Episode 3

Rodrigo Lopez squinted in the face of the relentless sun that bathed the Port Zone of Rio. The heat seemed to drip from the concrete walls, mixing with the smell of rust, sea air, and smoke. The city was a spectacle in itself, full of contrasts, sounds, smells, and dangers.

Having been in Brazil for just over two weeks, he had already learned to move in the shadows.

He was no ordinary tourist. His presence there had a purpose. A reckoning. Something pending that had crossed borders and the continent.

Born in Madrid, Rodrigo carried Castilian firmness in his blood and in his eyes, the coldness of someone who had learned to trust only himself.

Trained from a young age in disciplines that did not appear in common curricula, he handled weapons as if handling cutlery and silence as if knowing that speaking too much could be a death sentence.

But even the experienced can be surprised.

It all started with an encrypted message sent to an old contact in Brazil.

A name: Ortega.

A location: North Zone of Rio

And a promise: the man Rodrigo was looking for was there.

Rodrigo suspected a trap, of course. But sometimes risks are part of the game, the kind of game he knew very well.

He wore dark jeans, black pants, and a jacket that helped him blend in. His heavy accent made him prefer silence, in an attempt to look like a local.

He arrived at the indicated warehouse shortly before midnight. The place was old, smelling of burnt oil and abandonment. No sign of Ortega or the man he was hunting.

And that's when everything fell apart...

The first shot came from above. A whistle, then a bang. Rodrigo instinctively rolled to the side, pulling the pistol he kept fastened to his waist. The second shot hit his leg, upper thigh. A hot, immediate shock, like a sledgehammer.

He fell, but did not lose focus.

Three men descended a side staircase. Masks, gloves... pistols with silencers. They were professionals, or at least dressed like it.

Rodrigo, even injured, fired. Two precise shots, he was trained for it. A scream and one of them fell. The others retreated.

Using what was left of his strength, he dragged himself to the metal crates at the back of the warehouse, knocking them over on the way. The pain throbbed, each movement seemed to tear the muscles. But Rodrigo was prepared to endure much more than that, it wasn't the first time he had bled, nor would it be the last.

He knew he wouldn't win that confrontation alone. He needed to disappear, vanish... create time. And he had learned that the urban chaos in Rio could be his best camouflage.

He left through a side door, crossing a deserted street to reach a narrow corridor between the buildings. The lights flickered and the darkness became his ally. The shots had not attracted the attention of the residents of that part of the city.

Rodrigo kept to the shadow of the walls, blood soaking his pants. He was starting to feel dizzy. Each step was a test of endurance. And yet, his mind remained sharp. He had lost the ambush, but he wouldn't lose his life so easily.

He passed a small closed bar, followed a narrow alley until he reached the back of a building. The lights of a "nightclub" shone at the top, throbbing with the muffled sound of music. Rodrigo leaned against the wall to catch his breath. He needed shelter, something temporary. A place to treat himself, to think...

But in that state, no one would receive him. Go to the hospital? Impossible. His name would raise alerts. And he couldn't fall into the hands of his enemies, there had been betrayal. No one in that country was trustworthy.

That's when he stumbled on the garbage bags. There was no choice. The blood was flowing more strongly and his vision was starting to blur. If he didn't stop the bleeding soon, he would faint. And then he would be dead.

He stumbled to the corner between the crates and let himself fall between torn bags, the smell of rot, and wet boxes. Rodrigo Lopez, the Spaniard who had crossed an ocean to "settle a score," was reduced to a wounded, exhausted man with faltering breath.

But his instincts were still alive.

He heard footsteps... light... firm. They were feminine steps. The sound echoed in the alley. Someone was approaching.

Rodrigo struggled to keep his eyes open, his right hand still on the wound, his left on his waist, where his pistol rested, almost like an extension of his own body.

A female figure emerged. He recognized in the brown eyes and dark hair swaying in the breeze, the features of an ordinary woman. Young, but with the posture of someone who already carried more pain than she should. She stopped, hesitant.

"Damn..." she murmured.

Rodrigo let out a groan. It wasn't acting, it was his body giving way.

"Hey... Help," he felt his throat scratch.

She looked around. Then at him. There was doubt, fear... but also something else: humanity, he could feel it.

When she knelt beside him and put her arm under his shoulders, Rodrigo knew that, for now, he was safe.

He felt grateful for the madness of his savior. Now he was in a taxi, unaware of where she was taking him. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but the pain throbbed like a constant drum in his thigh. The woman next to him, with black hair and firm eyes, kept her gaze fixed on the street, as if she was still deciding whether she should really take him home.

He glanced at her. She had strong features, the posture of someone who carried the world on her shoulders, but who didn't give up. An ordinary woman, but with an intense sparkle in her eyes.

She wasn't the kind of person he would expect to find on a night like this, much less being his only chance to survive.

"How did I get into this?" he thought, "Madrid seemed so far away now..."

The taxi stopped on a narrow street. The woman paid the driver and helped him out. Rodrigo gritted his teeth to stifle a groan. The stairs of the old building seemed endless. Each step made the bullet inside his flesh vibrate.

The apartment, a citrus smell hit him. Everything there was simple, small, but clean. Faded walls, worn furniture, especially a threadbare sofa, on which he collapsed.

He tried not to scare her, he knew he would be safe for now...

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