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Midnight, or at least close to it.

After leaving the family in Abayya's capable hands, me and Brandon struck out on our own to find out who exactly was responsible for all this death and violence that swirled around our employers like a vortex of doom. We started by brainstorming a list of our known enemies. One was the mysterious security firm called Nexus, with well trained soldiers that had no qualms about killing civilians. The others were the assorted gangs and thugs that ruled São Paulo's underground, ruthless, extremely numerous and bold. Both had absolutely no reason to attack the Wrights. The only motivation I saw was greed. Money, power, whoever had these here ruled the town, which ruled out ninety percent of the population. The remaining ten percent had little motive, from what I could tell, most of the rich men and women were too busy absorbed in their own lavish lifestyles and little worlds to care about other families or possible rivalries. Most, anyway. There were one or two black sheep that stood out from the crowd. One was the police chief, a middle aged man named Victor. Possibly in cahoots with the military types, greased palms an assured truth in a city like this. The other was a rich arms baron that staked a claim here recently, possibly supplying Nexus or the police force here. No obvious link, but I'm sure the two were connected in some way. Other outside suspects, I ruled out pretty quickly cause there wasn't enough evidence to support that theory; no one else knew about this conflict, in theory no one would care anyway. So that meant we had two aggressors and two possible funders for this little campaign of terror, but no links between any of them to let me have an idea of what's going on.

Then Brandon suggested something strange. An internal check. Someone in the family. I gave him the strangest look.

"Are you nuts? The Wrights are paying us to find out who's trying to kill them and you're thinking one of them's a traitor?"

He sighed, obviously frustrated with my lack of open-mindedness.

"Look Dan, I didn't spend nearly a decade running counter-terror ops for nothing. Usually with things like these there's an inside man, someone on the take that's feeding the bad guys intel and giving them the edge against us. I want to rule out all the possibilities."

A decade running counter terrorism? Just where was this man from? I shoved the thought to the back of my head, promised myself to ask him later, then nodded and continued the discussion.

To find out if one of the family had any motive at all to cause all this grief for them, I had to dig deep. Obviously the boss man, Morgan, wasn't our traitor cause he was the one being attacked. To have an inside man order violence on himself to draw attention away from something else was a possibility, but the head of the family wasn't the person that was doing it.

His wife, Irena, married him mostly for his money rather than looks, and so far it was turning out well for her. Lavish parties, expensive clothes and jewelry, a penthouse apartment in the center of the city, what more could she wish for? One possibility was that she'd gotten wind of either something against her or more riches that would go to her if the old man kicked the bucket, insurance basically, or a will. If she'd gotten some inside info on that, then perhaps she could've sought the help of one of the four groups of bad guys above to fulfil that end of the bargain, then used her ill-gotten gains to pay for their services. I'd have to question her to get the story straight but for now I wanted to keep things to ourselves.

Now, onto the man's family. His elder brother, James, was already an old man, he didn't have much motive at all to commit such crimes. His only offenses were those against fashion, seriously, wearing tweed in this weather? Hardly a sane choice. Levington, the younger brother, was also a businessman, one that sold insurance, funnily enough. He was my choice for our inside man, if there was one, since he sold insurance at hefty prices, and was supposedly the son least likely to inherit his dad's business. The old old man was cooped up back in London, wasting away in a hospital bed while his three sons waited to see who would inherit the riches of their father. Most likely candidate? Morgan himself. Didn't earn him the jealousy of his elder, but of his younger brother. At least, that was what I surmised. I'd have to question them to be sure.

Later, after a small dinner, Brandon and I talked shop. We needed gear, we needed money and we needed a direction. Either we investigate the outside sources first, or we question the family. For now, to be safe, I suggested we work on the family. They were closer, easier to work with, and we had added security in Abayya, who'd already worked with them before he hired us in addition. We returned to the family apartment and, over a few beers, talked with Abayya about life with the family. They were pretty dysfunctional, as I thought, but they tried to make nice with each other. Frustrating to work with at times, but in the years he'd spent with them he'd already gotten to know their intricacies, how they worked and meshed together, how to placate arguments or solve disputes.

Times like these, I felt like I was stuck in a time ten years ago, but I wasn't. Twenty thirteen was, and still is, a harsh year, but compared to the years before it, this was nothing.

---

The next day, we started with Morgan himself. We talked with him a little about his family, got to know him better. Turns out the property business he was running here was struggling a little, even though it was still raking in the big bucks, he didn't see it as a commercial success until he'd given more of the poor people here a proper place to stay. Jobs came later, he told us, but his priority was to get the people out of the dirty, filthy favelas and into fresh, clean and affordable lodgings. Despite all this, he was only getting average takers for his offers, and although those who stayed here now gave him good reviews, they didn't exactly spread the word about his generosity. He wanted help for his enterprise, and his best bet was the money in his father's will, of course. He couldn't do anything to hasten that process though, no matter how much he wanted it. Morgan wasn't our man, no sir. He was only interested in keeping his business afloat.

We went to Irena next, and although she protested at first, she relented after we explained ourselves. She wasn't that much into it for the money, after a while she'd realised she well and truly loved the man. True, the extra spending cash was a plus, but all she wanted now was for her darling to be safe. She didn't know anything about the police or the mysterious soldiers or weapons or whatever, she was just as clueless as we were. So that was her out of the question. She did tell us, however, that she knew that there was a lot of tension between Morgan and his younger brother, Levington. Mostly due to money and the will, along with Levi's jealousy that his brother's business was doing so well, while his insurance business was floundering around like a fish out of water. Truth be told she didn't understand why Morgan didn't want to help his brother, but she knew that this would come back to bite him in the future.

So we had our prime suspect: mister Levington Stanley Wright. I didn't bother questioning James at this point, he didn't strike me as the type. Besides, the man was retired, he had nothing to do other than eat and sleep all day. We moved our attention now to Levi. He spent most of his time alone and on the phone, talking to his executives back in London about the business and how to run it better, how it was doing and to chew them out on their mistakes if they made any. The guy wasn't exactly a people person. He was the most reclusive of the family too, often times refusing their offers to eat outside, preferring instead to cook by himself or to order takeout. The times when we went out, the penthouse party and the more recent gala ball, he didn't go with us. Something about stomach upsets and loose bowels. Perhaps he knew that something was going to happen, therefore he didn't show. We wouldn't know until we questioned him.

Our search for him began by simply asking the family where he was. Turns out he was, well, out, in the city, meeting someone he knew in a cafe nearby. With Abayya watching the rest of the family we set out to find Levi, and we found him a few minutes later in the cafe, just as we were told. He never noticed us, so we took a seat outside. Brandon went to get us drinks and some food while I watched him. By the time he came back, I saw movement. He was meeting with someone alright, and as I watched this newcomer approach, it dawned on me that I was doing what I did best, although I was miles away from home. I watched this stranger as he sat with Levi and started discussing something, but I couldn't tell who this new guy was or where he was from. At some point during the conversation, I saw money change hands, not in the open, but in an envelope. Brandon tapped my shoulder.

"That man?"

"Yeah?"

"He's a liason for Nexus."

So that's who was funding them. No clear motive yet but we knew that now Levi abs Nexus had a connection. The two men shook hands and the mercenary left, while Levi sat back down with a happy smile on his face. No doubt he'd just initiated another part of some scheme. We'd find out soon enough. I told Brandon to stay behind and watch him while I tailed the merc, stood up and walked off in the man's general direction. There was no losing him; he was on the phone, talking about orders and troop deployments, equipment checks and a plan to strike. Strike who? Apparently someone that can't be named over the phone. One thing was for certain though: this man was not Brazilian.

He was American.

And judging by the twang in his voice, Texan.

So Nexus employed American soldiers. Or were they American by origin? These operators were on the ground here as part of Nexus' security firm thing, but what were their true identities?

I made up my mind. The man hung up the call and kept walking, ending up past an alley. I sped up and grabbed the man in a choke, pulling him sideways into the alley. Boy did he struggle. At one point he tried to pry open my hand to twist my finger out of its socket, but by then my gun was in his cheek. He stopped moving after that.

"You, you're with Nexus."

"And who am I to say that?"

"A friend of mine ran a little background check on you. What're you doing here in Brazil?"

"Earning my paycheck, what else?! Now let me go!"

"No. Not until you answer all my questions."

"And just who in the hell are-"

I thumbed back the safety. He shut up.

"What did that man pay you to do?"

"W-what man?"

"The man at the cafe that you met with. What did he pay you for?"

He kept quiet, like a good soldier would. I stared out of the alley. It was midday, people would pay attention if I pulled the trigger. So I tried something different. I idly moved my hand on the arm that was choking him closer to my gun, then I released the magazine a little. As he struggled slightly, I moved so that his ear lobe sat on the little lip the magazine had at the bottom. Then I slowly pushed the mag back into the pistol until I felt flesh between the mag bottom and the pistol grip.

"Are you gonna tell me now?"

"Go to hell, pussy."

Oh he did not.

I squeezed.

He screamed.

People can be cowed to do such simple things through the use of pain.

I kept the pressure on his ear lobe.

"Answer me!"

"H-he wanted us to make a hit on a location a few hours from now!"

"Where?"

"S-stadium, you can't miss it, right in the center of town! Now lemme go my ear hurts!"

"That's the point, jackass."

Stadium. A few hours from now. There was a soccer game scheduled then.

"Who are you hitting?"

"S-some rich British dude man, look I just get paid to pull triggers I don't know nothing about what's going on man!"

"What's the man's name?"

He gibbered.

I squeezed harder.

Something warm trickled down my hand.

"W-Wright! Morgan Wright! N-now lemme go!"

Levi just wrote a hit on his own brother. Golden.

I let him go. His ear bled slowly from the cut on the lobe and he swore as he ran off. I gave Brandon a call as I made my way back to the cafe.

"Brandon, it's Dan. Levi just called a hit on Morgan."

"I knew the jackass was-"

"Don't take him in yet, we need evidence, besides we need to protect the family. Listen to me. Do you remember where they're going today?"

"Uh, hang on, lemme check...they've got nothing on until later this afternoon when they leave to catch a football game at the stadium with some other rich fellas."

"That's where the hit's gonna be at, gimme a time. Now."

"Two thirty."

I checked my watch. One thirty. One hour from now.

"That jackass gave me a fake time estimate, we have one hour, meet me at the car go now!"

---

The stadium was packed, but we blended with the crowd heading inside, hearts racing. Two o'clock, half an hour to the supposed hit. We needed to find the Wrights and fast. I hit up Abayya on my cell as we rushed inside to a less crowded area behind the stands.

"Abayya?"

"Anderson, how nice to hear from you! Where are you, the game's about to start."

"I'm at the stadium, listen to me: we just intercepted a mercenary from that company we told you about, Levi's paid for a hit on the family!"

I could hear him stand. He was in a closed area somewhere. VIP box?

"Shit, when?"

I checked my watch.

"Fifteen minutes from now, Abayya, get your ass ready to either run or face some heavy firepower."

"But what about-"

"The family's gonna get hit, Abayya, prepare now! We're on our way but we don't know where you are!"

"VIP viewing lounge, highest tier of the stadium!"

I motioned to Brandon and we entered the main stadium area.

The game had already kicked off and was well into the first half by the time we'd reached the stadium, so it was a race against the inevitable as we made our way up. I could see the viewing area from my high perch, but it was all the way on the other side of the stadium.

Two twenty.

I yelled at Brandon and we made our way across, following the perimeter of the stadium and annoying many of Brazil's hardcore soccer fans. We reached the halfway point when we saw soldiers streaming into the stands opposite us.

Two twenty five.

Brandon saw the same thing as I did. He pulled his piece and so did I, but we kept moving, trying not to draw attention to ourselves. Meanwhile the mercenaries on the other side didn't bother about stealth and just blazed a trail towards the booth, guns at the ready.

I started to hear screaming.

Two twenty eight.

We were rounding the stadium towards the booth, when I saw even more movement out of the corner of my eye. I skidded to a stop. There, on the pitch, streamed a colourful mess of men, but these weren't revellers, oh no. One of them spotted the mercs and yelled something I couldn't hear, then their hands shot up and fire spat from the rifles and machine pistols in their hands, the cracks from the weapons reaching my ears half a second later.

People in the stands started screaming in earnest and the whole sea of people up and panicked. I saw civilians in the stands opposite, where the mercs were, dropping like flies from the fire directed at the soldiers. The mercs stopped their advance and fired back, and thus there was a war.

I waded through the sea of people, cannons at the ready, yelling commands to move in my halting Portuguese. The sea that advanced towards me parted to let me through, mostly due to the fact that I had guns as well. Brandon kept up behind me and followed, but the carnage across from us was spellbinding in the sheer audacity of it. The soldiers had moved forward to get closer to the advancing gunmen, but there were so many of them that the mercs were getting outnumbered. The men below, most likely gangsters from the favelas closer to the city, kept on firing indiscriminately, hitting both merc and civilian without any thoughts of mercy. The soccer teams on the pitch scattered to the winds, but some weren't so lucky, being struck down by merc bullets as they ran for the exits, most likely mistaken for fleeing gunmen by the trigger happy soldiers. We took advantage of the chaos to make our way, unimpeded, towards the booth, and I tapped on the glass with my gun to attract Abayya's attention. He let us in and we took a breather, though the sounds of gunfire and screams still filtered through the seams in the door.

"What took you so long?"

I gave Abayya a look.

"You try wading through a sea of people like that, see how fast you get here."

"Point taken. What do we do now?"

I stared out of the booth. The majority of the civilians were petering out of the stadium, leaving the soldiers and the other assorted gunmen that were still duking it out down below. The fight was leaving many wounded, and I'm sure many more dead. I had a sinking feeling that both these groups of men were hellbent on getting one thing: Morgan, and he was right here, cowering behind a couch. That's when I realised that we weren't alone here. Not just the Wrights, but several other men and women were here too. Most likely other rich fools that were caught in the crossfire. I turned to Abayya.

"How many exits do we have?"

"Just the one, it goes out back into the VIP areas of the stadium. We went from there up here from the carpark downstairs."

"Then that's our only safe way out. Abayya, keep the rear covered. Me and Brandon will cover up front."

I semi stood and turned to face the small crowd.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, we're gonna get outta here, and our way out are those doors behind you. Me and the other man here are gonna go first, since we're armed. Keep behind us and keep close at all times, and stay together. Don't separate for any reason."

The few who were there merely nodded in agreement. I turned to Brandon who gave me a thumbs up, then we went on our way.

---

The initial journey was smooth enough. We used the veil of chaos to slip by our aggressors easily enough, but they were bound to catch up and find us missing, so we had to hurry.

One of the men in our group showed us the way towards the carpark, and we followed his lead, but it involved winding back around the stadium and going dangerously close to the mercs, who were steadily winning the fight with their more advanced gear and tactics. The way led through the shops and snack bars and other shops that were abandoned due to the shooting, but we saw remnants of what was left behind; drink cans, snack food half eaten, bags, purses. The silence was eerie.

Silence? Uh oh.

I motioned for the others to hasten their movements; silence right now could only mean that someone won the fight outside and now they were coming to claim their prize. I moved forward cautiously; the windows were still open and unobstructed, where normal security shutters would've blocked off all vision. The security team here must've been overwhelmed or neutralised first before the strike. I could see the mercs advancing towards the booth, which was in the opposite direction, thankfully. I could even see their team leader directing them on, but then I noticed something peculiar about him: he had a bandage over his ear. My mind flashed back to earlier in the day; the Nexus man that I'd accosted and tortured for info. He must be oh so angry. I dropped my focus from him and kept moving, urging the group behind me to keep up. We were almost to an enclosed area that led out when someone kicked a can.

The lead man spun around. He spotted me and yelled.

I froze.

Time slowed.

He raised his rifle.

I raised my gun first and plugged him in the chest.

The rest of his team reacted in slow motion, but I didn't care about them.

Time returned to normal.

I laid down covering fire with my pistols as Brandon herded the sheep towards the exit. When I ran dry, he took over while I reloaded and moved up. Outside, the soldiers sprayed and peppered the interior with bullets, shattering glass and scattering trash everywhere, causing panic amongst the rich sheep we shepherded. I covered the herd again while Brandon and Abayya moved up, then reloaded and shifted as they returned fire. Once the last of the civilians had exited, we made to leave.

Then Abayya took a round to the knee.

He fell and I yelled. But as I made my way up the steps to get to him, he waved me off.

"Go Anderson! I'll be fine, I swear!"

"But, your knee-"

"I'll hold them back long enough for you to escape, Daniel. You just concentrate on getting the Wrights out of here!"

He broke off to return fire at the shooter, then waved me off again.

"Go! Take them and leave!"

I simply nodded and turned to leave, but before I took a step, he stopped me. As I turned, I barely caught something flying at my face, even with my heightened reflexes. "Give that to my son, Daniel. He'll understand."

Whatever was in my palm, I squeezed it tight and turned to run. The last I heard of him was him swearing in Portuguese and opening fire before I ran out of earshot.

---

"God dammit Anderson that's the third time in two months!"

Morgan paced the living room of the family apartment, clothes still in disarray from earlier. The lot of us sat around the room, nerves still frazzled from the shock of the afternoon. He turned and faced me again.

"In two months you've let people get to me not once, not twice, but three times! I do not enjoy getting shot at, mister Anderson, and I'm sure neither do you! Do you have any sort of explanation, any at all, for these events?!"

"Yes I do sir, and if you'd let me explain myself-"

"Go, go ahead and explain yourself! I want to hear exactly how far-fetched a story you can give me!"

He stood there, arms folded with the worst look on his face. I took a deep breath.

"Sir, your brother Levington wants to kill you for your inheritance in your father's will."

He gave me the most confounded look and laughed, a bitter, sarcastic laugh.

"Levi? Kill me?! Why, that's the most absurd thing I've heard in my life!"

"Sir, it's my belief that-"

"Your belief. YOUR belief. What you believe and what's in front of me now say two different things, mister Anderson, and what I want to know is WHO IS BLOODY RESPONSIBLE FOR-"

"ENOUGH."

Brandon's voice cut through his like a knife through butter. With an expression as calm as a lake he strode forward and placed himself within inches of Morgan's face.

"You, sir, apparently do not understand the concepts of listening to reason and mutual respect for your fellow man. You, good sir, are so blinded by your wealth and ignorance that you couldn't see the facts even if they kissed ya! YOU'VE BEEN IGNORANT TO THE FACT THAT YOU'VE BEEN A BLOODY TARGET FROM THE BEGINNING."

Morgan appeared to reel in shock. He opened his mouth to retort when Brandon shut him up again.

"Have you not seen the signs, man?! Levington's jealous! He wants your wealth and business because his own ventures are failing, and the easiest way he sees of doing that is by ending you! And with your brilliant move to come to Brazil, he had a the opportunities to off you from the get go! It's just been his luck that you were apparently smart enough to get not one, not two, but three bodyguards to cover your paisley white arse while you gadded about spending money on a whim! Today, today, the only reason why you're alive is because we managed to catch your brother paying those military sods to off you today! We rushed to your aid and the thanks you give us is a bloody earful?! Sod off ya plonk! At least be thankful that you're alive!"

"B-but what about Abby?"

Irena piped up from her seat at the kitchen counter, a glass of water in her hands, still shaking slightly from my observation. Her use of her pet name for Abayya reminded me of his sacrifice. I approached Morgan, absolutely fed up with the man.

"Yeah Morgan, what about him? What about the one bodyguard, the one you've employed for years, the one that stayed behind in the stadium to cover us, the one bodyguard that saved all our lives today, hmm? What about Abayya Tiente, Morgan? WHAT ABOUT HIM?!"

I showed him the locket and crucifix that hung from the grimy silver chain I held in my hand. The locket had a picture of Abayya, his wife and his boy in it. Morgan stared at it like he was witnessing the devil himself take form in front of him.

"What about his wife and kid, hmm? What are they gonna say when they find out that he's dead? Y'know what they're gonna call you? A murderer, that's what. And they're never going to have him in their lives again forever, you know that? You left him there to die and you didn't even ask him to. He was that loyal to you and you don't even care. You're pathetic."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. This was getting nowhere fast. I went to the counter and picked up my guns. Brandon followed suit. Morgan, still stunned, sunk onto the couch. James looked at us from his armchair.

"Where are you two fellows going then?"

I returned the look.

"We're gonna find that scumbag brother of yours and bring him in. And if he tries to kill us himself, I'll put him in the ground. For your sake and Abayya's."

I prepared to leave, but just then Irena's phone rang. She answered and gasped. A few moments later she hung up and held a hand up to prevent us from leaving.

"Wait, men, please, listen. I just received a call. It's important."

I stopped.

"What's up?"

She gave us the most concerned look I've seen.

"Abayya's alive."