|
Suddenly Memories: MarsMJ
By Dac
Donnie walked through the yard with the air of a small man living off the success of larger men. Everyone around him gave him indifferent glances as he passed before resuming their conversations or whatever they were doing. Several of the locals watched him with dislike from the steps, but he ignored them. There wasn’t a soul in Vidas Quebradas who dared make a move on Donnie. Regardless of their opinion of him, they knew whose company he kept, and no one particularly wanted to annoy that person. Be it kinship, respect or, in very rare cases, fear, Donnie’s friend was the law in Vidas Quebradas. At least, among the inmates.
Donnie approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. The man turned, his red hair standing out like a sore thumb among the black hair of virtually everyone else in the prison. He was leaning on the fence, looking out across the fields.
“What’s the word on the street?” he asked.
“Sancho was sent to hospital this morning,” said Donnie. “The guards are angry. They’re already stretched thin as it is, and now they don’t have any reserves to draw from.”
“Good, good,” said Mars calmly. “That fits. What’s the warden been saying?”
“He’s appealing to the directors to transfer more guards in,” replied Donnie. “So far unsuccessfully.”
“Of course he is,” said Mars, staring out across the fields again. “This place isn’t high on the list of priorities. We’re never going to get any support.”
Donnie nodded. He’d heard it before, several times, although never in the same words twice. Mars liked to get sarcastically melodramatic their situation, and Donnie often got worried if he went for days without saying anything. Mars was a bit of an oddball, but then, for an American to wind up in Vidas Quebradas, he’d have to be.
“So no word from the government, then,” said Mars.
“No, nothing,” said Donnie. “For all his talk, not even Warden Eli is expecting it. No review, no inspection, and no reserve guards.”
“Excellent,” said Mars. “Everything’s going smoothly, then.”
Donnie shook his head and stared at his cellmate. He still considered the term ‘friend’ too strong to define their relationship, but in the end they were the closest thing each other had to any such thing inside the prison. “You planning to leave any time soon?” he asked. “If what you’re doing is working so well. You’re always saying you could leave any time you want.”
“I could,” said Mars. “I could walk right out the front door at any time. But I won’t. I’ve still got to finish up in here. I haven’t gone this long just to quit now, Donnie.”
“You’re getting hurt too, Mars,” responded Donnie grimly. “I saw your nose bleeding when you got back in last night, and you were staggering a bit.”
“Ah. You saw that,” said Mars testily. “You haven’t mentioned that to anyone, have you?”
“No. That’d mean admitting you’re always able to trick the guards into leaving the cell unlocked. No one needs to know about that.”
“True,” said Mars. “But it’s more than that. The guys here, they respect me. You know that. No one hates me. But if they see a sign of weakness in me, I lose the footing I have above them. I don’t want that.”
“Relax,” interrupted Donnie. “I get it. You want them to see you as invincible so they won’t fuck with you. I’m in full support of that. I’m not going to rat you out.”
“Thanks,” said Mars. “Shall we?”
They moved back across the yards. The attitudes of the men around them were different from when Donnie had walked alone. Everyone glanced over as they passed. The corners of so many eyes peered at them, trying and failing to be unobtrusive. Several men stared outright. A few, who knew Mars well enough, tipped imaginary hats to him as he passed. Mars held a straight face, nodding back to those who were polite to him, as he and Donnie ascended the steps. The large men moved to make way for them as they walked back inside.
Vidas Quebradas had a small population for a prison, only about 300 or so. Every one of them knew Mars’s name, what he looked like, where his cell was, and that getting on his bad side was a stupid idea. Early in Mars’s interment in the facility, a large man who had previously been a mugger had taken issue with a white man inside a Mexican prison. Mars had expected someone would the minute he got sent to the place, so he was not at all surprised. When the man attempted to violently introduce him to a chair, everyone watching had been astonished when Mars easily sidestepped the clumsy attack and lightly tapped the man in the kidney, sending him sprawling to the ground while screaming at the top of his lungs. It was then that the guards, previously disinterested in yet another fight, stepped in, but when the big man was sent to medical, they could find nothing wrong with him. Not even a bruise.
Two similar encounters later of Mars barely laying a finger on his attackers, yet reducing them to howling, flailing messes, left the masses in no doubt that he was not a man to be messed with. He was calm enough, and soon the inmates sought to befriend, or at least avoid irritating him. Only the guards felt dislike towards him, recognising that now there was someone more respected or feared in the prison than them. He had been taken for review before the prison directors, Warden Eli and the guard captain, Del Toro, but he had given them no answers nor cause to transfer him somewhere else. They simply sent him back into general population and hoped that would be the last they would hear of him.
It had been a few months later that Mars began to strike.
***
Palavestra’s head struck the brick wall. Again. Again. He spat blood everywhere, staining Mars’s shoes. Reeling, he crumpled and fell to the ground. Staggering to stand back up, he rubbed furiously at his eyes. Mars watched blithely. He had Palavestra’s baton in one hand and was swaying slightly on the spot. He leaned against the wall for support as Palavestra resumed swinging his head around, trying to clear his sight. Mars gritted his teeth. His hand was pressed hard against the bricks as he concentrated.
“What the hell is going on?!” roared Palavestra.
“I’m glad you asked,” said Mars through his teeth. “What’s happening is this. You and the other guards are worse than any of the people you guard. They are barely worth imprisoning and don’t deserve to be shoved out here by the government. They are thieves. Muggers. Desperate, low people. Not saints by any stretch, but none guilty of particularly violent crimes. Yet you guards. You beat them. Assault them. Treat them like your own private toys to break and befoul. I hear rumours of rape, by the guards on the inmates.”
He gave Palavestra another strike in the neck with the baton. Palavestra hit the ground and writhed, gurgling. Mars leaned over him and spoke coldly and openly.
“I don’t like that,” he said. “I heard about it on the outside. So I got myself sent in here. I’m going to destroy this place from the inside out. The only way I could see to do it is to take you bastards down one by one until they close the damn place. That’s what it’ll take, so that’s what I’m doing.”
Palavestra flailed weakly. Mars held the baton above his eyes tauntingly. They did not comprehend the object above them.
“I could have just made you feel this pain a lot worse than it is,” he continued softly. “I could have pushed your pain limits. But I didn’t. I just hampered your sight and hearing instead. That’s why you can only see a grey blur, and that’s why you can only hear white noise. I’m still getting the hang of it all, but it works.”
He stood up and watched the struggling figure contemptibly.
“All this talk is wasted on you. You can’t even hear it,” sighed Mars. “Them’s the breaks, for you and me both.”
He struck Palavestra in the face again, and the guard stopped moving. Mars checked his pulse to make sure it still existed. Satisfied the man wasn’t dead, he slipped back into the darkness.
He fought the dizziness in his head as he walked, still using the wall to keep himself up. The exertion on keeping the guard from accessing two of his sense was intense, but he was getting used to it. He’d done it enough. He was better learning how to affect the sight and hearing of others. He had long since figured out how to affect touch severely. Taste and smell were still beyond him, but he rarely needed to alter that in the people around him.
The vertigo was the main thing. Altering more than one sense, or altering one sense in several people, was a problem. Sometimes it was little more than a slight spinning sensation. Other times he could barely tell which way was up. He still had to get a grip on that. He pulled a headache pill he’d stolen from medical and swallowed it dry.
Back to his cell. He could sleep it off.
***
He woke up with Donnie standing over him, shaking him a bit. Mars groaned and tried to wave Donnie away, rolling over awkwardly and rubbing at his eyes in protest. Donnie shook him more vigorously. He was whispering something. There was urgency in his voice.
“Wake up,” he hissed. “Wake up!”
“What?” grunted Mars. “Get off.”
“The guard captain’s coming. Either wake up now or he’ll wake you up!”
Mars’s eyes slid open and he pulled himself off his bunk. Rubbing his face he stretched out, placing his hand against the wall. There was some blood still caked beneath his nose, he saw in the mirror. He scratched it away and leaned against the wall, waiting calmly.
He saw a familiar form appear behind the door. Quickly he focused and nudged at the newcomer’s perceptions, so the man outside felt the key turn in the lock even though it didn’t; the same trick Mars did on every guard who put a key in their door, so he could get out at night.
“That’s how I know the government doesn’t give a shit about this place,” he commented to cover the moment. “We can’t afford automated locks.”
“Funny, white man,” said Captain Del Toro, sliding it open. He had an uncharacteristic smile on his face, slight but menacing. “Good to see you again.”
Mars felt a shiver run up his spine. With his power, despite its setbacks, he found it hard to fear anyone in Vidas Quebradas, but if he had to pick just one person to find chilling it was Del Toro. Unlike the other guards, who were brutal and casual with being bastards to the inmates, Del Toro was a cold, quiet man. Roughly Mars’s height and lean in build, he had a scar running diagonally across his face, from above his left eye to below his right, and he had post-axial polydactyly, a sixth finger on his right hand, behind his little finger. Mars had never heard him raise his voice, in anger or otherwise, but he had seen him slash a man across the face without warning. His expression had not changed while performing the action. He was a different breed to the rest of the guards.
“What brings you down here, captain?” asked Mars calmly. While sharing the other guard’s resentment of him, Mars knew Del Toro was amused by his position in the prison hierarchy.
“I have seen something interesting today,” said Del Toro silkily. “It involved you.”
He traced the line of his scar, watching Mars closely. Mars felt the shiver again. As far as he was concerned, no man should play with his own mutilations.
“We were watching surveillance tapes of last night,” continued Del Toro, and instantly Mars’s foreboding exploded. “We saw you. You and Palavestra. A very curious show. No sound, so we could not hear you make him scream, but nonetheless. A very curious show.”
“There are cameras in here?” said Donnie, thinking out loud more than anything. Del Toro looked at him, his face coldly amused.
“We have cameras,” he said. “No electronic locks, but we have some electronics.” He turned back to Mars. “So you have a choice, white man. The warden has already called for you to be put in solitary. You can either be escorted there willingly or I can drag you by your ankles under armed guard. The choice is yours.”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you,” mumbled Mars. By some chance Del Toro heard him.
“There is no profit in beating any bushes,” he said calmly. Any of the other guards would have sneered, but Del Toro’s voice was calm and acid-free. “You end up in solitary either way, and I end up back at my desk either way. I would rather be there faster.”
He stood back and indicated the door. Mars could see several men with guns waiting for him. Del Toro jerked his head. Mars swallowed and bowed his head. He couldn’t blind that many men and not drop from the exertion, and even if he could it would blow his cover. He shuffled out of the cell, inclining his head to Donnie, and held out his hands for the man with the handcuffs. The guard smiled venomously. Mars rolled his eyes as Del Toro shut and locked the cell door, and the large group walked down to solitary.
Inquisitive, intelligent eyes from every direction watched as they left, and many of the inmates had thoughts rolling in their heads. The alpha male of Vidas Quebradas was out of commission for a time, and no one knew for how long.
Del Toro said nothing the whole way, walking rigidly in contrast to all the other guards, loping along at various paces and turning their heads every which way. Mars caught a glance at Del Toro as they walked. The earlier faint smile was gone, and the captain’s face was carefully kept emotionless. Behind his eyes, however, glowed a cold fire. Mars thought nothing of it and kept walking calmly. Del Toro would have nothing to savour.
They arrived in solitary and the captain gestured to the far cell. One of the guards moved to unlock it while Del Toro guided Mars to the wall. He unlocked the cuffs and two of the larger guards seized his arms.
“This is lenient,” Del Toro said to him calmly. “Lenient because I know you will make mistakes again. For every mistake you make, I will be there to make you suffer a little bit more. This will be fun. The beginning of a beautiful friendship, as they say.”
Mars kept his face blank, determined not to give Del Toro any ammo. The captain nodded to the two guards and they half-walked, half-dragged him over to the cell. Mars set his jaw and got ready to pull his usual trick and make them think they’d locked the door, when the guards tossed him in heavily and he struck his head on the far wall. Reeling from the pain, he heard the lock click a second too late. This time he was definitely locked in.
He took a moment to curse, then reassured himself that he would be able to pull it when they took him out to feed him, when one of the other guards whose name he didn’t know appeared at the door.
“Captain says you’re here for a month,” said the guard. “You get fed twice a day by the hole in the door. There’s a toilet in there. Have fun.”
He heard the guards laughing as they sidled away. He inspected the door and winced when he saw the hole the guard had mentioned. It was a panel built into the door that slid into it, with a shelf built on his side, and likely the other as well, along with a lock.
The door wouldn’t be opened for a month. He had no way out.
‘Oh well,’ he thought. ‘I can be patient for that long.’
***
Days and weeks and more blurred into a period that could not accurately be referred to as a period of time. He tossed and turned on his bunk, tapping out the beats to songs he knew just to keep track of things. The guards never once said a word to him when they gave him his food, no matter how hard he tried. He heard them laugh, that horrible sound, like wolves baying at the door waiting for him to starve. He hated that sound. Wanted to gut it. Gut and kill it and consume it and get out and...
He shook himself. He couldn’t lose it. He had a job to do.
Yes.
Focus on that. The job. The job he had told all of his victims as he beat them. None of them heard, none of them remembered, but he knew exactly what he was doing. Helping those wronged. He would help them.
He had to get out of the box.
He explored the corners and crevices of his cell, going over them barefoot and running his hands everywhere, taking in everything. He counted the bricks. Counted the cracks. Counted the springs in his bunk and counted the nicks and chips on the tap. There was a lot to discover in here. What was it that guy in the Dumas novel had said? Mars racked his brains, trying to recall. It had been so long since he had read it, he couldn’t even remember the character’s name. What had he said, something about naming the bricks? Was that it? He scratched at his head with a ferocious intensity, only stopping when he dug too deep and it felt like he was stabbing himself in the brain.
He tossed and turned on his bunk.
He lost track of how long he had been in the box when the lights and colours invaded.
There was a fountain of golden light spilling onto the floor making a whistling sound. It spread around like melted butter in a vat, slowly seeping, all goopy. He tucked his legs up on his bunk and watched as the light darkened and became jet black like tar, bubbling and hissing at him, and eventually it sank into the floor as the walls started to turn dark red, almost maroon. His head tilted as he watched the walls slowly begin to go off-colour. The red became dark green, and the colour became solid as moss began to spread over the walls. As he watched it all grew, grew healthy and then died and decayed, going brown and shedding from the walls and getting all over him.
No.
He tossed and turned on his bunk. His head was sick. That’s all. None of that had happened.
The floor rippled. As he looked down the surface, looking wicked and jagged, began to rise and bulged, until a jet-black crocodile had sprouted from it like some weird kind of mytosis. The crocodile ignored him, scaling the door and squeezing out the bars on the window of the door, making a rasping noise as it went.
‘Good. Let it bother someone else.’
He imagined the screams as Warden Eli was gobbled up by a giant crocodile, which for some reason was standing bipedally and held him in its forelimbs. The image was bizarre. The crocodile had broad shoulders, almost humanlike.
The image of the crocodile turned and seemed to look at him. It opened its jaws and closed them again. He tossed and turned on his bunk.
‘This place has to go,’ he said. ‘This has to stop. I have to bring it down. I can bring it down. Only I can. Not the government. Not the crocodiles. Just me.’
He clung feebly to that thought. Had to retain it. There was too much going on in this cell. Spiders crawling and biting. Flies buzzing around. He couldn’t get distracted. Had to keep his mind on his mission. He had a job to do. Focus on it. Focus. Focus.
He heard noises coming from out of his cell. Wings flapping. Animals growling. Footsteps. Helicopter rotors. Car engines. Wood cracking. Metal grinding. Splashing. There were a million fascinating sounds going on outside his cell. He pressed his ear to the door to listen for them. What was that? A balloon bursting? Radio static? He tossed and turned on his bunk.
There was a click and suddenly bright light flooded everything. He shrank up against the wall, shielding his eyes. What was that? A tall figure came towards him. He stared dimly, uncomprehendingly, when something grabbed his shoulder. He twisted away when he heard a voice.
“Get up, white man.”
He blinked. Rubbed at his eyes.
It was one of the guards.
“Vacation’s over,” grinned the guard. “Time to go back.”
Still not sure what was going on, Mars was weakly led out of the cell. It took a moment to sink in as he stared at the door receding behind him.
He was out of the box.
He lay on his bunk back in his normal cell for hours when eventually Donnie reappeared. When he saw Mars he hurried over. Mars was the image of poor health: pale, thinner, sweating and trembling. He looked for all the world like a drug addict gone cold turkey. Donnie handed him a cup of water and eventually coaxed him into sitting up.
“What the hell happened?” asked Donnie.
“They laced my food,” whispered Mars shakily. “I couldn’t get out and they laced my food. I feel strange. I feel like I got hit in the nads with a rocket-powered trombone.”
“You look like shit,” said Donnie. “I’ll call someone to take you to medical.”
Mars seized him by the front of the shirt and glared at him furiously. “No,” he hissed. “No. No medical. I’m fine. I have to be fine. I have to...have to stay on top...”
Donnie gently pulled away and lay his hand on Mars’s shoulder. “No one’s invincible,” he said quietly. “Not even you. They knew that already. People saw you getting walked back here. Everyone knows anyway.”
Mars looked up at him in confusion.
“They saw?”
Donnie gestured to the door. Mars turned his head with some effort and saw several other people in their cells, many of whom were watching curiously. He sighed in defeat and Donnie called for a guard. As the guard took his sweet time reaching them, Donnie came back and helped Mars to stand uneasily. He took a few jerky steps to the door.
“Anyway,” said Donnie. “There’s something else. Someone new is here. Someone who can do strange things.”
Mars looked at him, struggling to comprehend him. “What?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re back on your feet,” said Donnie. “Come on. Go get better.”
The guard unlocked the door and roughly dragged Mars out. Donnie watched him go. Many of the other inmates did likewise. If Mars was aware of any of them, he didn’t show it.
***
Mars spent a further four days in medical, mostly regaining a sense of passing time than anything else. He watched several other people come and go for various injuries, with several guards escorting them. Once he caught a glimpse of Del Toro, talking with the head doctor. Del Toro have him one fleeting glance of indifference before resuming his conversation. Beyond that Mars spent his time sleeping off his hallucinogenic experience, but all the same consuming whatever food was brought to him. He was confident they wouldn’t give him anything here, lest it trigger something primal.
On the fourth day, Donnie came to him. Already he was looking better, having regained some colour in his flesh and no clamminess. Donnie smiled with relief.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Better,” said Mars. “No more spots of light everywhere I look.”
Donnie nodded, unsure of what to say. Mars rubbed his brow and sat up a bit straighter.
“So what’s the news in general population?”
Donnie’s smile faded and he hesitated. Mars arched an eyebrow and he bowed his head. “Things have changed a bit,” he admitted. “The guards are the same as ever. Most of the inmates are the same, just acting as they always do. The guards beat us up. Anyone who fights back is beaten up worse. Bova got permanent spinal damage and was sent away.”
Mars’s face went dark. A month of the guards going unchecked. He had to get back to business. First, however, was the thought that had been nagging him ever since his mind regained the ability to form a coherent thought.
“You mentioned someone new,” said Mars flatly. “The way you said it. You made it sound more important than any of this. Tell me, who is he, why is he a big deal?”
Donnie looked up, and Mars saw something there he had never seen before: anxiety and a mild amount of fear. He felt a chill go up his spine, the sort he only ever felt when Del Toro was around.
“The new guy...” said Donnie slowly, softly. He leaned in so no one could overhear. “He came in two weeks ago. You should have seen it. They had him brought in on a handcart in a straitjacket. He was under armed guard. He had a mask, like Hannibal Lecter, you know? Covered his mouth and nose, left his eyes. His eyes, they just looked around everywhere, took everything in. They put him in a cell and left him like that. We don’t know how, but he broke out of it.”
Mars blinked in confusion, looking closely at Donnie’s face. Donnie wasn’t even looking at him any more. He was staring into space, his eyes bulging slightly.
“So the guards let him out,” suggested Mars dully. “Big deal.”
“No,” whispered Donnie anxiously. “It was all a wreck. Something had cut the front of the straitjacket open and snapped the straps on the cart. The only thing he kept on was the mask. He just left it on there. The cart was trashed, in pieces. He just lay on his bunk, watching people go past, still wearing that mask.”
Mars sat dumbfounded, trying to picture all that in his head. There was something wrong with the image. He caught himself wondering how a man could get out of all that, and then pondered how many of the other inmates had wondered the same thing.
“That’s not all,” hissed Donnie. “He got into a fight. Rodriguez tried to push him, someone bigger than him. No one saw how it happened, but the guy took Rodriguez’s ear off. He didn’t even raise his hands. He just...he just looked at him, and suddenly Rodriguez was screaming, lying on the ground, and there’s just blood where his ear was. No one saw...then he kicked him while he was down. When the guards intervened, there was some weird light. We couldn’t see it, but they got taken away too. One of them...they say he lost two fingers. The other guy had a hole punched in his stomach and got hospitalised. We didn’t even see it, but they’re gone now...”
He trailed off from his babbling. The pair of them sat silently, thinking it over for a moment, when a guard appeared at the door. Spotting Donnie, he called out and began walking over. Donnie stood up.
“I’ll be back out in a day or so,” said Mars. “See how the land lies for me.”
“OK.”
“One last thing,” said Mars. “Does this guy have a name?”
Donnie paused. Surprisingly, the guard did too; the newest inmate was already infamous among the guards. Mars noted that in the back of his mind before looking back at Donnie, who was looking uncertain.
“What?” said Mars.
“He...well, not a full name,” came the reply. “He’s like you. All he has is one word. He says that’s his name.”
“Well?” said Mars impatiently. “Spit it out.”
“He says his name is Marksman.”
The guard grabbed Donnie’s arm and all but dragged him out. The movement, Mars noted, was not an angry, authoritative one but rather a hurried, fearful one.
The newcomer wasn’t just infamous among the guards. They actively feared him, even the mere mention of his name. Mars thought hard.
He was going to have to meet this Marksman.
***
Mars and Donnie sat down in the cafeteria, poking into their trays. Donnie was eyeing the food dubiously, but Mars attacked it, satisfied that it wouldn’t be drugged if everyone was eating it. A few other men sitting with them ate half-heartedly. Mars liked the cafeteria atmosphere. Whatever problems people had with each other, they usually left at the door and were able to be civil with each other. Not that fights were a major problem in Vidas Quebradas; there were scuffles with newcomers, at worst a few unpleasant beatings, but nothing overly severe. But any hostility at all was usually kept calm in the cafeteria. He listened to the men chatting among themselves and realised how much he had missed it.
When the voices began to go quiet, it was his first sign that something was wrong. The second was Donnie turning grey and staring at something behind him. He turned to look.
Finally. His first look at the man called Marksman.
Physically he was not much to look at. A lean build, not especially tall, curly brown hair and a slight tan. He wasn’t American, but he didn’t look Mexican either. He wore the same prison uniform everyone did, as well as the mask he kept hearing about in scatters of whispered conversations. It did look eerily like Hannibal Lecter’s mask, although he was clearly wearing it by choice.
‘A show-off then,’ concluded Mars in his head. ‘One of those guys who comes in to cement his status as someone not to be fucked with, does a couple of unexplainable things, and then wears something weird to remind everyone of what he did. Like an emo kid that sets fire to his hands in front of everyone.’
Mars almost felt let down. After all the hushed conversations he’d overheard about this guy, the reality seemed a bit disappointing. If it weren’t for the eyes Mars would have written him off then and there, but the eyes caught his attention. There was a cold fire in them, something malicious and powerful. He was reminded vaguely of Del Toro, but this was worse. Del Toro was a cold bastard in a position of power. The light in Marksman’s eyes told Mars something worse: whatever else Marksman did, there was a part of him that harmed people purely for the sake of harming them, and nothing more. Solely and utterly for the sake of the kill. Mars knew straight away, he was looking at a predator.
Marksman gathered his food, and all at once looked over at Mars. Mars kept his face neutral, and after a moment turned back to his food as though in disinterest. Marksman continued up the line, collecting his food, and moved over to an empty table. He pulled the mask slightly away from his face, enough so his fork could fit behind it with food, but otherwise still covering his features.
Mars finished eating, feeling a bit irritated at the change in atmosphere. There was still a smattering of whispers in the room, mostly from people who were pretending not to care about Marksman’s arrival. Nonetheless, Mars could tell he was only one person in the room not afraid of Marksman. Finishing his food, he nodded to Donnie and they exited behind another small group.
“So that’s him,” said Mars conversationally. “Does he ever take that mask off?”
Donnie hesitated, and then shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
Mars smiled. “Don’t worry about him, Donnie. He’s just a man, like me, or you. Come on. Feel like chess?”
He led the way up to the library, all the while pondering his own words. Marksman had gained notoriety for beating opponents in a way that no one could figure out. Mars was reminded of his own early fight with another inmate, and how he’d won it. There was the name discrepancy, too. He frowned as he thought more and more about it. He hadn’t counted on something like this inside the prison.
Reaching the library, he and Donnie set up the chessboard and sat down. Donnie took white and eagerly pushed a pawn forward. Mars did likewise, and the two spent several minutes guiding their pieces across the board. Mars grunted with annoyance when Donnie’s knight took his queen.
“Careless,” Donnie reprimanded him. “Poor strategy.”
“Sue me,” said Mars, taking the knight with a bishop. “There’s always an x factor no one counts on. Strategies count for nothing when they turn up.”
“There’s no x factors in chess. Only pieces on the board.”
The game heated up and the two exchanged trash talk with increasing playful vehemence. Donnie made a sloppy move, taking a pawn with his king, and Mars eagerly slid his bishop over.
“Check,” he said. “Take that, mastermind!”
Donnie didn’t reply. He didn’t give any indication that he had heard Mars say anything. He was staring over Mars’s shoulder, a look somewhere between fear and anxiety plastered over his face. Mars’s face hardened. He had a feeling he knew what that meant.
“Mind if I join you?” said an unfamiliar voice.
“Go right ahead,” replied Mars calmly.
A chair slid over and Marksman sat down, watching the board with fascination. His eyes gleamed. Mars looked at him casually before turning to Donnie, who was still staring at Marksman. Mars frowned.
“Hey, Donnie!” he said, snapping his fingers. “Wake up.”
“Huh? Oh.” Donnie shook his head and attempted to focus on the board. He took a long while to make his mind up, but he was firmly off his game. He moved his king, and instantly Mars moved his knight to respond.
“Check mate,” he said dully. “You almost had me, Don.”
Donnie looked up at him. Mars only needed a momentary glance at his eyes to know Donnie wasn’t going to be useful. He looked at Marksman, staring at the board.
“Game to me,” he said conversationally. “Want to play?”
“Sure,” said Marksman. He looked up at Donnie, frozen stiff. “May I?”
Donnie stood up and Marksman moved easily into his seat. Donnie looked at Mars and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna get a drink of water.”
“Go nuts,” said Mars dryly. “Although you look like you already have.”
Donnie chuckled feebly and moved away. Mars looked at his new opponent, who was smiling under the mask.
“I hope I didn’t make him uncomfortable,” said Marksman.
“Yes, you do,” said Mars. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t wear that mask everywhere.”
Marksman grinned and pulled it off. “I guess you got me there.” Underneath was a young face, younger than Mars, drawn tight over his cheekbones. Mars blinked; the face was almost boyish. Marksman couldn’t be long out of his teens, if indeed he was out of them at all. “So they call you Mars,” he said.
“And you, Marksman,” Mars replied. “Mind if I call you Marks?”
“Oh, will that do?” asked Marksman, still grinning. “Mars and Marks? That might confuse the eavesdroppers.”
“I’m OK with that.”
The two rows of chess pieces faced each other. Mars sat calmly and waited for Marksman to make the first move. Marksman sized up his pieces and moved his knight over the top of several pawns.
“So,” said Marksman conversationally. “What are you in for?”
“What, the rumour mill didn’t fill you in?” asked Mars dryly. Marksman shook his head.
“I don’t trust it with fine details,” he replied. “Come on. Spill the beans.”
Mars’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes hardened. “It’s not good to talk about.”
Marksman’s own eyes rolled and he leaned back in his chair. “Oh please,” he said. “We’re all mature adults in here. We’re all convicted adults. Who can we talk to if not each other?”
“I barely know you,” said Mars. “And everything I’ve heard about you says you’re probably not someone I should confide in.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is. You trust the rumour mill with fine details but you tell me not to.”
“Something like that.”
Marksman snorted as he pushed a bishop into one of Mars’s pawns. Mars blinked. Marksman was playing aggressively, taking what pieces he could as fast as he could.
“Tell you what,” said Marksman. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
Mars raised his eyebrow. Marksman leaned forward conspiratorially.
“I assaulted officers,” he whispered. “Put several of them in hospital. None of ‘em died, but they all regretted acting like they had.”
“And how was that?”
“They were corrupt,” said Marksman. “I watched them. They were being paid off by drug dealers and the like. These weren’t high ranking officers, they were just cops on the beat. If you can’t trust cops on the beat, something’s wrong. You gotta do something.”
He sat back in satisfaction, watching Mars closely. Mars paused, contemplating his next move. His knight moved up and took one of Marksman’s pawns out.
“I know what you mean,” he mumbled.
Marksman looked intrigued. “How’s that?”
Mars looked up, his face cold. “I’m in for the same. Assaulting officers.”
“Really!” Marksman’s face gleamed with fascination. His eyes all but lit up and he leaned in again. “Corrupt, or do you hate cops?”
“Corrupt,” said Mars flatly. “They assaulted people in the street. I don’t even know what for, but I saw cops smashing people. Kids.”
Marksman hissed in apprehension. “Kids.”
“Yep. So I took their batons and gave it back to them,” said Mars flatly. His toneless voice seemed to reverberate on the chessboard as his queen took one of Marksman’s bishops. “I just kept going and going. Afterwards everything was a blur. They were lying in a heap on the ground, and more of them showed up. They took me into custody, and I don’t really remember much of that. I was too busy replaying it all in my head. I got sent here without trial. I think they were hoping I’d wind up killed in here.”
“The other prisoners?” asked Marksman dubiously.
“The guards,” responded Mars. “The guards here are worse than any of us. Hell, we’re both in for assault, so we probably have the two most violent crimes of any of the inmates. The rest of them are just muggers, vandals and rioters, if they committed any crimes at all. There’s a lot of wrongful imprisonments here.”
“A lot of rightful ones, by the sound of things,” said Marksman.
“Not for this place,” said Mars. “The guards here are savages. They beat up and assault and kill inmates if they have to. I’m pretty sure I’m the first person in a long time to get sent to solitary, and only because they wanted to make me suffer first.”
Marksman nodded slowly and pondered the board. He took Mars’s queen with a bishop Mars hadn’t noticed. Mars tried not to respond, holding his poker face. He had two rooks and a knight left; Marksman had a dire advantage. His recklessness had put Mars off, and Mars had gotten cocky.
“I hear interesting things,” said Marksman, changing the topic. “People say you would break out at night. Assault guards in here. They also say you could win any fight, even the best opponent would fall against you.”
“They say a lot of things,” said Mars evasively. “They say you broke off a handcart yourself despite a straitjacket, and you can injure people by looking at them.”
“Touché,” grinned Marksman. “They do. You and me, there’s a lot of rumours floating around about us. We seem to be the only ones in here who get that.”
“Well I’m the only white man,” said Mars. “And you...you’re not Mexican, are you?”
“Venezuelan, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. But I don’t think that’s it. It’s not a race thing. It’s more about who we are. For example, I am more than just a Venezuelan prisoner.”
“Is that right,” said Mars dully. “At the moment you sound like a hung over psychology lecturer.”
Marksman laughed. “Joke about it all you want,” he said. “But I have my suspicions about you too. You’re more than an American in a Mexican prison. You and me, we’re more than ordinary men. Check.”
Something in his tone struck a chord in Mars’s mind. His rook moved over and eliminated Marksman’s queen, but instantly a bishop sliced across the board and took it out. He blinked.
“What do you mean?” he asked softly, moving his king back a square.
Marksman smiled and moved his knight into position.
“Check mate,” he said, standing up. “I mean I suspect you can do more than you’ve told anyone, even your friend Donnie. There’s something about you ordinary men don’t have. I have something like that too.”
He smiled and waved as he walked away. Mars sat in front of the deserted chessboard, thinking hard.
Marksman knew about his ability. Or he’d guessed it. He must have. Or...no, he knew Mars had an ability. He didn’t necessarily know what it was. But then, if Marksman was telling the truth, he had an ability too. Mars sized up the pieces encircling his king. Marksman had gone on the attack early, and Mars had been defeated. He stroked his chin and packed up the board.
***
Mars did not see Marksman for the next two days, except when everyone returned to their cells for the night. He noted that Marksman had no cellmate, and there was a lone guard posted stationary outside his cell at all times, while the rest of them paced throughout the cell block restlessly. For the most part, Mars thought about their conversation and tried to figure out what Marksman’s game was, while ignoring Donnie’s incessant questions about him. His cellmate was astonished that Marksman had approached Mars, but his constant stream of hushed queries only irritated him. For two days he and Donnie behaved as they normally would, although Mars felt weird not to be sneaking out and assaulting guards.
Marksman eventually approached Mars again while he was out in the yard. Mars was standing by the fence with Donnie next to him, giving him an update on the rumours floating around the prison, when Donnie paled and stopped midsentence.
“Hello, Marksman,” said Mars, not turning around.
“Mars. And...Donnie, isn’t it?”
Donnie nodded. He moved back a step. Mars turned and rolled his eyes. Marksman was wearing his mask again. He gave a nod to Donnie, who scuttled away, and leaned on the fence with his arms folded.
“You’ve got to stop wearing that thing,” he said. “It looks stupid.”
“It does the job,” said Marksman. “Fear is an asset, and in here it helps.”
Mars shook his head condescendingly and said nothing. Marksman grinned and gestured to him. They walked slowly along the fenceline, Marksman looking out into the fields.
“Nice view,” he said. “You miss it? Being outside?”
“Of course,” said Mars. “But there’s no point wasting my time thinking about that. I’m in here. Out there may as well not exist.”
“Oh really?” said Marksman. “Somehow I doubt that. You remember what I said last time. I have my suspicions about you. This place couldn’t hold you. Not really. You could get away any time you want.”
Mars glared at him. “Keep your voice down.”
Marksman shrugged. “It’s true, though. You could get out of here if you wanted. Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll call you a liar.”
Mars stared pointedly ahead, not meeting Marksman’s gaze. His expression was sour, but Marksman’s stared burned him. He looked at him coldly.
“I could,” he said. “It’s possible, yes. But I won’t. What’s your excuse, if you’re more than a man yourself?”
“You first,” said Marksman. He was still smiling, but his voice had an edge to it. “What keeps a man like you in a place like this?”
They reached the steps and Mars sat down. Marksman sat next to him and they watched the men playing basketball for a few moments. On the far side of the court was a group of men playing dice, and further over a lone man sketching everything on a scrap of paper. Mars sighed as he watched them all.
“You know what Vidas Quebradas means?” he asked finally.
“Yeah,” said Marksman. “Broken Lives. Kind of poetic.”
“It sums up this place well,” said Mars. “This isn’t a PC correctional facility, and it’s not a high-security container for monsters. This is where the rejects get sent. All the other prisons get the famous cases. The child molesters. The murderers. The rapists. This place, it gets all the small-time people. The cases that don’t attract attention. A lot of wrongful accusations and unlawful imprisonments that the government just wants to ignore. This is purgatory for the uninteresting scum, kept here until their final judgement. Our crimes are too much for people to care, but not important enough for them to scream for our blood. The modern population’s morality doesn’t have a line, it has a gap, and we fell into it. That’s what this place is.”
Marksman watched him. Mars paused to savour the uncertainty on his face, the first he had seen, before going on.
“The government forgot about this place,” he said softly. “Or it tries to. This isn’t on their list of priorities. You know where this is going. They filled it with the guards they didn’t want to use anywhere else, who invariably turned out to be corrupt, violent bastards. They spend their days treating us as their playthings that no one else cares about, and they’re right. No one does. They’re free to do what they want to us and no one’s going to stop them.”
Marksman nodded slowly. “So you do.”
“I do. I did,” said Mars. “I haven’t since I got sent to solitary. They caught me beating up guards at night, sending them to hospital. See, their weapon is neglect, but I was using that against them. The government’s not going to care if this place is understaffed, so if there’s not enough guards to keep the inmates on their knees, they’re going to fight back. Once they were ready, I was going to take off.”
Marksman blinked and cocked his head. “That was your plan?”
“Yeah,” said Mars. “I’m not going to instigate a mass breakout or anything. A lot of these men are still criminals. They deserve prison, just not this one. I was giving them a new one where they don’t have to fear for their lives every waking moment.”
Marksman watched him closely, as though not sure what to say. Mars sat back, staring across the yard, watching the inmates still playing basketball. Everywhere in the thick of it, he could see guards patrolling restlessly, itching for a fight. His eyes narrowed.
“Too minor,” said Marksman.
“What?” Mars blinked, brought himself back to where he was, and looked over at his companion.
“Your idea. The right intentions, but it’s too minor,” said Marksman. “Guards come back from hospital, everything picks up again. All you’re doing is skinning your knuckles on them, and you’ll never get out. It’s too slow, too minor. No one would take any notice.”
“That’s the point,” said Mars. “If the government takes notice, then everything goes to hell. They’ll have us dumped somewhere worse.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” said Marksman. “You said yourself, a lot of these men deserve prison. They’d still get put there. Just not this one. Look, I get what you’re trying to do, and I agree. Hell, that’s why I’m here too.”
Mars did a double take and looked at him suspiciously. “Bullshit.”
“No, really. I’d heard about this place. I’m here to end it, too. But no one’s going to understand your...your gesture. It’s too minor, too easily overlooked. You need to do something they can’t ignore. Something that says they made a mistake in this place, and they’re paying for it. Then they have a problem on their hands.”
“Like a mass breakout?” said Mars dryly.
“Too routine,” replied Marksman. “You need something unique and overt.”
“Oh, and I suppose you’ve got something like that up your sleeve,” said Mars irritably.
Marksman smiled and stood up.
“It’s already in play,” he said. “Tomorrow’s the big day. I wanted to make sure you knew. Be ready.”
He turned and walked away. Mars stood up warily. “Be ready for what?” he called.
Marksman gave him the thumbs up as he walked back inside and vanished from sight. Mars stared after him in confusion before sitting back down, contemplating Marksman’s words. He sat there for several minutes, trying to work out what he was up to, when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up, expecting Donnie, but found himself looking at two guards flanking someone far less welcome.
“What was that about?” asked Del Toro.
“What was what about?” replied Mars impertinently.
Del Toro’s hand hovered next to his sidearm warningly. His face was calm, but his voice was severe. “No games, white man. The newcomer, why does he talk to you and not to us?”
“Maybe he doesn’t respond well to being threatened,” growled Mars. “If you’re really bothered by him, go toss him into solitary or something. Isn’t that what you do when someone irritates you?”
“You seem interested in testing that theory,” said Del Toro. His hand didn’t waver.
“I have nothing to say, Captain,” said Mars flatly. “The guy weirds me out. He was asking about this place, what it’s like for those of us who have been in here longer than him. For some reason he’s picked me to ask. I don’t know what he wants.”
Del Toro stared at him for several minutes. Eventually his hand withdrew and he signalled to the two guards, who moved back further into the yard. Del Toro leaned closed and whispered into Mars’s ear.
“Be careful, white man,” he said. “You already know you are not long for this world, I assume. But associate with that man and your time will be further reduced.”
He stood up and patted Mars on the shoulder, his sixth finger flicking Mars’s ear. Mars gave him a look of deep hatred, but Del Toro ignored it, walking away. Mars heaved a sigh of contempt, and his thoughts returned to Marksman. He wondered if Del Toro figured into Marksman’s plan at all, and found himself hoping so.
***
He got barely any sleep that night. The whole time he lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling and wondering what Marksman had planned. Marksman was sure of himself, very cocky, and Del Toro at least was already suspicious of him. He had some serious odds against him if he planned to do anything. Still, Mars didn’t know what his power was, if he really had one. If he didn’t, he had to have something big planned from the outside.
The more Mars thought about it, the more he wondered why that day in particular. Marksman had been in the prison for a while. What made this day, more than any other, special? If he could make a move, why hadn’t he done it sooner? Something nagged at the back of his head, something he could swear he had forgotten, but he couldn’t think what.
The next day in the cafeteria, he watched Marksman from across the room. He was sitting by himself, calmly eating and ignoring the gulf of empty space between him and anyone else. Donnie, sitting next to Mars, watched as well. When he noticed their stares, he smiled under the mask and waved. Mars continued to watch, motionless, but Marksman didn’t acknowledge them further. When he finished, he exited the cafeteria, and Mars was surprised to see Del Toro escorting him.
He and Donnie moved out into the yard during the day, sitting by the fence. Mars didn’t say a word, and eventually Donnie moved on to go and check the rumour mill out of boredom. Mars stared at the large, ugly, orange-brick building in front of him, wondering what was going on inside. When it came to lunchtime, the inmates moved inside, but Mars hung around outside as long as he could, staring up at the building. Two of the guards moved towards him as the last of the other inmates trailed inside. Both of them were frowning in irritation. As they approached, Mars slowly began to trudge towards the door.
Abruptly he halted. He could hear something, another sound above the wind and the noises from inside. He raised his eyes to the sky. The guards followed his gaze, looking up in confusion. There was an American Black Hawk circling above them. Mars and the guards exchanged baffled looks, all animosity forgotten.
“What the hell?” Mars wondered.
There was a sound like a bomb going off and a huge beam of red light lanced through a window on one of the towers. The guards reeled and began sprinting inside, forgetting about Mars completely. Mars gaped in astonishment as the sound of screams began to fill the air. He heard gunfire, and more noises alien to him. Another beam of red light crashed out the side of the building, and a body flew out with it, landing in the yard below. Propelled by instinct, Mars ran over and stared at it.
Warden Eli lay in a heap. His torso seemed crushed slightly, as though someone had dropped a filing cabinet on it. The back of his clothes were damaged where he had been blown through the brick wall, and his head lolled at an unnatural angle.
The roar of the helicopter got louder and he realised it was getting closer. An image of Marksman flashed across his mind and he stood bolt upright.
Regathering himself, he sprinted into the building just as it seemed to erupt. The inmates fled wildly at the sound of gunfire. The guards vainly tried to get them into some semblance of order, some by yelling commands, others by brandishing batons. That was a mistake. At the first sign of violence, the terrified inmates descended on the guards and frantically attacked them. Mars ignored the frenzy and sprinted through, following the sound of gunfire. He knew instinctively, Marksman would be nearby.
A blast of red light confirmed his suspicions. He ran around the corner and nearly vomited at the sight that awaited him. There were countless dead people surrounding him, guard and inmate alike, all of them riddled with bullets. He stared in shock and tried to swallow his breakfast a second time. In the midst of it all, on top of a small pile of rubble, stood Marksman, but he looked different. His skin was a polished sheen, unmarred and grey, like he was wearing a suit of quicksilver. He had a semiautomatic in each hand and his eyes glowed that familiar red Mars had seen so much of. At the sign of movement he turned, but lowered the guns when he saw who it was.
“You made it!” said Marksman, jumping to the ground. There was a metallic clang as he landed. “Good to see. I was wondering if you’d show up.”
“What the hell happened?” breathed Mars in shock.
“I got pulled in front of the prison directors,” said Marksman gleefully. “And the warden, and the guard captain, although he left before the meeting really got underway. It was a disciplinary thing, for the injuries I caused when I first got here. The chance I was waiting for. I wiped them all out. Like I said, unique and overt, buddy.”
Mars stared at him in astonishment. Marksman looked out the window and smiled. The Black Hawk was landing.
“Oh good,” he said. “Our ride’s here. Come on!”
He tossed one of the rifles down and grabbed Mars’s arm, dragging him down the corridor.
“You did this...to get rid of the prison?” asked Mars incredulously, still not quite sure what was going on.
“Well, sort of,” said Marksman as he looked around, dragging Mars the whole way. “Actually I’m here on a mission. I work for someone very powerful in America who’s looking to get some favour with the Mexican government. After a bit of research he found out about this place-”
An inmate ran around the corner holding a guard’s baton and yelling. Without even halting, Marksman gunned the man down. Mars jumped in horror.
“What the hell?!”
Marksman seized his arm again and simply continued dragging him forward.
“When he found out about this place, it seemed perfect. Like you said, the government ignores it enough that a lot of stuff happens in here that no one knows about, but at the same time the government keeps it around as a convenience. So I got sent to infiltrate it, seem like a normal prisoner. Then, just as I’m in with the people in charge, it turns out I can turn my body to steel, and I can fire blasts out of my eyes. I wipe out the directors and the warden, and send this place into pure chaos. Oh, hold on.”
He opened the window and leaned out. Mars gaped in astonishment, digesting everything Marksman had said, when he fired another optic blast. Mars looked over his shoulder. He had destroyed a large section of the fence, and immediately the air was filled with cries of manic glee as the inmates circling the helicopter warily turned and ran for freedom. Mars stared out at the scene. He could just make out Donnie among the fleeing inmates below and felt a sigh of relief. At least he was safe.
The vicelike grip seized his arm again and dragged him away.
“So what can the Mexican government do?” continued Marksman. “Not only is their prison a wreck, and several inmates are on the loose, but there’s someone dangerous loose in their country with superpowers. A threat to the people of this country. They’re not prepared for that, so they turn to America for help. Luckily, America is under supervision of a man who knows all about people with superpowers, because a lot of them work for him. Mexico swears loyalty to the Leader, and it’s another feather in his cap.”
They emerged into the yard where the Black Hawk was waiting. Mars wrenched his arm free and stared at Marksman in disbelief.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he said. “All this was political?”
“Everything’s political,” said Marksman. “Don’t kid yourself. You came here because of personal politics. I came here because of professional politics. We had the same goal. I just realised it first because I can move quicker, and I act aggressively. You take too long, trying to be subtle. Not your fault, you thought it was the best way to operate and I respect that. I just beat you to the punch.”
Mars stood there, dumfounded. “So, what, killing half the people in sight, that’s how you operate? You killed innocent men in there!”
“You said yourself they’re crooks,” said Marksman. “Don’t give me that.”
“Did you forget what I said about unlawful imprisonments?”
“There weren’t any,” said Marksman flatly. “Not in this place. It’s hell, and they didn’t deserve it, you were right about that. But I’ve seen the records. No one in here was innocent. Not us, not the guards, and none of the inmates. Even your buddy Donnie beat up any kids who bullied his son. That’s just how it happened.”
Mars stood there mutely, staring into space. Marksman looked up and fired an optic blast into the building behind Mars, who jumped in shock. The bricks behind him crumbled as a large section of the building gave way.
“Sniper,” said Marksman formally. “Look...I’m not saying what I’m doing is the best way of doing things, but that’s how it is. Come with me. You can talk to the Leader, and it’ll work fine.”
Mars eyed him suspiciously. Marksman sighed.
“Well at least let me give you a ride out of the country,” he said. “This place, Vidas Quebradas, it’s in ruins. There’s nothing left for you here.”
Mars set his jaw and stared at Marksman. Marksman’s face was almost pleading. Mars sighed and nodded, and they ran to the chopper. Climbing in, Marksman called to the pilot and gave him the thumbs up. The helicopter began to lift off the ground as they pulled on headsets.
“Thanks for the ride,” said Marksman.
“You’re late,” said the pilot. “Who are your friends?”
“This is Mars. He’s coming with us. He has a power too, although...hey, I still don’t know what you can do.”
Mars opened his mouth to respond, although he wasn’t really sure what he would say. He was saved the effort of thinking of something by the pilot.
“And the other guy?”
Mars and Marksman looked at each other in confusion for a split second, when Marksman’s face darkened at the sight of something behind Mars. Abruptly Mars felt a gun barrel press against the back of his head, and heard a very familiar voice in his headset.
“Hello, white man.”
Marksman’s skin glazed over into steel, while Mars raised his hands. Del Toro moved around the seats from his hiding place under a pile of parachutes, his gun still trained on Mars, but his attention was focused on Marksman.
“This is interesting,” said Del Toro calmly. “You both have hidden more from me than I could have guessed. Very interesting. Yet with your strengths and powers, I am still here with a gun.”
“I was hoping you’d die in the riot,” said Marksman, venom dripping in his voice.
“But I did not,” said Del Toro. “I am here, and now I have the advantage.”
“You didn’t kick this guy out, Samuels?” demanded Marksman furiously.
“Sorry sir,” said the pilot. “He had his gun on me the whole time.”
“Enough,” said Del Toro. “Pilot. You will take us to the field north of here and leave all three of us. Do that and you may go free. These two stay with me.”
“You just can’t let me go, can you, Captain,” remarked Mars. “You have to see me die.”
There was a blur and Mars felt a stripe of red-hot pain trace onto his face. He recoiled into his chair and grabbed at his face in agony. Del Toro sheathed the knife within a second of unsheathing it. Marksman gave an angry cry and his eyes glowed red, but Del Toro stared at him resolutely.
“I would not,” he said warningly. “You would kill us all.”
Marksman sat in place, fuming, and the light in his eyes slowly faded. Del Toro did not smile, but Mars could sense his satisfaction as he wiped the blood from his face. Del Toro handed him a rag and he held it against the cut. Slowly, as the pain subsided, he realised what Del Toro had done. The cut was a match of Del Toro’s own deep scar, the captain’s last insult before execution. Mars bit down a filthy insult and glared at Del Toro over the rag. The gun was still held to his head, but the captain and Marksman were exchanging insults.
“Is this how the Americans solve all the problems they think are their business?” asked Del Toro. “By sending in monsters to murder everyone and rebuilding from the ashes?”
“We’re not as melodramatic as that,” shot back Marksman. “It’s a ruse, to convince your government to do something rather than pretend those people don’t exist.”
“Do not bore me with false heroism, boy,” snorted Del Toro. “You do not care about the prisoners. They are a means to an end for you. An excuse to move in where you have no business. Yes, no business. What we do with our prisoners is up to us. Not to you or your American leaders. My government will say the same, when you and your fellow monsters return. We will take the prisoners back and deal with them as we have done, and we will not beg for aid from you and yours.”
“So you can go back to torturing them and allowing your guards to break them into pieces?”
“I am being lectured on morality by a man who just gunned down guard and inmate alike. Do you not find this ironic? I have never killed a man myself.”
“You torture them all the time.”
“Torture is not the same. One can recover from trauma, but not from death. Have you ever thought of that before you killed innocent men, murderer?”
Marksman stood up and bellowed at Del Toro, who stood up calmly as well, keeping his gun in hand. Mars listened calculatingly. Marksman and Del Toro traded insults and ethical denigrations back and forth, each trying to one up the other, but he quickly lost track of their words. All he heard was their points, which they kept repeating with different words. Neither was going to back down. Mars watched them face off, and a desperate idea came into his head. He focused with whatever energy he had remaining and spoke to the pilot.
“Hey, Samuels,” he said. “Bank right, quickly.”
“What? This isn’t a jet.”
“Do it! Now!”
Samuels jerked on the controls and the helicopter swung to one side. Neither Marksman or Del Toro noticed, their sense of touch skewed, when Mars kicked them both in the hips. They both tumbled from the side of the helicopter, crying out in panic as they dropped to the ground below. Marksman’s skin glazed again and Mars watched as the pair of them landed among the trees. He snatched up Del Toro’s gun and held it where Samuels could see it.
“Take us back to America,” he said flatly.
The pilot did not respond. He continued flying. Mars looked out of the helicopter. The pair of them were receding into the distance. Marksman seemed to be moving. Del Toro wasn’t as far as he could make out. Mars smiled under the rag.
“You two deserve each other,” he mumbled. Taking Marksman seat so he could keep an eye on Samuels, he strapped himself in and thought things over.
They had both been right. There was nothing more Mars could do in Mexico, not now that Vidas Quebradas was gone, but the Mexican government wasn’t stupid. They’d probably see through Marksman’s flimsy deception and tell his Leader to go. Mars pondered that thought. If they had survived the fall, Del Toro and Marksman would be fighting by now, and he had no doubt that Marksman would win. Mars took no comfort in that, but the last of his enemies in Mexico was almost certainly dead.
Marksman would try to return to America. He had to.
“Hey Samuels,” said Mars. “Tell me everything you know about the Leader.”
9/11/2011 3:47:07 AM
Comment on this fan fiction!
|
|
|
