From Idler to Tech Tycoon: Earth-Chapter 141: Amazon Ciano

Nicolau stumbled, a sharp, searing pain exploding in his right shoulder blade. He spun, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief, to see Jose standing behind him, holding a revolver.

Jose’s eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. He slowly reloaded the revolver, the click of the cylinder a chilling sound in the sudden silence.

"Desculpe, chefe. / Sorry, boss."

Nicolau cursed, a guttural sound torn from his throat.

"Seu bastardo! Eu confiei em você! Você está trabalhando para o homem que enviou o dinheiro, não está?! / You bastard! I trusted you! You’re working for the man who sent the money, aren’t you?!"

Jose merely smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. He raised the pistol, aiming it directly at Nicolau’s head. "Você não precisa saber disso. / You don’t have to know that."

Nicolau squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable, the click of the hammer echoing in his ears as Jose’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Then, a sudden, visceral scream ripped through the air—Jose’s scream. Nicolau’s eyes snapped open. Jose staggered back, clutching his arm, which was no longer there. His severed limb, still gripping the revolver, thudded wetly onto the jungle floor, rolling grotesquely before coming to rest. Lodged deep in a nearby tree trunk, quivering from the force of impact, was a crude, but wickedly sharp, stone axe.

From the dense foliage, a figure emerged.

Ciano, with a predatory grace, moved towards Jose, ignoring Nicolau. He picked up the wooden axe he had thrown, its edge now stained crimson. With a single, swift motion, he swung the axe into Jose’s neck, silencing the traitor’s gurgling screams instantly. Jose collapsed, lifeless.

Ciano then turned to Nicolau, his eyes twin pools of glacial coldness. Nicolau froze, his breath catching in his throat. This man was truly terrifying. He had assumed an indigenous tribe might intervene due to the explosions, but this man was too large, too tall, too unnatural to be a mere tribesman.

Ciano moved with unnerving purpose, scouring Jose’s pockets, then Nicolau’s, taking their encrypted phones and satellite communicators. Nicolau, still dazed and bleeding, simply cooperated, offering no resistance. Ciano then began to speak, a guttural string of gibberish, mimicking the sounds of an indigenous dialect, his face impassive, a perfect, terrifying act.

The Amazon jungle air, thick with the smell of damp earth and gunpowder, vibrated with the distant sounds of gunfire. Ciano, now a tall figure in the twilight, moved calmly. His bare feet were silent as he walked towards the compound.

Nicolau Silva, clutching his throbbing, bloodied shoulder, cursed under his breath as he tore a strip from Jose’s shirt, hastily binding his wound. He leaned against a massive tree, watching the fallen form of his trusted lieutenant.

"I trusted you, you son of a bitch," he spat at Jose’s lifeless corpse, his voice raw with betrayal. [Seu bastardo! Eu confiei em você!] "So, you were the reason why all of our production camps were getting cleaned out. I should’ve known." He kicked Jose’s body in a surge of impotent anger, then sighed, resting for a moment. He knew this "tribe man," however large, was walking straight into a hail of gunfire. He would die.

But then, screams erupted from the compound, shrill and desperate, cutting through the general cacophony of battle. They were different, laced with pure terror. Even from this distance, Nicolau, his curiosity overriding his pain, began to move towards the sounds, back to the compound he had just fled.

What he witnessed next nearly made his eyes drop from their sockets. The same imposing, tribal figure—Ciano—was no longer walking calmly. He was a whirlwind of primal, unstoppable force, tearing through the TCP attackers. With a guttural roar, Ciano ripped an armored door clean off one of the enemy pickup trucks, the metal screaming in protest. With impossible strength, he hurled it like a discus. The heavy door spun end over end, flattening a group of TCP men before embedding itself deep into a sturdy tree trunk, trapping one unfortunate soul between the bark and jagged metal. The man screamed, a high-pitched wail of agony, before his cries were abruptly cut short.

Bullets rained down on Ciano, sparking off his impossibly resilient skin, deflecting, failing to penetrate. It was like watching a ghost move through solid objects. Unbeknownst to Nicolau, Ciano wore a small, intricately carved amulet, a gift from his boss, that shimmered with a faint, almost invisible light, deflecting the incoming gunfire and rendering him invincible to the bullets. Ciano moved like a force of nature, lifting enemy vehicles, flipping them for cover, then using them as blunt instruments. He surged from tree to tree, a dark, primal shadow, attacking the armed men with a terrifying blend of raw power and brutal efficiency. He snatched dropped rifles, firing short, deadly bursts before discarding them, or, with a terrifying twist, throwing them at fleeing enemies like spears.

The remaining TCP attackers, their discipline shattered, retreated in disarray, running off in sheer terror. It was their mistake. Ciano, unburdened by fear or fatigue, chased them effortlessly. His crude stone axe became a blur, slicing off necks, ending lives with swift, decisive blows.

The compound fell silent, save for the echoes of distant gunfire and the frantic screams of the truly broken survivors. Ciano, now carrying several bloodied heads by their hair, walked calmly back into the compound. The Commando Vermelho fighters, dazed from the battle, aimed their weapons at him, their faces etched with fear and awe. Nicolau, though shaken, gestured for his men to hold their fire.

Ciano walked directly towards Nicolau, his movements fluid despite the gruesome trophies in his hands. He stopped a few feet away, dropped the heads unceremoniously, and then began to speak in a guttural string of gibberish, gesturing emphatically at his stomach, then at the mess hall cabin. He pointed to his mouth, then made exaggerated chewing motions.

Nicolau, though initially bewildered, quickly understood the universal sign of hunger. Relief, and a strange, almost hysterical amusement, washed over him. This insane, invincible behemoth wanted food.

[Deem-lhe comida! Rápido! / Translation: Give him food! Quickly!] Nicolau bellowed, waving his men to action.

Later, in the compound’s mess hall cabin, Ciano sat, clad only in his rough-spun loincloth and woven armbands, eating. Clumsily, loudly, he devoured everything put before him. Ten plates piled. Then eleven. Then twelve. The Commando Vermelho men, a mixture of awe and nervous apprehension on their faces, watched him from a distance, whispering about the giant stranger. Ciano, to be honest, was indeed ravenous. The transformation had consumed an incredible amount of energy, leaving him with an insatiable hunger.

He recalled Richard’s rushed orders to act as an indigenous tribe member. Save Nicolau. Impress him. And tell him to stay off a certain area of the Amazon. Our ship will be parked there, awaiting base construction. Ciano had been surprised by his own transformation, by the immediate activation of his new body’s capabilities, but Richard’s voice had been insistent: there was no time to lose.

Finishing his thirteenth plate with a grunt of satisfaction, Ciano stood up and walked to a large map of the Amazon, tacked to the mess hall wall. He pointed with a food-stained finger, circling a vast, uninhabited area, then dramatically gestured with a finger across his throat—a clear, chilling message:

Stay off, or die.

Nicolau, watching intently, nodded slowly, as if receiving a profound message. The others were still frozen in awe, utterly shocked.

What Nicolau didn’t know was that Ciano’s "gibberish" was a precisely curated series of sounds, designed to mimic a convincing, yet unintelligible, indigenous dialect. And through the contact lenses in Ciano’s eyes, an automated translator displayed subtitles of Nicolau’s every word. He could understand perfectly. But he still had to act. Nicolau, through gestures, began to communicate his desire to work with Ciano, likely offering money. Ciano feigned incomprehension, gesturing for more food to eat, his performance flawless. Nicolau, misinterpreting this as a primitive yet powerful demand, wasn’t about to pass this opportunity to recruit him.

High above, in the sterile silence of the CRVT - Richie’s command bridge, Richard watched Ciano’s eyes and performance. A subtle smile touched his lips. "That’s our sign, Lina," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the image of Ciano. "Descend now."

Lina nodded, her cyan eyes flickering across the control panels. "Acknowledged, Sir Richard. Commencing descent to designated Amazon forest area."

The Richie began its silent, graceful descent, piercing the atmospheric layers and gliding towards its hidden destination within the emerald canopy.

Richard then turned to a new holographic display, pulling up a secure communications log. "Did the Marcos family reply yet, Lina?"

"Yes, Sir Richard," Lina’s calm voice responded. "They confirmed their availability for a meeting by next week. They expressed... considerable interest."

Richard’s smile widened, a glint of anticipation in his silver eyes. "Good. Very good. It’s time to check out what this Tallano Royal bloodline is all about."

Back in the compound’s mess hall, Ciano leaned back against the chair, finally full. The Commando Vermelho men gawked at the stack of empty plates, still awestruck by his prodigious appetite.

Nicolau, meanwhile, was attempting to communicate again, using a series of broad, expressive hand gestures, trying to convey his desire for Ciano to join his ranks, to work with him.

Ciano, seeing the subtitles from his contact lenses, understood every word of Nicolau’s Brazilian Portuguese, but he maintained the act, negotiating he would only work for him for food instead of money as pay, using his gibberish and dramatic gestures, hoping Nicolau would fall further into the illusion. Nicolau, completely taken in, felt a surge of triumph. He had just recruited a "fucking insane man who is insanely strong," and he couldn’t have been happier.

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