Saulo and Aysha were walking toward the elevator, joking about the onion steak with its gelatin dessert.

“I could cook better than this—this steak was almost raw.”

Aysha laughed.

“So you can cook too? That’s the kind of guy women are looking for these days.”

“When I lived alone, I had to learn to cook more than instant noodles with egg.”
He laughed out loud.

She laughed too.

“I’m no superstar in the kitchen, but I do know a few recipes my mom taught me. I like to cook now and then.”

“That’s great, Aysha,” he said. “It’s good for distractions, right?”
He pressed the elevator button.

As the doors opened, a woman stood there holding a file in her crook.

“Agent Saulo Lima,” she said. “The Secretary is calling you and the girl to his office immediately.”

They were summoned to the office of Otávio La Vale, Argon's Secretary of Communication. As they entered, they found a cozy room, the kind you’d expect from an old-school businessman. A master of strategy and friendship, like a chess player whose every move hides a well-rehearsed plan. He was seated behind his desk.

“Ah, good—they’re not in training. Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to the sofa in front of him. He greeted Saulo, switched on the TV mounted to the left wall, and added, “You need to see this. It just happened—unfortunately.”

The news broadcast began, showing scenes of an assassination. It had occurred minutes earlier, during a live televised speech by the President of Brazil.

“President Franco Lino was assassinated during a live broadcast. Viewers witnessed this atrocity as it unfolded at the National Palace.”
The video played with muted audio and censored portions—viewers watched the president being repeatedly stabbed and gruesomely beheaded.

With sound restored, the president spoke:

“That’s why I don’t want to request a parliamentary inquiry amid a national crisis. As long as people are being persecuted for 'superhuman abilities'—for being faster or stronger—while I’m president, I won’t waste time hunting down retirees’ pensions. I’ll use the little time I have left to put an end to this wave of disgusting murders and let no more hate linger in Brazilians’ hearts.”

An Inhuman appeared behind him, digging its clawed hand into his neck.

“Why don’t you tell me where the money is, and I might let you live?”

“P‑please…,” the president stammered.

“Wrong answer,” the Inhuman growled as it plunged its claws repeatedly into the president’s torso, throat, and abdomen.

With final cruel precision, it sliced off his head and held it up triumphantly before the camera.

“Here is your president—how about that habeas corpus, huh?”

Otávio Quarter turned off the TV, walked slowly to his desk, and leaned against it like a CEO preparing to deliver bad news.

They stared at him, waiting.

“This was six minutes ago,” he said quietly. “Brazil is on fire. The whole world is watching this—not talking about the Villard family tragedy.”

“You think this is a distraction?” asked Saulo.

“Yes. And a statement from someone who wants to show they mean business.”

“The Mímico…,” muttered Aysha.

“Exactly,” Otávio said. “He resurrected himself—God knows how—and came seeking revenge. He murdered Ézren’s son’s family, but didn’t anticipate the media would focus on the Villard tragedy rather than his triumphant return. Brazil mourns the Villard family, not the return of the devil. So he staged something entirely new—to grab attention and make it clear the war is more immediate than ever. This was a political act.”

“Bastard,” Saulo whispered.

“There have been other killings since the president’s death. Brazil is unraveling because some fear the radical Inhumans, while others fear us. If we’re so powerful and virtuous, why couldn’t we protect the president?”

That was the critical question.

“Has Argon responded?” asked Saulo.

“The CEO is preparing a live address from Brasília right now.”

“Dad…” Aysha murmured, staring at the TV.

“I expect you both return to training knowing we’ve got this under control—unlike what the Mímico intended. We will show the world we won’t back down. We will grow stronger. And we will win again!”
He looked at Aysha.

“Yes,” she said, nodding.

“Alright,” Otávio said as he walked away, “go. I have many hearts to console.”

“Let’s go, Aysha,” he urged.

“Who was that... that killed the president?” she asked as they left.

“His name is Alexander, an Inhuman Class A. His Isang is material control; he can manipulate metals, rubber, copper—anything physical.”

“And his Limit?”

“He can’t control organic material,” Otávio replied. “He’s been wanted for years, but always got away. His shapeshifting makes him nearly uncatchable.”

“Nearly?”

“We discovered a way to detect the transformation residue. Operação almost captured him last week—but a level-S Inhuman whisked him away.”

“Level S? Who?”

“We don’t know yet. But it’s a matter of time. Technology these days makes hiding harder than ever. Eventually, he’ll reveal himself. We’ll catch him.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, Secretary.”

“Don’t worry. It’s under control,” he said with a reassuring smile.

Saulo and Aysha returned to the training room.