DECODE ~ GHOST [Editing]

11| Alone

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Las Almas, Mexico.

TW; Alone Mission Storyline, murder, war crimes, canon typical violence, mentioned/referenced Sexual assault, referenced suicide, self harm, explicit injury description. 

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Smoke filled the air and clung to the vibrant buildings of the city riddled in the heart of Mexico. There was no one in sight as I padded through the outskirts of the decimated town, my footsteps unsteady as I relied on my good leg to propel me forwards. I knew I couldn't carry on all night with my injuries I had sustained, there would be a time where I'd have to hold up in someones home, to hide in the darkness in the hopes they wouldn't find me, or to die in the street like the rest of the community had.

Despite the drug war, the cartel and the corrupt police, Las Almas had such an overwhelming sense of community. Everyone knew their neighbours by name, they knew most of the town, and they'd spend each holiday in the arms of their family, of their loved ones. They were sweet, good people. They didn't deserve this, they didn't deserve to be slaughtered like animals in the street because Philip Graves didn't get his way, they deserved a life.

Blood clung to the walls of the street, the storefronts graffitied by death and destruction, all with Graves' signature on it; that much I was certain. He'd orchestrated this whole thing, stabbed all of us in the back just when I thought I could have a life with him again. And, fuck, it hurt.

Fire crackled in the night like a song, the sounds of screams were the chorus, with the gunshots as the bridge, and as I walked, I was cautious to cling to the darkness. To hold onto the walls so that I didn't have to rely on my one uninjured leg. The whole time I was cautious, on high alert to not step where I shouldn't. 

I was cautious to not step on a landmine, or traipse throughout some of the many trip wires which laid in wait for whoever found themselves unlucky enough to have wandered through them.

This was a beautiful city, the city Alejandro called home. The place he had grown up with Rudy, their lives entangled as they grew to find purpose, no doubt their families were here somewhere, hiding, panicked, or even dead. The city Alejandro called home, was now a mass grave. And, I couldn't help but feel I had some part to play in the destruction.

Soot was heavy in the damp air as I pushed away from the building I had clung to, a family home of some variety, the blue paint now charred as the building started to extinguish from the endless rain. I stumbled blindly towards the pickup truck, the keys still in the ignition as the driver hung limply from the window, his eyes unfocused as blood dripped down from his caved in skull. He had been shot from behind, by a sniper rifle if I had to guess based on the exit wound.

And, I wondered if the assailant was still watching, or if they had moved onto better things.

My shaking hands planted into the red paint on the cabin of the pickup, my abdomen screamed as the injury reared its ugly head and threatened to paralyse me with an indescribable agony. Blood trailed down from my abdomen and my injured leg until it diluted in the rainwater, an obvious trail to wherever I went. I forced my finger onto the push-to-talk button of my radio, "This is Fury, is anyone there?" I asked with uncertainty, only to be met with a constant static.

I reached towards the radio itself, my fingers worked on muscle memory as I forced myself to change the channel until I found one which was in range. I was met with silence, but that is preferable to static, even more preferable than hearing Shadow Company, who had no doubt commandeered our comms.