Chapter 2

I thought that the most complicated task that would require more of my patience and goodwill would be to have spent those years of military training in an environment dominated by men.

I never imagined myself being pampered with manicures that lengthened my nails with fiberglass. I never imagined that my hair would be pulled and elongated by strands of mega hair in slightly golden tones so that my brown strands would mix in an almost Californian way.

I never dreamed, not even in my worst nightmares, that I would have to change my clothes to short shorts and tops that didn't cover more than my belly, but I was amazed to notice that my body fit very well in that type of clothes.

And even against all my most fertile ramblings, I never imagined myself looking in the mirror and not recognizing my image.

Anyone who was not in the same room where the preparations were made, could never say that Juliana Moreira "the police officer who did not even like a crooked look" was now dressing in clothes whose size did not even serve to dry the floor.

My shorts were ridiculous, and I was embarrassed to wear them, even though the police officers of my battalion were no longer around. And even if the Major gave me the freedom to choose to be transformed for work in a place that would bring me privacy.

I felt exposed. Even in a room with only a team of women from the aesthetic field. I felt like one of the worst adjectives you could give to a woman who dressed like that.

"It's not that bad," commented Mariana Amaral, ours already infiltrated the Mandela complex. She watched me as she leaned on the frame of the body mirror in front of me. Her black hair was gently shiny from the strong light around the mirror. And it was that same light that made my discouraged expression very clear. Mariana sighed. "You need to dress according to the location, Ju. Do you think I liked using this for a whole year?”

I watched her. She also wore a very short outfit for a respectful police officer. Mariana was a little more corpulent, and this made the clothes much more flashy than they normally would be, and if it weren't for that haughty and firm posture that all police officers gain from the years of service, she would only look like a futile and dull woman.

Although I could not say that my exposed thighs did not demonstrate the years of exercise and military training. I felt like a gym girl who liked to expose her curves to the whole world.

I shrunk slightly, crossing my arms in front of my chest. It was cold, and the damn top-up to the navel was not a fabric strong enough not to reveal my nipples through the bra. I felt ridiculous.

"What don't we do for our job, huh? "I started, in an ironic tone.

I already knew very well that Mariana was not staying in the complex just by investigative orders. Despite coming from a family formed at the police academy, she had distant relatives who still lived on the hill.

That part of the family was one that his father never wanted to let us know about existence, but when there was a need to infiltrate the favela, he suggested that his daughter go live with her grandmother, so that she could keep an eye on everything. No one could disguise the fact that Mariana had liked being in that complex much more than in the years lived within the battalion.

She had not yet lost her sophisticated accent, but the clothes were already fully adapted to that environment, and she seemed very sure that there was no better life than in the favela.

"Admit that you only accepted all this to get revenge," she said, arching an eyebrow. I made my best expression of confusion, turning to put on a pair of sneakers. Mariana resurfaced before me. "No one in their right mind, not even the Major, would force Juliana Moreira to do anything that was not her will. Everyone knows that you are crazy to enter that favela and shoot all the residents.”

"Of course, my intentions were never a secret," I turned, shrugging. It was inhumane to admit that. Honestly, a large part of me didn't even consider that hypothesis. I hated a specific person and not the whole hill. I knew that many people didn't have enough financial means to leave that place. I wasn't stupid to think that someone deserved to die just for being born on the wrong side of the city. But I didn't like Mariana's tone. We never got along, to tell the truth. She was one of the three women who also worked with me in that battalion. One of the best. And one of the most arrogant. Or was the arrogance mine? "Only I'm still subordinate to someone, and if this someone gives me an order, I should only comply. But it's good that you don't expect us to become friends, Mariana. I will be going to live in your house just to know what you have already discovered and how I can contribute to our general. Other than that, consider yourself just a person I still have to put up with.”

Mariana laughed. She was a very beautiful woman, and she looked adorable when she laughed because her cheeks turned red and her eyes were blue sparkling.

But the problem is that she only laughed when she wanted to sound ironic, and despite her cute appearance, I wanted to punch her face until she was unrecognizable.

The only thing that always prevented me from hitting her until her skin took off her body was my respect for her father. However, she did not show the same sense of consideration, because she did everything to irritate me.

"Oh, Juliana, stop the drama," she said, rolling her eyes, but keeping her damn smile. “Get on it. It is not every day that you have the incredible opportunity to do a spiritual retreat in a place as wonderful as the favela. You'll end up getting used to it. The problem will only be in the first three months, with six months you will even be speaking the most used slang like everyone else.”

I giggled low, wanting to close the subject because the makeup team had come back close to touch up my red lipstick and eyeliner.

My hair curled uncomfortably around my arms, and I cursed that the reason for my original strands to be short was precise because I hated being trapped without realizing it.

Mariana was laughing all the time, making guesses about what and where the team should focus more to make me a slab girl.

While Mariana did the favor of making me even more unrecognizable, I could not avoid the terrible thought that three months in the favela already seemed too long to me, six was an impossibility, and, with a year, I would probably have already killed someone or gone crazy for good.

The perception of this fact kept me silent for the rest of the time I was transformed into a Juliana I never thought I would become.