"Please, I'm begging you. We'll never complain about you or your work again. Just let my wife go. If someone has to die, let it be me!" Joao cried, slamming his head against the floor in desperation.
"Ahhh, that's beautiful," Dalgedo said with a twisted grin. "Look at the two of you—husband and wife. It's almost poetic. I'm actually starting to feel guilty watching this. Now, what should I do to ease that guilt....." He paced slowly, hands behind his back.
"Boss," Salvador spoke up, resting his right hand on the back pocket of his jeans, "how about we reunite them.... with their son?"
Joao's eyes widened in horror. "No…... you don't mean...." He began struggling again, trying to break free.
"Yes, that's right," Salvador confirmed with a cold smirk. He drew his pistol and pressed it against Maria's head.
"No! Don't! I'm begging you!" Joao screamed. "If someone must die, kill me! Please, spare her!"
Dalgedo chuckled. "Alright then. How about this....you jump for us. Entertain us on one leg, and maybe.... just maybe, I'll let you both live." He winked at Salvador.
"Let him go. You heard the boss," Salvador ordered the others.
Joao was freed. He crawled forward, dragging himself with his arms. His right leg was shattered. He looked up at his wife...barely conscious, her spirit already crushed.
"Come on, we're waiting," Dalgedo said, lowering himself onto the floor like he was settling in for a show.
Joao slowly tried to rise, balancing awkwardly on his good leg.
Maria, unable to speak, closed her eyes in agony.
"Open your eyes, bitch." Salvador grabbed her by the hair and forced her to look. "Watch your crippled husband perform."
Joao finally stood, trembling. He prepared to jump.
"No.....… don't. Please," Maria murmured weakly. "I don't want to live anymore...."
Joao collapsed.
"Wait...please....don't hurt her! I'll do it! Just don't touch her!"
"Then hurry the fuck up, or I'll put a bullet through her skull," Salvador growled, tightening his grip on the gun.
Joao pushed himself up using his arms. His entire body trembled. His hands were shaking violently.
"I can do this. Just one jump…... please…..." he whispered to himself.
He took his stance...and jumped.
"Amazing," someone muttered, and a round of applause erupted.
But he landed on his broken leg. The agony was instant and immense. Joao screamed, rolling on the ground, the sound coming from the deepest part of his soul.
"Oh my, you really did it," Dalgedo said, rising to his feet. "I'm impressed."
Joao, through clenched teeth, whispered, "Thank God...." For a fleeting second, the pain dulled, replaced by a flicker of hope.
Salvador lowered his gun from Maria's head.
"As a reward," Dalgedo said, snapping his fingers, "enjoy this sound."
A loud gunshot echoed through the room.
Joao froze.
"No.... no... that can't be...." He turned his head slowly.
The blood reached his feet just as his eyes found Maria's lifeless body.
He was dead inside.
"NOOOOO! YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!" Joao screamed and lunged at Dalgedo on one leg.
The members caught him mid-air.
"Let's take him for a drive," Dalgedo said casually.
The men dragged Joao down the stairs. Chaos erupted. Nurses and hospital staff scattered, avoiding eye contact, too scared to intervene.
They threw Joao into a car and tied him to the back. They dragged him through the streets of the city, his body scraping along the concrete, leaving a trail.
The Next Day
"Sir, what do you have to say about Joao's death?" a reporter asked, holding a mic to the police officer's face.
"This was a terrorist act. We promise the people that justice will be served. Joao and his family will not be forgotten." The officer turned and walked away as the area was sealed, Joao's body being lifted into a van.
Porto College – Psychology Class Ends
The Porto evening sun drenched the campus in a golden hue. Students trickled out of the psychology building after an intense lecture on perception, illusions, and the unconscious mind...topics that lingered like a mist as dusk approached.
The campus was a graceful mix of modern glass structures and old-world stone buildings wrapped in ivy. Olive trees lined the cobblestone walkways, their shadows stretching as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Laughter and conversations in both Portuguese and English filled the air.
The psychology building itself had a gothic elegance.....tall ceilings, wooden panels, and the comforting scent of old books and coffee. Posters of Freud, Jung, and Lacan hung beside modern infographics on cognitive biases. Students trickled out, some still deep in conversation about dreams and memory recall.
Angelo stepped into the hallway. He adjusted his jacket...it was clear he wasn't a student.
That's when he saw her.
She stood by a tall window, framed by the twilight. Her black hair flowed like ink, and her deep black eyes stared into the distance. She wore sleek, stylish clothes, the black fabric standing in stark contrast to her pale skin. She looked like something pulled from a painting....elegant, untouchable.
Angelo froze, watching her.
She twirled a lock of her hair absentmindedly. The glow of the hallway lights created a soft halo around her. In her hand, she held a strange book titled The Art of Sacrifice for Power.
Students walked past, heading toward the café or common room.
But Angelo stood still, locked in place, his eyes fixed on her.