The investigator finished the report at 19:42.
She didn't look satisfied.
Nor frustrated.
Just… aware.
She narrates to herself:
Reality was not a world where answers came easily.
She left the hospital as the rain eased into a fine drizzle. The city breathed normalcy—late buses, vendors packing up their stalls, lights flickering in old buildings.
And monsters.
But no one screamed.
Because in Angola, monsters aren't legends.
They're pests.
The World of Powers
Monsters exist.
They are not unique mythological creatures.
They are not final bosses.
They are infestation.
Most appear from environmental distortions, residual energy failures, accidents with artifacts, poorly contained experiments, or simply… out of nowhere.
Like mold.
Like rats.
Like gas leaks.
They are dangerous—yes.
But rarely extraordinary.
A "Rust Dog" can kill someone distracted.
An "Empty Echo" can drain memory from anyone lingering too long.
But they are controllable.
There are protocols.
How the World Deals With It
No masked heroes.
There are departments.
Special Urban Cleanup
Anomalous Biological Control
Energy Waste Division
Anomalous Criminal Investigation
The investigator belongs to the last.
"I don't hunt monsters.
I investigate consequences.
Who released them.
Who used them.
Who profited.
Who survived when they shouldn't have."
High Above
Some cities are protected by containment fields.
Interstate transport functions.
Trade is stable.
Schools teach basic anti-anomaly protocols.
Specialized companies profit from neutralization.
Certain districts thrive selling anti-distortion technology.
There's stability.
There's a system.
There's control.
The world is not at war.
It is… adapted.
Low Below
Abandoned areas become nests.
Certain neighborhoods are "gray zones."
Small creatures invade plumbing.
People disappear, rarely making headlines.
Corporations compete to exploit anomalous energy.
Some monsters learn.
And the most troubling:
Not every anomaly is natural.
Some are provoked.
The police know this.
They don't announce it.
But they know.
Patterns exist.
Certain appearances follow strange cycles.
Some creatures emerge near invisible lines on the map.
Some "accidents" aren't accidents.
And some uniforms belong to no country.
Like Araque's.
The Contrast
Driving back to the central district, she passes by:
A group of technicians cleaning a crushed gelatinous creature from the gutter.
A family eating dinner normally.
A building cordoned off with black-and-yellow tape.
A poster advertising a home anti-infestation system.
Normal life.
Common danger.
Nothing apocalyptic.
But constant.
What Truly Weighs
Monsters are not the greatest problem.
The greatest problem is:
Who learns to use them.
Who crosses invisible lines without being crushed.
Who lies without lying.
Who doesn't appear in any database.
Who responds to signals in the rain.
SHIPSH is not a world of grand battles.
It is a world of attrition.
Of infiltration.
Of observation.
Of pieces moving silently.
And now, there are three facts recorded internally:
A survivor who should not be alive.
An unidentified uniform.
Eight confirmed bodies.
And in developing countries, that is more worrying than any monster.
Because monsters are pests.
But people…
Are strategy.
If you want, I can continue translating the next part where Araque reflects on closing his eyes and staying in his corner, and the tension of knowing that one day the world might demand a price from him—because that moment deepens the psychological weight of living in a world like this.