Febrero 6, 2029 - Mexico
One moment, the clearing was silent, all inhabitants around the area were quiet due to the peaceful terms they've established. One gang, two gang here co-sharing territory, but the third one, the one that could not make it, intercepted the details of this meet and took advantage of it. The advantage's name was none other than Roberto Santiago, formerly known as Bobby in the States. Roberto aged well, got a muscular body too, but wishes were horses around these parts, and the lifestyle wasn't easier the next day over the prior one. Survival was key here, just like its been.
He was there for the job, a hired set of gloved hands set to take out both parties for a grand payout of three-fourths of a million in pure pesos, the currency down there in the shithole country. The area was a steel mill he'd found a good hiding spot in, underground in a hole on the right level. He was a firm shooter with the Russian-manufactured AK in his hands, as long as he never blew out the entire clip in one trigger pull. The trick was clear, and here, facing up against about fifteen gang members, speed was the second factor. No sweat, easy breaths and focus, no hesitation.
Newspapers here in Mexico did not censor jack shit, and neither did the television. Here, you'd see a dead body or two just about weekly if you weren't too fortunate to avoid it, but that was just how ugly and broken Mexico was, in its state of poverty and decay, and this was not to include the majority of crime around, referring to the cartels that were everywhere. Sure, you could blame it all on them, you could say that life was hard because of crime. You'd be wrong, and Roberto knew better; it came down to the poverty itself, the lack of work that turned good men bad, resorting to the only way they believed to get in on. Maybe it was that, when education here was too much and too little. It surely looked that way, and when he, a legally-born citizen from the States, had applied the idea there, it wasn't so bad. It wasn't too much of a hellhole like it was here, but there was a sizable portion of this there. So, just maybe it was true; the true contributor to crime was poverty itself.
Back to this, Roberto whispered out a long prayer to his Dios before he unloaded his magazine, also dearly hoping that the two gangs would get paranoid and shoot at each other to ease up the danger, the killing for him. Well, whatever would happen...
Estoy con Dios.
The rifle peaked its barrel out through the opening, the cover above Roberto's head springing up out of place. Neither one or the other group noticed it, not even when the Mexican gun-for-hire released the rounds in bursts, focusing only on the members of the same faction. This kicked off the accusations from the fear and paranoia, causing handguns to be yanked out into the battlefield, a literal crossfire to take underway in between. They had not focused on him but on each other, everyone scattering for cover or to try and get away from the shootout in one piece. He didn't allow the stragglers to make it out alive, so he dropped out those close by while the mill kept being ignited by gunfire. It wouldn't take long for the federal police to arrive, window was closing, and he didn't manage to count the remainder of the lot.
Roberto exited his foxhole, running around with the AK against Colts and Uzis, gunning down there nearby. Body armor stopped the bullets from hitting him in the chest, and the second pro was neither enemy from this side or that side were proficient in marksmanahip, not enough to take a headshot at Roberto. Recoil strayed away the aim when they panicked, guns waving around out of control. Whatever went through their heads in that second before he pulled the kill shot, he'll never know, but he had an idea of it. They definitely screamed, acted out of character when, just minutes ago, they were calm and in a rational state. Not anymore, not when they fought back, shooting, emptying out their clips and then pleading for mercy.
Mercy he could not afford to give here.
The calm of the empty steel mill had then kicked up a lot of dust, decorated horrifically with a barrage of corpses scattered all over, riddled up in bullets of either of his own weapon or the others'. Federal officers were not going to have an easy day today. Speaking of which, time to go.
Another task done for serious dough, just like before, just like those times he accepted, sticking his neck out not only for himself, but for that younger girl who lived with him. That young woman who knew what he did, not able to condone it, but let him off the hook; there was no stopping him, no matter how little sister Ronalda Santiago would try to persuade him to step out. Risks, rewards, it all meant nothing if... Or when he was dropped by a stray or a perfect headshot right between the eyes. He knew he scared her, but he had to come back home again so that she'd know it didn't happen. Even then...
That feat would not go anywhere, it'd only be buried for awhile until it resurfaced on its own. Forever.
Act IV: Bloodier, Chapter II: Ligarto
Febrero 8, 2029
The house was empty, quiet. Quiet inside, but out there, the kids, los jovenes, played around, making lively noises. Ronalda surely heard them as she cooked lunch for herself and big brother. Today's special was salchicha con huevos, the tasty dish that required corn tortillas and special hot sauce, the Valentin brand. Ronalda made a disgruntled groan at ear grab. "Otro tanke-"
"Orale..." Roberto ran a hand through his short black hair, nodding silently to his sister. "Yeah, I'll get on that-"
"After I turn this mierda off..." Ronalda tisked, shaking her head. "The wrong things are harder here than back-"
Roberto looked up from the newspaper in his hands, breaking contact from the topless woman the newspaper featured this issue. "Sis-" He knew where this was going, something of an argument that came often, but not too often to escalate out of proportion. "If there was one such way-"
"I don't need you telling me again," Ronalda erupted. "I want there to- To be a solution-"
Roberto took his eyes off her slowly, unsure of what to say this time. His brown eyes locked once more with the pair of breasts on the print. No, mood ruined already. He sighed and put the newspaper down after closing it. "Rie-Rie, I know. Believe me, I know..."
The young woman moved the yolk around, letting it fry up with the wooden spatula. "It's been years-"
Roberto lifted his head high up to the ceiling.
"-And yet it still hurts me-"
He closed his eyes, heart throbbing with a familiar ache.
"E-extraño a mama y papa..." Ronalda's hand loosened enough to lose grip of the utensil. "I really do-"
"You have me-" Roberto tried to remind, only for Ronalda to yank out the special card she was known to use.
"Oh, right, you have the gull to say that when you run off playing sicario whenever the fuck te da las putas ganas! You've been lucky this time to not return with a bullet hole, but last time- Last time, Bobby, you came limping home, barely able to drive in perfect condition! Tres cientos pesos to get you patched up, and that wasn't even a month ago! This has to stop!"
"Y que?" Roberto cranked up to ten. "We've made it this far because of me! I know what I do, I can accept that-"
"I won't!"
"But it's all I can do!" His mouth twitched, acting out. "There's this, or... The other thing."
Ronalda came up to him, slapping him square in the face. "No, do not dare go there! We are not going- No, I'm not going to let you join a gang officially. We have to stick together to survive here-"
"Survive..."
Ronnie Anne went silent, looking outside of the kitchen. "I don't like this, I wish I could go back to that safe place in... R-Royal Woods."
"Yeah..." Roberto exhaled through his nose, following Ronalda's eyes. "Things were easier when we were younger."
Ronnie Anne sought out the comfort, hugging her brother tightly with not only love but fear and concern. It wasn't everyday that he left to do his thing, but when he did... There was always that chance that'd he'd never come back. She knew he knew how she felt, it didn't deter him, but it was an obstacle that did slow him down. Slowed him down, and nothing more than that.
All they had was each other, and the lizard that climbed along the walls of the kitchen, tongue slithering about, movement undetected by the two human beings. Lizard.
Lizard.
AN: Your beloved characters suffer here and there, everywhere, but this angle is different and more realistic. I've definitely crossed outside state lines and seen how different things work, feel down there, so maybe trying to reciprocate it visually and on a relatable level would not be so far-fetched. I want to do a little snippet of these two before they step into the main world, amd they will have but enough time to establish some stuff, roles in with the main group. That won't be near, but it's coming. It will.