06-18-2014, 10:12 AM
The proceeding week was filled with a tense lull like a gathering storm. The streets of Mexico City were silent and those who ventured onto the open roads did so quickly and quietly.
Damien had informed Yulian of the successful trade agreement with the Estande family. The man was ecstatic – as well he should be. The Russian mogul would reap billions of dollars in profit from this, and much more if Damien succeeded in his own work.
Presently, Gamez was meeting with the governing body of Mexico, while Damien waited outside in the halls with Rosita and a select guard that included Spatzinov and half a dozen of his best men. Through the thick steel doors, Damien could hear only a fraction of the conversation with his heightened sense of hearing but the tone was as Gamez had expected. The Mexican government ruled in name only. The president dared not make a move out of fear.
“This is pointless,”
Rosita declared in a flat tone, her perpetual scowl deeper than usual.
Damien smiled, imagining a bright young girl running through the Estande estate laughing. “You should have more faith in your father, he is not an idiot.”
Rosita snorted. “That is debatable.”
Damien did not reply as voices grew louder and footsteps approached the steel doors. Moments later, Gamez, his face worn and exhausted poked his head into the hall. “They wish for something more,”
he said in a dejected voice, looking at Damien with pleading eyes.
Damien stood with his back straight and steady. “Then they shall have it.”
He smiled at Gamez before making his way into the chamber and whispered under his breath. “They will see reason, friend.”
When he entered, he closed the doors with a firm hand which resounded throughout the room. He did not want Gamez to witness this. Now, it was his turn to move. It had been a long time coming, but he would not let the opportunity pass him by. The United States loomed over its southern borders as a black shadow of false salvation and if no-one acted, Mexico would be consumed by the greed of the north.
His smile was pleasant as he strode into the office. It was a simple room with the bare essentials which befitted the state the government was in. Disgust rose like bile in the back of his throat as he eyed the five ministers sat facing him behind a long table propped up by three stairs. It was a poor attempt at domination ruined further by the meek stance the five displayed. The President himself – a stork of a man in a well cut suit – managed a semblance of dignity but nothing could hide his fear.
“So you are the meddler Gamez has fooled?”
the President broke the silence with scorn filled words.
“If you wish to see it that way,”
Damien replied in an indifferent tone. “Myself, I prefer to think that Gamez Estande’s hand has been forced through no fault of his own.”
The President’s hands slammed down on the table sending echoes through the room. His ministers looked shocked. “I am sick of this nonsense! Gamez has said his piece; I will not stand for a foreigner insulting Mexico’s pride!”
The man’s face was flushed red and a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
Damien’s face grew dark. The man had made a poor decision which he would soon come to regret. Filled with the Light, he wrapped a flow of Wind around the table and flung it towards the wall. Shouts and the clattering of metal erupted in the chamber; calls for security fell on deaf ears. Rosita and Spatzinov had their orders.
Damien traced a slow path towards the President allowing the events that had unfolded and the ferocity of his gaze to penetrate the man’s heart. When he stood face to face, the President sunk down into his chair. “You are an insult to Mexico and her people,”
Damien began in a low voice which gained passion as he spoke. “You have abandoned your people to the will of the cartels. Mexico City is a ruin, and you have the nerve to demand respect?”
“Do you think we want it this way?”
one of his ministers spluttered indignant. “We can do nothing!”
“You can and you will. You hide behind red tape and out-dated law. Once, perhaps, you had the luxury, but the world has changed. The United States cannot help you now, corruption and greed has blinded their eyes, and the Custody cares nothing for your petty squabbling. Do not think for a moment they will save you when the cartels break down your doors and slaughter your families.”
“We cannot fight them! They are too powerful!”
another minister cried.
“Which is why I am here, to aid you.”
“One man will not make a difference,”
the President said with a furious glare. “You are a murderer and escaped convict, no matter what little tricks you have, that is all you will be.”
“Mexico must free itself; I am only here to help. I bring aid, why refuse it?”
The President laughed. “The people are broken, Mexico will never be free.”
Images of his trial and the smug faces of the Senators filtered through his mind. San Quentin, beatings, killings, rape. All went unnoticed and ignored. This time was different though. This time he had power and he would rip apart any who stood against him.
Damien stared at the man a moment before wrapping chords of Wind around his throat and lifting him into the air. “Hear me, coward. You. Will. Fight.”
Damien had informed Yulian of the successful trade agreement with the Estande family. The man was ecstatic – as well he should be. The Russian mogul would reap billions of dollars in profit from this, and much more if Damien succeeded in his own work.
Presently, Gamez was meeting with the governing body of Mexico, while Damien waited outside in the halls with Rosita and a select guard that included Spatzinov and half a dozen of his best men. Through the thick steel doors, Damien could hear only a fraction of the conversation with his heightened sense of hearing but the tone was as Gamez had expected. The Mexican government ruled in name only. The president dared not make a move out of fear.
“This is pointless,”
Rosita declared in a flat tone, her perpetual scowl deeper than usual.
Damien smiled, imagining a bright young girl running through the Estande estate laughing. “You should have more faith in your father, he is not an idiot.”
Rosita snorted. “That is debatable.”
Damien did not reply as voices grew louder and footsteps approached the steel doors. Moments later, Gamez, his face worn and exhausted poked his head into the hall. “They wish for something more,”
he said in a dejected voice, looking at Damien with pleading eyes.
Damien stood with his back straight and steady. “Then they shall have it.”
He smiled at Gamez before making his way into the chamber and whispered under his breath. “They will see reason, friend.”
When he entered, he closed the doors with a firm hand which resounded throughout the room. He did not want Gamez to witness this. Now, it was his turn to move. It had been a long time coming, but he would not let the opportunity pass him by. The United States loomed over its southern borders as a black shadow of false salvation and if no-one acted, Mexico would be consumed by the greed of the north.
His smile was pleasant as he strode into the office. It was a simple room with the bare essentials which befitted the state the government was in. Disgust rose like bile in the back of his throat as he eyed the five ministers sat facing him behind a long table propped up by three stairs. It was a poor attempt at domination ruined further by the meek stance the five displayed. The President himself – a stork of a man in a well cut suit – managed a semblance of dignity but nothing could hide his fear.
“So you are the meddler Gamez has fooled?”
the President broke the silence with scorn filled words.
“If you wish to see it that way,”
Damien replied in an indifferent tone. “Myself, I prefer to think that Gamez Estande’s hand has been forced through no fault of his own.”
The President’s hands slammed down on the table sending echoes through the room. His ministers looked shocked. “I am sick of this nonsense! Gamez has said his piece; I will not stand for a foreigner insulting Mexico’s pride!”
The man’s face was flushed red and a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
Damien’s face grew dark. The man had made a poor decision which he would soon come to regret. Filled with the Light, he wrapped a flow of Wind around the table and flung it towards the wall. Shouts and the clattering of metal erupted in the chamber; calls for security fell on deaf ears. Rosita and Spatzinov had their orders.
Damien traced a slow path towards the President allowing the events that had unfolded and the ferocity of his gaze to penetrate the man’s heart. When he stood face to face, the President sunk down into his chair. “You are an insult to Mexico and her people,”
Damien began in a low voice which gained passion as he spoke. “You have abandoned your people to the will of the cartels. Mexico City is a ruin, and you have the nerve to demand respect?”
“Do you think we want it this way?”
one of his ministers spluttered indignant. “We can do nothing!”
“You can and you will. You hide behind red tape and out-dated law. Once, perhaps, you had the luxury, but the world has changed. The United States cannot help you now, corruption and greed has blinded their eyes, and the Custody cares nothing for your petty squabbling. Do not think for a moment they will save you when the cartels break down your doors and slaughter your families.”
“We cannot fight them! They are too powerful!”
another minister cried.
“Which is why I am here, to aid you.”
“One man will not make a difference,”
the President said with a furious glare. “You are a murderer and escaped convict, no matter what little tricks you have, that is all you will be.”
“Mexico must free itself; I am only here to help. I bring aid, why refuse it?”
The President laughed. “The people are broken, Mexico will never be free.”
Images of his trial and the smug faces of the Senators filtered through his mind. San Quentin, beatings, killings, rape. All went unnoticed and ignored. This time was different though. This time he had power and he would rip apart any who stood against him.
Damien stared at the man a moment before wrapping chords of Wind around his throat and lifting him into the air. “Hear me, coward. You. Will. Fight.”