– CHAPTER FOUR –

  FIRST WINNER

  "WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST FOR BREAKING NEWS!!!"

  Those words exploded across every television screen in the United States, cutting through shows, commercials, and live broadcasts.

  On the streets, in offices, cafés, and living rooms, everything came to a halt. Businessmen ceased signing contracts. Students stopped mid-exam. Drivers pulled over to the side of the road.

  The internet, within seconds, collapsed into a collective frenzy. The name “Americ-Ana” was all anyone could speak of.

  The camera now revealed a helicopter hovering above the Hollywood sign, where other helicopters circled in the sky like bees around a single honeycomb: the secret underground beneath Mount Lee, home to the mysterious THE-IMPERIUM Bunker.

  At the center of the screen, a reporter wearing a violet tie appeared beneath the floodlights of national hysteria.

  "Hello, ladies and gentlemen! We are live, broadcasting directly from where the most secretive, most exclusive, and most talked-about place on Earth hides: the very entrails of Mount Lee. THE-IMPERIUM Bunker!"

  He moistened his lips with his tongue, cleared his throat, and carried on as if announcing the cure for cancer, the end of poverty, and world peace. All at once.

  "Just moments ago, in Malibu, on the rooftop of the house where, according to sources, the chosen Americ-Ana Delsilva resides with her aunt, her cousin, and a pet pig. Yes, a pig! The young woman was taken into custody by the HSI! That’s right, folks, the girl selected to enter the hidden world of the global elite has just been arrested!"

  He pointed directly at the camera:

  "Because, from all indications, she is an illegal immigrant! That’s right, ladies and gentlemen! An illegal immigrant!!!"

  The helicopter footage spun on, with the HOLLYWOOD sign in the background.

  "And that’s not all! We have a new twist: the first girl who appeared as the chosen one, Marie Carter, has been exposed!"

  The reporter widened his eyes.

  "The QR Code Marie Carter presented as if it were legitimate... is a fake! It’s all fake, ladies and gentlemen! A fraud!!!"

  He took a deep breath and continued:

  "Until now, neither THE-IMPERIUM Bunker nor the tech company Novaxtraai has released any official statement. But one thing we do know: the internet, at this very moment, has turned into a true battlefield!"

  He stepped closer to the camera:

  "Half of the online population is defending Americ-Ana, claiming she absolutely deserves to enter the global elite, by merit. The other half is demanding her immediate deportation, accusing her of fraud, opportunism, of being an illegal criminal. And there are those still standing with Marie Carter, arguing that as a native-born American, a legitimate daughter of the homeland, she should have been the chosen one."

  "On the other hand, many are now demanding that Marie Carter be prosecuted for forgery and document fraud, for having forged the QR Code, the passport to the most protected elite on the planet."

  The reporter looked straight into the lens:

  "At this very moment, Americ-Ana is being held in a makeshift HSI cell in Malibu. And soon, she will be transferred to the Federal Building in Los Angeles, where an emergency hearing will be held, still today, on a Saturday."

  "Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the entire country is on high alert: judges, lawyers, agents, and the entire media, all mobilized to contain a digital war that now threatens to become a real-world tragedy."

  He winked at the camera and concluded:

  "Unofficial sources indicate that THE-IMPERIUM Bunker and Novaxtraai are expected to send an official representative to the hearing. And that’s what we all want: answers."

  "After all, who will be accepted into the global elite? The girl who forged her QR Code, but is American by birth? Or the girl who was truly chosen, but does not belong to this soil?"

  "Stay tuned, ladies and gentlemen. The world will never be the same again!"

  Inside the makeshift cell of the HSI Unit in Malibu, the walls, though painted in a tombstone gray fit for cemeteries—seemed to possess a life of their own. The distant sound, piercing through concrete and iron as if made from another substance, touched every part of Americ-Ana’s body. They were like the blasts of cannons and rifles, yet they came not from weapons or ammunition: they came from people. Human beings producing impacts as devastating as those of war.

  In that surreal dawn, the only sound capable of rising above the crowd was the rhythmic march of military boots echoing down the corridors. Massive men, as wide as the industrial refrigerators Aunt Karen kept in the Panic Room, escorted Americ-Ana. And she, beside those colossal frames, looked like the smallest minibar ever manufactured, a figure nearly invisible among giants.

  The cell doors opened with a metallic snap. No name was called. Only commands hung in the air.

  "Stand up! You’re being transferred!"

  Before the order was even complete, Americ-Ana was already on her feet. She felt the cold shackles slide around her wrists and ankles, the sensation like tiny field mice zigzagging across her skin, provoking an uncomfortable tickle.

  In the parking lot, the world felt like a war zone. As she exited the makeshift building toward the armored federal vehicle, the roar of the crowd was deafening, a chorus of human voices vibrating with the force of artillery. The screams pierced through her like projectiles.

  With two agents at her sides, one on each flank, solid as fortress walls, Americ-Ana walked hunched, short-stepped, shoulders tight, hands bound.

  Through her peripheral vision, she caught the shadows: signs raised high, phones recording, flashes firing, microphones pointed. Everyone wanted something from her. Everyone wanted to touch her face, specifically, to touch the sacred QR Codes capable of altering the fate of a life.

  Unlike the sea of voices that had roared hours earlier from the Malibu rooftop, this crowd now seemed divided. Half looked upon her with reverence, as if mere eye contact with Americ-Ana might cure them of some unnamed illness. The other half rejected her with equal fervor, hurling words like stones.

  "You're not welcome here!"

  "Go back to where you came from!"

  "Marie Carter is the real American!"

  "Don't steal opportunities from true Americans!"

  "Your kind is not wanted!"

  The agents were prepared for anything.

  Americ-Ana knew she was no longer just another immigrant. And they, the agents, knew it too.

  The walk lasted only seconds, yet felt like hours. At last, she was swallowed by the interior of the armored vehicle. The scent of scorched rubber and the cracked vinyl of the stiff seats enveloped her. And somehow, in that moment, the physical discomfort offered a strange relief. Like a hot shower. Like a warm embrace.

  There were five heavily armed agents with Americ-Ana inside the armored vehicle: two seated beside her, one to the right, the other to the left, and three facing her. All their gazes were cold, meticulously trained, calculated. Not one of them looked at her, not even once, not even at the scandalously printed QR Codes across her face.

  No one called her by name. No human contact, except when issuing short commands, which she was expected to obey immediately.

  Curiously, Americ-Ana didn’t find this troubling. Quite the opposite. Since what had happened on Aunt Karen’s rooftop, it was the first time she’d been able to hear her own mind. The silence, even filled with such intimidating presences, was, in a way, a blessing.

  As the vehicle moved along winding roads, with vibrations gently rippling through her body, her mind drifted into deep thought. The darkest thoughts she had ever known began to echo.

  How had things spiraled out of control like this? And so fast?

  She searched mentally through every detail, like someone inspecting a freshly painted wall for cracks, trying to find a culprit, an explanation that made sense. But she always ended up in the same place. Always at the same verdict: the one to blame was herself.

  Back in the Panic Room, she had made a promise, sworn to herself that she would fix the damage. That she’d find a way. That she’d prove it was all just a terrible misunderstanding. But the more she tried to set things right, the more it all seemed to backfire.

  She wanted to scream to the world that she had never sought attention. That she had only downloaded some stupid app. That it had all gotten out of hand. That all she wanted was to work. Just that: to work and send support to her grandparents. That’s all.

  But now, instead of working, she was being transported. And beyond the insecurity and fear, came the greatest threat of all: the real possibility of being sent back “home.”

  The word “home” sounded strange, dissonant, as if it had just been uncovered on some forgotten Egyptian scroll.

  “Home,” she thought, wasn’t that the place where, just hours ago, she laid her head to rest and returned to at the end of each day?

  Now, home felt like the final destination of something inevitable. A place she was about to be returned to.

  “Returned” — like a package or a piece of mail. Returned to the world she had tried to escape.

  The vehicle finally stopped in the underground parking garage of the Federal Building in Los Angeles.

  Americ-Ana was led through cold, echoing corridors. Each of her steps produced a hollow reverberation. This time, it wasn’t a makeshift cell. It was a real one. With real bars.

  A female agent approached, tossing a yellowed box onto the thin mattress and said:

  "Get dressed. Your hearing is in a few minutes."

  Inside the box, Americ-Ana found a pale-colored jumpsuit, almost wax-like, with large, dark buttons, they looked like black beetles pinned to the fabric. On the back, a number printed in bold: 4,454.

  Yesterday, she still had a place to stay. A job. Some food. And a kind of quiet peace. Even if nothing was perfect, it was still enough. It was still life.

  "This is fine, thank you."

  But now, all of that was gone. No strength left, not even a shadow of hope.

  She thought about how common it is for people to want to rise, always rise. Life offers steps, and people, driven by goals and dreams, climb them one by one. And when they reach one, they immediately crave the next. They forget that the place they now stand was once a dream. A victory.

  But with Americ-Ana, it was different.

  She had been content in Malibu. With her aunt. Her cousin. Even Mister Bacon was part of her small reality.

  She didn’t need another step. Didn’t want to climb. Didn’t long for more. And maybe, she thought now, maybe the universe saw that as defiance. As if not wanting more had broken some invisible law of life. And so, everything she had, precisely because it had been accepted with indifference, was taken from her. As if the world were saying: “Either you keep climbing, or you lose everything.”

  Now dressed in the uniform that placed her among criminals, Americ-Ana felt she had lost any chance of returning to a normal life.

  There was no reason to insist anymore. It was settled. She would not beg to stay. She would not argue for a new beginning. If the decision was to send her back to her country of origin, so be it. If it was to keep her imprisoned, so be it as well. Whatever came, Americ-Ana had decided to accept it.

  Not out of resignation. But out of exhaustion.

  She would receive whatever came. She would welcome fate, whatever it might be.

  Escorted by two agents, Americ-Ana stopped before a set of double wooden doors that opened instantly, as if some invisible sensor had been waiting just for her.

  Before she could even glimpse the inside of the room, she was struck by a barrage of flashes. The dry crack of professional cameras filled the air like bursts of light-gunfire. The flares invaded her eyes, blinding her momentarily.

  The QR Code marks on her face seemed to stand out even more every time she was hit by the camera flashes.

  Still dazed and half-blind, Americ-Ana was led down a narrow corridor formed by a crowd of journalists whispering to each other, scribbling into notepads, pressing play on their sleek recorders.

  The two agents held her firmly by the arms, one on each side.

  Upon reaching the center of the room, Americ-Ana was placed in an isolated chair, perfectly positioned to be seen from every angle, so the QR Code marks could be captured in their best light. All around her, the flashes still exploded.

  When her eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, she was able to clearly observe where she was.

  It was a courtroom.

  The walls were covered in dark wooden panels that rose all the way to the ceiling.

  In front of her, elevated above all, stood a large desk in the same deep tone of wood. Upon it, a golden plaque gleamed: JUDGE. Beside the plaque, a small gavel rested on its base.

  To the left, on a lower level, another equally golden plaque: GOVERNMENT.

  To the right, mirroring the one before it, was the word: DEFENSE.

  In the left corner of the room, an American flag stood upright, rigid and imposing.

  High above, at the center of the front wall, golden letters reflected the camera flashes still echoing through the room. They read: IN GOD WE TRUST.

  Americ-Ana took a deep breath, trying to maintain control, when she noticed, to her left, a witness stand with a silver microphone labeled WITNESSES. There, seated side by side, were Mrs. Karen and Miss Lily, accompanied by talent agent Saul Eatstar. Mother and daughter wore black suits and pearl accessories, striking discreet poses for the cameras. They looked ready for a fashion show, not a courtroom.

  Then, a man of average height, with carefully combed white hair, wearing a black overcoat over a dark blue suit and a red tie, took his place at the seat marked GOVERNMENT. With methodical movements, he opened a black lacquered folder and began organizing a stack of yellowed envelopes.

  Suddenly, one of the federal agents stepped forward and raised his voice with authority:

  "All rise! The hearing presided over by the Honorable Judge Karl Roland is now in session."

  The flashes exploded once again, this time, with renewed volume and intensity.

  A portly man, with a hardened expression and graying hair only at the sides, entered the room. He wore a black robe that barely concealed the rounded shape of his body. He walked slowly to the highest seat and, with an indifferent gaze, positioned himself before the plaque that read JUDGE.

  His voice cut through the air:

  "Be seated."

  With half-moon glasses, the judge stared at the QR Codes on Americ-Ana’s face over the lenses, raised an eyebrow, licked his fingers, and began flipping through the papers in front of him. Then, he began to read:

  "On this day, August 10th, 2024, in the city of Los Angeles, State of California, this special immigration court convenes in extraordinary session with the intent of examining the current legal status of the respondent Americ-Ana Delsilva, daughter of an Asian father and a Latina mother, residing in the United States since the age of eleven. Since then, she has been irregularly taken in by one Mrs. Karen Lee, in the city of Malibu."

  The judge paused, looked once more at Americ-Ana over the rim of his glasses, and asked:

  "Miss Americ-Ana, are all the facts presented thus far accurate? I mean... are they true?"

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard. Flashes and cameras tracked her every move. She stepped closer to the microphone before her and replied:

  "Yes, sir."

  "Very well," the judge continued.

  "Given the verbal confirmation of the respondent, this court grants the floor to the representative of the United States government, Mr. Matthew Hopkins, to present his claims as the petitioner."

  The man seated at the bench marked Government lifted his chin, narrowing his eyes in Americ-Ana’s direction, and began to speak:

  "Your Honor, as clearly stated by Your Excellency, Miss Americ-Ana Delsilva resides in this country illegally, having taken advantage of the goodwill of two citizens: Mrs. Karen Lee, in the role of guardian, and Miss Lily Lee, in the role of friend. Both are present in this hearing and may testify, should Your Honor deem it necessary, though the facts are already fully detailed in appendices 1 and 2 of case number 0700108414/2024."

  The government attorney took a deep breath and concluded with cold precision:

  "In light of this, the prosecution requests the immediate deportation of Miss Americ-Ana Delsilva, as well as a formal ban on her re-entry into United States territory, on the grounds that her growing media exposure poses a real threat to this country’s safety and social stability. Respectfully submitted for approval."

  Journalists, reporters, photographers, and cameramen exhaled in unison, absorbing every word spoken. In the background, Karen and Lily allowed faint smiles to surface. Saul Eatstar stroked his extravagant mustache with the tips of his fingers.

  The judge turned his grave gaze back to Americ-Ana and said:

  "Miss Americ-Ana, do you understand the seriousness of the charges presented against you?"

  "Yes, sir," she replied, casting a brief glance at the judge before lowering her head.

  "Good," he continued. "I must warn you that this is the appropriate time to present your defense. If you are not represented by legal counsel, this court may appoint a public defender on your behalf. Therefore, I ask: do you have retained legal representation, or do you wish for this Court to appoint an official defender?"

  Americ-Ana leaned toward the microphone. She tilted her body forward slightly, ready to respond to the judge’s question.

  That was when the unexpected began.

  The microphone before her began to vibrate.

  Subtly, at first, like a cellphone on silent mode. Americ-Ana blinked, thinking it might just be her imagination.

  But the vibration intensified.

  The device began to shake as if caught in the epicenter of an earthquake, the most devastating humanity had ever witnessed.

  Americ-Ana looked to the judge, searching for answers. He narrowed his eyes, observing the scene with caution.

  "Bailiff..." he murmured, removing his half-moon glasses and motioning with his right arm. "I believe we have a problem with the respondent’s microphone."

  The federal agent began moving to intervene, but there was no time.

  Suddenly, the microphone snapped from its cable with violent force, as if torn away by something invisible. It rose, levitating in the air between the judge and Americ-Ana, hovering about two meters off the ground.

  The flashes resumed in a frenzy. Photographers, journalists, and cameramen began recording everything: professional cameras, smartphones, tablets, every lens turned toward that inexplicable phenomenon. A nervous murmur spread through the room.

  Then, as if the suspended microphone had become a hyper-powered magnet, a new chaos erupted.

  Every electronic device in the room began to vibrate and, in the very next second, was flung into the air, drawn toward the central microphone. Smartphones, laptops, lapel mics, studio cameras, everything spiraled around the levitating object, forming a kind of technological vortex.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Even the dumbphone belonging to talent agent Saul Eatstar, and the latest-generation iPhones carried by Mrs. Karen and Miss Lily in their handbags, were pulled in. The handbags shook violently before the devices were hurled into the center of the vortex. The three screamed in unison, stunned.

  No one understood what was happening.

  Even the walkie-talkie radios clipped to the federal agents' belts were ripped away and launched into that hovering cloud of technology now suspended between Americ-Ana and the judge. Alarmed, the agents drew their weapons and pointed them directly at the epicenter of the event.

  Instinctively, Americ-Ana ducked as objects shot past her head. The judge, pale, stood up unsteadily and backed away until he hit the wall behind him. Eyes wide, he began to mumble, inaudibly:

  "Guards... guards... guards..."

  The government attorney, seized by panic, raised his black folder like an improvised shield and crouched to the floor, trying to protect himself from the unpredictable.

  And then… the unexpected silence.

  As if all possible objects had already been drawn in. As if the entire room had been drained of signal, of technology, of logic.

  The swirling mass of devices now hovered motionless, floating. A vacuum seemed to envelop everything. Only the sound of breathing remained, heavy, anxious, terrified, from those present. Everyone in the courtroom stood in absolute silence, eyes wide, breath staggered. The mass of technological devices floated at the center of the courtroom like a living organism.

  Suddenly, two large, black eyes emerged from within the tangle of machines.

  They blinked.

  Once. Twice. Three times.

  Then, with a sharp, electric snap, the pile of devices began to stir, as if something were tearing through a cocoon from within.

  And then… it transformed.

  In the place where the mountain of technology had hovered, a giant lime-green lioness emerged. She floated for an eternal second, and then landed on all fours in the center of the courtroom, majestic in her descent.

  The silence was shattered by a desperate scream:

  "TERRORIST ATTACK! TAKE COVER!" a reporter cried out in panic.

  As if her words had triggered some unconscious command, everyone began screaming, running, hiding beneath tables, chairs, shelves, anything that might offer shelter.

  Meanwhile, the lioness, calm and imposing, rested like a living sphinx. Her eyes scanned the room before she unleashed a thunderous roar.

  The sound pierced everything. Structures shook. Wood creaked. Columns trembled. And as the roar expanded outward, a wave of violet light emanated from her mouth, gradually enveloping the entire courtroom.

  Then the world seemed to unravel.

  The floor vanished. The walls disappeared. The ceiling dissolved.

  In place of the courtroom, there remained only the starry vacuum of the universe.

  They were in outer space.

  Spiraling galaxies danced in slow motion. Shooting stars streaked across infinity. And above, a colossal hologram, vibrant, hypnotic, expanded through space like a cosmic lace veil being embroidered in real time.

  Americ-Ana, crouched beneath the chair where she had once been seated, felt a strange déjà vu. She looked down, or rather, at the starfield beneath her knees, and knew she had been there before. With that being. That same being with lime-green hair who had once been a cat. Who had once been her cellphone.

  She couldn’t believe it. The experience she had once lived alone in the kitchen was now repeating itself… in front of everyone.

  People blinked slowly, disoriented. Some still lay curled on the floor, their mouths agape. Others looked around, lost between panic and awe.

  "Is this real...?"

  "Is it an illusion?"

  "Did we die...?" whispered another journalist, in tears.

  "It was an attack... we’re dead... in the afterlife..." whimpered a cameraman, kneeling on the floor.

  The collective murmur of imminent death took hold of the room, until the lioness spoke:

  "Fac Foedus Honeys! Before anything else, I apologize for the inconvenience. But no one is dead."

  The voices ceased. The crowd, though still overtaken by panic, turned their eyes toward the creature.

  Gradually, realization dawned on each face: The giant lime-green lioness had been formed from all the technological devices in the room.

  There was nowhere left to run.

  "Please, ladies and gentlemen, remain calm. Everything is fine!" the lioness repeated, her voice steady.

  She then turned to the judge.

  "Your Honor, I’m sorry... please... ah... okay... just one moment."

  But the judge, paralyzed by fear, had taken shelter beneath the desk. He wept, his hands covering his head.

  The lioness sighed. She realized her form still inspired terror.

  So, she closed her eyes.

  Americ-Ana, alert to every detail, crawled backward, giving space. She had a feeling, a premonition, about what was coming next.

  The lioness shifted her body.

  With a firm motion, she rose onto her hind legs. Her body began to stretch and reshape, as if molded by invisible hands. The muscles elongated. The feline form gave way to something more human.

  The fur transformed into long, wild, tangled curls, still lime-green, like a living memory of what she had been seconds before.

  She now wore a woman’s suit: a black blazer with white lapels and a necktie patterned with galaxies and constellations. Below, a long, black-and-white checkered skirt trailed along the floor.

  What had moments before been a lioness was now a woman. Or something very close to it.

  The people, in silence, tried to process what had just occurred. Their minds wrestled against the absurd.

  Then, as if nothing had happened, the lime-green-haired woman lifted her gaze, black eyes like ink spilled over a blank page, cleared her throat, and said:

  "Once again, my apologies, honeys," she said, her voice now gentler. "But I always forget how little you, ordinary people, understand about the mysteries and technology surrounding the THE-IMPERIUM bunker."

  At the mention of “THE-IMPERIUM bunker,” the reaction was immediate. Some reporters widened their eyes. Others, until then crouched beneath chairs, began to compose themselves, adjusting their clothes.

  "Gentlemen, that won’t be necessary," the woman continued, addressing the still-armed federal agents. They hesitated... but began, reluctantly, to lower their weapons.

  "I am Velyra Atticuz Cheedarc, Chancellor of the Portals at the academy where Americ-Ana Delsilva will study, inside the THE-IMPERIUM bunker," she declared firmly, locking eyes with everyone present.

  One of the reporters stood up and asked:

  "Academy where Americ-Ana Delsilva will study? What do you mean by that? Are you saying the THE-IMPERIUM bunker has its own educational institution?"

  Everyone in the room sharpened their focus, waiting for an answer.

  "I'm sorry, honey. But that’s classified information," the Chancellor replied.

  People began glancing at each other, whispering back and forth.

  The Chancellor went on:

  "We are not in outer space, and no one is dead. What you're all seeing is, in fact, a projection, an advanced protection system of THE-IMPERIUM. It creates an invisible barrier that prevents any kind of recording, tracking, or external intrusion. We’re still in the same place, only now, no one outside can see or hear us."

  The whispers grew louder.

  The Chancellor turned to the judge and added:

  "Your Honor, this is a security measure to protect our presence and what will be said here."

  Americ-Ana, though she had experienced something similar before, remained curled up in a corner of the room, an enormous weight forming in her stomach. She felt, with a nearly prophetic chill, that everything, the supernatural manifestation, the technological collapse, the lioness’s transfiguration, had happened because of her. The sensation was unbearable. For a moment, she wished she were dead. As if life weren’t already crumbling around her, judged, caged, humiliated, now this. More attention. More exposure. Exactly what Aunt Karen and Miss Lily had accused her of stealing from Lily: the spotlight. And the cruelest part was that Americ-Ana had never wanted any of it. It had all begun with that damned Novaxtraai app.

  The Chancellor approached Americ-Ana and extended her hand. The girl studied the gesture carefully. Her eyes were drawn to the rings on the woman’s fingers, all engraved with symbols she didn’t recognize. One of them, in particular, caught her attention: it bore the image of something that resembled a fish, but not a normal one.

  Then the Chancellor said to her:

  "Stay calm, honey! I’m here to save you from all this. Trust me."

  Americ-Ana hesitated, but then, slowly, placed her hand in the Chancellor’s.After that, she returned to her seat.

  Then, the Chancellor continued her speech.

  "I’ve been paying close attention to every detail of this hearing since it began," she continued, now turning toward the judge, who was still collecting himself, trembling slightly as he resumed his seat.

  "Unless I’m mistaken, Your Honor asked whether the respondent, Miss Americ-Ana Delsilva, has retained legal counsel or would prefer that this Court appoint a public defender. Am I correct?"

  The judge, now adjusting his half-moon glasses, replied:

  "That’s correct, Madam Chancellor."

  The murmur in the room swelled. Reporters and journalists began digging through pockets, folders, backpacks, searching for notebooks, pens, anything to record what was quickly becoming, in everyone’s eyes, a historic moment.

  "Then, since we are in agreement regarding the exact point at which the hearing was interrupted, I hereby present myself before this Court as interim counsel, by proxy, on behalf of the THE-IMPERIUM bunker and the advanced technology firm Novaxtraai, to defend the interests of Miss Americ-Ana Delsilva."

  She had barely finished her sentence when the reaction was immediate.

  Mrs. Karen grimaced visibly. She jabbed Saul Eatstar with her elbow. Both of them hardened their expressions, casting accusatory glances at Americ-Ana.

  The government attorney, now standing and visibly displeased, spoke up:

  "Excuse me, Madam Chancellor. But on behalf of the United States government… where is this alleged proxy that appoints you as interim counsel for the respondent Americ-Ana Delsilva?"

  "Oh, yes… of course. My apologies. For obvious reasons, I wasn’t able to file it in advance," she replied calmly. "But here it is."

  The Chancellor opened her mouth and removed from beneath her tongue a small golden ring, shaped like a dolphin.

  "Oops! Sorry… wrong document. I hope the Master won’t be upset," she murmured, chuckling softly, before placing the golden ring back under her tongue.

  "I remember now… it’s here."

  With a new motion, she opened her mouth again, and this time, pulled out two enormous leather-bound books, as if retrieving objects from a parallel dimension.

  The room erupted in muffled screams. Journalists covered their faces. Some felt nauseated, others were simply left speechless. It was impossible to believe what they were witnessing.

  Yet the Chancellor, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, extended the books toward a federal agent still frozen in the corner of the room.

  "If you please, bailiff," she said, nodding toward him. The agent, almost hypnotized, walked over and took the volumes from her.

  One was handed to the judge. The other, to the government attorney.

  Both hesitated before touching the books that had, quite literally, come out of someone’s mouth. But they took them. And began flipping through the pages.

  The judge, narrowing his eyes as he read, cleared his throat:

  "This Court, under extraordinary circumstances, recognizes the validity of the document… and grants the Chancellor of the Portals the right to act in defense."

  The Chancellor offered a faint, sidelong smile as she looked over her shoulder with elegant defiance toward the government attorney. Then she pivoted slightly and addressed the rest of the room, as if speaking from a stage before a crowd.

  The press, completely stunned, remained in a state of absolute alert. All eyes were wide. Pens were clutched tightly, scribbling furiously on scraps of paper, napkins, or whatever improvised notepad could be found, since all electronic devices had been consumed minutes earlier.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, honeys… as many of you know…" the Chancellor began, gazing up at the ceiling as if searching for words among the constellations.

  She paused dramatically, then corrected herself with a playful smile:

  "Okay, no modesty… as literally the entire planet Earth knows…"

  A few nervous laughs slipped out.

  "The THE-IMPERIUM bunker, the most exclusive place that has ever existed, exists, or will ever exist, has joined forces with the advanced technology company Novaxtraai for an extremely bold plan."

  She took two steps forward, firm and solemn.

  "The most extraordinary bunker of all time is opening its doors… in a humanitarian gesture. And for whom? For someone ordinary. Plain. Someone like you..." She paused, turning her gaze toward Americ-Ana.

  "Someone in a desperate situation."

  The Chancellor turned slowly, a full 360 degrees, drawing everyone into her rhetoric:

  "Your Honor. Members of the Court. Representatives of the press. The THE-IMPERIUM bunker and Novaxtraai are here today not only to defend Americ-Ana… but also to defend the integrity of their own systems. Their philosophy. Their very reason for being. The request for deportation and banishment, presented moments ago, is based on the argument that the viralization of Americ-Ana’s image poses a threat to public order."

  She paused again.

  "Respectfully, we disagree."

  Another faint smile. A glance over her shoulder. A silent blow of sarcasm directed at the government attorney.

  "The viralization was not incited by Americ-Ana. She didn’t buy her luck. She didn’t manipulate anything, unlike Miss Marie Carter, who attempted to falsify a QR Code to gain access to the THE-IMPERIUM bunker. She simply downloaded an authorized app.

  Followed the rules. And was chosen, from among millions of users. What followed, the public reaction, is not her fault. It’s a symptom of society’s own fascination with rare moments of spontaneous justice."

  The words echoed. The entire room held its breath.

  "If the United States government sees a young, empathetic, and honest immigrant as a threat simply because she became the symbol of something greater… then we are all admitting that the system cannot stand to see itself actually working."

  Whispers. Frantic note-taking. The press was coming back to life, murmurs rising in waves. The Chancellor knew, and pressed forward:

  "Furthermore: the THE-IMPERIUM bunker has, for many years, been an international, nonpartisan, and neutral institution. Dedicated to the advancement of knowledge, science, and the arts. Americ-Ana’s presence in this country is not touristic. Nor media-driven. It is curricular. What is being proposed here, Your Honor, is to destroy a bridge… simply because it draws attention from those who cross it."

  More murmurs. Glances exchanged among those present.

  "Novaxtraai reaffirms that the selection was legitimate. The THE-IMPERIUM bunker reaffirms that the spot is guaranteed. And this Chancellor reaffirms: the unexpected light of a poor, ordinary, immigrant girl is not a threat. It is a reminder of what beauty still remains in the world."

  At that moment, applause began to rise, timid at first, then spreading throughout the room. Mrs. Karen, enraged, began to boo, trying to silence the crowd.

  "Mommhy, sthtop it... you’re prothoking them. Tho embarrathing..." muttered Miss Lily through her missing front teeth.

  "ORDER! ORDER!" shouted the judge, slamming the gavel forcefully against the bench. The sound reverberated, bringing everyone back to order.

  Silence returned. The Chancellor continued.

  "In light of this, Your Honor, I hereby request, on behalf of the THE-IMPERIUM bunker and Novaxtraai, that this Court deny the request for deportation and grant Miss Americ-Ana Delsilva permission to remain in national territory, under the condition of fulfilling her academic obligations."

  She turned to the judge with grace and offered a respectful bow.

  "What we are asking is not indulgence. It is a vote of confidence, in a process that worked as it should. And in a young woman who never sought glory. Only a chance."

  Some people began to applaud.

  As the judge struck his gavel in an attempt to restore order, the cries of "ORDER! ORDER!" echoed through the room, with little effect.

  The hearing was boiling over.

  Mrs. Karen, who had already been on the verge of exploding, turned crimson, she seemed to be combusting. Her eyes bulged with outrage, and her hands trembled so violently that she began biting her neon-pink fake nails, tearing off bits of polish with her teeth in a compulsive frenzy.

  Talent agent Saul Eatstar, noticing Karen’s emotional state, leaned toward her and whispered:

  "Madame, breathe… stay calm. Not all is lost."

  With theatrical delicacy, Eatstar pulled from his pocket a white silk handkerchief, embroidered with his initials in dark blue. Then, he drew a silver pen from his blazer and wrote something on the fabric.

  He turned to Miss Lily, who was still mumbling incoherent words between missing teeth.

  "My dear… stay with madame. I’ll be back shortly."

  Taking advantage of the commotion and the attention focused on the Chancellor of the Portals, Saul Eatstar slipped discreetly toward one of the federal agents standing at the side. He whispered something quickly and handed over the silk handkerchief, folded with care.

  The agent walked over to the government attorney and delivered the item. The attorney unfolded the handkerchief and, upon reading what was written, widened his eyes.

  HELENA BLAVATSKY – FIRST WINNER.

  For a moment, his face, worn down and defeated, was swept by an unexpected glimmer. It was as if a long-dismissed football team had scored the winning goal in the final seconds of the game.

  With his eyes alight, renewed by some idea only he seemed to understand, the government attorney rose and, with theatrical resolve, shouted:

  “OBJECTION!”

  The cry sliced through the air like a blade. Everyone in the room jumped. The judge froze mid-gavel, startled. The press stood still. The Chancellor narrowed her eyes, watching him intently.

  Silence fell immediately.

  Then, holding everyone’s gaze, the government attorney stepped forward. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

  “Your Honor, esteemed members of this court...” he began in a measured tone, heavy with intent — “there is a troubling precedent involving the very institution now pleading for the continued presence of the illegal immigrant Americ-Ana within United States territory.”

  As he spoke, he slowly approached Americ-Ana. Instinctively, she lowered her head and curled up even further.

  At that moment, the QR code markings on her face began to burn, as if every gaze in the room had turned into searing beams of light against her skin. Each person there seemed to be judging her… with their eyes.

  “In 1940,” he continued, “the THE-IMPERIUM bunker awarded a foreign student, also admitted through a so-called ‘special selection.’ The young girl, identified under the codename Helena Blavatsky, disappeared under circumstances that remain unexplained to this day. No body was ever recovered. No official explanation was ever provided.”

  Reporters raised their heads. Pens moved faster across the page. The murmuring intensified.

  The attorney then turned directly to the Chancellor.

  “THE-IMPERIUM has never been truly held accountable by the government. There was no formal investigation. No one was held responsible. And most alarming of all: no safeguards have ever been presented to ensure that such a tragedy, involving a minor under the direct custody of the institution, will not happen again.”

  The press, once merely whispering, now let out murmurs of agrément.

  “That’s true.”

  “I agree.”

  “Where’s the report?”

  The attorney seized the moment. With each sentence, his voice grew more assured.

  “The immigration of minors through ‘alternative’ channels requires more than faith. It requires proof of trustworthiness. And I ask you all: how can we trust an institution that once lost a young immigrant, and has yet to provide a single official answer to the American people?”

  Now scattered voices echoed from the audience.

  “Speak the truth!”

  “That’s right!”

  He then pointed directly at Americ-Ana and continued:

  “Americ-Ana entered this country without proper documentation. And now, she’s being used by an institution with a dark history, one never clarified, never accounted for.”

  Silence. A pause. Everyone held their breath.

  “The United States government has the duty to protect its citizens, its laws, and, above all, to never repeat the mistakes of the past.”

  With his eyes locked on the judge, the government attorney delivered his final blow:

  “What assurance do we have, Your Honor… that this young woman won’t share the same fate as the foreign student once known by the codename HELENA BLAVATSKY?”

  Amid the growing murmur, the judge’s voice echoed repeatedly.

  “ORDER! ORDER!”

  But this time, it was the Chancellor of the Portals who asserted herself. Her voice sliced through the commotion like a bolt of lightning.

  “OBJECTION, YOUR HONOR!”

  Immediately, all eyes turned to her. A fresh silence settled over the room.

  “Your Honor. Government counsel. Members of the press. Allow me to shed new light on the case that has just been mentioned.”

  The Chancellor clasped her hands in front of her body, took a deep breath, and continued:

  “In 1940, at the height of World War II, when the world was shutting its doors to the unwanted, the unseen, the endangered, the THE-IMPERIUM bunker opened them.”

  She paused briefly. The room remained in absolute silence.

  "A young foreign girl of school age, orphaned, homeless, stateless... found at our gates more than shelter. She found hope. Her codename: Helena Blavatsky. Yes, she vanished. Yes, the mystery surrounding her fate still haunts us. But it does not shame us."

  Her words fell upon the room like the weight of conscience.

  "While the world treated her as a statistic, we treated her as a human being. As a person. As life. And even though her story may have ended in silence... the act of welcoming her should not be a burden. It should be a symbol of honor."

  The Chancellor stepped forward, her voice caught with emotion, yet steady in tone.

  "THE-IMPERIUM bunker does not regret having taken her in. The world does, the world should regret having abandoned her before we did."

  A pause followed. A collective sigh filled the room. Some journalists lowered their pens. Others dropped their notepads. They now looked at the Chancellor with reverence. She then turned toward Americ-Ana, who still sat there wishing, in silence, to disappear, to escape the spotlight that once again burned over her like a sentence.

  The Chancellor raised her arm and pointed at her:

  "And today, before this young woman, daughter of immigrants, orphan of a nation, selected purely on merit by an impartial artificial intelligence program, we do what we have always done. We offer a chance to the one no one else wants."

  The crowd began to react. Heads nodded. The weight of the words was taking hold.

  “Americ-Ana is not a threat. She is a miracle. If THE-IMPERIUM bunker made a mistake in the past… it was trusting too much. Trusting a world that wasn’t yet ready to protect the extraordinary.”

  The Chancellor turned to the judge one last time.

  “But today, Your Honor... today we are ready. And we ask, with humility, but with resolve: Do not deny this young woman what may have been denied to that other, so many years ago. Do not let fear drive the government to repeat the same mistake.”

  After the Chancellor of the Portals concluded her speech, the courtroom sank into a new kind of tension. The division was palpable. Half of those present debated in hushed tones, nodding, voicing support for THE-IMPERIUM bunker. The other half shook their heads, suspicious, pushing back against the Chancellor’s words. The room had become a battlefield of ideologies. Truth, now, was a matter of perspective.

  And in the midst of it all, seated once again in the chair at the center of the room, was Americ-Ana. While others decided, debated, gave their opinions about her life, she was thinking. In the distance, she could see Aunt Karen, Miss Lily, and Saul Eatstar whispering. Their gazes were as sharp as knives. Their disdain oozed without disguise. And then, a thought struck her. All those people, in some way, had learned how to assert themselves. To impose. To make their will prevail. And Americ-Ana… she had always stayed silent. Always waited for life to decide for her. But maybe, she thought, not everything in life is solved with passivity. Maybe, sometimes, it’s necessary to raise your voice. Even if it shakes. Even if it’s too late.

  She remembered the morning of Miss Lily’s beauty pageant, when Mister Bacon had thrown up in the kitchen. If she had just said something, anything, that day, maybe she could have prevented the collapse that followed. Later, in the Panic Room, she had made a promise: to put an end to it all. But once again, she waited too long. She trusted the world to be fair. To send someone.

  But now, it was decided.

  Americ-Ana would take control of her own life.

  That was when the judge slammed the gavel down hard, trying to restore order.

  “ORDER! ORDER!”

  The silence fell like a veil. All eyes turned to him, waiting for the verdict.

  The judge flipped through the documents for a moment, adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, and said:

  "After evaluating the arguments presented by both parties, this court recognizes both the importance of protecting legal borders and the need not to suffocate legitimate opportunities for individual progress."

  He paused briefly. The room held its breath.

  "Therefore, I rule the supervised release of the young Americ-Ana Delsilva, conditional upon the posting of bail compatible with the social, legal, and geopolitical impact caused by her continued presence... in the amount of ONE BILLION DOLLARS!"

  The silence was broken by an internal echo.

  A dry weight dropped in Americ-Ana’s stomach.

  So that was it. Paying a billion dollars to stay. To breathe the same air. To not be sent away.

  It was impossible.

  Americ-Ana could already see herself back in the cell. Years passing. Gray hair. Growing old in some forgotten corner of the world.

  On the other side of the courtroom, Mrs. Karen clutched her chest and gasped.

  "Ohhh, thank God! One billion dollars???" she burst out laughing. “Hahaha... she’s going to rot behind bars! Not even in ten lifetimes could she afford that! Thank you, Mr. Eatstar! This victory wouldn’t have been possible without you!”

  Karen grabbed Saul Eatstar’s face and kissed him in gratitude. He blushed.

  “Oh, madam… please… you’re too kind…” he muttered, trying to hide his smile.

  Ms. Lily, toothless, clapped her hands enthusiastically.

  The government attorney crossed his arms and stared at the Chancellor of the Portals, chin up, wearing a sly smirk that said: “Let’s see you undo this now.”

  The judge resumed his posture and spoke loudly to recapture the room’s attention:

  “Accordingly, Americ-Ana Delsilva will remain under active federal surveillance until the full amount is paid.”

  Then, the judge looked directly at Americ-Ana. Narrowed his eyes. And struck the gavel with force.

  It was all over.

  That was it.

  Unless she paid a billion dollars, Americ-Ana wouldn’t be free.

  Everything was lost.

  The federal agents moved closer. One to her right. One to her left. The handcuffs were raised. Once again, Americ-Ana was about to be taken.

  But then...

  The Chancellor stepped in front of her. She lifted her chin. Her voice rang out, steady and firm:

  "One moment. You will not take her back to that cell."

  The tension sliced through the air. The government attorney, hearing the interference, raised his voice with disdain:

  "What do you mean 'not take her'? Of course they will. Unless she pays one billion dollars."

  The judge, irritated by the growing confusion, stood up from his chair and shouted.

  "Guards, arrest her now!"

  Then, the Chancellor looked at the judge and the government attorney. Her expression was calm. But her eyes, intense.

  "Is it money you want?" she asked.

  The guards were already closing in on Americ-Ana, handcuffs in hand. That was when the Chancellor lifted her chin slightly, tilted her head back, and then...

  She opened her mouth.

  What happened next went beyond the limits of the imaginable.

  From her mouth began to pour gold coins. Not one or two, a violent torrent, like water bursting from a broken hydrant. Like an uncontrollable fountain. Like a high-pressure hose.

  The coins flew in every Direction, spinning, gleaming, casting golden reflections into every corner. Each one seemed to carry its own beam of light. The metallic clatter ricocheted across the room like a symphony.

  The judge stood up, stunned. Coins clinked against his head as he tried to shield himself with his arms, shouting:

  "Guards! Guards!"

  But instead of restoring order, the guards were slipping on the coins already covering the floor. They tried to move, but were swallowed by the golden flood. Some fell. Others crouched, desperately scrambling to scoop up the coins.

  The reporters shielded themselves as best they could, but even they began to fight over the gold, gripped by an almost primal impulse. It was as if no one in that room was immune. Morality vanished. Protocol evaporated.

  Mrs. Karen and Miss Lily clung to each other, crying and screaming as coins slipped down their blouses, into their shoes, beneath their clothes.

  "Make it stop! Oh my God, make it stop!" Mrs. Karen shrieked, trying to cover her head with her purse.

  Meanwhile, Saul Eatstar, pretending to assist them, took the opportunity to discreetly stuff coins into the pockets of his suit jacket.

  And still, the golden rain poured down.

  Until, at the center of the room, before the judge and the government attorney, one billion dollars in pure gold coins had been deposited, witnessed by everyone present.

  Then, the Chancellor turned to Americ-Ana, who was still hiding beneath a chair, shielding her head from the golden avalanche. She extended her hand.

  "Come. We have much to do. Your classes at the academic center of the Bunker THE-IMPERIUM begin on Monday. Equal One Zero Academy is waiting for you." And she smiled, wide, victorious.

  Americ-Ana, still timid, slowly raised her hand. As her fingers touched the Chancellor’s, she felt a soft tingling in her feet. It climbed warm around her ankles, then her knees, and kept rising through her body.

  Her heart raced.

  And then… they began to disappear. Gradually. Like mist being absorbed by light.

  And in the place where their bodies once stood, the technological devices of everyone present began to gather at the center of the room: phones, iPads, cameras, laptops, voice recorders, all levitating and stacking into a living tower of technology.

  At the same time, the cosmic fabric that had once expanded across the room now receded, like a universe being drawn back into its origin. Until everything vanished.

  Space returned to its original form.

  The courtroom remained intact, the judge standing, the government attorney speechless, Mrs. Karen, Miss Lily, and Saul Eatstar frozen in shock, the federal agents still stumbling through the sea of coins. All the reporters and members of the press stared, unable to believe what had just happened.

  But now, the floor was covered in gold, nearly up to their knees.

  And at the center, a shimmering tower of technology, marking the spot where Americ-Ana and the Chancellor of the Portals had once stood.

  Everything had returned to its place.

  Except the two of them.