São Paulo has a curious way of telling you you're not welcome. Sometimes it's the cold rain that starts out of nowhere, sometimes it's the bus that drives right past you. Today, however, the message came in digital format.
I was sitting on a red plastic stool in front of a dogão[1] stand nearVergueiro station[2]. The smell of mashed potatoes and vinaigrette masked, at least a little, the odor of ozone my right arm insisted on exhaling when I was nervous.
Beside me, invisible to the fry cook and the passing students laughing, was Faísca. The spirit in the shape of a dog was "resting," looking like a cloud of golden dust in a canine shape. Every now and then, he pricked up his translucent ears, monitoring the radio waves and the intentions around us.
"Are you telling me this light mutt can sniff out Wi-Fi?" Lucas asked, biting into his sandwich with the voracity of someone who hadn't eaten in two days.
"He sniffs intention, Lucas. And apparently, data trafficking with malice has a specific smell." I took a sip of my soda, feeling my stomach growl. I hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. The war economy had begun.
I took the digital recorder out of my pocket and slid it across the greasy metal table.
"Here it is. Alencar's lawyer trying to bribe me. He threatened my scholarship, my internship, and insinuated that the 'accident' at the construction site was my fault."
Lucas wiped mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth and picked up the device as if it were a ticking time bomb.
"This is gold, Dayanne. But it's radioactive."
"What do you mean? It's proof! Put it on the internet. Send it to the Public Prosecutor."
Lucas sighed, putting the recorder in his backpack next to his Fervor-infused equipment.
"You are very 'Aureus,' you know? You think truth alone illuminates everything." He lowered his voice. "The Alencar family doesn't just play with shadow magic. They play with algorithms. If I post this now, in ten minutes they'll take down the link, sue the platform, and unleash an army of bots to say the recording is a deepfake created by a vengeful student who lost her scholarship."
I felt my blood boil. Injustice has a bitter taste.
"Then what is it good for?"
"It's reserve ammo." Lucas winked. "I'm not releasing it on the open web. I'm going to drop it on the Deep Web, in forums for Awakened and investigative journalists who cover the underworld. I'm going to make the info leak from the bottom up. It'll take time, but when it pops, it'll be organic. They won't be able to erase everything."
Faísca suddenly stood up. His glow flickered from calm golden to a trembling orange. He growled at Lucas's cell phone, which was on the table.
"What is it, boy?" I asked.
Lucas's phone screen lit up on its own. It wasn't a call. It was a system notification, but the icon was a stylized skull made of black pixels that seemed to drip down the screen like pitch.
Lucas grabbed the device quickly, typing a lockout sequence.
"They're tracking," he said, tense. "Not by GPS, but by spiritual signature. Vitor must have passed your 'frequency' to some technomage on their payroll. We need to leave. Here."
I jumped up. The cook gave me a dirty look.
"What about payment?" he shouted.
I pulled my debit card from my pocket. It was the rent money, but I had no choice. I tapped the card on the machine.
NOT AUTHORIZED.
I tried again.
BALANCE BLOCKED BY ISSUER.
I froze. I looked at Lucas.
"They froze my account."
Lucas threw a crumpled fifty-real bill on the counter—probably all the cash he had—and pulled me by my left arm.
"Let's go. Now."
We ran into the crowd onAvenida Paulista[3]. The sensation of being hunted in the middle of thousands of people is terrifying. Every face looked suspicious. Every shadow cast by the buildings seemed to hide an Umbra observer.
"Where are we going?" I asked, panting. Faísca ran beside us, guiding us through the blind spots of security cameras, barking silently when we needed to turn a corner.
"My house isn't safe. They probably already have my IP." Lucas stopped near the entrance of the Consolação subway station. "Dayanne, there's something else."
He showed me his phone screen, which now displayed news from a real estate portal.
"Solar do Bixiga Building bought by Alencar Group for downtown revitalization. Residents have 24 hours to vacate due to severe structural risks."
The Solar Building. My studio apartment.
I felt my legs go weak. It wasn't a magical attack. It wasn't a smoke monster. It was the power of money shaping reality, just as efficient as any spell from Aureus or Umbra.
"They bought my building..." I whispered. "Just to get me out."
"It's a siege tactic." Lucas held my shoulders. "They want to leave you homeless, penniless, and without support. They want you to get desperate. Because desperation leads to hate. And hate..."
"Hate would make me fall to Umbra's side," I finished, the realization hitting hard. "Or it would weaken my bond with Aureus. They want me to break my Code."
I looked at the busy avenue. I was a Chosen. I could conjure lassos of light capable of stopping trucks. I had a guardian spirit. But I had nowhere to sleep.
The irony was cruel. I fought to save the city, but the city was being bought to crush me.
Faísca approached and rested his head on my leg. His warmth was comforting. He didn't care about bank accounts. To him, I was still worthy.
I took a deep breath, swallowing the tears.
"Lucas, I won't break." My voice came out shaky but firm. "They can take my home, my scholarship, and my money. But they can't take what I am."
"And what are you now?" Lucas asked, worried. "Because 'vet student' doesn't cut it anymore."
I looked at my reflection in the glass of a closed bank. A girl in a denim jacket, dirty boots, and a look that had already seen the abyss.
"Now?" I adjusted the sleeve over my arm of light. "Now I'm the problem they can't buy."
Lucas smiled, nervous.
"Okay, Ms. Problem. I know a place. It's a 'squat'—an occupation of artists and hackers in an abandoned warehouse inBarra Funda[4]. The place is protected by sigils andgambiarras[5]. We hide there, eat instant noodles, and plan the counterattack."
"An occupation?" I raised an eyebrow. "My mom would have a heart attack if she knew."
"Welcome to the resistance, country girl."
We went down the subway stairs, blending into the mass of tired workers. I had no keys left in my pocket, just a recorder, a hacker friend, and a dog made of light.
The war had taken my comfort. In exchange, it gave me freedom. And someone with nothing to lose is too dangerous.
[1] In Brazil, a "dogão" is a popular and affectionate name for a hot dog, though with many regional variations. It's characterized by a sausage in a bun, usually with sauce and toppings such as mashed potatoes, vinaigrette, corn, peas, potato sticks, cheese, and sometimes even shredded chicken or exotic ingredients like palm oil, depending on the city.
[2] Vergueiro Station is a metro station on Line 1-Blue of the São Paulo Metro, located on Rua Vergueiro.
[3] Avenida Paulista is the beating heart of São Paulo, an emblematic thoroughfare that is simultaneously a major financial center, a vibrant cultural hub (with museums like MASP, cinemas, and theaters), and an important space for leisure and gatherings, especially on Sundays when it closes to cars and becomes a large pedestrian walkway for demonstrations and events.
[4] Barra Funda is a neighborhood located in the municipality of São Paulo. Part of it belongs to the Barra Funda district, in the western zone, and part to the Santa Cecília district, in the central zone of the city.
[5] Gambiarra is a Brazilian-Portuguese term for ingenious, makeshift, or improvised solutions to problems, often using limited resources, involving creative reuse, and prioritizing functionality over aesthetics.