A sickness of the heart that only gold can cure.

[Isabella Salazar]

"We're never fuckin' talking 'bout this again..."

Benny grunted in pain, one arm around Tella's shoulders, his feet almost dragging on the muddy floor of the alleyway. Bloodstained alligator shoes stumbled over trash and broken glass as he tried to stay conscious. One hand was pressed tight into a fist against his stomach, and there was a growing dark red stain underneath.

Behind those two were Delia, and an older-looking Mexican man with a scarred face. Don Falcón usually had his greying hair slicked back, but with all the running and sweating it had gone all matted and raggedy. Part of him worried. Don't wanna look bad in the police photos, after all. Limping slightly and trying not to lag behind, Juaréz's reigning kingpin panted as he walked, nursing his own wound. A stray bullet had glanced him in the shin. Hurt like hell. He knew he'd be ok, but he didn't like moving this fast even at the best of times. "Hey... Bení... mijo... you alr-"

"I'm fine, Tío." Benny interjected, glancing at Tella, then forward at the strange figure who had gotten them out of that nightclub alive.

Clad in all-black motorcycle gear, face covered by an opaque helmet, the man hadn't said a single word to them. Just appeared from the shadows when the shooting started, decimated his way through the hit squad sent to wipe them all out, and led them to safety. Though they weren't there just yet.

Tella had come through un-shot but not unscathed. She was hopping along with Benny, her ankle rolled from a bad landing when she'd had to throw herself to the floor; and underneath the splatter of blood on her face from shooting someone at close range was a bump, a swollen bruise from someone who had clocked her. She kept one hand on her purse, but she knew the revolver within, with its two remaining small-caliber rounds, would be of limited use, and her thrift with cunning could only get them so far here. They had to get to safety quickly.

Her eyepatch was askew, but still covering her eye for now. So far no one had asked her how she managed to get cornered and not shot. Maybe they wouldn't.

She checked on Falcón, then if anyone was following them, then Benny and his bloody shirt, then the mysterious figure. "¿Cuánto tiempo?" How much time, or how much longer. The clock was tick-tick-ticking on her favorite tall person's life. The masked man didn't respond, or even turn to look at Tella. He just kept walking, leading the group around a corner...

... where they were greeted by three men armed with assault rifles.

Everything happened all at once. Immediately, Benny swung around and grabbed Tella, shoving her down to the floor and staying there. He knew he wasn't in any shape to fight, so he had at least get her out of the way. The muzzle flashes lit the alleyway up like strobe lights, illuminating the masked man darting forward, sparks flying as bullets pinged off his suit without so much as a scratch. There was a scream of pain, and one of the gunmen fell to the ground with his elbow snapped the wrong way, bone protruding from the other side. He clutched it in shock before his arm was grabbed and the exposed bone shoved directly into his eye. Both others focused their fire on him, the man simply holding an arm up and bending the barrel of the rifle back effortlessly before pulling the second attacker in for a headbutt that looked like it caved his face in. The third dropped his weapon, hands in the air, scampering back against a wall, as the masked man extended a blade seemingly straight from his palm. With a single swipe, the man's head rolled into the gutter.

Three bodies lay in the rain as the man turned back to the group. Benny looked up, before sheepishly rolling to a sitting position, panting and glancing awkwardly at Tella, whose shirt was now a bit more bloody. "... sorry..."

Wordlessly, the man walked to an unassuming steel door, something Delia may have recognized. A bit more high-tech, judging by the hidden palm-scanning panel that the man exposed, opening it up. Safety. For now. From the brief contact, Benny may have noticed that Tella in that moment was feverishly hot. Whatever she or some part of her had been preparing to do, it no longer had to be done. She was no longer near-scalding when she helped Benny back to his feet. She looked normal.

Hadn’t there been a bump to go along with that bruise, though?

“Nope. No apologizing. We’re getting you inside and fixed up. No one wants another hole-y ghost.” Hopefully the pun didn’t do him in. She checked on Delia and Falcón again as she helped Benny hobble inside after the figure she was 95% sure was a vampire like in Blade. They wore helmets for the sun, right?

It had simultaneously been more than Delia had bargained for and yet still precisely what she had expected. Chaos. Death. These facets were synonymous with her involvement in Alik's business. Which this was, despite his currently comatose lack of participation in said business. Had it not been for that, she likely would have been safe and sound back in Rhydin, probably reading in the care facility she had moved her grandmother to.

Instead... she was here. Bleeding, albeit just barely. What she wore was less her own blood and more that of others. Her compound bow had been impractical in close quarters but the spell work and charms on it had made for an easy switch to a smaller handheld blade. Said blade was somehow pristine and perfectly clean despite its wielder being anything but. As they turned the corner, she rubbed at a smudge of grime on her cheekbone and just narrowly got a hand up to shield against the hail of death. A shimmer of gold sprung from the lift of her hand, putting a barrier between the gunmen and herself and Falcón. It wouldn't hold forever but it gave the helmeted wunderkind a chance to do his thing.

Falcón fell back, cursing loudly when the gunfire started. Having been saved, he glanced up at Delia, chucking breathlessly as he got to his feet. "... full of surprises..." He followed her along, giving sidelong glances at their protector.

When they were no longer a concern, she let the shield fall with an exhaled whoosh of air, shoulders sagging. A gesture of her other hand motioned for Falcón to move forward, encouraging him to head for the door. Delia followed, giving Tella and Benny a singular nod along the way. It eventually put her in proximity to their unwitting savior so that she could sigh in earshot. "Didn't expect to see you here, but 'm not gonna complain about it, that's for sure."

The masked man looked at Delia, having taken a standing position in the corner. A monotone text-to-speech voice came from the helmet.
"You sure have an unorthodox way of staying out of trouble..."

The room was small, with a hospital bed and some machinery in one corner and a desk, two armchairs and a stack of books in the other. The wall above the desk held an array of grainy security camera monitors of the streets surrounding them. Falcón rushed to help Tella get Benny on the bed. It was hard to take his weight, but the old timer managed, wiping some sweat from the younger man's forehead and giving him a once-over. "Ah... You're gonna be fine, mijo..." Falcón took Benny's blood-soaked hand and squeezed it, the two exchanging a long look. Neither of them were great conversationalists at the best of times, but right now there was nothing they needed to say.

A gloved hand pressed the side of the masked man's helmet, and the whole thing retracted with a series of mechanical hisses. A mop of red hair, pale, gaunt face, unreadable expression and that cold, red, mechanical eye flitting around the room of its own accord. Glitch's usual calm, direct yet authoritative voice rang out to replace the TTS.

"The doctor's on the way. You two will stay here with Benny and wait for him." motioning at Benny, Falcón and Delia. "So long as you keep pressure on the wound and dress it, he should still be stable by the time he arrives. There's plenty to keep you occupied besides. Nobody can get through that door without biometric authorization, and you can see everything from three blocks away." he indicated the security cameras. Falcón just scowled at the man from Benny's sickbed, a look that Glitch ignored.

“How long?” Tella asked Glitch. No introductions or expressions of gratitude yet - right now, she was keeping it simple. Whatever supplies they had here, she made use of. She didn’t seem to have deep medical knowledge, but enough to keep herself - or someone else - alive for a while if seriously hurt. Cleaning, pressure, bandaging. She eyed (ha) Falcón critically. He was next. She was doing math in her head - bloodloss over time, unconsciousness, death. Falcón, meanwhile, had cleaned his own wound up with a bottle of water, tied his neckerchief around his shin, and was making quick worth of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Which he just... seemed to have. Who knows where he got it. That was all the treatment he seemed to need. Benny just lay there for the moment, appreciating the rest. "... some fuckin' holiday..."

"Five minutes. Armed escort left his house thirty seconds ago." Glitch said, monotone, eyes lingering on Tella. "... And you're coming with me."

That was reassuring. Well, most of it. “We’ll square up soon. I mean, as well as we can,” she told Falcón, and blink-winked, “... cool kids that we are.” Tella wasn’t dawdling. She was cleaning herself up, adjusting and removing layers as needed to get rid of obvious blood stains, and dabbing her face to a semblance of cleanness.

She was thrifty. One of the gunmen Glitch had just killed had contributed a pistol to the Brutella Goode Lye Defense Fund. She inspected it, checked the magazine, put it in her purse, and moved after Glitch.

Glitch stood in front of the door, looking silently down at Tella's purse. Then back up at her. It looked for a moment as though he was going to ask her to leave it behind, but instead just turned and opened it for her.

He gave a long look at the rest of the gang. Benny had passed out, Falcón was keeping up his untrusting look at Glitch. "Don't worry, I'll keep these two comfortable." Delia told Glitch when he looked back. Not as though she thought he was worrying, even if he was capable of it, odd machine-man that he was. But just the same, she was there, she may as well put herself to work and thus, went on the search for tea as the other two took their leave.

Glitch glanced at Delia as he walked out. "No doubt..."

Tella was many things. One of them was a liar. Another was resourceful. Whatever this meeting was about, the purse was coming with her. She gave Delia -- and Benny near her -- a look for a three-count before she followed the strange assassin out the door.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It had been about fifteen minutes, and Glitch had not said a word. The windows and windshield of the car he was driving were entirely blacked out from both sides. No indication of where they were, where they were going and why, or how far they had traveled. And no introduction, either. He had to be honest, she was strangely calm from his experience. But then again, he'd heard enough about her that it wasn't all that too surprising. "I assume you have questions," he said, finally speaking up. "If I were you, I'd get them out of your system now."

Fifteen minutes was enough time for Tella to organize her thoughts. The process for organizing her thoughts looked a lot like tallying her remaining cigarettes (minus one, sacrificed to the organization gods) and poking at the features of the car. Glove compartment, drink holder, A/C -- as if a vehicle with all the options wowed and distracted her.

"Six of them. What should I call you, what's your favorite color, have we met before, do you have pets, where are we going, and is this okay to wear?" she added, tugging at the outfit she'd adjusted to make it less obvious that she'd been in a deadly fight recently -- but not by much. That got a side-eye from the cybernetic chauffeur, repressing the world-weary groan that almost came out. "... You can call me Glitch. We haven't met. And we are going to meet someone very important, who's asked for you specifically." he glanced over. "The same someone who sent me to watch your backs. You're welcome, by the way."

"Thank you for that." She smiled toothily, cigarette perched between her fingertips for the moment. "I'd have done it, but I don't have any eyes to spare." Her smile pulled a little. She took a long drag.

"Why'd she do it?" It was worth the coin flip. She watched for his reaction.

He turned his head, giving her a long and blank look, before turning back to the road. "... You're smart enough to know the answer to that already, I think. Though I'm sure she'll tell you herself." As he said that, the car rolled to a stop. Glitch didn't make any motion to open the doors, placing his hands casually on his lap.

Her heart beat faster.

All right. What are you telling me this time?

It leveled out, still brisk.

Good. I like it when you use your words.

There was a faint flutter and a breath as she stepped out into the garage he'd just pulled into. Once she stood up straight, she adjusted the band of her eyepatch on the back of her head, just a little tug. Then she walked into the connected warehouse, as confidently as if she was just sitting down for a job interview.

Well, no.

As confidently as if she was just sitting down for a job interview with a heavy buzz and a silly plan to ruin the whole thing.

The room was almost entirely dark, save for a single lightbulb in the middle, casting a circular spotlight in the center. It was quiet. The type of silence that bites at you. That puts you on edge just by being there. Finally, a voice came from the darkness. Cold, calm, almost monotone, echoing slightly in the large space.

"You've made quite a bit of noise, Brutella. And in such a short time."

As one's eyes adjusted to the light, the outline of a figure became clearer, just beyond the lightbulb's reach.

Tella stopped on the other side of the lightbulb’s bright halo, respecting that she did not belong under one. She didn’t lie to herself. She knew.

The edge of darkness half-covered her features, shadows falling from the line of her brow. In there was the hint of not just summer blue but wild blue yonder, a living sky that could swallow you up.

A strange, wonderful and terrible thing had happened to Brutella Goode Lye.

“Fixing is noisy work. But then your brakes stop squealing and your engine stops clanking and it’s nice and quiet. I like a smooth, quiet ride,” she lied, and smiled. She’d poke a bear in the eye if she thought it would entertain her. Again - she knew.

Strange, wonderful and terrible indeed.

The figure slowly took a step into view. Isabella Salazar was a surprising sight. She seemed strangely... plain. Average height, average build, dressed in a plain black dress. A face without any blemishes or oddities. Entirely forgettable at a glance. She could have been any pedestrian on the street, any nameless suit in a boardroom, any generic politician in congress. What stood out was her voice. It was quiet, barely louder than a whisper, yet deep. Commanding. Every syllable carried a clear message. Obey.

"Your work in Rhy'din has proved as much. I have been paying close attention. And I have noticed a pattern." She pulled the chair in front of her out, the legs scraping off the concrete floor. She sat down, back straight, hands gently clasped in front of her on the table. "... You strike me as someone who is most comfortable in the shadows. In silence. I believe we are alike in that way... and I must confess to being... impressed." She motioned a hand gently forward at the opposite chair.

There was a quiet shifting of fabric, and Tella stepped up to her seat. One summer blue eye blinking away and searching frantically, betraying the extent to which this person unsettled her.

Breathe.

She heeded this voice. She breathed. She relaxed. Once she’d sat down, she went for a cigarette to prove to herself that her hands wouldn’t shake.

“Fanks,” she said around the filter.

By the time she lit her cigarette, at least, she was steady.

“Would you have sent Glitch to do what he did if you weren’t?” she asked, watching her through a rising curl of smoke.

If she was aware of Tella's nervousness, it didn't show. In fact, her face never changed its neutral, cold expression. "... We were aware of Don Falcón's actions. You were followed since you left Rhy'din. For the Federation to continue as it has, infighting cannot be tolerated. Your employer should have let me handle it."

There was a long pause, those soulless eyes staring straight into Tella's, unwavering.

"... This is the pattern I have noticed. Since Dunham took over as our representative in Rhy'din, his behaviour has become more erratic. More paranoid. We have worked hard to keep the peace in México. Treaties have been made. Assurances. Agreements which are now at risk, thanks to your actions. There are more eyes on Juaréz than there should be."

“Why shouldn’t we have come to Juaréz?” She had guesses, but a quick answer gave her more time to think. There was a whole web being spun here — was this the spider? A few threads needed shaking first.

And carefully, she did not imply that this person was wrong. Rather the opposite.

What would become of the players involved? She made a list in her head, ordered them neatly in who she’d least like to be ordered. Her pinky ticked subtly in the air, lips cracking as if to speak on every other breath, while she listened. Bullet points dragged up and down in her mind’s wild blue eye, each one a bullet next to a name.

Dunham’s place didn’t look great.

"Because it is not your place."

This was said without a millisecond of silence, that stare becoming just that little bit more intense. Surprising that was possible. "The Federation can only operate with a strong governing body. To resolve disputes without violence. Without drawing attention. There are fifteen dead bodies in that nightclub, being investigated as we speak. Four were civilians. People in power take notice of these things."

The stranger's stare intensified. Tella's blood ran hot.

"How were you going to handle the hit on Don Falcón?" she asked, and instinctively sought an ashtray.

That got a reaction. A simple raise of the eyebrows, just slightly. Silence hung in the air.

"... You misunderstand..." It seemed for a moment as though Salazar was about to simply chastise her for her question, but instead she leaned back, hands clasped on her lap. "... Listen carefully."

"The last forty years of narcotics smuggling is marked by extraordinary men and women. They acquired untold amounts of money and power, enough that their word was law wherever they went. Yet the one constant... is that their reigns were finite. It does not matter how many people you murder, how many politicians you buy. The wheel... turns."

"Yet, as I am sure your superior has told you, I have maintained my position for over five centuries, since my father first brought us to New Granada. This is because I do things differently. I do not believe fear and violence to be effective motivators. Of course, circumstances often arise where it is the only option, yet in the interest of peace and stability, often it is best to have a gentle hand. Appease. Compromise. Ensure that both sides are made whole. Yet never, ever, let them forget who is in charge."

"This way, violence is mitigated. Violence causes chaos. Doubt. Instability. The death knell of empires. From Macedon to Rome, Napoleon to the Romanovs, Guadalajara to Medellín. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

Tella's first lesson.

"You must learn to know people. Truly know them. What drives them, what they desire. That way, you will be able to predict their actions. Know whether a plan will work before it is attempted. It is a careful game. You must make sure everyone around you acts in your favour, without them guessing they are being guided one way or the other."

"I would not have harmed Falcón. He is a proud man. Stubborn, but deceptively cunning behind his bravado. His attacks, while unacceptable, were to be used for leverage on his part. I would have mediated, as I have done many times before. Find a solution that allows all parties to continue with our business. In silence. And if Falcón had been uncooperative, or had continued his attacks, only then would greater measures be taken, and they would be taken in silence. He would simply have disappeared off the face of the earth, and we would have his replacement ready long in advance. In order to be truly successful, we must act professionally. This is a multi-trillion-dollar company, after all. Too many men see this business in the same way they did decades ago. Plata o plomo. Silver or lead."

"Men..." she paused, her expression hardening. "... like Sergeant Dunham."

Tella looked at the fires of fallen civilizations in her eyes, and her own eye widened, then settled again. Realization. Understanding. The lists in her mind gave way to more dimensions, a web like the one she found herself in, and with a motion of her pinky while she tipped her crumbling cigarette over the floor, she placed the woman across from her in this more complex space.

“Men like him.” She felt those words in her mouth, and wondered what other fires had burned in the eyes she looked into. Between women like them, it was as good as a question.

There were no lies this time. Lies were a way for Tella to play, for someone to take her a little less seriously, or to throw them off balance for whatever end (malicious, mischievous, flirtatious). But this person had already set a game of her own.

Tella would have to learn the rules of this game before she made any special plays of her own.

“I agree. For all the value that holds.” That was as much of a play as she could make right now. “What would you like me to call you?” she said as she rubbed dusty pink lipstick off of the filter of her cigarette.

Underneath Salazar's emotionless gaze, it was clear in her eyes that she was studying her. Appraising her. Gears turning visibly under the skin. "Titles are unimportant to me. What I value is loyalty. Consistency. I value results." “Without a name, I won’t refer to you at all.” It wasn’t a counterargument. It was understanding. This master of puppets did not want to be discussed.

"You have shown a talent for solving problems. This... is why I called you here today." The penny dropped. This wasn't just an introduction. “We’ve talked about a lot of problems.” She dropped her cigarette and ground it under her foot. “Dunham is the biggest mutual problem I have the means to address.” Salazar again went a long while saying nothing. Staring straight into Tella's soul. When she did speak, her voice was barely a whisper, but it deafened.

"You will know when the time is right. Solve our problem... and you will be rewarded with a seat at the table."

Tella had questions. She didn’t ask them. Her hand was steady - it did not tip - when she raised her pinky to place Salazar in the matrix of connections and numbers tumbling through her head. “Solving problems is what I do best.” The table was Salazar’s. She waited for any subtle signal the meeting was concluded - a look away, a wave of the hand, scooting her chair - before she would take her leave.

Salazar took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair, apparently content, though her face didn't show it. "... Despite the circumstances, your alliance in Juaréz has been secured, from what I hear. You should return to your friends. I believe Benjamín will be ambulatory by now." Notably, she did not refer to him as her son.

If Salazar knew how Tella felt about her son? She knew. If she didn’t? Then she wasn’t going to tell her. “Good. Then we can be on our way,” she said definitively, as she scooted her chair out and stood. “Next time, it can be my treat.” As if this had been a social call, a date between friends (or there were rules of hospitality that Tella would try to observe), though she notably did not insist. “Until then.”

Unless stopped, she exited. Her well of courage was running pretty dry without the liquid variety to supplement it. When she emerged from the warehouse, Glitch was standing directly between her and the car.

There was a brief moment of silence, that red eye focused directly on her...

... before he turned and opened the door, getting into the driver's seat without a word.

Tella’s gaze was steady. She even smiled. “Thank-you,” she sang, and slid into the car and was already having another cigarette.

She needed to think.