I left the Defense Building and headed toward the Citadel's main plaza. Once there, I tried to take in the scene.
People strolled slowly, others sat by the fountain. I noticed families walking around with their kids, and I suddenly had flashbacks of when I was a child, walking here myself...
Suddenly, as those memories came back, my head began to hurt. I felt pressure behind my eyes and on my forehead. The more I tried to remember, the worse it got.
—Why does it hurt? Is it a migraine?
Eventually, I gave up. I focused on my goal: investigate the city.
After walking for a while, I reached what looked like a more commercial area. People were selling things—from shoes to flowers.
I figured it might be worth asking if anyone had seen anything related to the attack.
Maybe they wouldn't know anything, but it was worth a shot.
I approached a man selling home electronics. I greeted him and asked if he had been present during the presidential announcement.
He gave me a blunt "no."
I asked again if he had seen anything unusual…
Again, he said "no."
He gathered his things and said:
—I have nothing to do with the attack.
And he left.
—Why so hostile? They're just simple questions...
Apparently, as I approached other stalls to ask around, people kept looking at me with unease.
I could feel their eyes on the back of my neck.
It was clear—my presence made them uncomfortable.
I asked a nearby vendor:
—Do you know why people are acting like this?
He looked me up and down and replied:
—Because of you. People don't like soldiers or cops.
—Why are you telling me that?
—Because I'm scared you'll hurt me. I just want to cooperate. Please don't report me or beat me, sir.
—Why would I do that? You're not doing anything wrong. Why would you think that?
The man looked surprised.
—You wouldn't? Then… you're not one of them?
—Them? Who do you mean?
—The police who abuse their power. Sometimes they charge us for protection, or an extra fee just for selling. If we don't do what they say, they beat us… or arrest us.
I rubbed my chin, thinking.
I asked if it was just a specific group or all of them, and why they did that.
His answer stunned me.
—All of them… They make their own rules here.
It's always been like this—here and across the whole country.
—What do you mean all of them? What do you mean always?
That answer hit hard.
—How come I didn't know about this before?
So people see us as the bad guys?
I couldn't believe what he was telling me.
I didn't know if it was true… but his reaction felt genuine.
And the environment around him too.
I'd thought maybe they were just criminals who hated the law,
but looking around… they were just families selling what they could. Honest people.
My face must have shown my disappointment.
I thanked him for being honest and advised him not to tell other soldiers anything.
I walked away… with more questions than I'd started with.
I came here looking for clues about the attack out of curiosity,
and I left with guilt—knowing what some citizens go through at the hands of my own comrades.
Even if it wasn't me… I couldn't help but feel ashamed.
Is this what things are really like?
I kept walking, reflecting, until I refocused on my original goal:
look for clues about what happened on July 12.
Walking down a side street, I spotted a man and asked politely if I could ask him a few questions.
He immediately said:
—No. I don't talk to soldiers.
—It's nothing bad. I just wanted to ask if you could help—
—No. I don't talk to people who protect this regime. Why should I help you?
At that moment, I got real with him:
—You're not the first to tell me this. I'm not like them.
In fact, this is the first time I've been out in public in a long time.
—And why should I believe you?
—If I were one of those soldiers, I probably would've acted like one already.
I have no reason to hurt you. I just want answers.
—I don't know... I hate everyone in the government.
They took my father. Imprisoned him. I never saw him again. No reason, nothing.
I'll never forgive them.
He stared at me with anger in his eyes.
—I don't care if they arrest me or make me disappear too.
I'd rather that than keep living in this shitty world.
I didn't get mad.
I didn't feel offended.
I just looked down, full of sadness and guilt.
It was clear—he had suffered deeply.
—I'm sorry. Even if it wasn't me... I feel guilty.
This uniform—mine and theirs—is already stained with shame.
I turned to leave, but something made me stop and turn back.
—Can I ask you something… to try to help you?
What's your father's name? Maybe I can find out what happened to him.
—James Ghoir. He's been in prison for eight years. I haven't heard a word about him.
—I'll try to find out what happened.
Once I know something, I'll come back here to tell you.
His expression changed.
No more rage—only nostalgia.
—If you really keep your word… that would mean a lot to me. And to my family.
I smiled.
—I promise I'll find out where he is and why he was arrested.
You'll hear from me.
After that, I kept searching for answers.
But most people responded with fear.
Others didn't hide their hatred—and made sure I heard it.
Eventually, I sat on a bench in front of the Workers' Revolution Palace, still under construction, reflecting on everything I'd discovered.
—Why do they do this? Treat citizens like this?
We swore to protect them. Not violate their rights or abuse them.
—Is this really right?
Not to me...
Just then, a woman cried for help.
I looked over and saw a man running.
She screamed that he'd stolen her bag.
I jumped over the bench and ran after him. He was fast.
As I was about to catch him, he crossed the street.
I chased him, nearly slipping.
He turned around and looked shocked—maybe he didn't expect someone like me to follow.
That's when he threw the bag at my face.
I caught it—but didn't stop.
I kept chasing him.
—I'm sorry! You've got the bag back! Don't hurt me, please! —he yelled in panic.
I wasn't stopping.
He had to face the consequences.
He started slowing down.
When I got close enough, I tackled him to the ground.
He tried crawling away, begging for mercy.
I stood up and walked toward him.
—Why did you steal the bag?
—I'm sorry! I was hungry! My family's starving! I didn't hurt anyone!
—You stole her bag.
She probably worked hard to buy it—and you took it.
That's not okay. I have to arrest you.
—Please don't! They make people disappear in those prisons!
Then I remembered what that guy had told me about his father.
—I'm sorry. But I can't ignore crimes like this.
The man looked at me and said:
—Hey, what if you let me go? I'll give you something in return... Money?
Or maybe you want something else? Women? I can get that too.
I glared at him.
—What kind of soldier do you think I am?
I'm not for sale.
Now I'm arresting you for robbery—and attempted bribery.
The man stood up, smirking.
—Too bad… You're not really in a position to decide.
Around us, people started emerging from nearby shops.
Some held knives. Others had swords… even firearms.
I was surrounded.
I shifted into a defensive stance—
And then they arrived.
A girl stepped in front of me.
She had wavy reddish hair and a slim figure.
She pulled out a collapsible baton.
She looked back over her shoulder and winked at me.
—Leave this to me.
I turned around to cover her back.
There were two more with her—one taller than the other.
They wore suits identical to hers.
When I looked back—
She had already taken them all down.
I stood there, stunned.
Scratched my neck, trying to process what just happened.
She didn't have a single scratch.
She walked up to me.
—Looks like you were a little... busy. Thought I'd lend a hand.
Oh wait… did you have it under control, Second-Class Soldier? —she laughed playfully.
—Thanks for the help. It was messy—but not difficult.
—Oh really? Looked pretty rough, soldier boy.
What are you doing here? I thought you guys didn't come to these parts?
—I had some free time. Just passing through… until this happened.
And you? Who are you? What do you do?
She walked beside me, looked into my eyes, and said:
—Wow... Been a while since one of you people came down to clean up the mess.
—I'm with "Section 0." And no, we're not from this country.
We're assassins working for the government.
—What exactly do you do?
—Sometimes the cops take bribes and let crime grow unchecked.
When the gangs get too big, and the police can't control them…
that's when we show up.
We eliminate what they allowed to thrive.
—Why not report the corrupt officers? Why do you do the dirty work?
—Because that is our job: to get rid of them.
We also handle… other important errands for the government.
—So… you're saying crime helps you stay employed? Wow.
For some reason, I felt nervous.
—Hey, can I ask your name?
She kept walking beside me, ignoring me.
I thought she'd leave without saying anything—
But just as she was leaving, she looked back and said:
—Maybe I'll tell you later, Traytros. See you around.
I stood there—surrounded by unconscious bodies—thinking:
—What just happened?
I returned to the woman and handed her the bag.
—My bag! Thank you, young man!
I didn't think you'd get it back. That guy was part of a dangerous gang.
Are you okay?
—I took care of them. Don't worry.
—Wow. You're strong and honest.
You must be popular with the girls —she said, covering her mouth as she smiled.
If only she knew…
The only female contact I've had lately was a mysterious woman who saved me.
Later, I returned to the plaza.
I noticed quite a bit of time had passed.
I checked my phone: 4:00 p.m.
At 6, I had to meet Thomas.
Still had some time—maybe enough to investigate that boy's father.
I went to the Defense Building.
I asked a soldier where I could access criminal records.
He told me to go to the 27th floor, to the Criminal Investigation Corps (C.I.C.).
I went up.
The place had rows of computer stations.
A staff member approached me.
—How can I help you?
—I need to check someone's record —I said.
—Do you have authorization?
I hesitated...
Then lied.
—First-Class Soldier Thomas ordered me to review an individual's record.
—Do you have documentation?
—It was a direct order.
If you don't help, he'll come down here himself.
And you'll be the one in trouble.
The assistant hesitated…
Then nodded.
—Alright. Follow me. What's the name?
—James Ghoir.
He searched the system.
After a few seconds, he pointed to the screen:
—Here it is: James Ghoir. Height: 1.76m. Weight: 88 kg.
Arrested on August 28, 2022.
Reason: considered an ideological threat. Participated in a protest, disturbing peace and public safety.
Current status… (dramatic pause) Deceased.
—Deceased!?
My expression said it all.
I stood in silence, mouth slightly open.
—He died in custody.
He was found in his cell, a shirt tied around his neck.
Official cause of death: hanging.
I didn't say anything for a while.
He wasn't family…
But the pain hit unexpectedly.
It reminded me of my father.
What went through his mind during those final moments?
In fact...
I barely remember my father at all. Just that—
(sudden headache—
every time I try to remember my past… it hurts.)
—Thank you —I told the assistant.
I left.
As I rode the elevator down, I felt defeated.
Every time I tried to uncover the truth to help someone…
It shattered everything I believed.
What I thought was justice…
was rotting from the inside.
Even me…
I'm part of this.
We all pay for the sins of others.
I checked the time: 5:20 p.m.
I ran to find the boy.
Dodging traffic, moving fast.
When I got to the place I'd last seen him…
he was gone.
I was too late.
But just as I turned around, disappointed—
I saw him going down the metro stairs.
I ran.
He was waiting for the train.
I hesitated…
But he needed to know.
—Hey! Kid!
He turned, surprised.
Smiled faintly and walked over.
—You made it! I can't believe it. So? Did you find anything?
My face changed immediately.
It hurt to give him this news, but it had to be done.
—Yeah… I found something.
I looked into your father's case and, sadly…
he's dead.
Actually… he was killed.
According to the report, he was arrested for being an ideological threat to the government.
His gaze went blank.
A tear slid down his cheek.
Then he said:
—Thank you…
Somehow, we sensed it.
But it's hard to let go of hope for someone you love.
He wiped his tears with his arm.
—But there's one thing that comforts me…
You showed me that even inside the government, there are people trying to do what's right.
Maybe this world isn't completely lost.
The train arrived.
—I won't forget that a "ruthless" government soldier tried to help me.
—Your name?
—Traytros. My name is Traytros. Just a regular citizen...
—Traytros... I'll never forget your name.
I'm Maikel.
Hope we meet again!
He waved goodbye.
I waved back.
The train took him away.
I stood there… overwhelmed.
How many stories like his are out there?
How many missing people still have no answers?
A voice interrupted my thoughts:
"Train 6 arriving shortly."
—It's already six!?
I ran to grab my gear.
—Shit. Thomas is going to kill me!
Minutes later…
I reached the airfield, panting.
Thomas was already in the helicopter.
I climbed aboard.
—One more minute… and you were walking —he said, without looking at me.
We got into position.
We took off.
Destination: Fortul.
As the sun set, I looked out the window as we left the capital.
The pilot spoke:
—Sealing cabin. Do not attempt to open the doors.
In case of emergency, put on your masks to avoid exposure to the air.
—What…?
As we crossed the border…
I saw it.
Outside the capital—
nothing.
Just dust, ruins, and desolation.
I remembered:
"Outside the capital… nothing is the same."
Thomas sat calm.
He was used to this.
I dozed off for a bit.
The pilot's voice woke me:
—Approaching Fortul, Los Libertadores region. Prepare for landing.
Thomas looked at me:
—Put your mask on.
Out there… it's not pretty.
The doors opened.
We got out.
The chopper kicked up dirt everywhere as it lifted off.
They had dropped us alone...
on a hill, surrounded by trees.
We looked down.
Below…
a village forgotten by the world.
Thomas turned to me:
—Let's move.
We had arrived in Fortul.