After Samira left, he slammed a violent punch into the wall. Head down, a manic smile began to creep across his lips. It was as if anger, anguish, and pain were at once a poison and a perverse relief. It consumed him and satisfied him in a frightening way.
About an hour later…
Bruno came down from the office stairs and, his voice steady, called everyone's attention in the market:
— Listen up, people. Today we rest and try to cool off, but tomorrow… tomorrow we start planning. Because the world we knew is gone, and what's left is only who's here now.— He paused, watching the tense faces around him before continuing: — I'll be straight with you: from what I saw out there, I think all the adults got infected and turned into those things. Whoever was a kid and close to them… well, they were either eaten or bitten and infected. So today you can take the day to grieve however you need. Cry, scream, do what you must. But tomorrow morning, we organize. That's the only way we survive.
Silence fell over the place. Daniel was the only one who dared break it:
— Hey, Zé, don't be dramatic. Where'd you get that idea?
Bruno looked at him sideways. His gaze was icy, empty, expressionless. In a blunt voice he answered:
— I got it from the pile of bodies I had to clear to get here.
Bruno's words hit the group like a crushing weight. No one challenged him after that. Instead, people spread out through the market looking for something to do—anything to distract themselves from the pain and the reality they'd just heard. Some cried quietly; others couldn't hold back the sobs. The night dragged on, and many couldn't sleep.
Bruno, meanwhile, shut himself in the office. He spent the whole night in front of a mirror, staring at his own reflection with hatred. Rage burned in him, fed by the unbearable guilt of being responsible for his mother's and sister's deaths. For hours he was consumed by a whirlwind of dark emotions, until dawn began to break on the horizon.
When the sun finally rose, Bruno was utterly exhausted. It was his second night without sleep. Around 7:30 a.m., he sat motionless in a chair, staring into nothing. His mind repeated a torturing mantra: Why can't I feel anything anymore? It's like I'm dead inside. He couldn't smile, cry, or show any expression at all. His pale face looked like that of a corpse.
Meanwhile, downstairs, the group began to get up, just like Bruno had ordered the night before. But since he hadn't come down from the office, Alonso raised the question:
— You think he's still sleeping up there?
Guilherme, already impatient, answered:
— I'll go wake him up. And if he is actually asleep, I'm gonna throw water in his face!
Before he could move, Samira intervened:
— If I were you, I wouldn't do that. If he's asleep and you wake him like that, he's gonna hit you.
Guilherme, confident and sneering, shot back:
— Oh please. He's the one who told everyone to get up early. Now let's see him come downstairs!
Pedro jumped into the conversation, backing Guilherme:
— Yeah, Gui. Let's wake that asshole up. I wanna hear him say something. If he talks back, I'll break him.
The two went up the stairs determined. But as they neared the office door, they were stopped by a strange sound — a low, broken laugh, edged with a manic tone that sent a chill down both their spines.
***
In front of the bathroom mirror inside the office, Bruno stared at his reflection with eyes that might as well belong to someone else. He made demonic faces, testing the limits of what he saw, while a low, disturbing laugh escaped his lips. Since he couldn't feel anything anymore, he wanted to see how far he could go—how far he'd have to go, how many lives he'd have to take to find out if he could still feel anything at all.
The face in the glass looked like a stranger's. He leaned in closer, studying every detail as if searching for something that would confirm who he really was. A cold, emotionless smile settled on his mouth, and his empty gaze seemed to swallow whatever scrap of humanity might have been left.
It was strange, almost fascinating, what was happening to him. He couldn't tell whether he was broken or finally freed from everything that had held him. But as he kept staring, a thought formed and slipped out in a whisper to his reflection:
— How fascinating… No matter how many times I replay the scenes of the people I killed in my head, I still can't feel anything.
Bruno smirked at the corner of his mouth, as if he'd found a joke only he could understand. The man in the mirror was no longer him—he was something colder, crueller, more free.
***
Guilherme climbed the office stairs where Bruno was, moving with a lazy, careless swagger. As he got closer to the door, he started hearing strange laughter—broken by abrupt pauses, a weird mix of desperation and madness. He stopped for a moment, one hand on the banister, and turned to Pedro with a crooked grin. The Askov Blueberry he'd been sipping all morning made his words slow and slurred:
— Man, PH… this dude's totally gone crazy, bro!
Pedro took a long drag from the joint still between his fingers, exhaling smoke through his nose as he chuckled. He was trying to escape the reality of the previous night, but the weed was a weak anesthetic against the images hammering his mind. Still, he shot a playful look toward the office door and fired back:
— No lie, he must be tripping in there. Hey, Gui… you think Zé's got some wild weed in there?
Guilherme knocked three firm times on the door, calling out:
— Yo, Bruno, show your face, man!
For a moment silence fell, then the door eased open. Bruno stood on the other side—eyes red as coals, his face pale and carved by exhaustion. He looked like he was somewhere far away, beyond the market, beyond this reality. Guilherme and Pedro stopped laughing for a beat, taken aback by his condition, but Pedro couldn't keep it up for long. Trying to hide his unease with a joke, he asked with a half-nervous grin:
— Jesus, man… what did you smoke, Zé?
Bruno didn't answer right away. He just stared at Pedro with an empty look that carried something dark—something that made their earlier laughs sound ridiculous. When his voice finally came, it was low and weighed with a chill neither cousin expected:
— Nothing…
The tone hit so cold and direct that Pedro's smile vanished instantly. Guilherme scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable, and said nothing.
Feeling an enormous disconnect from reality—even with Pedro and Guilherme right in front of him—Bruno barely processed their taunts. Intrigued by the hollow feeling inside him, he murmured to himself, barely audible:
— There's something wrong… what the hell is this?
But Pedro and Guilherme, still riding their mockery, didn't notice anything off about Bruno. To them he just looked completely baked—maybe he'd smoked all night. Ignoring the absence of any smell of weed or booze coming off him, Pedro laughed and said to his brother:
— Look at him, Gui, the guy's toasted!
Guilherme, holding back a laugh, shot back sarcastically:
— For real, dude! Hey, Bruno, you gotta share that good stuff with us too, damn!
Bruno lifted his eyes slowly, not bothering to hide the contempt in his expression. The coldness radiating from his stare was enough to make Pedro look away, uncomfortable. Guilherme, trying to ease the tension, raised his hands as if calling for a truce.
— Hey, man… chill. We're just messing around. C'mon, everybody's been waiting on you for a while now.
Bruno didn't answer right away. He only shifted his gaze, glancing quickly at the group downstairs before replying in a clipped, dry tone:
— Yeah… let's go, then.
Each step down the stairs seemed to carry the weight of iron. It wasn't just his body dragging — it was the burden of guilt, exhaustion, and whatever else was eating away at him. When he finally reached the group, silence fell like a curtain. All eyes turned to him — the dark rings under his eyes, almost black, betrayed two sleepless nights. His voice, when it finally came, was low, hoarse, and his distant, hollow gaze cut through everyone as if he wasn't really seeing them at all.
But nobody dared comment. They were broken too, each of them clinging to silence as the only shield against collapse.
Reidner, arms crossed, was the one to break the tension. He stepped closer, studying the worn-out face of his friend, and spoke with a mix of irony and genuine concern:
— So, what's the move, Las Vegas? And just to be clear… you sure you're in shape to lead anything today?
Before Bruno could even respond, Alicia, leaning against a shopping cart, raised an eyebrow. The strange nickname caught her curiosity, and she cut in with a voice sharp with intrigue:
— Reidner, why the hell are you calling him "Las Vegas"? That's such a weird nickname.
On the other side, Alonso couldn't help himself. He let out a muffled laugh, the kind that comes from someone who already knows the story and still finds it hilarious.
— Go on, Reidner… tell them.
Meanwhile, Bruno stood motionless. He didn't react, didn't explain, didn't even twitch. The same cold, lifeless stare stayed fixed on his face, as if nothing around him mattered. His body was there, among them — but his mind was wandering somewhere far darker, someplace unreachable to anyone else.
Reidner didn't notice the weight of the moment. Just like the others, he hadn't realized how much worse things were about to get, or how deep the changes running through Bruno had already cut. Finding the mood a bit lighter, he decided to brush off his friend's strange behavior and launched into the story, grinning:
"Man, this one's priceless! So, back when he was younger, Bruno used to ride this two-wheeled skateboard… off-road. On dirt, dude! Who the hell thinks skating on dirt is a good idea? And the only thing I could compare him to was this nutcase from a series I used to watch. The guy's nickname was Las Vegas… total weirdo, out of his mind, always spaced out. Oh, and I don't know if Alonso remembers, but one time at my place, Bruno said he never had a nickname and dared me to come up with one for him…"
Most of the group burst out laughing, while Bruno stayed perfectly still, watching with no trace of emotion. But his response came out cold as ice:
"Damn, Reidner… you're such an asshole."
Guilherme, drunk and out of it, laughed so hard he slapped Bruno's arm, blurting out:"Man, that's hilarious!"
And in that instant, something inside Bruno snapped. An overwhelming fury consumed him, far too big for the moment. His face twisted, the veins in his neck bulged, and then he erupted:
"Shut the fuck up already! Goddamn it! Cut this bullshit! We need focus here, no more stupid laughs, no more clowning around! Listen to me, every single one of you, you sons of bitches!"
The impact of his words slammed into the room like a punch to the gut. Silence. Everyone froze. Alonso, who had been holding back his laughter out of respect, forced a serious tone:"Alright, Bruno. Go on."
But Bruno looked like he was about to collapse. A wave of dizziness hit him, fierce and sudden, as if his strength was draining away. Still, he refused to show weakness. He clenched his fists, his body rigid, his eyes locked forward.
After several long seconds of heavy silence, he finally spoke:
"Here's the deal. We need organization. And for that, we need a leader."
All eyes locked on him, the levity gone.
"We need a search party. Anyone in that group will have to specialize in surviving out there. You'll need to learn rescue techniques in case someone gets trapped or lost. And before you ask—yes, the time to do this is now, while we still have electricity and internet to learn from. Got it?"
He drew in a breath, steadying himself against the exhaustion, but his voice didn't waver.
"One more thing: we need people managing supplies. And someone else watching over this place. Daily patrols, no exceptions. Every single day, we have to be sure this place is secure. This is not a game. Do you understand?"
The faces around him hardened, processing the weight of his words. The lightness was gone. The laughter, extinguished.
Camille folded her arms, studying Bruno with sharp, analytical eyes. On the surface, she looked like any other young woman, but her mind was racing. She liked the idea of organization, but his unstable behavior and that hollow stare unsettled her. He was clever, and despite his worn-out appearance, he still commanded everyone's attention. And that made him dangerous.
"If he takes charge, it won't be long before he starts abusing it," she thought.
She knew the group would probably accept Bruno as leader without question. After all, he'd done more than anyone to keep them alive up to this point. But that was exactly what troubled her. Camille decided she needed to act before it was too late.
Her plan began to take shape: turn Bruno's ego against him. It was obvious he hated forcing people to obey without a solid reason. But his vanity? That was a weakness she could exploit.
With a faint, almost careless smile, she cast the bait:"Let me guess… and the leader would be you, right? The best one here, obviously?"
The jab made Bruno lift his chin, as if he'd been waiting for the question all along. He truly believed no one there had done more for the group than he had. His pride, always lurking beneath the surface, flared up at the chance to assert himself. With a voice steady and just shy of arrogant, he replied:"Of course! Because if we're all still safe here, I can say without a doubt—it's because I'm that damn good!"
He stepped forward, staring directly at Camille, daring anyone to challenge him."Directly or indirectly, I LED ALL OF YOU TO THIS POINT! So yeah, I'm the best one for the job."
Camille kept her smile, though inside she felt a surge of triumph. He had taken the bait, exactly as she'd planned. His overreaction would be the first spark to sow doubt among the others.
Masking her disdain, she answered calmly, measuring each word:"Oh, of course… no doubt. I just hope everyone else agrees with you as easily as you do. After all, trust and leadership aren't just declared—they have to be earned, don't they?"
Bruno narrowed his eyes, sensing something hidden in her words that he couldn't quite pin down. But instead of reacting, he stayed silent. Camille had played her move on the board. Now it was only a matter of time before the others began questioning Bruno's role—and, with luck, stopping him from tightening his grip on power completely.
Camille smirked subtly, pleased to see her provocation taking effect. She quickly noticed from the expressions around her that Bruno had just undermined his own chances of leadership. Every laugh, every mocking glance, was another victory for the plan she had been weaving.
"Yeah… humility isn't exactly your strong suit, huh?" Camille said, her tone dripping with sharp irony.
Edvaldo didn't miss the chance to chime in with a loud laugh, following it with a joke that hit Bruno squarely:"You're crazy, Zé! I don't want a leader who rides a skateboard on dirt!" He guffawed, and the others joined in, the sound echoing through the room, making it clear Bruno had lost the group's approval.
With every laugh, Bruno's expression grew darker. His fists clenched, his jaw locked, and he seemed on the verge of exploding.
Camille seized the moment, laughing along with the others. Between chuckles, she jabbed:"All you do is spew ego and hate… What do you call it? Oh right. Humility is missing, my dear. Maybe a little love for the people around you… and, of course, a good dose of screws loose in that empty head of yours."
Her words hit their mark. Bruno lifted his gaze, eyes blazing with fury. But he didn't miss the chance to strike back. With a venomous smirk, he retorted:"Fine, little black girl, if you want my love so badly, just kneel or get on all fours, and I'll give you my best. The purest, most beautiful white love."
The sarcasm and venom in his tone made everyone hold their breath for a moment. Gabriel Francisco, eyes wide and barely able to contain his laughter, was the first to break the silence:"Daaaamn, man! He's seriously pissed, huh?" He laughed so hard he almost lost his breath.
Camille, however, remained unfazed. With the same confident edge as before, she countered:"You don't even have it, Bruno. What exactly are you going to do with nothing?"
The room erupted into laughter. Guilherme, always ready to stoke the fire, laughed loudly while mocking him further:"Yeah, Cole, non-existent dick! Hahaha!"
Bruno snapped. Anger bubbled inside him like molten lava ready to explode. He shouted, his voice hoarse and full of rage:"Yeah, you faggots! You've got Patati Patatá shoved right up your ass, huh?"
The brief silence that followed was broken only by the heavy sound of his breathing. He stared each of them down, one by one, before finally declaring:"Fine. Do whatever you want. But remember this when everything goes to hell. You're all screwed! Go fuck yourselves!"
Daniel, wearing a grin that screamed mischief, broke the silence:"Whoa, he's all fired up… just because he's got no dick! Look at that, guys!"
Bruno, crimson with anger, felt his blood boil from losing the chance to lead the group. Before leaving, he paused in the middle of the circle, his gaze cutting through each person there. With one hand resting provocatively, he sneered:"Mad, huh? You worthless bastards wanna test this theory? Go ahead, grab my balls, idiots. That way you'll be sure! Just don't freak out at my massive anaconda."
The group held their breath for a moment, but Camille, as always, didn't let it slide. Her voice dripped with irony:"That's how I take you down, Bruno. Showing everyone you're not cut out to lead. Kisses, loser."
Bruno let out a scornful laugh, taking a step forward:"Careful, Camille. Don't get scared and piss yourself, alright?"
The remark hit like a dagger. Camille clenched her teeth, trying to maintain her composure, but a vein throbbed visibly on her forehead, betraying her anger. Meanwhile, Daniel and Edvaldo, always eager to stir trouble, added fuel to the fire with low comments and laughter.
Alicia, watching from a distance, saw Bruno storm up the stairs toward the office, his fury evident in every brusque movement. Reidner, spotting an opportunity, tried to calm the situation—but with a clear agenda to take control of the group. Using his charm, he spoke:"Alright, everyone, I get it, we're joking and all… but the thing is, what he said kinda makes sense. So, how do we handle this?"
Daniel shrugged, raising his hands as if washing them of any responsibility:"I don't know about you guys, but I'm not cut out to lead anyone."
Reidner then turned to João, who had been quietly isolated in a corner, too silent to go unnoticed. He asked:"And you, Jão? You've been all depressed. What do you think?"
João Paulo lifted his eyes but said nothing. He simply turned and walked away in silence. His mind was trapped in a cycle of torment, unable to escape the memories of what he had done to his sister. He couldn't stop wondering whether she had already been infected at the moment he struck her with the knife.
Step by slow step, João made his way to the fridge stocked with drinks. He opened it with unnecessary force and grabbed a Skol Beats and a lime-flavored Askov. Saying nothing, he headed up to the office, knowing he would find Bruno there. João felt an urgent need to vent, and he knew he could only unleash it if he drank in the company of his friend.
***
Entering the office, Bruno collapsed onto the floor, hands pressed against his head as if trying to contain an internal explosion. Tears streamed down his face, but when he wiped them away with the back of his hand, he froze. The liquid was crimson. Blood. Not sweat, not ordinary tears, but warm blood staining his face and dripping onto the floor.
An unbearable pain seared through his mind, a pulsing flame that seemed determined to tear his skull from the inside out. He wanted to scream, but no sound escaped. At the peak of the torment, something inside him broke. He felt something in his mouth, and when he spat it out, solid pieces hit the floor with a sharp, dry sound. Teeth?
Panic surged. He sprang to his feet and stumbled toward the bathroom, legs shaking, nearly tripping over himself.
In front of the mirror, he opened his mouth in a mixture of fear and urgency. His teeth were all there, each one soaked in blood, as if plunged into raw flesh. The initial relief that they were intact was immediately crushed when he noticed something was wrong. Some were larger, jagged, like sharp fangs ready to rip through flesh.
"What the fuck…?" he muttered, his voice trembling as violently as his hands.
He returned to the office, trying to convince himself he was hallucinating. But the floor was there, splattered with blood, with pieces that unmistakably looked like teeth scattered across it. Bruno swallowed hard, the taste of fear bitter on his tongue. He returned to the mirror, needing confirmation—and then the final blow hit him.
The reflection in the mirror was him. But it wasn't.
The body was the same, but the eyes staring back weren't his. Irises glowing red like burning embers, radiating an almost animal intensity, carrying a tangible, dark hatred that seemed to pierce the glass and coil around his soul. It was as if the mirror was showing a version of himself he didn't know—or maybe one that had always been there, waiting to emerge.
He leaned closer, examining every detail. The figure's skin was clean, hair slicked back perfectly, glistening unnaturally, the once curly locks now soaked and tamed, and the entire presence radiated power. This version of him was… flawless, commanding, almost magnetic.
Bruno laughed nervously, a broken, uneven sound. His eyes flickered between fear and fascination as he stared at the figure, which seemed to radiate everything he wanted to be.
"Son of a bitch… Look at those eyes. That hair. You're everything I wanted to be… A man who inspires fear just by being seen. Fuck… I'm shitting myself just looking at you, you beast…"
The laugh escaped again, now more controlled, as if trying to mask the growing terror. He pressed his hand against the mirror, eyes locked on that reflection, which was not just a reflection but a promise, a warning—a shadow of what was to come.