Brasília wasn't a city. It was an aquarium.
From the top of the plateau, we observed the capital. A colossal dome of golden light, translucent and humming with divine energy, covered the entire Pilot Plan. Inside, we saw white skyscrapers, green parks, and flying cars gliding on magnetic lines.
It looked like a sci-fi utopia from the year 2000.
Outside the dome, reality was different.
The "Satellite Cities" had merged into a single gigantic slum of canvas, scrap metal, and despair that clung to the base of the light barrier like barnacles on the hull of a luxury ship.
"It's disgusting," Valéria spat, looking through binoculars. "They live in air conditioning while the rest of the country breathes rust."
"It's a biological caste system," I analyzed, adjusting the collar of my shirt (stolen from a dead Pilgrim corpse and chemically cleaned). "Those with compatible mana live inside. Those who don't, serve as human shields outside."
"And how do we get in?" asked Luna. "If we touch that barrier, we turn into sacred barbecue."
I pointed to the main road, the Monumental Axis, which pierced the slum and led to a gigantic gate in the barrier.
A line of Sovereignty armored trucks awaited inspection. They carried refrigerated containers.
"Remember the brand on the Armadillo we killed? The Barbed Wire Cross?" I asked.
"Yes. Cattle," replied Gristle.
"Exactly. Those trucks are carrying supplies. Rare monsters, ores, relics. Brasília produces nothing; it consumes everything."
I walked to the bed of our truck.
"We're not breaking in. We're making a delivery."
Two hours later, our truck was transformed.
Valéria had welded the Giant Armadillo shell plates onto the sides of the vehicle, covering the original logo. With black spray paint, she wrote barcodes and "Biohazard Level 5" symbols.
The plan was audacious and stupid: pretend to be a special Helix Pharma collection team bringing a critical sample from the South.
"Arthur, this won't work," said Luna, nervous. She was wearing a white lab coat we found in my father's lab, too big for her, and non-prescription glasses. "They're going to ask for ID!"
"I have ID." I touched the pocket where my father's badge was, modified by Valéria to display my photo, but with his rank: Senior Research Director. "As for you... act."
Gristle was chained (fake chains) in the back, pretending to be a captured "Mutant Southern Orc" specimen. Valéria wore the armor of a dead Pilgrim soldier, pretending to be our mercenary escort.
We entered the checkpoint line.
Ahead of us, guards in polished white armor, carrying energy spears, searched a supply truck. They treated the outside drivers like trash, not even looking them in the eye.
"Arrogance," I whispered. "That is the key. They don't expect terrorists to knock on the front door. They expect us to hide in the sewers."
Our turn came.
A Royal Guard Paladin approached the driver's window. He wasn't wearing a helmet. He had a young, clean face and eyes that glowed with a faint bluish light (mana blessing).
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
"Documents and cargo manifest," he asked, voice bored.
Valéria, at the wheel, said nothing. She just pointed to me in the passenger seat.
I rolled down the electric window.
I didn't look at the guard. I kept looking at a tablet (turned off), pretending to read important data.
"Sir?" the guard insisted, annoyed.
I sighed, as if he were interrupting me. I turned my face slowly.
"Soldier, do you have any idea of the thermal volatility of a freshly harvested Titanatus heart?"
"W... what?"
"I am transporting S-Class biological material from the Ruins of Curitiba. Every minute this truck sits in the heat, the sample degrades 0.5%. If I lose this cargo, I'm going to tell Archangel Michael that it was the fault of..." I looked at the name on his chest "...Private Pereira, who took too long to read a piece of paper."
I flashed the holographic badge. Hélio Veras (Arthur Veras) - Access Level: Omega.
The guard paled upon seeing the access level.
But he was trained.
"Sir, protocol requires bio-signature scanning."
"Do it. But make it quick."
The guard took a device that looked like a thermometer gun and pointed it at my forehead.
This was it. The moment of truth.
The scanner looked for corruption. It looked for the Parasite.
I closed my eyes for a second.
[CONCEALMENT PROTOCOL: DEEP HIBERNATION.]
The Parasite stopped moving. It stopped my heart. Stopped my mana flow.
For five seconds, I became clinically dead.
The scanner beeped.
[READING: HUMAN. VITAL SIGNS: LOW (EXTREME FATIGUE).]
The guard looked at the result.
"Sir, your blood pressure is very low."
"I've been driving for three weeks in the middle of the apocalypse, soldier. You would be dead. Open the gate."
The Parasite "rebooted" my heart with a painful jolt. I disguised the grimace of pain as impatience.
The guard stepped back and signaled the booth.
"Opening Gate 4 for Helix priority transport!"
The golden light barrier hummed and opened, creating a safe tunnel.
Valéria shifted into first gear. The truck moved forward slowly.
We passed through the barrier.
The sensation was like walking through an electric waterfall. The hairs on my arms stood up. The Parasite hissed in discomfort, but went undetected.
And then, we were inside.
The shock was immediate.
The city's air conditioning was perfect: a constant 22°C (71.6°F), smelling of jasmine.
The streets were smooth black asphalt, pothole-free.
There were people on the sidewalks. Normal people.
Children eating ice cream. Executives talking on transparent cell phones. Couples walking dogs that were not skeletons or monsters.
They wore colorful, clean clothes. There were no visible weapons.
They didn't look at the sky with fear. They lived as if the world outside hadn't ended.
"It's... disturbing," whispered Luna, looking out the window. "Don't they know?"
"They know." I pointed to a giant screen on the facade of a government building.
The screen showed edited footage of "Heroes" fighting monsters on the border. The caption read: Our Brave Protectors keep Barbarism away from Civilization.
"They know danger exists," I continued. "But they think they are safe. They think Sovereignty is benevolent."
"Where are we going?" asked Valéria, driving carefully so as not to run over a street-sweeper robot cleaning the gutter.
I pulled out the data drive.
"The Helix lab was in the Northern Hospital Sector. But the 'Beacon' my father mentioned... is in the Metropolitan Cathedral."
I pointed to the horizon.
The Cathedral of Brasília, with its hyperboloid structure and stained glass, dominated the landscape. But it wasn't just concrete and glass anymore.
There was a tower of solid light shooting from the top of the Cathedral, piercing the dome and rising into space.
It was the pillar that sustained the barrier. And, according to my father, the pillar calling the aliens.
"Security there must be insane," said Gristle, peeking through the armor slit.
"Yes. But today we're lucky." I pointed to the banners spread along the avenue.
They read: "Grand Mass of the Ascension - Presence of the Emperor Pontiff".
"A party." I smiled. "Sovereignty loves a party. And where there's a crowd, there's distraction."
"Let's park in the Commercial Sector underground," I instructed. "Luna, you need to find us civilian clothes. Rich, shallow people clothes. Gristle... you're going to have to stay in the truck. Sorry, but Orcs aren't allowed in the VIP area."
"Fine." Gristle sharpened her cleaver. "If someone tries to give me a ticket, I cut the ticket book. And the hand with it."
The truck entered the parking garage.
We turned off the engine. The silence of the parking lot was broken only by the hum of electric cars.
We had passed through the gates of hell, only to discover that hell had shopping malls and mowed grass.
Now, we needed to find the Devil. And he probably lived in the Cathedral.
"Welcome to Utopia," I said, unlocking my weapon. "Let's see how long it takes for us to start dirtying the carpet."
