São Paulo, January 2075

"Rafa, come have breakfast, it’s ready!" he heard his mother calling from inside.

The noise of the backyard door opening startled the woman who was in the kitchen. She looked like she was in her early thirties, but her actual age was close to fifty—a marvel of genetic treatments. And Rafael expression showed a pang of sadness at that moment.

"I'm here, Mom."

"What were you doin—My God, what happened?" She stood up so quickly she almost knocked over her chair, putting her hands on her son’s face.

"I went out for a last walk with Artemis and ended up running into Villas' group, but they were too scared of the little monster here," he replied while petting the 'little monster.'

A pit bull the size of a pig was sitting there with a goofy expression, as if it knew nothing. She had been with him for as long as he could remember, and would live much longer; once again, he found himself thinking about how far genetic manipulation had advanced.

"But that doesn’t explain your injuries!" her concern faded, replaced by a serious expression.

"Well... I was already pretty pissed off, and them showing up was too good an opportunity to pass up... They wanted to go mano-a-mano, so I told Artemis to sit, but when I took down the third one and they all came at me together, she saved me."

"RAFAEL DE ANDRADA FILHO!"

"Calm down, Mom, I didn’t let Artemis bite anyone!" he tried to divert the conversation, knowing what was coming, and the dog, betraying her owner, was the first to run off.

"And you know that’s not what I'm worried about. Sit down and let’s eat." Already seated, she continue

"You’re almost 18 years old; you should have stopped this by now. Tomorrow you’ll be at Fort Caxias, and you know what will happen if you behave like this there."

"Yes, if I'm lucky, I’ll be discharged and sent home. I never wanted to be a soldier. Why can’t I be a doctor or a space engineer? And if I had to be a soldier, why not go to the Academy?"

"Because your father, his father, and all those before them enlisted as enlisted men, and your father's last request in his letter was the same." She paused and looked her son in the eyes.

"If you really don’t want this, I can talk to some people and withdraw your application, but don’t you dare get discharged. No college or company accepts someone who was expelled."

Rafael really didn’t want to go, but he also didn’t want to waste the few favors his family had on something like this.

"Never mind, it's just one year, right? Once it’s over, I'll run off to college. There’s no way they’ll reject someone with my grades."

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Upon hearing this, a hint of a smug smile appeared on his mother's lips. She had heard this before, nearly 30 years ago.

Rafael seemed not to notice, devouring his breakfast quickly. He had a lot to do today—tomorrow, he’d be at the recruitment station for transport, and he didn’t know when he’d be back.

He had lived in São Paulo for as long as he could remember. The city and its metropolitan area extended over more than 6,000 km² and had a population of over 30 million. Most of these people lived in the vast SDPs, social development programs—a fancy name for simply isolating them in places where they wouldn’t affect the city's routine. The massive wave of European, African, and Asian refugees overwhelmed any social welfare policy implemented by the South American Pact, constituting a large part of the SDPs.

The Andradas lived in the city’s suburbs, far from the center to avoid the heavy pollution and noise, and far enough from the SDPs that security was still good, even in the early hours.

His family had money, but his parents always disliked extravagant things. The only decorations were a few family photos and that one thing in the living room, opposite the TV—a medal display case. Five shelves, each with a photo of a man or woman in uniform and their respective medals beside them, a true collection, all of them featuring the First-Class Combat Cross. But the most striking was the newest one, the Defender’s Orb, the circle of the Pact’s flag surrounded by golden laurels and a purple ribbon, awarded to all those who participated in the Last Line, as the last battle was called.

A pang of anguish pierced his chest—he would trade a million of those pieces of metal to have his father back. He knew it wasn’t a fair thought, but he also knew he didn’t care. He went up to his room to pack his things; tomorrow, he wouldn’t have time for anything, so it was better to make the most of today.

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In the self-driving car on the way to the recruitment station, Rafael looked out the window. As they moved further from the center of São Paulo, the houses became smaller and more spaced out until they gave way to a barren stretch of land over a kilometer wide and then to a large wall, like a fortress separating the wasteland from an ant colony. Only the ants were much more organized.

‘Well, the buildings are organized; the people, however...’

The recruitment center was part of the SDP's defensive perimeter—more to prevent them from mass exodus than to protect them from anything else. A line formed to enter, waiting for the scheduled time, and a mass of protesters with signs and banners.

‘You’re going to kill innocents.’

‘Murderers.’

‘State dogs,’ among others.

He looked at them and felt only disgust—there wasn’t a single refugee among them. They were all perfectly well-fed and had access to the best healthcare available. They had never faced a real hardship in their lives. ‘Not that I can talk much about that.’ Looking at the line that started at the gate, most of them were obviously malnourished and gave murderous glares to the protesters. ‘Shit... if this keeps up, things are going to go very wrong.’

One of those waiting in line confronted the group.

‘Here we go.’

“Why the hell don’t you stop being a pain in the ass, huh?”

“You should be ashamed to enlist. You fled a war in Europe, and now you want to go back there? You’ve seen what war causes, and you want to bring that upon others?”

“What? You have no right to talk about that! While you’ve had everything handed to you by your parents, people killing each other over food in the SDPs isn’t uncommon. I watched my little sister die in my arms because I was too late, and even then, she wouldn’t let go of the basic calorie pack. And you want to take away the only way we must escape this world?”

The protesters fell silent, the guards at the gate too. God, even Rafael's thoughts came to a halt. A deadly silence hung in the air until it was broken by the sound of the gate opening. Rafael looked at his watch—06:00 sharp.

‘Military... always punctual. Man... I hate this.’