"One more bite!" they chanted. "One more bite!"
He keeled over, head on the ground, as his next round of vomit pooled with blood. He wished the spectators had the gull to use their guns. But death would have been too merciful. They knew that.
Someone pulled him up by his hair. "One more bite!" Abílio stuck a cell phone in his face. "Unless you wanna lose the other eye!"
He gripped his stomach. He mouthed 'sorry' again, then took another bite of the heart. The crowd cheered.
"Chew up!" Abílio pushed his jaw up and down, then held it shut until he swallowed. "It's a good thing your brother died when he did, or you'd have starved!" When Abílio let go, he keeled over once more, bile of red and yellow spilling out.
Abílio knelt beside him. In a low voice, he uttered, "When you die, know that there was only yourself to blame." He turned the phone on himself. "This is the price you pay! We won't stop until every Comando Bruto dog is dead, and their brains on a stick!" He pointed it back at the hostage. Abílio motioned to the gangsters surrounding him.
One of them thrust at his shoulder with a machete. He cried out as others stepped on and pulled his arm against the blade. The cutter stomped on his machete, cracking through bone.
Beyond prison walls and lines of police, the negotiator pushed the phone away, not wanting to watch the rest. It wasn't working, but he had to keep trying. It was the only thing he could do. Their only demands were food and technology for entertainment. They were making themselves at home.
The supply trucks arrived, passing by the police perimeter and through the prison gates. They drove under lines of shirtless inmates waving assault rifles and submachine guns.
Before reaching the gangster-filled garage, somebody dropped from underneath a truck, rolling across the dirt road. Under the cover of an abandoned guard checkpoint, he ran to the side, scaling a chain link fence and dropping into the prison's surrounding gutter.
Agent 47 splashed into the flowing current of feces and blood. He huffed; his suit was not going to survive the mission.
As 47 waded through organs, severed heads, and huddled survivors sending silent pleas his way, his earpiece came to life. "Welcome to Manaus, Brazil. Your destination is the Caipora Federal Penitentiary, where a bloodthirsty riot has held the prison in a chokehold for the past three days. It has been overrun by Brazil's second most powerful drug gang: the Comando Venenoso.
"As recorded through smuggled cell phones, their motivation is abundantly clear: to kill every rival gangster detained at the prison. And they have made good on their promise. The Comando Venenoso has systematically exacted their drawn-out vengeance on other inmates, police officers, and rapists. They have taken a dozen hostages to keep the police at bay, and the situation has remained stagnant since their takeover.
"Your primary target is Abílio Moniz de Pais Vieira, a high-ranking leader of the Comando Venenoso, and instigator of the riot. He joined the gang at 17 years old, but over the years has grown nicely into their mold. After the previous leader, Marcelo Salgado Ruiz was assassinated not long ago, he took over the role. Shortly after, the truce between the Comando Venenoso and Comando Bruto ruptured.
"You will also need to eliminate the gang's two best assassins, known only as Coisa Um and Coisa Dois, respectively Thing One and Thing Two in English. The brothers have racked up over 300 kills—albeit comprising cheating SOs, small-time criminals, and the occasional rival gangster. They are loyal to Abílio and are suspected to be the key figures in his power plays, including this riot.
"The only reason they've fought for this long is because Abílio wants to gain access to the prison's western wing, which houses hundreds more Comando Bruto members. The negotiations will not make any progress until Abílio is out of the picture, and the violence will only get worse.
"This is a highly volatile and turbulent situation. The gang is willing to slaughter anyone in their way. Be very careful, 47."
Location: Manaus, Brazil
Targets: The Savage, The Torn, The Captive
A body was shoved through the courtyard's fence, rolling down the concrete slope. It bounced off a growing pile of corpses before splashing into the murky water.
47 lodged his foot into the mass, grabbing somebody's foot to pull himself up. Using the mound as a staircase, he gained enough height to jump and grab the top of the slope. Pulling himself over, he saw two gangsters hauling one of the many bodies littering the courtyard. 47 crawled through the hole in the fence, hurrying toward a smaller pile of mutilated cadavers.
"Hey, I recognize this guy."
"Really?"
"Yeah, he was in the cell next to me. The wall had these little holes in them, and, well... we sent these tiny little letters through there."
His partner laughed. "Cute. Shame he was just another Comando Bruto."
"Yeah... I just thought we had something good going on. I kind of hoped he made it out..."
"Hey, you're getting into dangerous territory. Remember what these guys did to Abílio's sister."
"Yeah. I know." The two kicked the body into the gutter.
47 took a shiv from a corpse's hand, tossing it at a different body. It clattered on the ground. The gangsters rose, fingers on the trigger. "Hey! Are one of you trying to make a fool out of us?"
As they surrounded a corpse, poking and prodding with a machete, Agent 47 crawled out of the body pile.
"Yeah, no, he's dead. Let's get back to work before Abílio blames us for the smell again."
Just as they turned, 47 slipped through the doors and into the building complex.
A slew of death greeted him. The lifeless and their viscera lay untouched, save for the nests of flies and maggots. Bits belonging to once-living individuals squished underneath 47's feet. He walked around five or so guards, passed out against the walls in slumber, clutching their weapons tight.
As he passed a cell charred black with over a dozen burnt skeletons crammed inside, the stench of rotten and smoked flesh wafted over. Although he couldn't see anyone now, the echoing yells and laughter told him what lay ahead.
"Hey! You better be watching us! If you don't open this door, your little friend here won't leave this spot alive!" The voice came from a metal door locked shut: the entrance to the west wing. A ring of gangsters held down a kneeling inmate. They looked up at the security camera, clearly not expecting anything to happen.
After a moment, the one holding the hostage yanked him back. "See? Comando Bruto doesn't care about you."
Someone else untied his gag, and the hostage coughed out blood and spit. As he reared up, though, he grinned. "You think you're doing something big? This is only the beginning! You're all going to see what war really is!"
The gangster with the machete clicked his tongue. "I know we couldn't agree on which part of him to cut off, but now I think we start with the tongue!" The others shouted in agreement.
The hostage's smile vanished as quickly as they mobbed him. They were so focused on tearing him apart, that nobody took notice of Agent 47 walking past them.
47 found his way to the eastern wing's cell block, where the riots began. It was two floors of prison cells lined against the wall. Like a twisted Monty Hall problem, leaking out of each cell was either char, pooling blood, or nothing at all. Running amok was a multitude of gangsters, dancing and chatting to gritty techno music.
47 kept to the second-floor railings. Most of the excitement happened below.
That wasn't to say there was nothing up here. Upon nearing the only populated cell on the floor, 47 dropped to a crawl. Two gangsters guarded the door, although clearly wished to be partying with the others. Their gazes drifted in and out of sleep.
"Please, brother," a voice in the cell pleaded, "you cannot fault me for my actions! Our loyalty is for Grandfather, not this arrogant brat!" The speaker was a man with a bag over his head and tied to a chair. He was placed on top of a mattress.
"This 'arrogant brat' saved our lives! He gave us our names." The other person in the cell stood across from him, tightening and untightening his fists. "I don't understand why you can't understand that Grandfather tried to kill us!"
"And I keep telling you, there must have been some reason! All we are in this gang are Abílio's lapdogs. At least Grandmother treated us like human beings back in the Shelter..."
47's earpiece came to life. "That is Coisa Um and Coisa Dois; the latter is tied to that chair. Odd. Intel indicated they were positively loyal to the gang, but something clearly happened. See if you can find out more."
Coisa Um left, blinking up at the air. He went to the staircase, his destination elsewhere from the east wing. When the guards bobbed their heads, 47 hurried after.
He stalked Coisa Um to the prison cafeteria to find a scene similar to the cell block. A party atmosphere settled in, with music and dances on top of tables. They gorged on food brought in from the trucks. All accompanied by dismembered corpses and death peppering the room.
On the other side of the cafeteria, a few people took to smoking.
In the kitchen, one gangster manned a telephone. He picked up a call to say, "Our stance hasn't changed. Thanks to your trucks, you saved the hostages' lives, good job, now leave us alone. We'll come back to you with new demands in a moment." He hung up before the speaker could say any more.
Amid the festivities, someone just finished separating the bagged head of an inmate from his body.
"That is Abílio Vieira, one of Comando Venenoso's top leaders and orchestrator of this riot. Although known for his animalistic cruelty and sadistic measures, he is only one of many in Brazil's gang world."
Abílio saw Coisa Um pushing his way through. Donning a plastic smile, he stopped his butchering to open his arms. "Coisa Um!" he called. "Good news, I hope?"
"I'm afraid you should lower your expectations." Both smiles faded. "Coisa Dois is not dead, yet."
Abílio pinched the bridge of his nose. "And why is that?"
"Before I could kill him... he said he knows something about Marcelo's assassination."
That caught Abílio's full attention. It was well known in the gang how tight he and the previous leader were. Nobody was ever concretely suspected of Marcelo's death. "So his treachery goes back further than we thought?"
Coisa Um nodded. "We need him alive for answers."
Abílio huffed, considering it. People would say anything to survive; that's something he taught his gang. Yet, there was always a chance for their words to come true. "I hope I can trust at least one of you. Coisa Dois will not go unpunished for trying to rat us out, and I pray that you don't follow in his footsteps."
Um forced a smile. "I told you, I'll deal with him. It's my responsibility as his brother."
Abílio smiled, patting his shoulder. "Good kid."
"Hey!" one gangster shouted. "Did you take my chips?!"
The person he accused threw a punch, and the party atmosphere quickly morphed into a fight. Abílio shook his head.
Behind the chaos, 47 clubbed one of the smoking gangsters with a glass bottle, dropping him to the floor. He searched his pockets, taking the lighter and his Uzi. 47 then dragged him next to a few of the corpses, where nobody would think twice if they saw the body.
Gunfire rang out, bringing everyone to a standstill. "Enough!" Abílio yelled, lowering his assault rifle.
Agent 47 returned to the cells, where he found the next thing he needed.
The gang's gasoline canisters were kept strewn about on the lower floor, amid the partying. But the guards on the second floor were more awake, this time around.
47 slipped into one of the empty cells where he noticed a crudely made poster laid against the back. It took some prying, but he ripped it off the wall to reveal a hole. The hole led into a dark opening; the space behind the walls.
Crawling inside, 47 met eyes with a couple of inmates huddled together, paralyzed with fear. He quietly walked around them, feeling the wall until he reached the other end. Light bled through a crack in the wall, so he took a loose pipe against the back and mined his way through.
With a new route taking him safely around the guards' eyes, 47 went out of the cell to the nearby staircase. Using a metal can he took from the cafeteria, 47 dropped a few bullets inside. He nestled the can on the fabric before lighting it on fire.
47 went through the tunnel to the other side of the hall. Upon reaching the opposite staircase, he pulled out the Uzi and squeezed the trigger. Bullets peppered the concrete walls, echoing across the hall. He dropped the gun.
Almost immediately after, gunfire boomed on the other side.
He heard the faint yells between gangsters to investigate. Flanked by the shots, the party split in half.
47 ran back over the walkways. The guards at Dois' cell faced toward the can's gunfire, allowing him to make it toward the center. While the gangsters below were diverted and spread apart, 47 hopped over the railing.
He landed in the middle of the hall, grabbing one of the gas canisters.
"The hell is going on?" Coisa Um shouted, turning around the corner. All he saw were the partying gangsters just as confused as he was, and the same old dead bodies.
Everyone spoke at once, walking toward Um. As they spoke, Agent 47 stopped playing dead and fled the other way. The gangsters from the hallway threw the can of bullet shells on the ground, accusing the group at the eastern wing entrance of pulling off the "shitty prank." While they argued, 47 walked calmly behind them.
47 made his way to the cell beside Coisa Dois', sidling against the wall and just barely out of the guards' field of view. Everybody was still shaken up by the gunshots, but each party of gangsters returning brought back a calm. It was made apparent there was no immediate threat, but only a "funny guy" on the loose.
In the cell, 47 found a hole in the wall big enough to fit a finger through. He planted the gasoline can against it, letting the fluid run loose.
Coisa Dois sniffed, grimacing at the smell. "If you're going to kill me, at least look me in the eye with a gun, you cowards!" he cried.
The guards looked at each other. "What the hell is he talking about?"
The ruckus with the gunfire ended as a mystery. Nobody knew who fired those shots, nobody died, and nobody cared. The gangsters were more than content to continue partying and desecrating the dead. Coisa Um never could get behind the idea of enjoying said acts of fun. It often felt like he and his brother were the only ones who shuddered at the thought.
In the hall between the cafeteria and the cell block—between his savior and his brother—Um stood idle, surrounded by gore and unmoving eyes that seemed to stare at him.
"Coisa Um!" one gangster called, rounding the corner. "Me and the boys found these two Comando Bruto guys hiding in the walls! Wanna have some fun with them before we go to the courtyard?"
Um would rather dwell on his decision. He paced around, avoiding looking at the gangster. Despite taking over the prison, he couldn't have felt any more trapped. The gangster called his name again. Deciding he couldn't ignore him any longer, Um turned around. "Be right there!" he said with a forced smile.
He came just in time to see his peers drag out a sobbing, pleading man by his knees, and the other carried by all limbs. Um stepped out of their way, thinking that he'd kill the survivors before his friends got too excited. But what caught his eye was their hiding spot.
It was a hole in the wall, leading into pitch black. It was almost a wonder that they got caught. Coisa Um stepped inside, marveling at the hidden space.
Something rustled in the corner. Um whipped around, pistol drawn at the stranger.
Sitting in the darkness was who Um assumed was another prisoner. Only when his eyes adjusted, could he make out his faint silhouette. The stranger stared back at him, wordless.
It was his fate in Coisa Um's hands—he lowered his gun. "I doubt anyone is gonna check in here again," he muttered. "Stay here. You're going to be one of the lucky ones."
Um almost headed away if his voice didn't give him pause. "That scar on your hand." It was calm; almost monotonous. Not at all like a petrified prisoner. "You've made a blood pact."
He shrunk back into the space, kneeling to match the stranger's level. Um put his hand in the light through the hole, revealing the scar. "So I have..." He clenched his hand. "My brother and I made one. It feels like a lifetime ago."
"You sound... lost."
"Trapped," he corrected. "You never realize what truly matters until they're at stake." Um looked out the hole, in his brother's direction. "My brother betrayed the Comando Venenoso. And it is because of him that I must choose between my family or the gang."
"Sounds like a clear choice."
Um chuckled. "I know, I know. The gangs are our future. They saved us, and the least we could have given them was loyalty."
"I was talking about your brother." His forced smile dropped in the second. "He's the last of your family, is he not? And now you're letting him die."
Um launched upward, letting the stranger see into the barrel of his gun. "We owe Abílio our lives, and my brother repaid him by ratting him out to the police! This is his fault! You think I want things to end like this? To have to make this decision against my family? How could you know what I'm going through?!"
"Because I killed all of mine."
Um's mouth quivered. Silence returned for several moments until he steeled himself to ask, "Did you feel... right? Like it was the correct thing to do?"
In the same, unfazed tone, he answered, "I felt nothing."
Nothing. Um buried his face in his hands. What good was a life as a blank slate of a weapon? He despised Grandfather for trying to turn him and his brother into exactly that. Only now did he realize Abílio merely wore a new disguise. "Damn it all."
Coisa Um locked eyes with the stranger for a moment, then glanced into the cell block.
He left him alone, knowing what he had to do.
Coisa Um approached his brother's cell, taking a breath. It was now or never. He knocked on the bars, catching the guards' attention. "I'm going to take care of things here. You two can go have your fun."
One of them sighed in relief. "Now you're talking! I knew you'd come around." They gladly left, ready to join in with the festivities.
Um walked into the cell. He scowled at how the mattress squished with gasoline for each step. He explicitly told the guards to leave Dois alone, even if they were only "preparing" for his supposed death.
"You told the guards off," Dois said, resigned. "So this is it? My resting place is in a cold, damp cell?"
Um ripped the bag off his face, watching his brother wince at the sudden light. Um set to work on the zip ties, sawing through them. "Brother?"
"We're going to talk later. This is no place to die."
Dois' hands snapped free. As he watched his fingers writhe, it finally dawned on him what was happening. Tears welled, and for the first time in a long time, he had hope. "Thank you... Thank you..."
While Um worked on his legs, Dois noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It was a bright light of orange. His breath quivered. "Brother, behind you!"
Coisa Um spun around just in time to see the bald stranger throw down a lighter. The yell that pierced the growing blaze was one of anger—and grief.
An explosion of fire erupted from the cell, licking the ceiling and scorching the cell on the other side. The gangsters on the floor below shielded themselves and fled as the air burned their skin. And, as quickly as it burst, the flames returned to their home in the cell.
Save for the music and flames, the wing fell quiet. From inside the adjacent cell, 47 heard someone shout to find out what happened. Footsteps shuffled around, and that was his cue to move.
"Coisa Um and Coisa Dois are eliminated," Diana said. "Now onto Abílio Vieira."
...
"Abílio!" someone cried, sprinting into the cafeteria. Everyone's eyes turned on him as he sputtered out the news. "It's Coisa Um and Dois... they're both dead!"
"What?" Abílio shot up, shoving his way past his men with a look of horror masking rage. "What happened?!"
"Dois' cell caught fire. Um was inside when it happened, and burned to death, too."
Rage turned to utter disbelief. "Everyone with me. Renato, stay on the phone!" In seconds, the cafeteria fell mostly quiet.
Renato helped himself to the kitchen's food. He had a simple task: keep up with the police negotiator. Not once did he imagine himself in any danger.
Agent 47 brought him down with ease, choking him out of consciousness. He grabbed his gun to replace the Uzi he left behind. After stuffing Renato into a chest freezer, he took to the phone. Dialing the contact, it didn't take long for them to pick up.
"We are surrendering," 47 said. "However, some of us aren't willing to back down. They're going to kill the hostages. Hurry." He hung up.
Beyond the prison walls, the negotiator spread the message to the chief. He took it in relief and a newfound spark of determination. Putting the radio to his mouth, he gave his order.
"And you're sure you saw nobody strange when the fire happened?" Abílio asked as they all re-entered the cafeteria.
"Other than Frederico making out with a body, no."
"So you're telling me that my most loyal and efficient killer died because he lit the cell on fire with himself in it?!"
"It was probably a suicide. The guy was hugging his brother."
Another laughed. "Plus, nobody is insane enough to mess with us, more or less come 100 meters near this place!"
He knew Um was hesitant when it came to Dois' fate, but enough to end it all? Something didn't feel right. Abílio lacked the luxury of time for thought, as he peered into the kitchen. "Where's Renato?"
Before anyone could answer, a gangster from the outer rim burst in. "The police are moving in! I think they're about to raid this place!"
Abílio's jaw hung. His peer's remark did not help. "They must've seen through your hostage bluff. I told you they're smarter than that," he said, reaching for Abílio's shoulder.
He slapped the hand away. "Let's see how far they're willing to push it." Abílio looked to two people at the back. "Tell Diego to stop torturing those guys he found! They will be our hostages, now." They nodded, running off to the cell block.
"We're going to start a livestream!" Abílio announced. "When they see we still have 'hostages' to spare, they will back off!"
The group lit up with anticipation as he took off. They followed after, eager to get to the roof.
The roof was the only spot in the prison where they could look over the concrete walls and into freedom. Vice versa, it was where nearby civilians could record anything happening. Already, there was a group of spectators gathering at the far hill.
Abílio got a hold of his new hostage in mostly healthy shape. They put a bag over his head and tied his limbs together. Abílio had to drag him across the prison.
"Please..." he pleaded. "I only joined to make money for my family."
"Same as me. Then you took my sister, you son of a bitch."
His gangsters followed behind, laughing and taunting the hostage. The heckling only increased tenfold when they ascended the stairs to the roof.
An army of Comando Venenoso awaited. His army of gangsters. Abílio waved to them all with a toothy grin, receiving cheers and jeers at the hostage, who shriveled up in a ball.
Abílio began recording on his phone. "I don't know which dog is egging you on to stop our fight for justice, but here's a reminder of what happens when you don't listen!"
He aimed the camera at the hostage. "My sister did not deserve a brother like me; I realized that. I prayed to God every day for her forgiveness. I have done terrible things for my family. But you! You Comando Bruto filth wanted me! So, what, did you declare war against us? Did you dangle one of our boys' heads like a Christmas light? No. You know what you did! You took the coward's way!"
As he yelled, the nearby guards could have sworn they saw water in his eyes. "Instead of fighting like men, six of you kidnapped Camila from her home. Six grown boys! You mutilated and raped her for two weeks. She had nothing to do with this life! And you bastards couldn't even give her the dignity of having an open casket funeral."
Abílio motioned for the crowd to come in, surrounding the hostage. They readied their machetes, standing around like a pack of wolves.
From an opening below the roof, Agent 47 threw a canister out. The pile of dead caught it. He aimed and fired.
First was the barrage of gunfire, sending every gangster into startled alertness.
Then an explosion. It sent a wave of heat so high up that everyone on the roof fell off their feet. As the fire ate up the rotting cadavers, it shone so brightly they had to squint. A plume of dark smoke filled the air, blocking the view of the roof from the outside.
Everyone ran to the edge in awe.
Abílio stayed behind them, preoccupied with the hostage.
Agent 47 grabbed a spinal cord, its accompanying head drooping beside it. Dripping a rapid stream of red, he locked onto the back of Abílio's head. Like a mace, he swung. The two skulls collided with a solid crack. Abílio toppled over in an instant. His phone clattered on the ground. 47 caught the unconscious gang leader's fall, laying him down gently.
He struck the hostage, too, knocking him out. 47 removed the bag, fastening it over Abílio instead. Using new cloth scraps, he tied Abílio's hands and feet together.
As soon as he was done, 47 grabbed Abílio's phone and dragged the hostage down the steps.
The fire wouldn't hold everyone's attention forever. Eventually, the line of spectators dissipated as people returned to their spots. One person noticed the slight change. "Where's Abílio?" he was first to ask.
A shared glance between the group of gangsters answered with nobody knowing. There was, however, the gift he left them. "Maybe something else came up, probably with Coisa Um and Dois. Shame he couldn't be here to watch this!"
The gangsters surrounded the hostage, and the clamoring became louder and louder. Cell phones were brought out, recording everything.
"Wake up, sleepyhead!" one gangster shouted, stepping into the ring. He thrust his machete into the hostage's foot, cutting into his ankle and splitting a bone.
Abílio snapped to life with a bloodcurdling yell. Breath in shambles, he flopped around like a fish against his ties. "What happened?" he cried. "What are you all doing?!"
"Good morning! You're going to die!" The first man turned to one of the cameras. "You police step another inch in here, and we gut the rest of the hostages! Just like this!"
He brought the blade down on Abílio's stomach. He cried out a guttural scream, feeling his insides gush free.
"You fools!" he cried, for once with horror besmirching his fearlessness. I'm your leader!"
"Yeah, and I'm your dad!"
Abílio curled up to a growing chant. "Vai morrer! Vai morrer!"
"I'll make you regret ever being born... You'll watch your limbs get devoured by dogs!"
"Oh no, I'm so scared!" He laid the edge of the machete against Abílio's neck.
"No! No! Don't you fucking dare!" Abílio squirmed more desperately than ever. Some more gangsters entered the ring, holding him down. Someone grabbed his loose foot, digging their finger inside into the open wound to his cries.
The first gangster struck with the machete. It lodged partway into his neck. Abílio twitched, gurgling as blood stained the bag.
He struck again, cutting through two-thirds of the way. Abílio stopped moving.
One more chop. His head rolled away. The crowd cheered.
"People say the stupidest shit when they're so desperate to live!" he said, laughing. The gangster held the bag up, showing off to each livestreaming camera.
The head slipped out. Everybody stopped laughing.
"Get those cameras away. Stop recording!"
...
Agent 47 left the actual hostage in a janitor's closet, closing the door to the sound of Diana's voice. "Abílio Vieira is confirmed killed. Good work. Time to find an exit."
47 was already on that, picking the lock into the prison's control room. Thanks to prior evacuations and enough locks and doors to prevent the rioters from reaching, his walk was a lax one.
Finding the terminal, he found two buttons: the one to release the prisoners of the western wing, and the one controlling the door between it and the east.
First were the west wing prisoners finding themselves free to roam. When the door between the east and west opened, it was as though the riot had started all over again.
All anyone could hear were screams, to the point where it was numbing to the ears. Nobody could walk ten steps without bumping into someone else. People swung machetes, sticking into others they couldn't even see. Gunfire peppered the crowds, but it was as if nobody dropped. People who did fall never got back up, buried by the stampede.
Agent 47, adorned in suit and tie, walked undisturbed down the middle.
From a hole in the concrete walls—the only real escape—the inmates spilled out like a flood, darting for the tree line.
The police captain shouted an order. A volley of bullets swept across the crowds, dropping the masses by heaps. Other gangsters hopped out the wall, firing back. The officers took cover behind their cars, focusing on the armed prisoners.
Having received confirmation of Abílio's death, the SWAT team at the entrance received their go-ahead, busting into the prison.
Agent 47 ducked into the trees. He wiped a blood splatter off his head, leaving the handkerchief in the corpse's pocket where he found it. In the same breath, he left the bloodshed in his footsteps.
"47," his earpiece rang, but it was not his handler who greeted him. "This is Clera. Diana is indisposed at the moment, but it has been decided for you to be part of an experimental program meant to enhance and monitor ICA operatives. You will need to fly to our black site for a minor surgery."
"And I don't get a say in this?"
"Diana signed you up for it."
"I would like to hear it from her herself."
There was a pause, followed by faint conversation. "I am sorry about that, agent." It was another voice, belonging to an older woman. "Diana is slogging through a pound of paperwork from the contracts I imposed on her. You are part of a group of operatives chosen by the board. a chip that will enhance one's mental capabilities; extra awareness, inhuman reactions, etcetera."
"I don't need it," he said without a moment's hesitation.
"I'm afraid it's not your decision to make." Myung gave them a pause, sensing 47's annoyance. Softening her tone, she continued. "There aren't any downsides, and you'll be under strict monitoring. At worst, nothing will change about you at all."
Agent 47 called a taxi. "Fine."
"Excellent. I've arranged a ride for you at the nearby airport. We'll see you soon, 47."
BRAZILIAN GANG ACCIDENTALLY EXECUTES LEADER IN PRISON RIOT
Violent prison riot ends in a shocking way!
The three-day riot at Manaus' Caipora Federal Penitentiary has ended with Brazilian police raiding the site. Casualties are estimated to range over 100 slaughtered inmates alone. The SWAT officers who infiltrated the prison have described the scene as "the worst thing I've ever seen."
The Comando Venenoso took over with the intent of killing as many rival gangsters as possible. Whoever they got their hands on, they hacked and mutilated with machetes and knives. Those whose cells they couldn't break, they poured gasoline in and burned them alive. One officer described finding a burnt cell with a charred corpse stuck hugging another on a chair.
The gang claimed to hold hostages, dissuading police from raiding the prison. It was thanks to one of their livestreams, however, that convinced the chief to end things.
A leader of the Comando Venenoso and the instigator of the riot, Abílio Vieira, was confirmed killed under extraordinary circumstances. His body was found mutilated and decapitated. Authorities initially believed that a mutiny took place in the riot's final day. However, recovered footage from inmate cell phones has revealed a more peculiar string of events.
Bagged and tied, the Comando Venenoso tortured and killed whom they thought was a Comando Bruto hostage. The 'hostage' cried that he was their leader and that they would regret killing him. Not believing him, the surrounding gangsters proceeded to execute him. They would show off the severed head to the camera when it fell out of the bag, revealing none other than Abílio Vieira. Silence ensues before it's demanded that everybody stop recording.
Authorities now believe the Comando Venenoso accidentally executed their leader. It is not known how Abílio ended up as a hostage, although the chaotic fallout of this act resulted in police being able to raid the prison and take its rioters by surprise.
Their rival gang, the Comando Bruto, has already taken to social media, openly mocking the events that unfolded...
"STUFFED ANIMAL" SHOCK VIDEO GOES VIRAL
The recording first began circulating in Muchtalk, where it would be shared by users disguising the first half with harmless, child-friendly videos. Upon reaching the second half, it would cut to a haunting snuff film with origins still unknown.
The video starts with a naked man tied to a chair, fallen on its side. The room is all metal, and barely lit. The floor is a grate, and blood can be seen dripping down into a dark area. He is covered in blood, especially his face, and heaving violently.
A second man donning a cartoon bear mask, who we know as "Teddy," enters the camera with a hammer. He drags the man closer to the camera, and then strikes the victim in the face repeatedly. Quiet groans can be heard after each hit.
A woman wearing a cartoon rabbit mask, known only as "Jackrabbit," comes into the frame. While Teddy attacks his face, she stabs at his body with a screwdriver. The victim twitches at each strike. Jackrabbit works her way to his head, where she chisels at his exposed skull. A crack is heard.
Teddy moves to the camera, joking and remarking how "he's still breathing, even after you dug up his brain."
Jackrabbit laughs, saying something inaudible in response.
Teddy grabs the camera, giving us a closer look at the man. They tore off his scalp, revealing a chunk of his fractured skull and brain matter. The victim lapses in and out of consciousness. Jackrabbit's hand pulls his head up, digging out one of his eyes with the screwdriver.
The video continues for another three minutes of torture. Teddy brandishes an axe, striking his head down the middle and killing him. Once he is dead, the two killers pose in front of the camera, embracing each other. The tape ends there.
The victim's face is heavily disfigured from prior injuries, making it impossible for authorities to identify him. An investigation into the video's background and location is still ongoing. If anyone has any information that could help authorities, please contact this number...
EGYPT'S BILLIONAIRE VAZIRI FAMILY KILLED IN PLANE CRASH
The Vaziris, Egypt's third richest family, have been reported dead after their private jet crashed over the Mediterranean Sea. Debris from the plane has washed ashore, but as of now the black box nor any indication of how the plane crashed has been discovered.
The Vaziri family made their fortune in oil, partnering with the likes of the Ghazali family. Their relationship resulted in their subsequent rise to power.
They are survived by the eldest daughter, Samara al-Vaziri, who did not board at the last minute, citing a personal emergency. Some critics, bemused by the likelihood of Samara being called away at that moment, have accused her of playing a role in her family's death. Supporting this is several anonymous tips sent to our network. These show several hundred offshore bank accounts belonging to the Vaziri family, all of which have had their funds drained to zero.
Samara has made no statement to the public and has not replied to our reaching out. Her lawyers have cited her as too mentally distraught to take such actions at the moment...
ICA Black Site
"It won't take long. They'll be in and out in the blink of an eye," Clera said, not that Agent 47 needed any reassurance. It was nothing short of wonderous how Diana could pick up his thoughts so easily.
47 followed her direction. Usually, the infirmaries at these black sites were reserved for injured agents. Today was an exception, thanks to the ICA's intelligence director. Nobody ever went against the board—even if their orders reached beyond their field of expertise.
As he came in, the team of doctors shared a collective breath. The ICA's top agent was in their hands—rather than fear messing up, they worried what he would do if he woke up past the prior idea. If anything, it was motivation for them to be at their best.
47 let his body relax on the operating table. The doctors plunged the IV drip into 47, and it wasn't long before anesthesia set in.
The assassins in Brazil came to mind. Two boys, known only by number, thrust into a life of killing. Reading their profiles after the mission revealed nothing about their past: a blank slate other than the fact they grew up as street orphans.
He was in the asylum again. Decrepit walls of black and gray. A failing bulb of light. Walls on either end that he could touch by stretching his arms.
47 forced himself out of bed, faced with the door to the outside world. He reached out. His finger tapped the knob, and it swung open.
"Be not afraid." The voice boomed, reverberating in 47's ears. It came from the figure in the hall. He was adorned in a gown of white, flowing behind him. "Agent 47..." he called.
47 took a step forward, feeling his knees shake, then gave in. The figure stretched his arms out, and so too did a beautiful pair of wove-like wings. "We offer you..." He knelt to 47, wiping his cheek. He had been crying. "Peace."
47 awoke with a sharp inhale. He scanned the room; the doctors all gave him space. "47?" Clera called, standing at his side. "How do you feel?"
He touched his cheek—it was dry.
"I told you it wouldn't take long. But I understand if you're feeling drowsy after that, so feel free to rest a bit longer—"
Agent 47 took to his feet, appearing inches away from Clera. She shrieked, stumbling backward into a surgeon's trolley and sending it careening against the wall. Clera landed on her bottom as the doctors quickly came to her aid.
"Sorry," 47 said, hurrying out of the room.