The First Age

The days following the attack on the Embassy were eventful. So far the Government had managed the national PR, although there was a sect of supporters that had welcomed the attack and pressed him to go so far as to destroy ALL embassies; suffice to say their zeal had been tempered. The rest of the citizens had been largely pacified and their anger was re-directed towards the Cartels Lords.

The secondary concern had been dealt with, but he had yet to make peace with the US. Hence Damien was ‘summoned’ by Monero to negotiate the delicate situation with the newly arrived US dignitary.

For such an occasion, Damien donned a simple suit of dark blue hues and a sedate grey shirt. None of his usual entourage accompanied him either. He had entered the building with only three people. Gamez, Rosita and Camila. The last caused a stir among his more zealous companions, but he had granted the woman her wish. Doubtless she did not see this particular meeting as fulfilling her promise yet it was important that she experience the true nature of his conviction.

The room Monero chose was the obvious one and Damien smiled in satisfaction. The same room he had convinced the Government to work alongside him. It would serve as a reminder to all the officials who would attend today. The list was impressive. Monero led the Mexican party with the head of Foreign Affairs, Internal Security, Chief Justice and their clerks following suit.

Damien took a seat in front of the panel of Mexican officials set apart for him. There were twelve chairs set out for him and his companions, an honour he did not neglect to notice. “It is an honour, President.”
He started with a bow of his head. “How may I help you today?”


“Welcome, Mr. Oakland. You have been summoned to discuss the matter of the Embassy attack,”
Monero played his role well as the dignified President addressing a mere mercenary. “We are concerned about the repercussions this tragedy may bring upon Mexico. I would like to say first that we appreciate your help, but we cannot risk a war with the US.”


Like a true politician he danced around the subject. Damien smiled, although he could have throttled Monero for his hesitance. “I take it you are referring to my past,”
he said pleasantly. “The reports are true, I was an inmate of San Quentin, sentenced to death seven years ago.”


His blunt revelation painted shock on all but Monero and Chief Justice Alavo’s faces. The Chief Justice was a stocky with his build more suited to wrestling than lawmaking. His skills were nothing to be distained though. His insight had proven extremely useful.

Damien continued heedless of the buzz that surrounded him. “I was convicted for first degree murder. The murder of a Senator and his daughter. “
The buzz grew louder, but Damien’s smile was still pleasant. “I do not expect you to listen to my excuses, so I shall ask the Chief Justice to speak.”


Alavo rose and cleared his throat. His short black hair was slick with sweat from the heat of the room. “Mr. Oakland brought this to my attention knowing that this may happen. In the interest of Mexico’s continued prosperity, I have devoted much of my time to investigating his case. What I found was most disturbing. I have not yet compiled a full report; however, I have found evidence of foul play and obstruction of justice. I believe that Mr. Oakland was targeted, possibly in an attempt to cover up the nature of his unique abilities.”
Alavo paused and looked around the room. Another politician at heart. “What I found most disturbing is certain links between affluent US businessmen and Mexican Cartels. This miscarriage of justice concerns not only Mr. Oakland, but the Mexican people. In light of my research, I must support Mr. Oakland’s claim to innocence and demand the United States be made accountable for its people’s misconduct. May I remind all present that Mr. Oakland has proven to be a staunch ally of Mexico while the United States has sat by idly, perhaps even aided the cartels. I do not suggest the Government attempt to challenge the United States, but I urge all of you to show them that we are not puppets to perpetuate the United States’ agenda.”


That gave the others pause, but Damien thought it overkill. Nonetheless, it served his purpose, although he doubted the cartels had anything to do with his conviction. The link had been provided as a bridge linking Mexican interests and his own. Both claims Alavo made were true in a fashion. Damien’s trial was indeed a farce the sentence unjust but he had killed them and while the cartels had ties to some extremely powerful US citizens, they were not involved in his case.

Damien turned to Camila and dropped his smile to speak in a whispered tone. “The Chief Justice may be prone to political exaggeration but he does not lie. However, he failed to mention how I came to Mexico. I tell you plainly – I freed myself. With the same power I use to cleanse Mexico. Tell me, do you regret your decision, now that you know my past?”


<small>(Apologies it took so long. I have been busy.)</small>

“Not at all, Mr. Oakland.”


She’d leaned in closer to Damien in order to listen better to his whispered words, and though she did look at him from time to time, her gaze shifted from him to the officials present at the gathering. Her answer was succinct and honest. Despite the interesting revelations, she did not regret her choice to ally herself to the man.

From the beginning, the entire meeting had been of some interest. The fact that Damien had chosen her in the small group that accompanied him was not gesture lost on her. Some of his cronies weren’t pleased with the man’s decision, but she paid them no mind. What she cared about was that Damien followed through with his promise.

As they entered the room, Camila looked on at the delegates, discretely judging their expressions as they watched Oakland and the rest of them sit themselves. For her part, she’d dressed in a way she’d hoped would let her blend in while still looking presentable. A sleeveless dark emerald blouse with a bateau neckline was paired along with a high-waist pencil skirt. Sheer black stockings, a thin black belt, and equally dark four inch heels, along with emerald studs for earrings and a neat French twist completed the ensemble.

After the initial pleasantries were over, the President seemed to stir the conversation to the matter at hand, yet his comments were apparently not direct enough for Oakland. Her gaze had turned to the man as he mentioned his conviction. In that instant, she measured him in a different light. A criminal was leading the cleansing of Mexico? Though her surprise didn’t show, she couldn’t deny its existence.

Later, as the Chief of Justice spoke, the slight doubt that had threatened her assessment of Damien was, for her purposes, appeased. Alavo’s observations concerning US business ventures and the cartels procured from her a soft snort. Was the man so lost in his own little world to just make note of that then? She could have told him that. The problem, to her eyes, was that unless both governments put pressure on the Cartels, it was far too easy for any the major players in Mexico to escape to the US. That was something she cared little about, and hoped Oakland’s intervention could prevent.

Crossing one leg over the other, she once again looked over at Damien and spoke in a soft whisper. “What matters to me is what you do now. I care more about your actions today and tomorrow than I do about what you did yesterday. If your… abilities… were what it took for you to be here and help Mexico, then so be it. However, your passionate friend might want to leave all talks of demands from the US off the table for now. After all, I could have sworn President Monero wants to avoid a bigger conflict with the States, no?”

Edited by Camila, Aug 3 2014, 09:57 PM.

The ministers continued to discuss the matter. Damien paid the chatter no heed, focused on Camila. He watched her reaction closely and he was not disappointed. She was a woman of actions above words and her insight belied a sharp mind for internal politics. He would have to curb her impatience though, just as he had done with his own mandate.

Although meaningless to him the government’s bureaucratic process was one that could not be ignored and that which could not be ignored would be bent to his cause.

When he replied it was with an air of calm confidence. “There is no cause for alarm. Such words are necessary. These men and women are cautious by nature and they talk in abundance. Alavo’s speech may seem provocative to you or I but it serves only to drive a wedge between the US and Mexico’s cooperation. There are many who would see me deported; our cartel friends not the least among them. This wedge will buy us time to consolidate our position.”


The room was buzzing with the twittering of political mechanics. Despite what he had just said, Damien was disinclined to sit and wait. The debate could wait until the government next held a session. His voice was a knife that cut silence through the air when he raised it to address the room. “I thank you all for your consideration. I am sure you will make the best decision for Mexico. However, the greater issue is protecting the people of Mexico. Do we have any leads on the perpetrators of the attack on the Embassy?”


The President clasped his hands on the desk before him. His eyes shifted around the room at a rapid pace, unwilling to rest in one spot. “The police have been unable to identify the cause. There are no residual forensics nor are there any witnesses that can attest to peculiar activity.”


“I see...”
Damien replied. He glanced at Gamez who looked thoughtful. Rosita also seemed to exude her father’s impenetrable shell of deep thought. His eyes then moved to Camila and rested on her for a short while before returning his attention to the officials. “If you require anything further I shall make myself available. If not, I will tighten security according to our original plan.”


Monero did not have any further use for him as expected. The purpose of the meeting had already been served and Damien was not one to waste time on redundancies. With permission from the President he rose and left the room. His mood was pensive and silence dominated their company as he, Rosita, Gamez and Camila proceeded. It was not until they had exited the building that Damien broke it.

The sun shone down upon them in a blue sky and Damien drank in the endless expanse. The Americans’ demand for his extradition had brought back memories of San Quentin. He would have to contact Yulian and his business partners inside the Custody. Gamez would put pressure on them from his end through their trade agreement to assert their influence. He needed Mexico to become the lynchpin between the two rival powers providing something invaluable, forcing them into a stalemate. It was a long road that had only just begun and the waves had already begun to ripple. Whoever had attacked the Embassy would pay dearly for their transgression.

“Camila, I ask you now to prove your worth. We need to find the people responsible for the Embassy attack. You have a unique connection to the cartels and access to information that I do not have. We need to move forward at all costs so I shall utilize every advantage we have. So I ask you; what can you provide us with?”

Edited by Damien, Aug 15 2014, 12:27 PM.

She listened to his response and offered an acknowledging nod before both of them turned back to look at the others in the room. Hopefully he was right, and all of Alavo’s enthusiastic speech would not amount to anything the Mexican government wasn’t prepared to handle.

The moment the President admitted to not having any leads concerning the Embassy attack, Camila felt a knot form in her stomach. It was possible for her to find out something, but then again, it was also very likely that she would find nothing. Worse, that she could not make any sense of anything she came to discover.

Looking down, she laced her fingers together while resting her hands on the table. There was something she could do that as far as she understood, was either some sort of psychic power, or witchcraft. Now, Camila wasn't superstitious, but she really had no idea what it was, or why she could do it at all.

In her hopes to understand things, the closest thing she could compare herself to was the Greek's Pythia. Yet, even that was all wrong. The Greeks sacrificed animals before their readings from the Oracle, the innards used as pre-reading of sorts, while the famed seer smoked vapors that brought on jumbled words priests interpreted.

In Camila's case, blood was key. Unfortunately, what she saw wasn't always easy to interpret. If she shared her secret with Damien, there was also the chance the man would think her crazy. Would he be desperate enough for information to give her skills a chance?

The woman looked up from her hands just in time to meet Damien's eyes. It was clear he was weighing matters inside that mind of his. What he'd been thinking about exactly became very clear after the group of them left the meeting. The fact that his question touched very close to what she'd been thinking about nearly made her miss her step.

“I can check things out tonight to see what the talk within the Cartels is all about. There’s usually some poor idiot that doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”
She had been walking beside him as the group made their way to their vehicle, thus, her voice had remained soft enough for only the two of them to hear. Yet, before continuing, Camila glanced uneasily at their two companions. “There’s something else, but I suppose whether you want to make use of it or not depends on how squeamish you are… What do you know about the Oracle of Delphi?”

Edited by Camila, Aug 17 2014, 01:29 PM.

Camila was thrown off by his request and piqued his curiosity. Damien halted when she spoke but signalled the others to continue on at her hesitance so they were left alone in relative terms. He pondered the question she posed to him, once again weighing her with a steady gaze.

“An effective method,”
Damien replied to her first statement. “Do as you will, I trust you are experienced enough in these matters.”


His real curiosity was reserved for her cryptic remarks. He had the impression that the woman was not ruffled easily, nor was she one to speak in riddles. To see her unsure was in itself a testament to whatever mystery she guarded with such uncharacteristic delicacy.

“I know enough. Prophecy and fortune telling,”
the words hung off his tongue poised to capture her reaction. “Speak freely; I will take whatever advantage necessary regardless of its nature.”
A harsh laugh clad in velvet escaped his lips. “Death Row leaves little room for the squeamish, Camila. I was housed among the most dangerous men in the world,”
his laugh faded into a stiff-jawed smile“and they feared me.”

Camila stopped just a step after Damien and turned to look back at him. Squeamish wasn’t exactly a word she would have used to describe the man since meeting him, but saying he wouldn’t mind before seeing her in action was one thing… being present at one of her visions would likely be quite another. Truth was, she wasn’t even sure what went out outside her mind’s eye. What would someone else see as she was in the grasp of a vision? It had never occurred to her to capture the ordeal in video.

“Yes, well, I don’t exactly give off prophesies… but I see things.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I see images: past, present, future. Sometimes it is clear, sometimes it is a jumble. Like someone mixed multiple jigsaw puzzles. But, I don’t use smoke and vapors, Damien.”


Camila hesitated for a moment, looking over at the other two that waited for them before continuing. “I need blood. I haven’t done it often, and I know it sounds crazy, but up until your arrival I would have thought the things you’ve done to be crazy ramblings too.”
She was nervous, and it had been a while since she’d felt nervous about anything. “I think there are rules, there seem to be limitations, but it is a way we can find out about the bombing. We’d need an animal, doesn’t matter which, a person’s blood limits the visions to the owner.”


She tried to judge Damian’s reaction to her words through any subtle changes in his expression or posture. Had she been in his shoes, she would have probably laughed and tried to distance herself as much as possible. After all, the word crazy was high up in the list of descriptors any normal person would have used in regards of all she had just told him.

Damien's response was carefully constructed to gauge Camila's mettle. Her claim was met with an arched brow of equal parts scepticism and interest. What he really thought was of little relevance.

The mention of blood sacrifice did not phase him. It did however make him curious. It gave new meaning to the old adage 'Blood is thicker than Water."

The plan to use this method to locate the terrorist bore some thought. The additional comment about human blood drew his attention more keenly though.

"Human blood is limited to the provider?"
he asked with his natural intensity that displayed itself when something had caught his attention. "I assume then, it does not require the death of that person?"


Rosita tapped one booted foot with impatience and directed a glare at Camila. Damien paid her no heed, dismissing her with a curt gesture. She forced a fraudulent sigh and left mumbling about being glad to be free from babysitting. Gamez caught his eye with a faint smile on his face.

An interesting concept that had captivated human imagination for centuries. It was a subject popular in abstract philosophy and one he had crossed in the idle solitude of San Quentin. What if one were to gain knowledge of the future? Could it be changed? Should it?

He had given the matter little thought, dismissed as idle fantasy. Now that a possibility had presented itself, his thoughts were no less dismissive. He would use what information he could gain to pursue his goal.

"I see a great many possibilities,"
Damien resumed. "Come, we will return to the Estate. I will put this ability to the test. Tell me what you require.."