John relayed his thoughts to Alex, who, in turn, seemed more determined to save Iza's family than John himself.
— John , it is our duty as future warriors to protect the oppressed and those who cannot defend themselves. In his youth, Mr. Fernando committed considerable acts of bravery and heroism. If we can save Iza's family, a bright future awaits us. But if we turn our backs now, we will never have peace of mind again.
John looked at Alex. There was a glint in his eyes—the kind of glint you only see in idealists fired up by tales of chivalry. " This guy must have watched too many cartoons about heroes in armor," John thought with a hint of contempt. "How would anyone in their right mind risk their life for virtue? Such nonsense… Doesn't he know that life is too precious a commodity to be wasted like that? Well… whatever . If all goes well, I'll get to take care of the lolita and still get to show off in front of my parents." With that, I didn't think any further—the decision was made.
— We need weapons. Is there anything around here we can use?
Iza shook her head. They then tried to search the surroundings for anything useful. After a few minutes, we found two wooden stakes that marked the land in the favelas. They were the diameter of a taco base, but they were heavier — they must have weighed around ten kilos each.
They each took a stake and swung it a few times, trying to get used to the weight. When the movements began to flow more naturally, John presented his plan.
— Since they're waiting for Iza to come home to capture her, let's make a little noise. They'll probably send someone to check. At that time, Alex and I will be hidden. Iza will serve as bait. When the guy comes out to capture her, we'll hit him with the stakes — right in the head.
—What if they all leave at once? — Alex asked tensely.
— They already have two people captured inside. I don't want to risk an ambush by sending too many people out. At most, two should come out.
– Okay. Each one in their place.
John put his hand on Iza's shoulder and tried to calm her down.
— Iza, don't worry. They're waiting for you, so at most they'll try to capture you . And we won't let that happen. You can trust us.
The little girl nodded, and a resolute glint appeared in her blue eyes. Then, John and Alex hid behind some old buildings, positioning themselves cautiously.
Iza, in turn, bent down and picked up a fist-sized rock. She threw it firmly at the hut. The dull sound reverberated through the wooden structure, but nothing happened. She then picked up two more rocks and threw them in quick succession.
Meanwhile, inside the wooden cabin...
The five men were silent, each in their place, waiting for the girl to arrive. A dry sound cut through the air outside.
"What was that?" the chief asked , looking up, his voice low and cold.
One of the men, who had been dozing against the door , woke up with a start and went to check. He peered through the crack between the poorly nailed boards.
—There's no one out there, boss—he replied after a moment.
The silence returned, thick and nervous. Until two new sounds echoed — fast, sequential, from the same direction.
The chief narrowed his eyes and pointed at one of his men.
— Go see what it is. If it's her, capture her. And bring her here.
The subordinate nodded and pushed the door shut behind him with a muffled click. His eyes scanned the room, alert for any movement. He held tightly an old sword, its blade worn but still deadly. He walked cautiously, each step marked by tension.
It was then that he saw her—a delicate silhouette up ahead. She looked like a little girl standing in the shadows.
A wry smile played across his lips. I've got the little wolf, he thought excitedly. It would be quite an achievement to capture her—a promotion perhaps, or at least some recognition.
But as he got closer, something bothered him: why didn't she run away? She was too calm... still. too much. Still, he didn't reflect. He let the euphoria dull his reasoning.
Six meters. Five. Three...
As he stepped into the two-meter radius, a sudden wind blew across the back of his neck. Before he could even turn his body, he felt something colossal strike the base of his skull. It was no ordinary blow—it was as if a mountain had collapsed onto his spine.
Everything went dark.
Minutes before, outside...
After hurling two rocks at the hut in quick succession, Iza waited. The door creaked open. An armed man stepped out, his blade drawn, his eyes scanning the ground. He looked wary.
John, hidden behind the barrels, made a quick gesture with his hand. Iza understood and emerged from her hiding place. Even with her heart racing, she stood firm. The man spotted her and ran towards her without hesitation. She didn't move.
Six meters.
Five.
Three.
When he entered the two-meter radius, John appeared like a living shadow, fast and precise. There was no time to react. In a single movement, the muscles in his arms tensed, and the stake came down brutally, hitting the back of his enemy's neck with a dry and terrible crack.
BENG.
A dry metallic sound rang out, as if an iron bar had been thrown against stone.
The man fell hard to the ground.
John, Alex and Iza slowly approached the body. The bandit was still twitching strangely, like a fish out of water, his muscles reacting involuntarily to the trauma.
John poked him with the stake, analyzing the signs. Iza, her face pale, asked in a choked voice:
— Did you... kill him?
John looked closely. There was foam running from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were red, his blood vessels were burst, and his skin was beginning to lose color. He let out a strangled sigh and muttered,
— Stroke.
The word hung in the air, thick as smoke. Seeing Alex and Iza's confused faces, he explained more clearly:
— He's dead. I think I used too much force with that blow.
He said this with a disconcerting calmness, as if he had just chopped down a rotten tree.
For him, deep down, it was almost that.
John had killed before.
In the SIA, although he worked as an intelligence agent, field missions were mandatory. In some of them, killing was not a choice, but a necessity — to protect one's own life or that of one's comrades. For this reason, the section deliberates rigorous psychological evaluation before each operation. He was trained not to break down. But there was one fundamental difference: he had never killed anyone with a bladed weapon.
Alex was visibly shaken. He swallowed hard, staring at the body with tense eyes. But, noticing John's absolute self-control , he managed to compose himself.
Little Iza... was shaking from head to toe.
Her blue eyes were wide and glistening with unshed tears. Her heart was beating like a drum in despair. But John knelt before her, put his hand on her shoulder, and spoke firmly:
— You're safe. This was necessary. Now take a deep breath.
She nodded, still scared, but fearfully protected.
John, however, knew he had a new problem.
The man who was to be interrogated now lay dead at his feet. With him, any chance of obtaining information was gone.
They needed a new plan. And fast.