This was written in two parts; Part One in first person, Carlito; and Part Two in third person, Kara. My friend and I were looking for a way to resurrect Carlito Flores after Volume 11 for our roleplay. Here's what we came up with.

So for all intents and purposes, I DID NOT WRITE PART ONE OF THIS. They are the words of the lovely and absolutely brilliant Hazel, which you can also find here: carlito-flores(tumblr)post/36911221127/i-open-my-eyes

I open my eyes.

At first, all I feel is confusion. The ceiling, low and plain, doesn't match the grand, gilded decor of the Salazar mansion. The sheets on this bed are rough, not at all like the expensive ones Esme had shipped from Monaco. And Esmeralda…where is she?

Suddenly, it hits me. My heart plummets like a stone. I remember…everything.

Gunshots, a flash of light, shouts…and then nothing. Nothing except pain, as I lay there, slumped again the wall, staring into Esme's empty eyes. Feeling the life draining from me with every breath. When I blacked out, it was a relief. A blessing. It was over, finally.

So what the hell is this?

I try to sit up, only to fall back against the pillows with a hiss. The pain from the wound is intense, burning; worse, even, than when it was inflicted. The bandages around my chest are soaked through with blood, and the skin around them is tender and swollen.

As carefully as possible, I crane my neck, trying to figure out where I am. The room is cramped, but well furnished. Tiny round windows line the wall to my left, letting in sunlight and a fresh sea breeze. The room rocks gently, almost as if I was…on a boat? The only sound in the small cabin is the waves lapping against the hull. I feel myself start to relax…

And then, suddenly, tearing into the silence, the Macarena starts blaring from several wall mounted speakers at an ear-splitting volume.

Well, that explains it, I think. I'm in hell.

I wince as Dr. Luis Villareal sashays into the room. "Surround sound system, all around the boat," he says, grinning toothily. "You like, yes?"

All he gets is a glare.

Luis frowns. "You could be more thankful, you know. If it wasn't for me, you'd be dead!"

"Yeah," I say roughly, "I'm still trying to figure that one out."

"Well, Mr. Flores, to be honest, I didn't think you were going to make it…two bullets to the chest tends to be fatal…One hit your sternum and lodged in the muscle tissue; the other punctured a lung. Luckily for you, Dr. Villareal came to the rescue, out of the goodness of his heart!" He smiles, a smug expression on his face.

"Who paid you?" I ask coldly.

Luis drops his jovial facade and sighs. "Believe it or not, Jacob Fallon."

"What?! How could he possibly have known-"

"Jacob didn't tell me to save you, exactly- After your father's death, he offered me a hefty sum of money to keep an eye on you, make sure things were running smoothly in San Trobida. I figured that included "being alive"."

My eyes narrow. "Why would he even care? He and my father were business associates, true, but what did I ever do to deserve this?" I gesture at Luis. "Jacob Fallon did not get this far in the industry by being generous with his money. And paying a man to risk his life for the enemy? That can't come cheap."

He turns away. "To be honest, I didn't fully understand either. Jacob didn't trust the Salazars; he thought they were tricking you. When I asked him why he was helping you, he just smiled and said that…that no one should have to live without a father."

Luis, usually so upbeat and comical, pulls up a chair and sits down heavily. For the first time, I notice how tired he looks.

"He…he was a good man."

Something in his tone makes me pause. "…was? Jacob Fallon is…dead?"

"Yes," the doctor says, smiling ruefully, "and he took Salazar with him."

Silent, I contemplate what I've just learned. With Salazar dead, the cartel will collapse…the rebels will be free to take over the country.

Strangely, though, the idea no longer fills me with rage as it did when I first joined the General. I had witnessed firsthand how he'd treated the people…destroying the forests, enslaving children, executing villagers on a whim. He'd been slowly killing San Trobida from the inside out. It was time for a change, and if that change had to be attained through bloodshed, so be it.

And Fallon…An honorable man, against all odds. I'd never really considered him trustworthy, even when my father tried to convince me otherwise. I should've listened to him, from the start. Maybe I wouldn't have ended up in this mess.

Suddenly I realize something. "Wait a second…if Fallon died during the rebellion, why bother coming back for me at all? You already had your yacht and your money; nothing was stopping you from leaving the country for good!"

Luis grins widely, showing me the bloody gaps where his teeth used to be. "Do you remember that day? Do you remember, when Salazar picked up those pliers, what you said? 'This man is not going to break.' And you were right. Because you can take my dignity and you can take my freedom, but I will die before I give up my honor. I made Jacob a promise. A promise to keep you safe. And I plan on keeping it.

There was another reason, something else you said that day. Something important. You defied the General. You looked him in the eye, with nothing but your pride to protect you, and you told Salazar that what he was doing was despicable. Never, in my twenty years of working for General Salazar, have I seen a man do that and walk away alive. It takes either a very courageous or foolish individual to accomplish that, and I'll be damned if I let any such person rot in some God-forsaken villa in the jungle.

Lo and behold, when I found you you were alive. Hanging between life and death by a thread, perhaps, but still very much alive."

I smirk. "It takes more than that to kill a Flores."

Luis rolls his eyes. "You're not out of the woods yet- see how inflamed your wound is?"

He unwraps the bandages. I wince as I see the two ragged holes in my chest. The flesh around them is an angry red and pus oozes from the wounds.

"This doesn't look good…it's even worse than yesterday. Infection's set in, and if you don't get some proper antibiotics soon, we can expect necrosis. And that, my friend, is fatal. I'll have to get you into the hospital somehow…a fake name, perhaps? They won't have painkillers, though, and I can't guarantee 3 meals a day. San Trobidan hospitals aren't exactly state-of-the-art."

He carefully applies a new dressing to the wound, then stands up and turns to leave. "Oh, one more thing- I found this in your suit pocket."

Luis tosses me a small, shattered object…my phone! I catch it and turn it on. Half the screen is unrecognizable under the spiderweb of cracks in the glass, but I manage to make out some words.

11 missed calls?

I tap the mailbox icon, and the screen fills with messages, each more angry and violent than the last.

Kara.

I start to type a reply, only to find that the keypad is useless; it must have broken in the fall. I let out a frustrated sigh.

"Luis, do you think you could send a message for me?"

I've been stuck in this hospital bed for what seems like an eternity- Days? Weeks? It's hard to tell.

Luis was right- the infection has spiraled out of control, and with it has come a sweltering fever that blurs the line between nightmare and reality. I slip in and out of consciousness, weak and delirious.

A nurse lays a cool hand on my forehead. I try to speak, but can't seem to form the words…

My father stands next to the hospital bed, silent and grave…

A sick child cries in the room next door…

Esme smiles and traces the contours of my face. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth…

Doctors gather around me, speaking in low voices…

What is real and what is fake? Does it even matter anymore?

When the fever does subside, it is replaced by the deafening roar of pain. But I welcome it, because it feels sharp, real. It reminds me that I am alive.

I'm jolted from my thoughts by the sound of voices outside the door. A nurse shyly says something about visiting hours- it is almost 4 AM, after all. "No te preocupas," the other person responds in subtly accented spanish, her voice smooth and confident.

There is a sharp crack of splintering wood and the door flies open, the doorknob leaving a deep gouge in the wall. Without thinking, I prop myself up against the pillow. The pain flares up again and I grit my teeth.

In the doorway, her eyes ablaze with dark rage, stands Kara Yan.

I smirk. "Took you long enough."