06-11-2014, 07:59 AM
“Sir, do you have a moment?”
Yulian’s appointed chief ‘ambassadorial escort’ halted him with a firm grip on his shoulder. Two of the twenty escorts in Custody civilian-grade Reinforced Combat Suits confronted him while the others fanned out in a loose formation. They eyed the armed group awaiting them at the end of the deserted hallway with hostility.
Damien stifled his irritation and kept his posture relaxed. He almost regretted allowing Yulian to convince him to bring the man with him. Not yet out of Benito Juárez International and Chief Spatzinov had thrice attempted to usurp his authority under the pretence of ‘anomalous behavioural activity’. “Of course, Chief. What advice do you have for me?”
Spatzinov frowned at his choice of words. Damien met his glare with indifference prompting the spiteful man to answer. “What is this, Oakland? Yulian sent me here to negotiate a contract with businessmen, not armed savages.”
“Yulian sent you to escort me, Spatzinov,”
he said in a firm tone. “You will obey my order unless Yulian sends word to the contrary. Let us proceed.”
Spatzinov’s grip did not lessen. “Those men are armed to the teeth with assault rifles and explosives! I expected a welcoming party, not a military squadron.”
Damien removed the man’s hand from his shoulder and held it in a tight grasp. “We are no longer in the Custody. This is Mexico, and the cartels hold the government by the throat. You should be honoured that Gamez Estande has offered us such protection. It is rare to find a man outside of the cartels with the power or nerve to do such a thing. A man that is exactly what Yulian is looking for.”
Left with no other choice, Spatzinov followed when Damien made for the greeting party at a sedate pace. In his deftly designed suit of deep maroon and Monastral blue he cut a striking figure in contrast to the drab timbres of professional guards. His approach was met with suspicious eyes and nervous fingers drifting towards triggers. Damien spread his arms wide and gave the sour looking Mexicans a smile. “Hola, my friends, I trust Gamez is well?”
“Hola, Mr. Oakland,”
the foremost among them returned in a feminine voice. It was hard to tell with her shaved head and perpetual scowl that Rosita Estande was a woman but life had given her a hard road to follow as heir to Estande’s company and estate. “All is well, although it seems your pets grow weary of their chains.”
She pointed her rifle towards his escort with in a casual motion.
Damien held up a hand to prevent any mishaps. He could feel Spatzinov’s glare boring into the back of his skull. “These men represent Yulian’s interests, Rosita. They have left family and home to honour this agreement with your father. You will treat them with respect.”
Rosita met his eyes and her soldiers shuffled irritably but she did nothing but grunt and gesture them forward. “Let’s go then, Mr. Oakland. We shall see what my father has to say. Tides turn easily in Mexico City, do not count on goodwill to sustain you.”
Mexico City; a city hardened by an unseen civil war. Damien could sense the rotting pestilence that scourged the land. Of instinct, he gripped the Light with impatience, only to let it simmer on the edge of euphoria. There was no other choice but to endure. For now.
Yulian’s appointed chief ‘ambassadorial escort’ halted him with a firm grip on his shoulder. Two of the twenty escorts in Custody civilian-grade Reinforced Combat Suits confronted him while the others fanned out in a loose formation. They eyed the armed group awaiting them at the end of the deserted hallway with hostility.
Damien stifled his irritation and kept his posture relaxed. He almost regretted allowing Yulian to convince him to bring the man with him. Not yet out of Benito Juárez International and Chief Spatzinov had thrice attempted to usurp his authority under the pretence of ‘anomalous behavioural activity’. “Of course, Chief. What advice do you have for me?”
Spatzinov frowned at his choice of words. Damien met his glare with indifference prompting the spiteful man to answer. “What is this, Oakland? Yulian sent me here to negotiate a contract with businessmen, not armed savages.”
“Yulian sent you to escort me, Spatzinov,”
he said in a firm tone. “You will obey my order unless Yulian sends word to the contrary. Let us proceed.”
Spatzinov’s grip did not lessen. “Those men are armed to the teeth with assault rifles and explosives! I expected a welcoming party, not a military squadron.”
Damien removed the man’s hand from his shoulder and held it in a tight grasp. “We are no longer in the Custody. This is Mexico, and the cartels hold the government by the throat. You should be honoured that Gamez Estande has offered us such protection. It is rare to find a man outside of the cartels with the power or nerve to do such a thing. A man that is exactly what Yulian is looking for.”
Left with no other choice, Spatzinov followed when Damien made for the greeting party at a sedate pace. In his deftly designed suit of deep maroon and Monastral blue he cut a striking figure in contrast to the drab timbres of professional guards. His approach was met with suspicious eyes and nervous fingers drifting towards triggers. Damien spread his arms wide and gave the sour looking Mexicans a smile. “Hola, my friends, I trust Gamez is well?”
“Hola, Mr. Oakland,”
the foremost among them returned in a feminine voice. It was hard to tell with her shaved head and perpetual scowl that Rosita Estande was a woman but life had given her a hard road to follow as heir to Estande’s company and estate. “All is well, although it seems your pets grow weary of their chains.”
She pointed her rifle towards his escort with in a casual motion.
Damien held up a hand to prevent any mishaps. He could feel Spatzinov’s glare boring into the back of his skull. “These men represent Yulian’s interests, Rosita. They have left family and home to honour this agreement with your father. You will treat them with respect.”
Rosita met his eyes and her soldiers shuffled irritably but she did nothing but grunt and gesture them forward. “Let’s go then, Mr. Oakland. We shall see what my father has to say. Tides turn easily in Mexico City, do not count on goodwill to sustain you.”
Mexico City; a city hardened by an unseen civil war. Damien could sense the rotting pestilence that scourged the land. Of instinct, he gripped the Light with impatience, only to let it simmer on the edge of euphoria. There was no other choice but to endure. For now.