Lazer Lightzest

Chapter 6: New Beginnings

The cold winter air brushed through Avery Sequoia Booker's thick coat, making him shiver despite the multiple layers he was wearing. Granted, many of these layers were either several sizes too small or too large but ended up covering his thin, stick-like figure relatively well. His face looked pale and sickly. His eyes were glazed and tired. But he had to keep pushing on. His life depended on it,

It had been three days since his escape from Morzo and Vendetta, when the prison door had slammed behind him and Robinson as the fighting continued beyond them and they made their way past the fighting ring into Bangkok. Then, they changed into other clothes - courtesy of the shop Robinson's team had trashed, and waited for their flight the next morning. It was only when Avery finally stepped onto the plane when the fear that had gripped him since his first encounter with the mercenaries in the hospital had finally dissipated - albeit slightly. It had faded even more when he had boarded the flight with Robinson, who he could tell was still sorely mourning the loss of her friends. When the flight had landed, they had parted ways, with Robinson giving him the location of an abandoned CIA safe house that he could use to stay safe as well as a bag with enough food to last him about a week and blankets to keep him warm. The safe house wasn't on any databases or under any surveillance so, as Robinson had said, as long as he kept his head down, Morzo would never be able to find him.

The safe house in question was in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, quiet and nervous in an otherwise loud and ruckus neighbourhood. 30 years ago, a small-time gang looking to make a lot of money had moved into the neighbourhood due to its important location - every year, 250 tons of drugs were smuggled through the area either through trucks passing nearby or from ships docking at the port. Whoever had control of the area would therefore have control over the drugs being trafficked. The Mexican Government had originally tried to take control of the area as well, and they most likely would have succeeded in disposing what was ultimately amateurs playing at being experts. But when Rafael Dumont set his sights on the area, the police didn't stand a chance.

Rafael Dumont had been born in France to a French mother and a Mexican father. On a trip to Mexico, his parents had been killed in a shoot-out between the police and a group of gang members. Blinded by grief, he joined the gang to get revenge, intending to hire a team to kill the men responsible. However, when it came to the day of reckoning, his team had abandoned him at the last second, leaving him alone in a police station with 20 corrupt police officers who had been tipped off about his arrival. By all accounts, he should have died that day. He had never fought with anyone, let alone shooting them. But when the first officer had stepped through the door to the small office where he was crouched behind the desk, when he had heard the safety click off and the footsteps finally reach him, experience hadn't been in control. Anger and adrenaline had been. Dumont may not have used a gun himself, but he had certainly known how to use one from seeing others, especially in movies. When the first officer had rounded the corner, he shot her between the eyes. There had been audible cheering from the room of police officers and Dumont had grinned. From there the officers had been surprised and unprepared when Dumont had instead emerged from the room, shooting like a madman - but accurately, nonetheless - until all the officers were either dead or suffering fatal injuries. Ignoring all of his instincts, he had returned to the gang victorious and had been welcomed in with open arms.

In the 3 decades that had followed, he had slowly made his way up to the ranks until finally, he was finally named padrino - the godfather. Dumont was ruthless, emotionless and ambitious. When he had been informed of the location of the neighbourhood, he had immediately ordered it to be taken control of. Within 24 hours, the local police had been bribed and the local gang had been massacred. The locals had been allowed to stay under the condition that they didn't question any of the activities taking place. Dumont's control was inescapable and absolute. To try and stand against him was suicide. It didn't stop people from trying, however. The CIA had set up this safe house specifically to monitor Dumont's gang and their activities. It had taken months of planning and preparation before they had snuck in under the cover of darkness into a recently-vacated house - courtesy of them, naturally - and set up a base. For six months, they had managed to stay hidden, transporting supplies via an underground tunnel and sending their least conspicuous members - a family of three who to Dumont were the only inhabitants of the house - to go grocery shopping and interact with people to ensure no one suspected a thing. It had been an incredibly successful operation - nearly 30 ships and trucks had been intercepted and tonnes of drugs had been seized. Unfortunately for them, Dumont realised what was happening far earlier than they expected him to. He knew there was someone in the neighbourhood who was a spy and was secretly checking each house to see who. It took him less than a week to figure out who it was. First he killed the family and the rest of the CIA agents in the house. Then he sent guards to the underground tunnel - which some of the agents had fruitlessly tried to escape through - and slaughtered anyone they came across. Following this gigantic lapse in judgement, it was ordered that until further notice, no operations would take place there. That order had been upheld ever since.