coattails. Once they disappeared into the elevator, we sprang to our feet and drew our own weapons.

"They got the boss man!"

"Tell me something I don't know, man!"

"We head downstairs now gentlemen! I will take Husher downstairs to find mister Wright, Anderson you sweep and clear the next few floors down! Go!"

We sprang into action right away. The elevator wasn't near so we took the stairs instead. While Brandon stuck with Tiente and headed down, I stopped at the next floor and exited. I could hear the sounds of the thugs rummaging through the apartment nearby, obviously looking to score some loot while they were here. One of them was outside, smoking. My hand cannon sat in my grip, and I took aim.

He looked up and spotted me.

It was the last thing he saw.

I stepped over his corpse as a commotion grew within the apartment. Gunfire pinged against the wall I hid behind. When I heard a lull, I drew my second cannon, stepped out and took a running leap.

Time slowed.

My cannons spat fire and death. Holes appeared in faces and chests, brain matter splattered over walls and priceless China vases that shattered as corpses fell onto them. Shelves toppled and splinters of wood and ceramic flew as bullets ricocheted everywhere.

I landed on my chest. A thug hiding behind the sofa stood and fired a spray from his machine pistol.

My bullets threw him against the wall.

Time returned to normal.

I got to my feet and reloaded my guns. Beneath me I could hear muffled screaming. Was that the boss lady? I couldn't recognise her voice that well.

The apartment I was in had a balcony. I ran outside to find a thug with a gun to Irena's pretty little head, while Tiente and the building security cornered him.

I saw no other option.

I backed up and took a run at the railing.

I leapt.

Time slowed.

I plummeted in slow motion towards the ground, that being roughly fifty or so storeys down. I turned in midair and plugged the guy in the head as I fell towards him. The railing beneath me slammed into my back. I felt my momentum carry me over the rail. Suddenly a hand shot out and grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me in before I could fall.

Time normalised.

It was Tiente. He hauled me up and back into the apartment, saving me from turning into a splatter on the pavement below. The other men took the boss lady back inside while I dusted myself off.

"Thanks, Abayya."

"No problem. Listen, I lost contact with Brandon shortly after we split up. I suspect he's in the basement, no reception in there. No idea what's going on down there, hurry and go check."

I nodded and left. I caught the elevator down and prepared myself for the fight below. I expected there to still be resistance downstairs, surely these guys couldn't move quick with an overweight hostage. Besides, these were greedy Brazilians, some of these dime store thugs were bound to look for anything they could scrape together for the people back home, since this was the only glimpse of the rich life they'd get. And soon, it'd be the last glimpse of life they got. The elevator reached the ground floor and I stepped out. The lobby was eerily silent, almost peaceful, but I saw the bullet holes in the walls and the corpses on the floor, I knew that the carnage had rolled this way. I stooped beneath the front counter and advanced forward, listening to the hurried conversations of the thugs there. In my horribly bad understanding of Portuguese, I gathered that they had our man hauled downstairs into the basement, just like Abayya guessed. These guys were still up here for some reason. Must've heard the shots from upstairs, stayed here to hold any resistance until they could get away with their prize.

Not if I could help it.

Time slowed.

I leapt out, guns blazing. I barely bothered with aiming, just pointed my guns in their general directions and pulled triggers. I saw bullets hitting their marks, dark red holes appearing in their ill-fitting shirts and football jerseys. I saw meat chunks flying from where my bullets exited their bodies, watched them crumple into lifeless heaps on the floor as their cheap guns spattered the walls with fire, not even aimed at me at times. I ducked behind a pillar and reloaded, while the survivors regrouped themselves and fell back.

Time normalised.

I could hear their frantic shouting as they retreated, could barely understand their cursing and swearing at me. I steeled myself and went back out into the fray, firing wildly at them as they fired back. I felt bullets ping and whizz past me as I charged them, downing a few more and driving the rest downstairs, tails firmly tucked between their skinny legs. With the rest of them gone, I took the chance to take a breather, slowing my journey down to the basement to catch my breath and reload again. God I was bushed. Nothing like this had happened before, nothing this serious anyway. I was half prepared to expect my employer to be dead by the time I got to him, assuming Brandon hadn't already gotten there first and rescued his ass. I caught my breath and exited into the basement carpark, where I could see the survivors making haste towards the exit at the other end of the place. One of them spotted me and yelled something and I came under fire again, bullets pinging off concrete and the metal of the other cars. There seemed to be even more of them down here, from all the heat that was piling on top of me, I could feel them come closer and closer, more bullets cracking near my feet and pinging against the car I was hiding behind.

Suddenly I heard more frantic shouting and the heat lifted, I felt the bulk of the gunfire move somewhere else. I risked a peek out of my hiding spot and saw Brandon at the other end of the carpark, a rifle in his hands as he hosed down the remaining thugs, spitting fire at them and tearing chunks out of their frail bodies. The remainder that didn't suffer their fate quickly surrendered and laid down their weapons. It was then that Abayya and the rest of the security detail reached the basement, yelling the thugs down and securing them tight. Brandon lowered his rifle and wiped his brow, then gave me a wave as I approached.

"Hey mate, had fun?"

"If this is your idea of fun, I'd hate to see your idea of a party."

"Aw c'mon mate, at least try to relax a little."

"Yeah, well where's the boss man? I don't see him."

Brandon turned and gave a whistle, and our boss crept out from behind a wall, clearly the worse for wear, but moderately composed for a businessman that had just experienced his first kidnap attempt. His suit was all crumpled and I saw blood streaming from his nose but he was otherwise alright. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and told him to hold it to his nose while one of the guards went to get medical help, which is when I heard the sirens. Next thing I know the police were on scene hauling the thugs away while ambulance guys ran upstairs to take care of the wounded. At least the emergency services were efficient, if a little slow on the uptake. I stood and kept my guns and leaned against a wall. I was tired. I thought I'd left this all behind. The crime, the action, the near death experiences, I thought I'd find new meaning here, but I was only distracting myself from my own thoughts, trying not to wallow in my own misery. So far though, it was working.

---

Another month went by. Peaceful, quiet. The Wrights held more parties and went to more social functions and we tagged along like the good men we were. I started feeling homesick. Wondered why I'd left my life in America behind, but then I remembered: the Italians. They were trying to kill me. I moved here to avoid them, but here I was getting involved in things that were almost considered organised crime all over again. This wasn't about city security, this was employer security, little different but same key points.

Me and the guys were looking at street plans. Something was up. The city didn't stay silent this long without some kind of follow up to the failure. The gangs that handled this kind of activity usually didn't take this kind of thing so lightly. Abayya probed a little into the dirt and found that a bigger street gang allied with some other smaller ones were muscling in on the favelas that were closer to the city. No idea what for, but it sure as hell wasn't good. There had to be some sort of link. Gangs like this didn't kidnap rich people for no reason. Money, possibly, these people were willing to do anything for payment. Was the most obvious link. But who would be paying these guys to hunt down our boss though? I couldn't think of anyone and neither could anyone else. So we continued life as per normal, albeit we kept our eyes open a little more. You had to expect anything with these types. Never a dull moment.

Today was no exception. The Wrights were attending another social function, a suit and tie affair in the warmest and only tropical city I'd been. Thankfully the whole thing was in a hotel, so I was relieved. Brandon wasn't so happy, judging from the way he pulled at his collar and tie the whole way from the car to the dining hall. Abayya merely smiled and chuckled at the sight.

"Uncomfortable, Husher? I thought after so long you would've gotten used to the suit and tie."

"Yeah maybe, but I'm still not used to the bloody heat. Driving me nuts."

"Yeah well get used to it man. I'm suffering as much as you are and I ain't complaining."

Truth be told my body was complaining to my brain about how stuffy it was in this suit and tie and jacket, but I sucked it up and kept going. After all, we were going to end up in air conditioning anyway, so why bother?

The event today was a gala ball commemorating the hotel's fifth anniversary. Fitting, then, that each table was for five people. Me and the guys sat at a special table with our employers, ill-fitting and awkward as it were. The hotel policy didn't want anyone standing, it seemed. There were the usual toasts and cheers and such, followed by some entertainment mostly from a band, then the food was served and the event was on its merry way. We ate and drank to blend in, tried to make pleasant conversation and what not, stuff we weren't really used to doing on a regular basis. The food was alright for a three star affair in the center of the city, and the ambience was alright. Wasn't long before we were sufficiently relaxed that conversation and socialising carried on like clockwork. Time passed quickly, enough so that the next time I checked my watch it was already in the evening. That was when the emcee called for the center area to be cleared of those walking around and mingling. The band struck up a tune and people got to dancing. This was a ball alright, no questions asked, but I wasn't going to step in there and put my two left feet on display. The small crowd around the dance area clapped and cheered along, and twas a merry night to be had for all.

That was when the first bomb went off.

Next thing I knew I was on my face, buried under a sea of broken tables and chairs and fallen bits of concrete, people were screaming everywhere, I heard gunfire and shouting and all sorts of assorted chaos. Another bomb went off and my hearing went fuzzy, but it startled me out of my daze and got me to my feet. All along me was hell. Tables on fire, people on fire, people dead and on fire, while masked thugs in military gear stormed the dining hall, downing all forms of resistance with well aimed shots to the chest or face. Every other armed guard I saw that wasn't already dead got put down quick, two bullets to their front or two to the head dropped them like a sack of potatoes. I knew I couldn't reach for my gun, otherwise I'd end up like the rest of them. Abayya and Brandon were missing, and so was my boss and the rest of his entourage. Before I could turn and react I got knocked to my knees with my wrists pushed painfully behind my back and the barrel of an assault rifle staring me in the face. In my halting Portuguese I understood the command of "stay the hell down or I will end you" well enough, so I stayed put while the rest of the Spanish Inquisition cleared the rest of the hall. I got hauled to my feet right after and questioned, in halting English, about who I was and all that. I merely told them I was the brother of one of the rich people there. They asked me who. I gave them a fake name. Apparently these were also idiots cause they believed me. From where I stood I could see the fates of those unarmed civilians caught in the crossfire that weren't also dead; zip tied and on the floor, shaken but alive. And as I felt a boot hit me in the back and knock me on my face again, I realised I was joining them. Soon I had a zip tie all too tightly around my wrists and ankles, and I craned my neck up to see the rest of the team vanish out of the dining hall. I struggled against my restraints but they were too tight to wriggle out of. After a while my wrists were chafed and sore, and I couldn't feel my toes.

There was only one thing I could do.

I gathered my ice energy and channeled it into my wrists and ankles. Then I let it flash freeze my restraints and I broke them like glass.

Magic. Still had my magic. Had to remember I wasn't human any more. Had to remember. Had to.

For her.

---

I gave Brandon a quick call on my cell. Turns out they'd abandoned ship early on after the first bomb went off, but were separated during the ensuing chaos. Brandon got sidetracked into the kitchens by an armed fire team that broke up the group, he was there now, under fire but okay. He told me Abayya was forced upstairs into the hotel proper by the armed goons, taking the family with him, but for me, getting Brandon back first was my priority. I kept my phone and headed out, cannons in my hands. I followed the sounds of gunfire towards the kitchen and found a small detachment of soldiers shooting at the back of the place, at Brandon, I guessed.

They never saw me coming.

I stepped over their corpses and went to go get Brandon. He was shaken a little, but otherwise alright. He grabbed a rifle from one of the bodies and reloaded it with their ammo, stuffing several magazines into his pockets, before he stood and rejoined me.

"We need to head upstairs. Abayya and the rest are up there somewhere. The whole lot of 'em are after him and the boss."

"How much you wanna bet this is all connected with the attack those months ago?"

"Their lives? We should get moving now!"

He was right. I got my phone out and gave Abayya a call as we made our way to the stairwell.

"Abayya?"

"Anderson, you're alive! We are on the sixth floor, but there's men chasing us, we need your help now!"

"Sixth floor, got it, we're on our way."

I kept my phone and we went up. As we climbed, we could hear the shooting and the screaming. We were getting close. I had my cannons at the ready, and as we rounded the last staircase onto the sixth floor we caught a glimpse of the remaining soldiers advancing down a corridor, gunfire painting the walls in light. I ran ahead and took aim at the very last guy, then I leapt and pulled the triggers.

Time slowed.

I crashed into the corpse that had been a man several seconds prior, landing in a heap on the floor at the mouth of the corridor. Ahead of me stood the enemy force, facing the wrong way as they fired at my colleague and my employers. I took careful aim and fired potshots at their legs and feet. The huge bullets from my cannons tore through bone and cartilage and muscle and flesh, severing blood vessels and blowing holes in knees, ankles and legs. I kept firing until my guns went dry, and by then the enemy force was on the floor, writhing in pain and bleeding from fist sized holes.

Time normalised.

Brandon followed up behind me and sprayed bullets into the sea of men, ensuring none of them lived to see another day. When the dust settled, a handful of dead men lay at our feet, and the Wrights and Abayya emerged from one of the rooms to the side. The Brazilian beamed his usual smile at us and gave us both a good pat on the shoulder.

"I knew the two of you would make it."

"Just in time too. A little longer and you would've become Swiss cheese."

He chuckled.

"But you made it. That's all that matters. As to this lot, however..."

He turned one of the corpses onto its back and pointed at the badge on its vest.

"Look. Mercenary. Private security firm, best in the business here in São Paulo. Goes by the name of Nexus. Small firm, but their men are strong and capable. Been making waves lately with how efficient they are. Newcomers too. Always wondered how they worked, now I know."

"But who would have the money though? And who would do such a thing?"

Boss man piped up from his hiding place, clearly not cool with the whole shishkabob. He didn't even dare to look at the bodies that littered the floor.

"Clearly someone that doesn't like you, sir, now we have to get moving, there could be more of them."

He merely nodded and followed us as we retreated back down the stairs and towards the basement where the car was parked. A few minutes later we were cruising back home, while opposite us police cars and ambulances raced by to the hotel, no doubt in slow response to the shooting and bombings that just occurred. Within the hour we were back at the apartments, cooling off and recovering from the scrape while watching live news coverage of the scene. According to the reporter, the explosion was caused by gangsters looking to cause trouble and steal money and generally make mayhem, and the dead soldiers inside were due to the thugs fighting back. Funny then that the news report never mentioned the scores of dead civilians and guards shot dead by the soldiers themselves, or that we were only defending ourselves from them. They even showed security cam footage of us doing our thing and getting our employers out, labelling us as terrorists in disguise conducting a kidnapping under the cloak of chaos and calling for information on the kidnap victims, even though said victims were right next to us and not kidnapped at all. Brandon downed a glass of water, clearly frustrated.

"Kidnap?! Jesus Christ these people can't report even if their lives depended on it! We're not the aggressors here, we saved some lives!"

"Unless there's a conspiracy afoot. Someone wants us as a group of fall guys for something big, but I don't know what."

"Well you have to find out! I can't stand this any more!"

Our boss piped up from the couch, finally breaking his silence since the dinner.

"This past year I've been attacked twice, twice! I simply cannot stand while these ignorant, low-brow, inbred imbiciles ruin my business here! You three better find out who's responsible for all this or I'll hire better men for my protection!"

Jeez, talk about your pushy bosses. But he spoke the truth, I was getting tired of it as well. We all were. And until we found some answers, I don't think we would be able to rest easy at night.