He entered the house, which was already open, and saw the host seated on the sofa. A thermos, nestled between two cups, occupied the center of the small coffee table. The house was very organized, with a few picture frames displaying bits of Fábio's life in the Official Guard, a job he seemed to take great pride in.

"Coffee? I was already brewing some before you called. It's always more pleasant to share it with someone; breakfasting alone can be a bit depressing." he expressed warmly, a smile on his face.

"I appreciate it, but I'll pass. I haven't slept in a while and want to avoid coffee for the time being. Can we discuss my issue? I'm afraid it's rather serious."

"Sorry, I was trying to lighten the mood; you seem very tense. Tell me, what can I do to help?"

After about half an hour of conversation, Fábio's smile had vanished, giving way to visible tension. As Marcos delved deeper into the subject and explained his predictions, his face grew sweatier, his fingers intertwined in front of his mouth, elbows resting on his knees, staring into the distance, now visibly concerned.

"Is there any proof of this? Do you have the simulations with you? I need to see them in more detail to truly understand what's happening. You mentioned you hadn't had enough time to thoroughly analyze the data."

"Yes, I brought it in a Storage Pad. All the data is... Damn!" He frantically searched his pocket, only to find a 5-centimeter tear in the fabric. "Man! My SP must have fallen out of my pocket, but I swear I'm telling the truth; it's all on my computers at home."

"I trust you. Hold on, I need to make an urgent phone call to draft a preliminary report. What you've found is indeed serious! We need to take urgent measures. Thank you for your help, Marcos. Rest assured that the Official Guard will certainly acknowledge your contribution."

"I don't need any rewards, thank you. I couldn't allow such a disaster to befall my Escape. I love Piety as my own family; in fact, it is my only family."

Fábio excused himself and stood up, entering a room nearby, the door marked: "Authorized Personnel Only, if you're not Fábio, you're not part of this staff!!!". An attempt at humor, but Marcos knew that entry was restricted. Despite his efforts, Marcos couldn't hear a word of the conversation; the room likely had soundproofing, a clear indication that the sign's message was no joke. About 20 minutes later, the officer emerged from the room, his expression slightly relieved but still unable to muster a smile.

"Sorry for the wait; these procedures usually take time. My superiors aren't satisfied with scant information," he said assertively. "But I'd like you to look for this Storage Pad, if it's not too much trouble, try retracing your steps or something. This information cannot leak out in any way; I think you understand the kind of problem it would cause."

"Alright, although I find it almost impossible, I'll try to find it."

"If you can't find it, I'd appreciate if you could create another copy and forward me the files; we need to analyze them more deeply. Keep me updated on any developments; I'll do the same. If I learn anything, you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you for your attention, really, thank you! Now I must go; I have more issues to resolve, goodbye."

He left the residence, feeling extremely tired, barely remembering the last time he had a good night's sleep. He trudged down the hill, eyes on the ground, no rush to get anywhere. Despite the unresolved situation, he took solace in Fábio's serious reception of his findings, slightly lifting the weight off his shoulders.

After walking for some time, nearly reaching his home, a peculiar commotion caught his attention, a flurry of people, men and women alike, darting about in apparent desperation, searching for something or someone.

It was a neighbor who broke the news to Marcos.

"Marcos, are you alright?" she asked frantically.

"Yes, I am, why?"

"Oh my God, you don't know yet." No more words were necessary; he looked up to see an ominous cloud of smoke rising from a street nearby: his own street. He ran, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, none making any sense. In that moment, the only image in Marcos' tear-streaked mind was his house engulfed in flames. His entire life, projects, computers, books, research, all wrapped in hellish fire, while neighboring houses also fell victim to the rapidly spreading blaze, the residents tried to extinguish it, but the battle seemed rather endless.

Kneeling amidst the chaos, overwhelmed and unable to grasp the magnitude of the catastrophe, Marcos could only watch, the taste of salty tears mixing with his anguish, as his beloved home turned to ashes.

"What did I do?"

Then, he lost consciousness.