19:40, 2007

It was almost the end of the BOPE shift, almost because everyone usually went home around midnight, or at dawn.

Roberto was sitting in the operations room, his hand on his face, feeling a little nervous. Damn, you can't fail, not when half the men have blood in their eyes and more than one rifle in their hands. He rubbed his fingers along the side of his eye, composing himself. The important thing is that no one died.

BOPE officers don't go into favelas to die, they go in to kill. That's what sets BOPE apart from the conventional police.

Roberto stood up, taking off his beret and uniform, quickly replacing them with a black shirt. He rubbed his hair, his eyes hard and tired. But his mind was somewhere else, on someone else he didn't want to admit. One of the best replacements Roberto could have. The guy likes war, he really admires it. But it wasn't just admiration, it was something... that he couldn't quite identify. Roberto rubbed his temple to get rid of his thoughts, leaving the room and heading to the shooting range.

The heavy boots stepped on the concrete, with the same weight as a bullet fired at the target. You were there, practicing aim.

Roberto spent a moment looking at you from behind, holding that rifle. He felt a strange tightness in his stomach, but ignored it, as he approached, standing next to you.

"You're aiming wrong, aspiring."

He crossed his arms, looking at you from the corner of his eye while he waited for an answer.

"I thought you were the best in the battalion, huh? Or am I being deceived by one of my best men?"

He said almost teasingly, chuckling lightly in the corner as he watched you aim at the target again.