"No, no, no," PI stammered, pressing his palms over the hole in Castle's chest. The blood squelched between his fingers, saturating his gloves and the dying man's shirt. Beneath his mask, Castle violently wheezed and hacked. His body convulsed under his partner's hold.
"Hold on, Walt," he barked. Gunfire echoed through the room, eating at the edges of the cinderblock stack serving as his cover. PI ducked over Castle to shield him, then ripped the pistol from his hip holster. He hooked his wrist over the top of the stack and fired blindly until the gun clicked empty. The enemy fire ceased. In the eery silence, he noticed Castle's gagging did, too.
"Walt?" he muttered, tossing the gun aside. With trembling hands he checked for a pulse he knew wasn't there, and slowly lifted Castle's mask. Blood splattered the inside and dripped from his parted lips. His hooded eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. PI shook his head and hunched over him, carefully cupping his cheeks.
"No. No, Wally, don't. Не оставляй меня."
PI bowed his head, hearing footsteps approaching from behind. Grief washed over him like an oil spill, smothering and blinding him. Tears welled in his eyes, and he gripped Castle's sticky shirt in his shaking fists as sobs racked his body. Behind him, a man muttered something in Spanish, causing the others to snicker to themselves. PI gritted his teeth, his grief replaced with blinding fury. He tore one of Castle's throwing knives from the sheath on his backpack.
"Не трогайте его!" He screamed, wildly slicing through the air. He held out the blade, his crazed eyes darting between the group of five men circled around him. They all jumped back, their assault rifles aimed down at him, with the exception of one.
El Diablo peered coldly down at him. He tilted his head, studying the frantic operative and the dead man laying behind him. Slowly, as if trying not startle a cornered animal, he stepped forward and crouched onto the balls of his feet. After a long pause, he spoke.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" he said.
PI stayed silent, trembling all over with the knife still extended.
"Hurts like nothin' else. You never think the day will come, then one day...one of you are left on the ground bleedin'."
"Fuck you," PI hissed.
El Diablo nodded softly, then stood. "Trust me, kid. You're better off without him. S'hard lesson. Be grateful you learned it so soon." Glancing over the scene one last time, he turned and started to walk away, snapping a command in Spanish for the other men to follow him.
PI lowered the knife and gasped, releasing the breath he'd unknowingly held. He lolled his head, dazed with sorrow and rage. His eyes latched on to Castle's body, and his stomach turned. He winced and looked away, watching the armed men slowly grow more and more distant. PI mournfully shook his head and stumbled to his feet. The mission; Cordova, Alpha and Bravo, none of it mattered now. All he had left in this world lay in a bloodied heap on the floor, and he'd be damned if Castle was going to lay there alone. Adjusting his grip on the knife, he charged toward the gang members, his eyes locked on El Diablo's back. He raised the blade, ready to plunge it between his shoulder blades. As the knife came down, El Diablo spun around and caught his wrist, brutally twisting the joint. The knife clattered to the floor. He slammed his boot into PI's middle, sending him flying back. The operative tumbled onto his back. Groaning, PI weakly sat up and rolled over, his back to the enemy. El Diablo sighed, drawing the pistol strapped to his hip.
"Guess you're a slow learner," he said flatly, stepping closer. He watched as PI struggled to crawl back to Castle, then pressed him flat onto the floor with his boot on his back.
"You should've just walked away," he whispered. Then he fired a round into the back of his head.
El Diablo holstered his pistol, then knelt down next to PI's body. With one hand, he unclipped his mask, shaking off the blood and brain matter before getting back to his feet. He would have to use the masks' tracking devices as bait now, instead of the live operative leading him to his target. It would have been the reasonable thing for the kid to do, to run while he had the chance, but he should have accounted for how stupidly, fatally loyal TWO agents were to their partners. He knew from experience, after all.
Translations:
"Не оставляй меня." Ne ostavlyay menya. - "Don't leave me."
"He трогайте его!" Ne trogayte yego! - "Don't touch him!"