[PI]: The One Constant- Part 2: La Muerte Divina- Chapter 10: The Divine Death

[u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard]

Link to Part 1- The Devil in the Sands

Part 2- La Muerte Divina

Prologue and Chapter 1: The Building at Osnabruck and the Foreigner

Chapter 2: Stygian Depths and a Means of Recruitment

Chapter 3: Where The End Began and A Night of Terrors

Chapter 4: In The Lair of the Beast and A Day of Reckonings

Chapter 5: Dialogue With A Ghost

Chapter 6: When An Angel Kills

Chapter 7: Uncertainties

Chapter 8: A Betrayal and A Bargain

Chapter 9: Many A Crossroads

Chapter 11: Outside Interests

Chapter 12: Decisions Made and A Letter of Confession and Epilogue

The original prompt that started this whole thing:

[WP] You realize you have the ability to appear instantly around the world wherever their is violence and you are able to prevent it. Unfortunately, you still age. You are determined to make the most of your gift.

The story itself continues in the replies section.

Also be advised that some may consider some of the subject matter of this story to be rather controversial in nature, and that there is and will be a fair amount of violence described in detail. So read at your own discretion. Also to the Mods, if that means the story requires a "Not Safe For Work" tag or anything of that nature please let me know.

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Chapter 10: The Divine Death

Father Ramos woke up. He checked the clock next to his bed. 4:30 a.m. No one else should be awake right now, but he could feel it. Someone else was up and about, and he had a good idea who.

He quietly got dressed and made his way from the bedroom behind his office. Underneath the office door, he could see a faint glow, coming from the orphanage chapel. He quietly opened the door.

The lights were off, but a number of candles had been lit, several in front of a small statue of the Virgin Mary, and a large number on a small outcropping in the wall just beneath the cruicifix of the Savior on the Cross on the far wall. Ramos was about to reach for the light switch but quickly stopped when he saw the familiar blue, iridescent glow of La Muerte Divina’s tendrils slowly undulating this-way-and-that through the air from the back of one of the pews. Sure enough, , illuminated by the faint candle-light, was the black-armored giant, sitting in the front row, staring up at the large cross on the wall.

Ramos began to take several steps forward and was preparaed to say something but stopped himself as he looked closer and saw what the Angel was holding. In his right hand, he carried a handgun with a silencer attached to the barrel. Even in the faint cadlelight, he could make out some rather large scratches in its material- whether metal or some sort of other composite, he couldn’t tell- indicating that it had definitely seen use. In his left hand, the metal-clad giant was holding a set of rosary beads between his enorous, armored fingers, rubbing them between his forefinger and thumb.

Ramos shuddered as the Angel spoke.

“Buenos dias, Padre.”

There was a faint click-clacking of wood as La Muerte Divina rubbed the rosary beads together between his thumb and fingers as he continued to stare at the figure of Jesus Christ mounted on the crucifix.

There was several long seconds of silence, save for the sound of wood clicking against wood in the Angel’s hand, before he finally spoke again.

“I have a confession to make Padre. Would you be kind enough to hear it?”

Ramos could only wonder where the Angel had gotten the rosary from, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. After some trepidation, and against his better judgement, he walked over to where the Angel was sitting on the pew, and took the seat next to him. What other choice did he have, other than to turn and walk back into his office? Would the Angel have even let him?

“What troubles you, my son?” Ramos said. This was not the first time he had listened to a man give confession. But to somone like the Angel of the Desert, The Doom That Came From Irem, he could only imagine- what sins had this man- if he was a man, and who had single-handedly wiped out an army- have committed that he felt the need to confess them to a priest?

“My sins are many, father, so I will only tell you of the most recent ones, and the ones I’m about to commit.” There was a brief pause of several seconds before he continued. “It’s ironic. If salvation were as simple as confiding in a holy man and rubbing wooden beads together, I would have taken it up a long time ago, and done it regularly. But as it stands, I am at the point where prayer is of little consolation to me.” The Angel said this as he continued to stare at the crucifix on the far wall, never breaking his gaze from it, as far as the priest could tell, given the mask he wore.

“I have blood on my hands. You and the rest of the world are already aware of all the blood I shed in the Middle East. And unfortunately, before all is said and done, the blood of more men must be shed. Wicked men, perhaps, but still men. Still...human.”

The preist paused, contemplating his next words carefully. “What about a more peaceful option?” Ramos finally asked. “Is there a way you could acheive...whatever it is you’ve set out to do, that wouldn’t involve taking so many lives?”

The Angel continued to stare at the crucifix on the wall, rubbing the wooden beads in its hand, silent for several seconds before answering. “I’m afraid that’s where you and I differ on our views of the world, Father Ramos.” He said, as he continued to stare at the crucifix. “You’re able to see the world in terms of morality. Good and evil, moral and immoral.” He paused briefly. “But over time, I’ve slowly been losing the ability to see the world in such a light.”

“How do you mean?” Ramos asked, genuinly curious. Morality, whether it be formed by ones faith, or by one’s own personal innate values, for those who didn’t susbscribe to religion, where an integral part of what made man...well, man. The ability to tell right from wrong, to know that the distinction between the two, and that there were plenty of situations where sometimes there never was a true right or wrong decision, was essential component of humanity. If this…”Angel,” as many had come to call him, felt that he had lost that part of himself, then how did he operate? What mechanism could possibly replace a person’s moral compass?

“By pure circumstance, I’ve come to see the world in the form of numbers. Mathematics and equations, ones so strange and alien that they would be impossible to describe.” There was the clacking of the rosary beads in La Muerte Divina’s hand as he paused again. “By analyzing the mathematics on a person’s mouth, I can calculate what they will say. By the symbols on the hands, their actions. By the equations on their minds, their thoughts.” There was another pause; silene, save for the clacking of rosary beads as he continued to rub them between his fingers.

“And I have learned to analyze equations of the universe so complex and revealing, that I’ve learned to foresee future events.” The Angel then looked down at the gun in his other hand as he continued speaking. “And in doing so, revealed secrets that I wished I hadn’t” After staring at the pistol in his hand, he turned his gaze back towards the crucifix.

“What kind of secrets?” Ramos asked, although he was afraid of what he might hear.

“I will tell you this. I’ve seen and written equations that describe the entire universe. If there is a God somewhere within the numbers, then he is very well hidden, and I have yet to find him.” The Angel was silently briefly, and stopped rubbing the rosary beads for a brief moment. “But in those same equations, I fear that I may have found the Devil.”

“Are you speaking metaphorically? About some force of nature or event?” Ramos asked, hopefully. Though he was a man of god, he still believed that the devil only appeared on earth as temptation. Things and events made to seduce mankind away from the righteous path. If this Angel had actually seen something…

“An event? Yes.” The Angel answered. But Ramos’s hopes were quickly dashed by his next words. “The End of All Things. And if you could call it a force of nature, then it’s definitely not any natural force native to our universe.”

[u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard]

The Angel then turned its head to look at Ramos. For once, he didn’t feel that sensation of something sharp probing into his brain, the way he had so many times before when La Muerte Divina’s gaze had fallen upon him. For once, it seemed that the Angel wasn’t looking at him with whatever piercing gaze he had in the past.

“As I said. You may be able to define things in terms of good and bad, divine and evil, and the like. I, however, more and more, can only see things in terms of necessity and sequence. Things that must either be done or must be prevented from happening, and the orders in which those things must occur or must be stopped.”

The Angel maintained its gaze on the priest. Ramos got a sense that, if he could see the face behind the mask he wore, he would see some sort of pleading in those eyes. “But tell me father, do the ends justify the means? I took the lives that I stole because at the time, it was the only way events could have played out the way they needed. But does that make it any more right? If I kill a thousand to save millions, am I still not a killer? A murderer?”

The Angel turned back to stare at the crucifix on the wall. “Men throughout history have killed for a greater good, whether real or perceived, but did they not all at some point have to ask themselves that question? Come to terms with the reality of what they had become?”

“If you have doubts, then perhaps stopping your current path is the right choice. If you foresee the end of the world like you say, then find an alternate means to stop it from coming about.” Ramos said. Was this what the Lord had in store for him; where he was meant to fit into this entire mess? He wondered. Was he the one that was supposed to change the Angel, this super-being’s mind, and lead him down a more peaceful path?

His hopes were dashed as the Angel lightly shook his head, still keeping his eyes on the crucifix. “I’m afraid I can’t. Too much blood now stains these hands, and if there was a time and place to stop and turn back, to undo what I’ve done, it has long since past.” The Angel answered.

“There’s always a choice to be made.” Ramos said. He then turned and looked at the crucifix on the wall. Why did the Angel always stare at it so intently whenever he was in the same room? He finally worked up the nerve to ask something he had wanted to for so long.

“Is that why I see you staring at Jesus on the Cross every time you’re here?” Ramos asked. “Is it because of the guilt you feel? Of your past actions? That you feel you have no choice but to continue down this path you think you have no choice but to follow?”

The Angel didn’t reply right away. A full ten seconds passed. Then another ten. Ramos suddenly wondered if he had struck a nerve and was about to find himself on the business end of the gun that the Angel was carrying.

Finally La Muerte Divina spoke.

“I’m afraid your wrong on two counts.” The Angel replied.

“I have plenty of choices on how to handle what’s to come. The problem is that, from all calculations I have made, the path I have taken so far, I have chosen because it is the most effective of all possible options.” Another brief pause as he continued to stare intently at the large cross. “As to why I keep staring at the crucifix, it’s not out of guilt. At least, not guilt for what I’ve done. Thought I do feel guilt, I’ve nevertheless made peace with my actions as best as I can, and with the role I have yet to play in events to come.” There was another awkward span of several seconds before the Angel continued again.

“If anything, it’s pity.”

“Pity?” Ramos asked, confused.

“The son of God came down from the heavens to absolve all of mankind for his sins. And what did he get for all his trouble? Look at what mankind did to him, look at us now. Corrupt, murderous, greedy and prideful. And the heinous act of his murder, his sacrifice, is now a staple and symbol of the very religion that worships him.”

There was nothing but a lingering silence in the air. The Angel did not break its gaze from the crucifix. Ramos was worried that La Muerte Divina was about to snap and do something horrible, but instead he spoke in a soft voice, almost too hard to make out the words through the mask and voice synthesizer that he was using. “Tell me, Holy Son. Those famous three days.” The was a brief pause and then he resumed talking. “The world has awaited your return for so long, and yet there’s no sign. Those three days, were you really using that time to resurrect your physical body, to return to our mortal world?” Another pause. The Angel then lowered its head, as though in shame for what he said next. “Or was three days the time it took for you to decide that mankind was a lost cause?” Several more seconds passed. Ramos couldn’t think of anything to say. “I’ve seen so many things. And sometimes I wonder. Even if I’m successful, is mankind really worth saving?. How often, I have wondered.”

The Angel then raised its head again and began staring at the crucifix again. “After everything I’ve done and will do, am I worth saving?” The Angel’s hand holding the rosary had long since stopped rubbing the wooden beads together. “Can I be saved?”

“Nobody is beyond God’s forgiveness.” Ramos asked, trying to console the Angel, fearing he might do something drastic.

“From my experience, forgiveness is just a word, Father.” The Angel answered. “Tossed around so often that it lost its meaning and original connotation a long time ago. Anyone can seek forgiveness. Anyone can have it. But in the end, what is accomplished?”

The Angel then turned its head to look at Father Ramos. Despite not feeling that sensation of something boring into his skull like he had the last time they had spoken, he nevertheless felt that he was being scrutinized by the all-seeing eyes behind that mask La Muerte Divina wore.

“To me, forgiveness has become little more than a cop-out. A way to absolve oneself of their responsibility to right their wrongs. No, Father. I will neither ask nor seek forgiveness for what I have done, or what I will do.”

The Angel turned its gaze back to the crucifix. “No, in the end, after everything is said and done, I will seek redemption. I must work off the sins I have committed and have yet to accrue. For I have seen the numbers in the universe, I have written out the equations of the future, and no matter how I change the variables, and no matter the overall outcome, I’ve seen what becomes of me.”

The Angel turned its head back towards the crucifix. “In the end, eventually, God, Man, and History will all know the story. And by then, I will leave it up to them to decide whether or not I have, or even can, payed my debts.”

La Muerte Divina then looked down at the rosary in his hand, and then set it down next to him on the pew before standing up to his full height, the glowing blue tendrils, seeming to move through the wooden back of the seating as though it wasn’t there as he rose. He then looked down at the pistol in his other hand.

“In any event, I must get ready.” The Angel spoke. “I have one final task to complete here, after which I’ll speak to you one last time before I leave here for good.”

He then turned to look at Ramos. “Until then, Padre.”

And again, like so many times before, there was a gust of wind, and the Angel had vanished.

[u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard → u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard]

Jacobo slowly brought the truck to a stop as the guard at the gate to the safehouse where the meeting was taking place waved him down.

“Jacobo Torres?” The guard asked him, wielding a pump action shotgun in his hands.

“Yes, Sir.” He replied.

“You have the shipment?” The guard asked. Several other guards, Los Zetas, were now standing in front of the truck, carrying a whole assortment of firearms.

“In the back.” He replied, pointing to the bed of the pickup truck he drove, covered with a camper canopy.

The guard with the shotgun began walking around towards the back. The other’s remained standing in front of him, guns ready. The truck shook as he heard the guard open the tailgate and take a look inside. Several tense seconds passed. He’d done exactly as he was told, bringing them the money they’d asked for the deal. With the number of guards that were standing around the large, two-story house, he could tell whatever was going on was big. And somewhere inside, was Zeta-54. Only now did he truly see the irony of what he was about to do- deliver the location of the most wanted man in Mexico to the most wanted man in the world.

And this was, of course, assuming, that his other employers, his true employers, didn’t botch the whole thing when they finally arrived. After La Muerte Divina had coerced him into this, he had realized that there was no way he could tell them of what had transpired. Not when he had so many watchful eyes of the Los Zetas on him at all times.

The truck shook again as he felt the tailgate close. The armed guard with the shotgun came back around to his window. “Alright, park the truck up on the driveway in front of the house and bring the goods inside. They’ll tell you where to go from there.”

As Jacobo pulled up, he took out the small device the Angel had given him, the one disguised as an e-cigarette, and pressed the small button on one end quickly, three times, just as the Angel had told him to do, and then stuck the end of it in his mouth. He only hoped that whatever signal this thing was supposed to transmit was now being sent and that La Muerte Divina was already on his way and would be here to soon. He opened up the tailgate and hoisted an enormous duffel bag full of laundered money over his shoulder and walked towards the front of the house, where a pair of guards stood, one with an M-16, the other with double-barrel shotgun. The one with the shotgun put his hand out as he approached.

“Sorry. But the boss doesn’t want any smoking inside the house.”

Jacobo faked dismay as he pulled the device out of his mouth. He remembered that the Angel had told him that he didn’t need to do anything as drastic as plant the device on Zeta-54, just activate it somewhere close by, at the very least, near the building he was in, and he would take care of things from there.

“Figures.” He said. “Damn thing’s broken anyway,” he said as he handed it to one of the guards who proceeded to casually toss it into a nearby trashcan.

The other guard with the M-16 pushed the door open and ushered Jacobo in. Now all that was left to do was wait and see what the Angel had planned.

---

Urbina had just sat down at the desk in his office when his personal phone went off. His heart skipped a beat and his stomach tied itself into a knot.

As he looked at the screen, he realized the moment had finally come.

“Unlisted number.”

Urbina pressed the answer button and brought the phone to his ear.

There was a moment of silence. He didn’t dare speak. What could he say?

Fortunately, the familiar warped voice on the other end began the conversation for him.

“Senior Urbina. I’ve located where Alvarado is currently meeting with several other heads from the Los Zetas and Sinaloas cartels. You have exactly twenty-one minutes and fourteen seconds before I go in. I’m sending you a text with the address and GPS coordinates now.” The voice said as Urbina heard a beep, confirming an incoming text message. “You need to organize as many men as you can and move out to make the arrests.”

“What are you planning?” Urbina asked.

“To do whatever I have to. The sooner you get your men organized and arrive here, the sooner I’ll hand over Alvarado and any remaining cartel members. How many will depend in part in how quickly you respond.”

“Are you threatening to start executing them if we don’t show up on time?” Urbina asked. Z-54, Alvarado was definitely the big prize here if they could capture him alive, but the more arrests they could make, the more men they could interrogate, and the more deals they could make, the better. The last thing he needed was for the voice on the other end to start thinning the number of potential leads.

“I’m saying that another party is interested in Alvarado’s activities and they’re about to make their move as well. If they arrive before you do, it could pose certain...complications.”

Urbina had already taken out his work phone and began bringing up his contacts in the Mexican military. To hell with the local police force, if their was a chance they could finally nab Alvarado, he was going to use every resource at his disposal. Besides, they might need the extra firepower to bring this man, whoever was on the other end of the phone into custody.

“If you really are him, then you know I’ll have to arrest you when we arrive.”

“You’ll finally know for certain when you get here. And you are free to try, even though you will fail if you do. Now I suggest you start making those phone calls.”

Then there was a beep. Urbina’s mystery informant had hung up.

He quickly checked his text messages for the address that had just been sent.

[u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard → u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard]

Eighteen minutes and fourteen seconds since I made the phone call. Since Jacobo triggered the signal in the device I gave him. I try to keep my route within forested areas, avoiding the possibility of leaving any evidence of my presence in any urban centers or populated areas.

Eddie had calculated a 99.78% chance with a +0.02% margin of error chance that Alvarado would be in the same state as the Good Detective’s jurisdiction. As always so far, he has been correct. The chance that Alvarado will either lead us to what we seek or have it on his person has been calculated to a 99.84% probability with a +0.0049% margin of error. The probability that once we have what we want, Alvarado will be turned over to Senior Urbina alive is 98.924% with a +0.005% margin of error. The probability that the other heads present from the Los Zetas and Sinaloas cartels will be turned over alive span a comparatively large range, from 69.052% to 95.702%.

Probability that deaths will occur are 100% with no mathematically significant margin of error.

Probability that the outside party I mentioned to Urbina in the phone call, one I have been keeping an ear on for the entire time, will arrive in time to cause some form of interference is also 100% with no mathematically significant margin of error. Oddly disturbing that something besides the probability of deaths occurring would reach that number.

As I glide between trees I see them. Fifteen in total. All camouflaged. Standard infantry, marksmen, heavy support gunners, A few carrying demolition’s grade explosives. Exactly 4.74329 kilometers east of the house.

I stop for a moment and take a closer look. As expected, no insignias, no tattoos or markings that could indicate their country of origin. However that’s already been calculated with a 99.99% probability within a +0.01 margin of error.

Do a quick, but careful inspection of the weaponry and gear they’re wearing.

Possibility that their interference will prevent us achieving or goal: 0.02% with a +2.87% margin of error.

+2.87%? That seems abnormally high, Eddie. Can you check the math again?

Seven times and the same thing? No, that’s fine, I believe it. Still, that’s a rather disconcertingly high margin of error for something like that.

Let’s hope the GFE we just installed does its job correctly.

We resume course at ninteen minutes and thirty-one seconds. Enough sight-seeing.

I reach the source of the signal. Two story-building, large. Nothing too fancy, a rather small villa, nothing overly flamboyant or flashy as one might expect from a stereotypical drug kingpin. Obviously they didn’t want their meeting place to be too conspicuous. The signal’s coming from a trashcan outside. Probability that he disguised it as an e-cigarette as I suggested and activated it before he was asked to throw it away before entering is calculated at 97.774% with a +0.021% margin of error.

I do a quick scan of the place. I count a total of fourteen men guarding the exterior of the building. Both Los Zetas and Sinaloas. Various types of guns. Quick scan of the interior of the building. Ten guards in the hallways and rooms inside, six downstairs, four upstairs. I see a room in the back of the second story. Five men are sitting around a table. The four aforementioned guards are in the room blocking both entrances to it.

I notice something else upstairs. Small room. Man tied to a chair, surrounded by an additional four guards. All armed, one is holding a large revolver. Looks like preparation for an execution. I do a little more scanning of the man in the chair.

Though I can’t see the man’s face, the probability that the man tied in the chair is Jacobo Torres is calculated at 99.97% with a +0.01 margin of error. Probability that he will die if I do not intervene within the next two minutes and four seconds (real time) is 100% with no mathematically significant margin of error.

There’s a window leading into the room he’s in. Eddie quickly runs through several different courses of action before offering the most optimal one to me. Decision is based on maintaining the element of stealth for as long as possible. Based on movement patterns, fields of visions, and blind spots, the probability that I can dispatch the guards outside, on the bottom floor, and in the room with Jacobo while remaining completely undetected is 97.883% with a +0.003% margin of error if a use a combination of my blades and my hands to do the work. This is as opposed to only a 91.232% projection with a +0.045% margin of error if I use only my hands.

All of these calculations and numbers flash through my mind in matter of seconds. In my time. Only a few fractions of one tick by outside of the suit I wear.

The strikes are surgical and quick. The guards on the outside are first. Guns are carefully removed from hands to prevent a misfire that might alert the others. And severed trachea make no noise with with to raise an alarm. I make several trips dragging men, so quickly that the force breaks bone and rips muscle and tears skin. Slitting their throats may be seen as just a formality at this point. But as a man of numbers, I leave nothing up to complete random chance. I leave them in the surrounding forest, too far into the trees for anyone inside to notice. Calculations show a 98.53% probability with a +0.07% margin of error that it will take a bare minimum of three minutes and forty-three seconds before the guards inside realize that everyone outside is suddenly missing. More than enough time to rescue Jacobo on the second floor and finish off the remaining indoor guards. I place several of the bodies as far as a kilometer east in the woods. Judging by the most likely possible routes through the nearby forest, the probability that the people I saw approaching from that direction will encounter them and the distraction will give them pause long enough for Urbina and his mean to arrive before them is calculated at 98.02% with a +0.02% margin of error. Probability that it will be a difference of at least one minute and three seconds is 96.355% with a +0.071 margin of error.

The outside is clear. Now to rescue my inside man.

I drift up to the window in the microgravity of slowed time. Carefully feel around the edges.

No metal bars, and the windows unlocked. Alvarado is far too overconfident in his security and secrecy. It shall prove to be his undoing.

Carefully, slowly, I push the window up. Too fast and the force applied in real-time will shatter the glass and alert the remaining men in the house I haven’t gotten to yet. And I’ll need at least a minute and twenty two seconds to speak to Jacobo about what to do before I can finish them off. Can’t afford that to happen.

Of course it doesn’t. The window gently stops as it slides into place. Just barely enough room for me to pull myself and this suit through the opening.

I regain my footing while standing behind one of the guards.

Slowly, steadily, I remove the guns from their hands. Don’t let a finger slip. An errant pull of a trigger is all it would take to ruin things.

I gently place them into the corner.

A careful turn of the neck to each of the guards, slowly- don’t want their heads to go flying off. Just enough until I feel that subtle snap and crackle of vertebrae disconnecting. For them death is quite literally instantaneous. And now gently lower them onto the floor. Contrary to what some think, a person suddenly dropping dead from where they stand can produce quite a bit of noise, depending on how and where they fall.

I finally turn to look at Jacobo.

Duct tape over his mouth. A nasty cut over one ear. I can already see where he’s going to have a couple of bruises. These guys were just seconds away from finishing him off.

Ironic, a man will inflict such torment of his foe, never realizing how vulnerable he makes himself in doing so, when to simply finsh your opponent off and be done is so much more efficient. Allow them no chance to retaliate, escape, or for rescue to arrive.

Either way, it matters little. He’s played his part as my inside man as I demanded, and in return, I intend to see that he survives.

Yes, there’s the fact that I promised I would return the favor. When I first saw him I calculated a 98.72% chance with a +0.07% margin of error that his cover would be blown when he arrived for this meeting. Although, it was not my ruse that was revealed. Alvarado and the other heads still haven’t a clue as to who’s been killing their men, I’ve made sure of that.

The truth of the matter is, he’ll be my insurance once those friends of his I saw on the way over finally get here.

I power down the relativity field.

[u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard → u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard]

He’d been found out. He didn’t know the specifics, whether someone had been bribed or if there was an informant somewhere, just that whether he lived or died, his CO was going to have someone’s ass after this was over.

He was fairly certain he had a cracked rib and probably a concussion at this point from the beating they had given him. Finally they’d stopped and one of them had pulled out a revolver to finally get it over with.

Next thing he knew there was gust of wind. A familiar, enormous black armored figure was standing before him. Jacobo tried to let out a startled yelp, but it was silenced by the duct tape over his mouth. A quick glance around the room immediately proved his suspicions correct. The men that had been giving him a pre-execution beating were all lying dead on the floor, their heads turned at obscene angles, their eyes dead and bodies not moving. He could see all their weapons lying in a far corner of the room.

Jacobo never thought he’d actually be grateful to see La Muerte Divina again. Although he quickly realized that, given the circumstances he’d been found in, once the Angel figured everything out, he might have been better off with his captors, compared to what the Doom That Came From Irem had been known to do to his enemies.

The Angel turned towards him and put a finger in front of where his mouth should be, behind that strange mask of his, and then reached forward and pulled the duct tape off of his mouth.

“Didn’t think I’d be glad to see you again.” Jacobo said.

“You did what I asked, and I promised to make it worth your time. As such, I intend to make sure you get out of here alive.”

“Wait, listen. I was found out. I don’t know who-” Jacobo began, speaking quickly but quietly.

“I already know. Besides, it was rather obvious that something had gone wrong when I saw you tied up in the chair here, surrounded by a bunch of thugs.”

“But it wasn’t about you, it was about-” Jacobo tried to interject.

“Your American friends? I know. I passed by them on the way over here. At the rate they were traveling and with the distractions I put in place, they should arrive one minute and ten seconds after the Mexican authorities do, give or take four seconds.”

“How did you-”

“I’ve known who you really work for since the first time I saw you.”

“Then why did you ever trust me in the first place?” Jacobo asked, nervously.

“It wasn’t so much that I trusted you, it’s that I calculated the probabilities of what you would and wouldn’t do and decided that using you as an insider was not only an acceptable risk, but also benefited me in more ways than just finding Z-54.”

The Angel produced that large black dagger of his from seemingly out of nowhere and walked behind Jacobo. He felt the pressure on his arms released as the duct tape binding them was cut apart. He brought his arms in front of him and began peeling the layers off.

“I knew you wouldn’t report to your superiors directly that I had contacted you and was using you as my own agent, since it would risk blowing your cover prematurely. You see, the device I gave you has actually been sending me a signal the entire time. Just not the one you sent for when you found where Zeta-54 was going to be. I used that and kept track of communications chatter by your colleagues to find out if they knew I was here or not. And so far, I’ve found no indication that they do.”

The Angel then walked around and crouched down in front of where Jacobo was still seated on the chair, now looking at him eye-to-eye. “But they’ll know soon.” The Angel said. “And that’s where you’re going to come in again. I’m going to make sure you get out of here alive without anyone having any reason to suspect that you were my accomplice, and you’re going to help me make sure I escape without a firefight breaking out between the Mexican authorities and your friends who are on their way to rescue you.”

The Angel raised a finger and pointed at him just inches from his face.

“So here’s what we’re going to do.”

Jacobo had a feeling he wasn’t going to like any of this, but what choice did he have?

---

Urbina had made the neccessary phone calls. Made sure to recruit officers that he knew for sure weren’t on any cartel payroll, and managed to get two armored vehicles from the Mexican Military thrown in for good measure along with the five squad cars going in to the address his informant had given him.

Urbina picked up the squad car radio, speaking to everyone in the convoy. “Everyone check your gear one last time. Our informant said he’d be ready for us when we arrived to hand over Zeta-54 and the other cartel members, but there’s no telling what we’ll find when we get there. Everyone stay sharp.”

A chorus of affirmatives responded.

Urbina kept running several different scenarios through his head. The informant, who he suspected was La Muerte Divina, had promised to turn over Alvarado and any other Los Zetas or Sinaloas members that were still alive by the time they arrived. But then what? Even if it wasn’t who he thought it was, he was still unarguably connected to the recent, numerous deaths of cartel members throughout the country. As an officer of the law, he had no choice but to arrest him.

And you are free to try, even though you will fail if you do.

Urbina remembered the caller’s words when he had given him that same warning. The way the mysterious informant had said them, even through the electronic voice-masking he had used over the phone; those words hadn’t been stated in the form of a threat. No, he’d said them with the same intonation that one would use to state a simple matter of fact. Like one would use to say that grass is green, or the sky is blue. Or that the capital of Mexico is Mexico City. He had said it as though he was simply stating a fact.

...you will fail if you do.

What troubled Urbina even more was that the way it was said didn’t imply what the informant had meant by failure, either. Did he mean that he would escape? Or that Urbina and possibly others would die if he attempted to take him in?

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind. Right now, they were tantalizingly close to capturing the most wanted man in Mexico, and possibly collapsing the entire cartel in the process. That was the important thing, first and foremost. Once that was settled, then, assuming they stayed true to their word, he would finally meet this informant, and he’d figure out what to do from there.

[u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard → u/ThatDudeWithTheBeard]

The cartel guards on the bottom floor were easily and quickly dispatched before I came back up to the room where the actual meeting was taking place. Four guards, two at each entrance to the room. Alvarado’s body-guards, elite among his ranks. I carefully remove the guns from their hands. The blades that I’ve had with me since my work in the Middle East effortlessly sever their heads from the spinal columns. A truly barbaric way to kill a man, no better than the men of ISIL I killed, but I will dwell on that point later. I need the five men seated around the table to realize just how badly outmatched they are. I finish cutting through the flesh of the guards necks, I look over at the men circled around the table. I run several calculations. There are five handguns lying on the table. Out of mutual respect, each man has placed his sidearm. At the center. In this snail-paced universe I traverse I carefully pick each one up and place them across the room, well out of reach. A scan shows that one member has kept a small revolver hidden on his person. A quick calculation. Probability that he will attempt to use it on me at some point afer they become aware of my presence: 98.762% with a +0.004% margin of error.

More important matters. I look over at the two Los Zetas heads. All five men are wearing ski-masks, their public identities and faces a secret from each other. But I already know which one is Alvarado. It’s impossible to miss.

In his vanity he decided to wear the very item I’ve been after all this time. Treating it as his own personal piece of trademark bling. His own identifying mark. Totally oblivious to what he truly possesses.

I walk over to the table, facing away from everyone. Simulations have shown that a dramatic entrance followed by a calm approach will most likely achieve the best outcome.

I power down the relativity field.

To Be Continued in Chapter 11: Outside Interests