Chapter Text
It is early morning and the base is quiet. The harsh October wind blows from the east and stalks through the rubble of the once proud building, waiting for the return of its inhabitants. What was left of them anyway. Grey flakes of ash dance down from the sky, twirling around Rodolfo’s head and settling in his hair, crowning him in a halo of destruction.
The demolition of the Los Vaqueros base was well known, and the whispers of decay carried by the wind through the lonely walls speaks its own strange language. It does not ponder on the days passed or the days yet to come, only on the now, only on the base laid to waste and the man who watches, ash collected in his dark lashes.
Penetrating light floods the chaos, creating sharp shadows, almost as sharp as the rubble Rodolfo had cut himself on exploring the ruins of his base. Blood drips down his arm but he gives no indication he cares, it falls to the concrete where he is stood, bringing life to the monochromatic grey ash still littering the floor. The base is hungry. It has tasted death on a profound scale and it craves more. It is in the air, the sweet taste of decay. Rodolfo is tired, but weariness is another enemy and to rest would be to die, to concede defeat. Never ending awareness is how he has stayed alive, and he must stay alive to honour murmured promises in the dead of night, to honour the scarce whispers made in twilight hours.
The base is at war, and for each solider the only measure of victory is that somehow they have managed to survive to see another dawn. The fighting has stopped for now, but in the military there are only brief reprieves from conflict. Peace is a lie told to yourself as a flimsy shield against the cold unforgiving truth. War is ultimate. War is what Rodolfo’s life began with, fighting his way out of the womb, and war is how he will die. He knows this, it is a fact of life, as true as grass is green or the love he holds in his heart for his Colonel.
Rodolfo turns away, it hurts to see somewhere which was once so full of life tainted by the death he can’t seem to escape from. He walks with a pronounced limp, a parting gift from an overzealous shadow. It is a badge of honour as well as shame. Few others on the base lived to boast of such trivial injuries. It is nothing permanent, come summer it will be another distant memory. His duties at the base are concerned with identifying the dead. A job no one wanted, but one he volunteered for regardless. He looked down into the glassy eyes of a solider. One of theirs, not a Shadow. Sergeant Martinez. A memory sighed in his head, of rustling leaves and the Sergeant laughing hauling a bag onto his back, yelling over his shoulder as he left on leave about his Mother being upset with him about something. God Rodolfo hoped he didn’t have to tell Mrs Martinez.
Martinez had not yet acquired the haunted, hollow-eyed look of the military. But in the eyes of the Shadow Company, he was guilty of a crime for which there can be no pardon: he was a Los Vaqueros. Was. Rodolfo’s heart aches as he looks at the body. It is no longer Sergeant Martinez, his once lively eyes are now dead. No amount of reminiscing will bring him back.
Rodolfo stands there still, ignoring the bitter fingers of cold that caress his limbs and pinch at his face. He is gripped by a numb anxiety as he stares unblinkingly at what once was Martinez. Rodolfo would sigh, cry, scream, if he had the energy to do anything beyond stay stationary. Without ceremony the quiet is broken.
“Rudy, I have been looking everywhere for you.”
Rodolfo drags his eyes from Martinez to look at Alejandro. He is tall, muscular, his hair is dark and his eyes are darker, disconcertingly so. He is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He is a hit with the women in the bars of Las Almas. He was Rodolfo’s introduction to love. Rudy tries to keep his voice level, but his voice cracks and crumbles around the syllables.
“I was just” He clears his throat, debating blaming the hoarseness on the thick ash clogging the air, but it would be a lie more for his benefit than anyone else’s. “Counting the dead.”
“El Sin Nombre will pay for the destruction she has caused. I swear to you Rodolfo.”
Alejandro looks solemn, his eyes soften. He slings an arm around Rodolfo, pulling him close to his chest. Rudy wants to cry, but he thinks he might have forgotten how.
August 2023
American Covert Military Facility. Location: Unknown.
The interview was drawing to a close, still the interviewer, a tight lipped Captain who knew how to get what he wanted from who he wanted, had not yet asked the question. Rodolfo sat stock still, limbs filled with tension. At last, quickly, so quickly Rodolfo almost missed it, he slipped it in.
“We want to know about the death of El Sin Nombre and the consequent disappearance of Colonel Alejandro Vargas.”
The Captain leant forwards in his seat, the only sound in the room being the slow creaking of leather. He glanced at the clock for the fifth time since Rodolfo had been escorted to the small interrogation chamber, like it would spook Rodolfo into talking. He had been asked the question again.
He raised his head to meet the eyes of his tormentor. They were a thin murky grey, like an overcast sky, teetering on the edge of rain. He could feel them tearing the skin away from his face, prying past bone. He could feel the Captains pale long fingers peeling back the frontal cortex of his brain to try and glimpse depths and secrets that were best kept hidden. The silence between the two grew uncomfortable.
“Your refusal to talk about this will only keep you here longer Sergeant Major.”
When Rodolfo spoke his voice was sore and hoarse, an echo of a frigid October morning lost to the past.
“Refusal?”
The word came out sharply, like the time Rodolfo had spent in silence was rather instead used to sharpen his tongue.
“I have answered your question thrice over Captain, yet you still refuse to let me go, what is it you want to hear exactly?”
The Captains steely eyes took on a new resolve as he stared into the confines of Rodolfo’s soul. His question had not elicited the response he wanted.
“I want the truth Rodolfo. Only you know what happened that night.”