When we were left many blocks from the destination, I noticed that the region in which the Mandela slum was located lived up to the African name.

All the people who lived around there had that expression of suffering contained in their faces, of those who woke up very early and slept very late and still could not get any comfort in life.

The lack of basic sanitation was already clear in the first streams that Mariana made me cross with a heavy backpack on her shoulders. She was happily dragging my suitcase through every puddle of mud and dirt through which it passed.

She believed that I had put clothes in there. Little did she know it was just my most expensive work material.

Not that I had taken weapons to the complex "at least, not in the normal amount I used", and not that I thought that at some point I could use weapons to defend myself without having to explain why I had them.

I had just done my best to take a computer (including the CPU that Mariana constantly hit on the floor with every step she took), cell phones with a tracker directly connected to the police center, and small devices that could save me in a hasty escape.

Of course, my strange co-worker had no idea that those items were much more valuable and expensive than clothes, but she made all her point of hitting everything and going through holes with water.

"Shouldn't you be telling me everything you already know? "I questioned in a harsh voice. Mariana remained with me throughout my transformation and gave accurate feedback on how similar to the ordinary girls in the favela I was. But, at dawn, she didn't even give me any guidance on what I needed to prepare to face. She didn't even bother to tell me what role I would play on that hill. I knew I had to pretend to be a very distant relative of hers and with enough family problems to be exiled to the favela, but the damn woman didn't even bother to situate me. "Or do I need to remind you that I'm still your superior?”

"You don't have to, captain," she said, with a petulance that almost made me take off my backpack and throw it on her head. Mariana opened a wide smile, greeting people who passed by us on the sidewalk. The street was very narrow, but it rose on the left side to a hill where the streets were even tighter. It would be impossible to pass two cars there. That's why the police action was so difficult. Mariana gave me a sideways look, waiting next to me to cross the street. The movement of cars and buses was constant there. "I'm just waiting to get home, and we don't have so many eyes and ears around to tell you exactly what you need to know.”

"Yes, but you can, and you should, at least tell me what my name will be in this place "I demand, without making an ounce of effort to sound less unkind.

A muscle trembled around Mariana's smile as if she was also trying very hard not to hit my head on the nearest wall. We were even in homicidal thoughts, then.

"Your name will still be Juliana, but if you want, you can use the last name Amaral, because of my father," she said, raising her chin minimally. The sunshine of the hot morning in Rio de Janeiro shone against her fair skin, and gently kissed my skin a few shades more tanned than hers. Mariana greeted with a little scream the driver of a car that stopped for us to cross, and the not-at-all-discreet honking of the driver made me aware that they should know each other. "But it's good to get used to being called Juju... Everyone here has a second name to be called, the biggest ones use an aka.”

I knew that. He had researched seriously about Erick, aka Picasso, who was none other than the owner of the favela. I knew about the age, the physical characteristics, and even the personal tastes of that man. Not that he had ever been arrested by the police.

I've never seen such a well-known d****r with such an impeccable record. The ordinary was just too smart. Everyone around him had already been arrested, even his brother, but he hadn't. Picasso was extremely intelligent and shrewd. He never let himself leave that damn hill. He created a fortress with his traffic and made each resident of that complex serve as a sting. I researched everything about that man.

I even looked for him on his social networks. Only, like every good self-respecting bandit, the bastard didn't have a Facebook. I didn't know very well if he had any women, or if he had any weak points to be used, but I was willing to do anything to overthrow him from his throne.

"Well, if the owner of the favela is called Picasso, due to his gifts in bed... "I began to say in a low tone, because we were already finishing crossing the street, and the ascent of the hill was always full of teenagers sitting on the sidewalks in a constant vigil. "How do you suggest that I call myself, due to my unattainable gifts for any mortal?”

I had only spoken that way because Mariana was a simple soldier who caused more problems than solved them. She was messed up, liked to make jokes out of time, and had already received numerous warnings from me.

Being there, depending on her, left me with a terrible feeling of inferiority. I wanted to get on top. Make it very clear that I was too good for a place like that, and even more so sharing a house with her.

"Ah, I thought of Juju-big-ass," said Mariana, laughing. I watched her with my best expression of disgust. In response, the crazy woman decided to hold my suitcase with one hand and hug me by the shoulders with the other. "Oh, come on, Juju... It won't take long for the nickname to end up spreading all over the hill. I will make an effort to make this happen. In the name of our... friendship... Do you know?”

"I know," I rusted, hating every second that Mariana thought she was in control of the situation.