Three months might not seem like a long time in the history of the world, but in the geography of an illegal occupation in downtown São Paulo, it's a geological era.
The rain beat against the zinc roof tiles of The Hive, but now the sound wasn't accompanied by leaks. We had patched the roof. We had thermal insulation. And, most importantly, we had a perimeter.
I was sitting atop the metal walkway, observing the warehouse below. It was no longer a heap of trash and scared people. It was a base. There was a training area where Mel taught self-defense to rookies. There was Jão's workbench, full of toasters and PVC pipes being transformed into Infused Weapons. And there was Lucas's "Command Center"—now with six monitors and a server cooled by gambiarra.
My right arm rested on the railing. The light was off, but the skin (or what looked like skin made of photons) hummed with a constant frequency. I was halfway to the Third Circle. Aureus's power flowed through me not as a torrent, but as a deep river.
"Eleven o'clock patrol is back," Lucas shouted from below, without taking his eyes off the screens. "No incidents with shadows, but..."
"But?" I asked, descending the stairs with the ease of someone who already knew every rusty step.
"But the 'Copper Gang' and the 'Children of the Pixel' are getting into it again on Workshop Street."
I sighed.
This was the new reality. After we expelled the direct influence of Umbra and the Alencar family from the region, we created a vacuum. And in nature, vacuums are filled. Without an apex predator (the big Evil Spirits), the small fish started fighting amongst themselves.
There are thousands of Awakened in São Paulo. Common people—delivery drivers, nurses, thieves—who see the Spiritual Frontier but weren't Chosen by any god. They have no direct Gifts, nor Codes of Conduct. They use Fervor as currency and ammunition. And now, they were forming factions.
"I'll go," I said, grabbing my jacket.
"Take Faísca," Mel shouted from the mat, where she was pinning a boy twice her size. "Those Copper idiots got a batch of cursed ammo."
I whistled. Faísca, who was sleeping on top of a warm generator, materialized in his golden dust dog form and trotted over to me, tail wagging.
Workshop Street was three blocks from The Hive. It was a dark alley, full of car carcasses and oil puddles.
When I arrived, the fight was already underway.
On one side, three guys dressed in grease-stained overalls brandished wrenches that glowed with a sickly red light. They were the "Copper Gang," scrappers who used residual entropy to strengthen their tools.
On the other side, two kids in neon clothes and augmented reality glasses held modified tasers. The "Children of the Pixel." Street hackers who thought technology was the new magic.
"Drop the battery!" the Copper leader shouted, swinging an infused chain. "This area is ours! Anything with a spiritual charge here belongs to us!"
"Screw you, grease monkey!" the Pixel kid replied, firing a blue electric arc. "We found it first!"
Between them, lying on the ground, was a small object: an ancient statuette, probably charged with Fervor by years of worship in some forgotten temple, now serving as a "battery" for whoever grabbed it.
They were going to kill each other for it. Awakened killing Awakened for crumbs of power. Chaos reigning where there should be cooperation.
"Aureus demands Order," I whispered to myself.
I didn't run. I just walked into the middle of the street, stepping out of the shadows.
"That's enough, guys!" my voice echoed, slightly amplified by the Gift.
The five of them stopped. When they saw me, fear replaced anger. They knew the denim jacket. They knew the "Cowgirl of Light."
"It's the Chosen," one of the Pixel kids backed away.
"This is none of your business, Dayanne!" the Copper leader growled, though he didn't advance. "You control the Port, not the scrap."
"I control the peace in my neighborhood," I retorted. "You're making noise. You're attracting the attention of the mundane police and, worse, wasting Fervor on a cockfight."
"We need the battery!" the Copper leader pointed to the statuette. "My crew is out of energy to maintain our squat's defenses. If we don't recharge the weapons, Umbra's spirits will get in."
"And we need it to run the server monitoring the South Zone!" the Pixel kid shot back.
That was it. They weren't villains. They were desperate survivors, fighting for scarce resources.
I couldn't just beat them up. That would be tyranny. But I couldn't let them kill each other. That would be negligence.
"Nobody takes the statuette," I said.
I raised my right hand. The light shone under my sleeve, intense, golden, authoritative.
"Tether: Net."
I threw the lasso, but it split in the air into five thin threads. They didn't catch the combatants' necks, but wrapped around their weapons. With a sharp tug, I ripped the wrenches and tasers from everyone's hands. The weapons flew and landed at my feet.
"Hey!" they protested.
"You want energy?" I asked, walking to the statuette. I picked up the object. It vibrated with a decent spiritual charge. "You're going to learn to generate energy, not steal it."
I held the statuette and, channeling my own Fervor (which I accumulated protecting The Hive daily), injected an extra charge into it. The statuette glowed brightly.
"Lucas has a barter system at The Hive. You bring clean scrap, we recharge your weapons in exchange for community service. Street cleaning, watch duty, transport."
I tossed the statuette to the Copper leader.
"Split that charge. And show up tomorrow at The Hive. If I see you fighting again, I'll tie everyone to a lamppost until sunrise. Understood?"
They looked at each other. The offer of safe recharging in exchange for work was better than dying from a knife wound in an alley.
"Fine..." the Copper leader grumbled, pocketing the statuette. "But tell your hacker not to try and steal my data."
They dispersed, vanishing into the rain.
Faísca barked, proud. I picked up the weapons from the ground to return later (or confiscate, depending on my mood).
I walked back to The Hive with a bitter feeling. I had stopped the fight, yes. I had imposed Order. But at what cost? I was becoming the "sheriff" of a spiritual Wild West.
Upon entering the warehouse, Lucas was waiting for me with a look like he'd seen a ghost.
"Resolved?" he asked.
"For now. They're going to become workforce."
"Good, because we're going to need it." He turned the monitor to me. "Dayanne, a message came in. Encrypted, secure channel."
"From whom? Alencar?"
"No." Lucas adjusted his glasses. "From a faction calling themselves 'The Syndicate.' They say they represent the commercial interests of the neutral Awakened in São Paulo. And they want a meeting with 'The Cowgirl.'"
"What do they want?"
"They said your 'Order' is hurting business. And that if you keep handing out protection for free... they're going to have to intervene."
I sat on the crate, feeling the weight of the world. I had defeated monsters, but now I had to face something much more complex: politics and magical capitalism.
"Tell them the meeting is set," I said, taking off my wet boots. "But tell them to come unarmed. Because my lasso doesn't know how to negotiate."