The water in the Wire Opera House lake wasn't just cold; it had intent. It was viscous like motor oil and seemed to try to enter through the pores of the skin, carrying whispers of the drowned.

  We emerged on the opposite bank, coughing up black sludge.

  The surface air was freezing enough to freeze eyelashes instantly.

  "Movement!" Valéria hissed, pulling Luna behind a rock covered in gray moss.

  Above us, on the metal structure of the Opera House, five black silhouettes moved with the fluidity of mercury. The Twilight Squad. They didn't run; they flowed.

  A red laser beam swept the bank where we had been seconds ago. The mud where the laser touched hissed and vitrified.

  "Concentrated Plasma Weapons," I analyzed, wiping mud from my tactical goggles. "They make no noise, leave no casings, and cauterize the wound so you don't bleed and leave a trail. They are cleaning professionals."

  "Annoying professionals," Gristle grumbled, shivering. The cold was affecting the half-orc's reptilian blood, making her slow. "I can't fight like this, Doctor. My muscles are locking up."

  I looked at the holographic map on my watch, blinking with low battery.

  "We are on the slope of the Paulo Leminski Quarry. It's a thirty-meter rock wall. If we try to climb, we're sitting ducks. If we stay here, we freeze or get vaporized."

  "We have to go into the woods," Luna pointed to the dense Araucaria forest to the north. "The fog is thicker there."

  "The fog is thick because it's full of Mist Wraiths," Valéria retorted. "But between ghosts and lasers, I prefer the ghosts."

  We ran for the treeline.

  The post-apocalyptic Curitiba forest was silent. Not the silence of peace, but the silence of predation. The ground was covered in a soft layer of pine needles that muffled footsteps but hid snare roots.

  [PROXIMITY ALERT]

  [THREE TARGETS APPROACHING FROM REAR. SPEED: 40 KM/H.]

  "They're using mobility exoskeletons," I warned. "We can't outrun them. We need camouflage."

  "Camouflage?" Luna looked at our dirty uniforms. "We're glowing with body heat in their thermal vision, Arthur!"

  "Exactly." I stopped running. I looked at a bubbling thermal mud pool, common in geological rift zones. The smell was of rotten sulfur. "Everyone. Into the mud. Now."

  "Oh, hell no," Valéria protested.

  "Sulfur blocks olfactory sensors. The heat of the mud equalizes our temperature with the environment, blinding thermal vision. It's the Schwarzenegger tactic, just with more bacteria."

  Without waiting for an answer, I pushed Luna into the pool. She sank to her neck, holding her breath. Valéria and Gristle cursed, but followed.

  I dove in last, covering my head with a wide Mutant Taro leaf.

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  Seconds later, the Squad arrived.

  I could see through a slit in the leaf. Three of them. Their armor was a masterpiece of magical engineering: black ceramic plates that absorbed light, faceless helmets with "V" visors glowing red.

  They stopped two meters from the pool.

  The leader (the one with the Wolf helmet) raised a hand. The group stopped in perfect sync.

  He activated a scanner on his forearm. A fan of blue light swept the forest.

  It passed over the pool.

  I held my breath. The Parasite slowed my heart rate to 10 beats per minute, entering a state of near-death.

  "Signal lost," the leader's voice sounded, distorted. "Target knows military-grade countermeasures."

  "Disperse and track," ordered another soldier. "The Orc's pheromone trail ends here."

  They stood there for an eternal minute. I could hear the servos of their exoskeletons humming.

  Then, with a hand signal, they darted north, leaping through the tree branches like cybernetic ninjas.

  We waited two more minutes.

  We emerged from the mud, looking like swamp monsters.

  "I hate my life," Luna spat, pulling a leech off her ear. "I was a pop Idol. I wore glitter. Now I wear sulfur mud."

  "Mud saves lives." I wiped my face. "But they'll realize the mistake soon. We need to get to the Neutral Zone. The inn the Lich mentioned."

  We continued the march, more cautious now.

  Night fell completely. The temperature plummeted to -20°C.

  Arthur (the Parasite) began to complain of hunger again. It needed calories to keep my body warm.

  Suddenly, Valéria stopped. She raised a hand, signaling silence.

  Ahead of us, in the middle of the fog, there were lights.

  Not the cold, sterile light of Sovereignty. But warm, orange and yellow lights.

  We heard laughter. Accordion music. The smell of roasted meat (real meat, seasoned) wafted through the air.

  We were at the Civic Center.

  The ruined government buildings served as a wall for a fortified enclave. In the center, occupying what looked like an old museum, was a stone building with a smoking chimney.

  The wooden sign above the door creaked in the wind, with a crude drawing burned into the wood:

  "Three-Headed Dog Inn".

  And, in smaller letters below: "No Heroes, Tax Collectors, or Paladins Allowed".

  "Solid ground," Gristle sighed, the smell of food reviving her muscles.

  We walked to the door. Two Zombie Gorillas in suits (literally reanimated gorillas wearing torn tuxedos) barred the entrance.

  They looked us up and down. Mud, blood, illegal weapons, and the smell of sewage.

  One of the gorillas grunted and held out a hand.

  Valéria handed over the passports stamped by the Lich.

  The gorilla examined the papers, then looked at me. He sniffed the air near my neck.

  He didn't smell "human." He smelled the Parasite.

  A crooked smile of yellow teeth opened on the doorman's face.

  He opened the heavy oak door.

  The heat from inside embraced us. The sound of conversations, glasses clinking, and a band playing a jazz version of funeral songs filled our ears.

  "Come in," the gorilla grunted, in a surprisingly polite voice. "Soup of the day is Dragon Bone Broth. And if you break anything, you pay with an equivalent limb."

  We entered.

  The inn's lobby was a wonderful chaos.

  Vampires played poker with Werewolves (using teeth as chips). A Succubus served flaming drinks to a group of miner Goblins. In the corner, a Beholder floated, reading five books at the same time.

  No one looked at us with hostility. Here, being a monster, an outcast, or a fugitive wasn't a crime. It was the prerequisite.

  We walked to the counter. The bartender was a one-horned Minotaur, cleaning a glass with a rag that looked suspiciously like a Sovereignty flag.

  "Rooms for four," I said, placing a gold coin (looted from the Opera) on the counter. "And hot bath. Very hot."

  The Minotaur took the coin.

  "Third floor. Don't open the door to room 302, the Phantom of the Opera is hungover in there."

  I took the key.

  I looked at Luna, Valéria, and Gristle. They looked exhausted, dirty, but alive.

  For the first time in weeks, we were safe.

  Or at least, that's what I thought until I felt a gaze burning into my back.

  I turned around.

  At a table in a dark corner, a hooded figure was watching us. She didn't look like a monster. She looked human.

  And on her table, glowing softly, was a Helix Pharma communication device.

  The Parasite hissed.

  [ALERT: SPY DETECTED.]

  I sighed, pocketing the key.

  Apparently, not even in the land of monsters can you catch a break.

  "Valéria," I whispered, without looking back. "Don't unpack. I think we're going to have to kill someone before breakfast."