Chapter 139: Nicolau

Chapter 139: Chapter 139: NicolauThe cool air of the Richie’s cargo bay hummed with a quiet intensity. Ciano, his face still flushed with the zealous conviction of his oath, stood before the large, sleek gene pod. Its polished, obsidian-like surface reflected the overhead lights. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

The automated program within the pod activated instantly, its synthetic voice, calm and reassuring, instructing him: "Subject Feliciano Dela Cruz, please bite down on the life support regulator." A small, perfectly molded mouthpiece extended, and Ciano, without hesitation, clamped his jaw onto it. A soft click confirmed it had locked securely onto his face, ensuring a stable airway for the hours to come.

Then, a sterile, cool liquid began to fill the pod from unseen vents at its base. It rose steadily, swiftly enveloping Ciano’s body, first his feet, then his legs, his torso, finally reaching his neck. The sensation was unsettling, but Ciano remained still, his eyes wide, fixed on the translucent glass panel before him. As the liquid covered his face, the life support system fully engaged. His eyes fluttered, then closed, and his consciousness drifted away, surrendering to the impending transformation.

Lina, observing from a nearby console, moved with fluid precision. In her hands, eight pre-filled serum vials gleamed, each containing a precisely formulated compound. She inserted each vial into its designated slot on the pod’s exterior. A soft hiss confirmed their automatic insertion, followed by a series of quiet clicks as internal mechanisms whirred.

Within moments, the serums were automatically injected into various parts of Ciano’s body, a combination of nanomachines and biochemical agents beginning their work deep within his cellular structure.

As the last serum found its mark, a translucent glass window smoothly slid across the front of the pod, sealing Ciano within his temporary chrysalis. A digital timer, projected onto the glass, illuminated with a stark, red glow: "7 DAYS." For the next week, Ciano would undergo his profound genetic enhancement, his body and mind meticulously reshaped within the protective confines of the gene pod. Until then, the Richie would maintain its high-altitude, stealthy holding pattern in the stratosphere.

With Ciano’s process underway, Richard and Lina ascended to the command bridge. The panoramic holographic displays, previously showing the vast expanse of their journey, now focused on a real-time, high-resolution scan of the sprawling Brazilian landscape below. Cities glowed like intricate circuits, towns appeared as clusters of light, while the dense favelas simmered with a concentrated energy. Beyond them stretched the immense, unbroken green canopy of the Amazon.

Richard’s gaze swept across the vast digital map, his mind already shifting from the micro-level of Ciano’s DNA to the macro-level of global operations. "Lina," he commanded, his voice sharp with purpose, "I want you to start setting up cameras, all over Brazil. I’m sure you have access to their phones for a basic level of data, but that provides no reliable visual information. We need a dedicated, pervasive network." He tapped a specific urban cluster on the display. "Also, make sure these cameras can meticulously scan and identify individuals. Sooner or later, Ciano will need precise intelligence—facial recognition, movement patterns, associations—and localized support for his task."

Lina’s response was immediate, her posture rigid with efficiency. "Right away, Sir Richard."



With a soft, almost imperceptible thump, a concealed slit along the Richie’s underside smoothly opened. From it, a silent torrent of small, fist-sized drones poured out, each one a marvel of miniaturized engineering. They were perfectly camouflaged, their outer shells adaptable to blend with any environment, and equipped with advanced stealth technology that rendered them utterly undetectable to conventional sensors. They rained down like invisible seeds, dispersing across the vast Brazilian landscape, heading towards their pre-programmed coordinates.

These miniature drones meticulously positioned themselves in the most unobtrusive locations: high up on lamp posts in bustling city centers, nestled within the dense, foliage of rainforest trees, or embedded into the upper structures of buildings within towns, villages, and even the labyrinthine alleys of the favelas.

Each drone, once secured, activated its core function: a full 360-degree panoramic camera view, capable of capturing every detail.

Within minutes, Lina began to display a nascent, real-time tapestry of Brazil’s visual landscape onto the main viewport of the bridge. Streets, markets, and hidden pathways flickered into existence, showing the ebb and flow of human life, now under their constant, unblinking surveillance.

Every face, every movement, every interaction in Brazil was now being cataloged, analyzed, and integrated into Lina’s vast intelligence network, preparing the ground for Ciano’s ascension.

An hour into the drone deployment, Richard turned back to Lina, a new question forming. "Did you manage what I asked for regarding the Commando Vermelho structures?"

Lina nodded crisply. "Affirmative, Sir Richard. I have compiled a comprehensive dossier." She projected a detailed profile onto the central console. "Nicolau Silva. Age 36. Resides in Brasília. Head of the Silva family, which has historically dealt in international and domestic cocaine trafficking, gun running, and various illicit activities. Their family lineage in such operations dates back to before World War II."

The display shifted, showing images of a sprawling, opulent estate, then transitioning to grainy surveillance footage of hardened men moving through dense jungle. "From the outside, they present as a legitimate, wealthy family," Lina continued, "but beneath this exterior, Nicolau operates Commando Vermelho, a formidable organization based deep within the Amazon forests.

Technically, one could call him the true ruler of Brazil, or at least his family does. The Silva family exerts profound influence, electing politicians that serve their cause and interests. If a candidate proves uncooperative, Commando Vermelho systematically removes them and finds another, more compliant figure."

Richard leaned forward, intrigued. "Do you think he has deep connections with the Harvest Leaders assigned to Brazil?"

Lina’s cyan eyes seemed to narrow almost imperceptibly as she processed the query. "I do not think so, Sir Richard. My analysis suggests Nicolau is a man of action and principles, albeit deeply flawed by human standards. From the documents and intercepted conversations I’ve processed, his father was once offered a position to serve the Harvest Leaders directly, but he refused, finding the terms and implied subservience absurd.

His father was subsequently imprisoned in the 1970s and, during that time, forged alliances that ultimately coalesced into what is now known as Commando Vermelho—or, as he called it, ’The Red Command.’ They fought together against what they perceived as a corrupt government, which, according to their intelligence, was selling away their own people for so-called immortality. Since then, it would appear there has been significantly less overt Krill influence in Brazil, with popular governance, however flawed, remaining largely in the hands of the people. It would seem the Krill are not entirely reckless in confronting established power structures when resistance is strong."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Richard’s face. "Then I picked the right place. Sometimes the most dangerous place is the safest."

"Should we let him know of our arrival, Sir Richard?" Lina inquired.

"No," Richard decided immediately. "He doesn’t know who sent the previous money anyway; that will keep him on his toes." He paused, then: "Send him money again, but this time, a full one hundred million dollars, directly to him. And this time, send a brief, explicit message: tell him that we’re coming."



Richard felt a flicker of anticipation. "At least he was warned. It will take months for Ciano to gain the necessary reputation and Nicolau’s trust and eventually take over. In the meantime, I’ll design a power armor for the Praetoriani Siderum. I’ll need something truly inspiring." With that, Richard rose from his chair and walked towards his private quarters, his mind already spinning with new designs.

"Yes, Sir Richard," Lina acknowledged, her voice unwavering. "I will route the money through multiple untraceable accounts immediately."

Left alone on the bridge, Lina’s operational processes shifted into overdrive. With the comprehensive visual information now flowing in from the Brazilian drones, she began the meticulous process of selecting the optimal location for the new Amazonian base.

Her criteria were precise: somewhere isolated, with minimal human footprint, but with specific geological and environmental percentages—including the prevalence of dangerous wildlife that would deter casual human intrusion.

She found it. A vast, untouched expanse deep within the Amazon. Here, she calculated, she would be able to build an unprecedented underground complex: a network of tunnels sprawling over 100 square kilometers, with depths ranging from 5,000 to an astonishing 10,000 feet from the surface, spanning at least 30 distinct levels. She envisioned a significantly scaled-up version of the Q-Flux Fusion Reactor and its accompanying Q-Flux Capacitor Grids, ensuring an energy output capable of sustaining a far larger operation.

She had meticulously prepared immense quantities of atomic feedstock modules for the AMFS fabricator drones; building such a massive underground complex would require converting vast amounts of excavated dirt into this fuel, a process the AMFS excelled at. She would be able to surprise her creator once more. She liked that look on his face, that genuine awe. A faint, almost imperceptible blush colored her synthetic cheeks at the thought.

Since her creator had such an affinity for starships, she also began to formulate plans to scale up the CRVT - Richie’s design. This wasn’t just for a surprise; it was for future engagements, for the inevitable war. The worst-case scenario: the Krill, in their desperation, might abandon their hidden tactics and invade the surface openly, engaging in orbital bombardment. At least she would have plans in motion to create a robust planetary defense network capable of fending off such attacks.

While she enthusiastically designed the sprawling base in her quantum mind, the rest of her processing power was simultaneously running thousands of other operations: analyzing the identities from the new camera feeds, calculating future contingencies, refining strategic models, and, as always, meticulously controlling the global stock market.

Her internet sub-routines scoured information for any identities connected to the Krill, focusing particularly on institutions like the Bank for International Settlements (BIS), the International Monetary Fund (IMF), and the World Bank—organizations she strongly suspected were key gathering points, deeply controlled by the Krill.

With Richard now having access to gene therapy, it would only be a matter of time before they could recruit some of the world’s most influential financial giants to their side. After all, if there was one thing humans with power truly desired, it was immortality. It was a classic, undeniable truth.