Chapter Text
“Got a smoke?”
Ada looked up at his words, her face as carefully blank and impassive as always. The angle of her body and the way in which she had failed to react outside of her intentional control told Luis that she’d already been well aware of his presence, she’d just been waiting for him to announce himself. How courteous. It didn't make his skin crawl at all, the way that she was capable of so seamlessly slinking about within the veil of shadows. No, not at all.
Luis often wondered just how regularly she’d watched him, studied him, without his prior knowledge. The eyes he regularly felt boring through his back likely belonged to allies just as frequently as they did enemies. It was comforting as much as it was disconcerting. If the situation were to turn belly up, would Ada step in to help him? Luis liked to believe that she would, but the sad reality was that he really couldn’t afford to count on it. She hadn’t helped him when Krauser lost his temper, nor had she helped him when Saddler was disappointed in Luis’ tangible lack of results. She hadn’t interfered when their numbers had dropped like flies and Luis was terrified he’d be the next to be swatted.
Luis wanted to believe in Ada, but nobody had ever come to his rescue before, so why would that suddenly change now? Ever since he was young, he’d always been alone. Utterly, terribly alone. His mother had died, and then Abuelo had died, and then Luis had learnt that in a wretched world such as this, not a soul would care for him apart from himself. That miserable reality wasn’t about to change anytime soon. As much as Luis liked Ada, and as much as he hoped that affection was mutual at least to some small degree, she wasn’t going to stick her head on the chopping block for him. It was smart, and he could respect that, but damn if he didn’t also resent her for it.
Heroes didn’t exist, so it was wrong of Luis to keep expecting that of others. Afterall, when had he ever been someone worth saving?
“I do, the kind you like,” Ada drawled smoothly in response to their code. Her hand reached into a pocket on her tactical belt and she withdrew a small, cylindrical shaped wad of material. She tossed it Luis’ way and his hands jerked up with an embarrassing delay. He barely managed to catch the object. Whatever it was, it was smooth and silken between Luis’ fingers. He glanced down to find a handkerchief, grey and rather plain in appearance, it was completely unlike Ada’s style. She was making a joke here.
“Funny,” Luis stated dryly as he began to unroll the bundled up cigarillo. He popped it between his teeth, the potent, earthy taste flooding his mouth as he chewed the cap off. Glancing up as he spat, he waved the grey bandana jauntily through the air. After catching Ada’s eye, he very deliberately tucked it into his back right pocket and winked. “You know how I feel about being tied up.”
Perhaps in another life, Ada would have smiled. Instead, only the barest twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement. Still, Luis could tell she was pleased he’d caught her subtle joke. “Need a light?”
“Me?” Luis scoffed, “come unprepared to enjoy life’s fineries?” He swirled his lighter around his knuckles, ensuring it caught in the dim light and flashed silver. “Doesn’t sound like me.”
“Sounds a lot like you.”
Luis rolled his eyes good naturedly as he thumbed at the flint wheel. Raising it to his face, heat caressed the side of his cheek and tickled his nose, the smell of tobacco and ash heady in the air. Luis breathed in deeply and felt tension he hadn’t even realised he was carrying in his shoulders ease away upon that first drag. Ada was right, it was a good one, the smoke rich and free of roughness as it coiled down into his lungs. Tender and soothing, like a warm balm to his soul. The cigar was an expensive one. A very expensive one.
“La madre que me parió. What do you want now?” Luis sighed, smoke gusting out of his nose as he exhaled heavily. He tapped ash from the end of the cigar, not because it needed it, but because his hands were itching for something to do. “You buttering a dead man up again, eh?”
“You’re not dead yet,” Ada said, her sharp heels clicking audibly against the craggy ground as she picked her way over towards him. She leant into his space, an eyebrow quirked as she deftly plucked the cigar from his mouth. It slotted neatly between her own glossy lips and she smirked around it as she took her own drag. Inhaling again a second time, deepening the smoke, Ada didn’t even cough.
Luis felt a niggle of misplaced jealousy and frustration flutter through his chest. He took the cigar back upon Ada’s offering, perhaps snatched slightly, and took a single, regular pull. There was no point attempting to show off and draw the smoke deeper, Luis would just embarrass himself and splutter. Despite nearing two decades of smoking, his lungs still protested at times. Ada was just flawless at absolutely everything, there was no competing with her.
“Sí, not yet. I imagine I will be soon though, depending on what you’ll have me do.”
Ada tapped a gloved finger playfully against the corner of Luis’ lip. “Just a little game of fetch,” she said, smiling in that way of hers which was equally as pretty and ornate as it was deadly.
Luis scowled and took a step back. “I’m not your dog.”
“Oh, so he can bite. I was starting to wonder if they’d muzzled you after all.”
“Not,” Luis gritted out, removing the cigar, “your,” he dropped it to the floor and stomped it out, “dog.”
The smile dropped away from Ada’s face. “Never said you were.” She didn’t back away, she never gave ground willingly, but she did conveniently walk around Luis and circle, as if checking the perimeters. Luis recognised it for the attempt to give him some space that it was. “You already told me, Luis. You’re sick of your lead. I’d never dream to put you on another.”
Luis sighed and rubbed at his temple. There was a tightness there, an oncoming tension headache which he knew was going to trouble him tomorrow. It wasn’t how Ada worked, but just this once, Luis wished that she’d be straight with him about what she truly wanted. No cryptic words or games. No pull and tug in this strange, mesmerising dance of theirs. Luis was tired- no, beyond tired, he was exhausted. More than that though, he was steadily running out of time. He’d already put all his cards into Ada, had already splayed himself out and bared his throat eagerly for the executioner.
The reality of it was eating at his nerves, a sick and twisted rot which wormed its way down deep and festered. He felt it in the shake of his hands, the unsteadiness to his legs, even the roar of his heart as it thudded and thudded against his sternum like some wild animal primal with fear. Each reverberating beat sounded an awful lot like the ticking of a clock’s hands. How long until it struck noon? How long until the pack bayed for blood and the proverbial noose of teeth circling around Luis’ neck solidified? He’d seen what Saddler did to men who’d betrayed him. Luis had seen a great many things, and that was still one of the sights he wished to scrub clear from his memory entirely.
Luis had also witnessed what became of those men who thought they could run, thought their vision held true and the sight they had set it upon would bring salvation. The desert played tricks on the desperate and despairing. Such cruel, cruel tricks. Mirages of freedom and hope gave way to bleak, crushing reality. One’s finite resources would never outpace the reach Saddler seemed to have his hooks dug into. Luis could dream of fleeing, but he knew down to his very bones that a waking reality in which he managed to outpace the false prophet by himself did not exist. To escape, he needed connections… and help. More help than most were willing to give to a crook like him.
So, Luis could do nothing more but hope and pray Ada truly did intend to keep her word. Sure, she may have been using him, but that transaction went both ways, didn’t it? Even if Ada was fully aware of his benefit from this, the point still stood that Luis was benefiting. Someone with contacts, someone with sway, someone who could click her heels and slink backwards into nothingness. Someone who had no concrete name, just a suspected list of affiliates. Ada was the closest Luis was going to get to a blank slate, and he was willing to sell his soul for a slice of it. He just needed to hold out for a little while longer, only until Ada rode in like those knights of old and carried him away to safety. After that, then Luis would receive another opportunity to do better. A chance to be somebody worth saving in the first place.
Why he still consoled himself with such foolish notions was beyond him. Luis, do better? Luis, do good for this world? Pitiful, pathetic naivety. Luis had been ensnared within this same cycle of misery since his conception. Everywhere he went, the spectres of death and suffrage followed. He tried to help; instead he burdened. He tried to fix; instead he ruined. Heal; sicken. Save; doom. Rescue; condemn. Over and over and over again the cycle repeated to a looping backdrop of pleading and forsaken prayer. How long until Luis accepted he was no good? How much ruin would he sow before he rested his battered, bloodied hands? What a bleak and bitter pill to swallow; the one which tasted of regret and culpability. His mother, his Abuelo, his hometown, even that city he’d helped wipe off the face of the map. He’d always been impure and undeserving right from the start.
No wonder Luis was going through a pack of smokes a day, his nerves were shot to hell and back. “What do you want, Ada?”
She’d always been good at reading him, good at discerning when his tolerance bled out into irritation. She stopped pacing the perimeter, instead turning to face Luis fully with her hands tucked behind her back. “One last job.”
She was throwing a scrap his way, and god damn him, but it was working. “Last job?”
“Last job,” she confirmed. Then, her eyes pointedly flicked down. “Are you really going to waste that?”
Luis winced. Feeling like a chastised child, he stooped over to retrieve the poor, abused cigar. He dusted it off on the thigh of his jeans and then returned it to his mouth, chewing the end as he searched his pockets for his lighter. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Ada’s nose twitching slightly, as if she found the act distasteful. Just to shit her, he grinned broadly and snapped his lighter open on his pant leg. Frivolous, useless party tricks she always pretended failed to impress her.
“What am I ‘fetching’ then, hm?”
“The Amber.” The cigar fell from Luis’ slack lips. He felt his heart thrum an unsteady, furious beat just beneath his jaw. “Close your mouth, Luis. You’ll catch flies.” He swallowed reflexively and did as he was told, but trying to speak forced no words free. Luis coughed, wet his lips with his tongue, fiddled with the rings on his hands, did absolutely everything and anything in an attempt to distract himself from this dawning reality. The Amber. She couldn’t be serious. Luis felt like he was going to throw up, the taste of bile thick as it coated the back of his throat and tongue.
Luis’ voice came out as more of a croak than it did true words. “The amber? As in, The Amber?”
One of Ada’s perfectly shaped eyebrows inched its way up her forehead. “Certainly not any old piece of amber.”
“You have to be joking.”
“Oh, I’m positively scheming.”
“Ada-”
“Look, Luis,” she began, taking a step forward, “my patron wants it, and it’s nothing personal, you’re just the best man for the job.” She smiled, suddenly in Luis’ space, and he felt a very deliberate touch against his abdomen. A hard, chilling pressure which shot ice through his veins. “You’re smart. Surely you predicted I’d have you fully double cross them eventually?”
Luis looked down. The visual confirmation that a gun barrel was pressed flat into the planes of his stomach did absolutely nothing to alleviate the clusterfuck of emotions he was currently experiencing. “Oye, Ada-” he started warningly, but there was no need. She pulled the weapon away, spun it in a deft hand, and then pressed the stock into his own palm. Her gloved hands were warm as they closed his fingers around the grip, her breath tickling the hair against his neck as she leant in further. This close, she smelt invigorating. Sweet floral notes underlaid with something bitingly bitter.
“One last job, Luis. Then, we see about cutting the links on that chain of yours.”
He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. The tones of citrus, gunpowder, and danger overpowered the lingering tobacco. He felt, overwhelmingly, as if he were sealing his fate before his very own eyes. Despite this awareness, he was completely powerless to stop it. What choice did he have? What choice had he ever had?
“Fine,” he bit out, holstering the new gun. It was something sleek and compact, a glossy black body and stock which shimmered like wet oil. His hands were left feeling sticky and polluted with residue after handling it, but he’d have to use it if he didn’t want the Los Illuminados gang recognising him early by his signature revolver. “When do you need it? It’s due to be transported- oh,” he cut himself off as realisation dawned upon him. That would actually make the situation far easier to handle if he were permitted to steal it then. Of course Ada had already plotted this all out beforehand, she was never one to leave a detail unaccounted for. “You want me to hijack the shipment carriages?”
A pleased smile curled across Ada’s lips. “Good,” she purred, “why yes, that’s exactly what I want from you, Luis.”
He leant back and laughed, staring down the inky blankness of the night sky. No stars, no moon, no illumination but for the dancing fireflies and dim flicker of their dying cigar. He was truly alone out here, as he’d always been. No hero, miracle, or god would come to save him. It was always him and himself alone.
One last job.
“Where do I meet you after it’s done?”
“I’ll find you.”
***
There were twenty minutes remaining until arrival.
Luis snapped his pocket watch shut, the tarnished silver cover a comforting sight as he repeatedly ran his thumb along the engravings. Around him, the air was sweltering. It inched its way down Luis’ throat and scalded his lungs worse than any smoke ever could. Dry, irritated eyes and clothes which clung to his body uncomfortably wet with sweat. Far off in the distance, the dusty landscape shimmered with heat distortion, so tangible Luis felt he’d be able to reach out and touch it.
Nineteen minutes until arrival.
Luis tracked the lazy circling of two vultures overhead. One’s bare neck was already darkened with a sheen of gore, it's wicked, curved beak glistening in the harsh light. The air currents carried it round and round, brilliant black wings outstretched and ruffling with the breeze. Round and round. What was it intending to scavenge? No foul stench of rot nor death polluted Luis’ morning. Perhaps it was here for himself, an ill omen. Sometimes the beasts would follow a lame cow until it inevitably downed, so perhaps they’d haunt a hanged man, too.
Eighteen minutes until arrival.
The little settlement was quiet today, the morning still too early for most to emerge from their homes yet. Quaint, wooden buildings and a sprawling town square which would ordinarily host the bustle of markets and vendors. The train line which cut through the outer edges of the settlement was an ugly, industrial stain of steel and warped iron. Though it brought transport and trade, it also brought disaster and ruin. Luis’ very presence here was a prime example of that.
Seventeen minutes until arrival.
The horses were agitated, their ears pinned back and tails swishing as biting flies savaged at their flanks. Rocinante flared his nostrils and snorted, a weighty thump resounding as he stomped at the dry earth. Luis ran a soothing hand along his neck and took hold of the horn of the saddle. The horse’s restlessness was a good excuse, he could use that to explain why he was mounted. Rocinante was a good horse, always seeming to pick up on Luis’ own emotions and acting accordingly. God, Luis was going to miss him-
A voice suddenly piped up to break the charged silence. “Ya know, I think dames would be all over you if ya had a moustache.”
Luis let his head thunk down into Rocinante’s shoulder. Turning his face, cheek still pressed into the horse’s side, he checked his pocket watch. There were still seventeen excruciating minutes until the train’s arrival. Luis was going to explode. “Ah, capullo, the ladies like my face just fine.”
“Really?” Clint- one of Saddler’s goons- said. He apparently had the audacity to sound genuinely doubtful, “well, don’t really see a lot hangin’ off yer arm these days, is all.”
“Ay, but that is only because I don’t parade them about like you do.”
“Hmm. Thought it might be that nose of yers.”
Luis bristled. He felt his mouth start to snap open with the beginnings of a retort, but instead he opted to shut it and chew on his tongue. It was only sixteen minutes until arrival. Sixteen minutes, and then he never needed to speak with this jackass again. Luis smushed his face deeper into the horse’s shoulder and made his best effort to take calming breaths. The scent of horse and hay was overwhelming, and oddly, it helped to calm him somewhat.
“That’s weird, man.”
“Mil gracias, I truly had no idea,” Luis dryly replied, not deigning to raise his face from its comfortable position. His fingers itched to check his watch again, but he knew logically that no time had passed and the action would only raise suspicion. This wasn’t his first lookout posting, so seeming antsy wouldn’t do him any favours. Besides, if Clint seemed to be feeling particularly chatty today, then perhaps Luis could exploit that. “So… both relegated back to the grunt work, eh?”
He couldn’t see from this position, but judging by the swish of sound, Clint had just shrugged his broad shoulders. “So what? It’s important work.”
Luis sniffed petulantly. “It’s standing about and watching for cops. Some real expertise needed for that, eh?”
“Whatever, Serra.”
A sharp blow emitted from Rocinante’s nostrils and so Luis sat upright. He leant forward, hand coming up to rub soothingly over the horse’s neck as he looked around. Whatever the warning had been directed at, Luis was unable to spot it. Perhaps Clint had shuffled closer towards them? Regardless of the cause, it had been a good reminder to keep himself focused and alert. Luis’ escape from Los Illuminados was imminent, he just needed to keep it together for a short time longer. All in the home stretch, now.
The pocket watch read at fifthteen minutes until arrival.
Luis sucked his lip in between his teeth and chewed on it for a moment. This was his final chance to gather intel Ada may find useful. He found himself fairly certain that he could trust her word to return for him, but some extra insurance never hurt. Every bit mattered, right? He’d be a fool to squander this opportunity.
“So, any new news about that whole ah, situation?” He asked, attempting to sound as casual as possible. Beneath him, Rocinante shifted, the muscles along the horse’s flanks twitching as long ears pinned back. He was very unsettled for some reason. Luis felt his own anxiety spike in response. Fourteen minutes until arrival.
“Which one you askin about? Krauser’s stuff or that shitshow with Méndez?”
Luis perked up at that, stomach twisting violently. He hadn’t heard of any situation regarding Father Bitores, something which both relieved him and simultaneously filled him with immeasurable guilt. The man had once been somebody important to him. He really should care more, but all Luis could find himself preoccupied with was the fear that he’d somehow been found out. With a thick swallow, Luis battled to maintain an even voice.
“Ay? What was that ah- that ‘shitshow’ about?”
Clint snorted rather crassly, his grin wide and mean as he stared up at Luis. “What, yer telling me ya don’t know? That’s cold, Serra; even for you. I thought the bastard was practically yer pops-”
“Por el amor de dios,” Luis hissed to himself, thoroughly over this conversation. He threaded his fingers through Rocinante’s mane, nails plucking at the strands and weaving them together. It provided his hands with a tangible task, grounding him and preventing his thoughts from spiralling too terribly. Just thirteen minutes more until arrival.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that, it’s annoying. I got no idea what yer sayin.”
Luis propped his head up on a hand, not even bothering to glance down at Clint. “That is the point, yes,” he drawled, eyes still focused upon the circling buzzards above and the distant railroad tracks. “Now, weren’t you telling me something, eh?”
“Don’t know if I wanna,” Clint gruffed. He walked over, an elbow propped out as if making to lean upon the horse’s flank. Without any direction from Luis, Rocinante stepped forward several paces and flicked the man in the face with his tail. At the loud, sharp snort which followed, Clint was quick to leap back and out of the way, perhaps fearing a kick. Luis couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ay dios mío, he definitely doesn’t like you.” In response to that, Clint muttered something darkly beneath his breath, his light blue eyes angry as he glared up at Luis. Despite the gritted tension to his jaw and the nerve-wracking twitch of his fingers towards his sidearm, he didn’t move to retaliate. Instead, he merely shook his head and returned to his own mount’s side after irritably kicking at the dusty ground.
“You’re a dog, Serra.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Clint pulled himself up onto his own horse rather inelegantly, scarred hands scrabbling at the saddle horn as booted feet caught in the stirrups. Eventually, with a loud grunt, he made it atop. Taking the reins up into fisted hands, he shot a cruel, knowing smirk Luis’ way. “Yer pops got himself into some big trouble.”
“He’s not my-”
“Nasty shootout with that hotshot bounty hunter.” At those words, Luis froze. “Five of Saddler’s men dead.” His chest felt unbearably tight, his throat clogged up as his heart ratcheted about madly. Luis was going to be sick. “Boss sure ain’t happy with Méndez, I’ll tell ya that.”
“Ay, he’s…” he wasn’t sure why the words came out at such a whisper, why his lungs suddenly re-expanded as trapped breath left him. Father Bitores wasn’t dead yet. That was- Luis wasn’t sure what that was. Relief, guilt, fear, it was all such a complicated mess of emotion.
“Word of advice, Serra,” Clint said steadily. “Might wanna get yer old man outta there before Saddler finally has enough.” There was a strange cadence to Clint’s voice, and as he leant back in the saddle, Luis caught sight of a sudden reflective glint. “Though, might not be time for that no more, hey?” Bright, glaring, metallic. Luis heard the softest echo of a click. “Afterall, you already up and left him, Didn't’cha?”
Without even registering the action, Luis spurred his heel into Rocinante’s side as he ducked down low. The pair of them took off like a shot, all that stilled power wiring the horse’s muscles taught exploding outwards in a dramatic release. There came a shout, a gunshot. Luis felt the bullet whiz just over the expanse of his cowered back. Had he been even an inch further upright- a second too late- then it would have wedged deep into the column of his spine.
There was no time to check the pocketed watch, now a permanent insignia of what it had previously read seared into Luis’ mind. Thirteen minutes- probably now twelve. There was no longer a countdown until the train’s arrival, but now a harsh timer, set to measure the dwindled chances of Luis’ escape. With each thundered hoofbeat came the tightening clasp of a noose and the striking chime of a clock. Luis, as always, was just out of time a hair’s breadth too late.
Clint shouted something, angry and furious, but the whistle of wind battering against Luis’ ears stole it away. He tugged at the reins, steering Rocinante left on instinct alone. A prickle at the back of his neck, an itch which thrummed at the base of his spine, even the nauseated swoop to his stomach. Luis and his steed veered, and the bullet sang past with an awfully loud howl. He felt the proximity of it in his teeth, in his clenched fists, and in the sweat which condensed upon his forehead. Luis grabbed at his hat as the wind attempted to whisk it away, leant back in his stirrups, and urged his horse on faster.
Ten minutes remained- or was it now nine? Luis’ had never possessed an overly adept internal clock. He flattened himself to the back of his horse once more, one hand furiously clenched to a fistful of mane as his other fumbled down his own side. Fingers closed around cold metal and Luis felt his stomach bottom out with both relief and overwhelming dread. He steered them right, Rocinante’s bit clunking between his teeth as he chomped down, and then without any further thought or fanfare, Luis tugged right again.
Rocinante spun, Luis sat bolt upright, and the barrel of his new pistol shone onyx black in the sunlight. Clint, as always, was far too slow to react. Luis watched, transfixed with horror, as red exploded outwards in a spattering arc. It blossomed across the man’s chest like a great, unfurling bruise and painted his cream garments in crimson.
Luis doesn’t wait around to see if the man lilted and fell from his horse. The second the shot was fired, he’d already begun to direct Rocinante back towards the nearing railroad. All he could smell was dust, a roaring pulse of blood hammering behind his temple and within his ears. Luis’ stomach swooped sickeningly and he barely resisted giving in to the urge to double forward and clutch at his abdomen. He could taste bile and blood- bitten clean through his own lip.
Rocinante thundered forward, uncaring for the dead man and orphaned horse they left behind. Dust swirled in their wake, a far-off train whistled, and Luis’ breath tore haggard and broken from his chest. He clutched at his heart, body thankfully reverting to muscle memory as he clung to his steed’s back and watched the world dissipate into a hazy blur of ruddy reds and yellows.
Luis was going to be sick all over himself and the horse. He scrabbled for purchase at himself, mind laughing hysterically because, what was he even seeking out? A tangible grip on his tainted soul? His ribcage which now encased a blackened, hardened piece of coal? He felt his hand automatically go through the motions of a cross, some long-overburdened part of his brain reawakening at the sight of arterial blood spray. Luis was- god, Luis was-
Rocinante leaped, the sudden weightless sensation of Luis’ ass leaving the saddle seat abruptly working to snap him back to attention. He hurried to correct his form, the landing jarringly rough considering his unprepared state, but at least he’d managed not to find himself flung. His leg muscles screamed at him and his teeth ached from how hard he’d clenched them. Rocinante snorted loudly as inertia slid Luis forward and into the solid column of the horse’s neck. He laughed, somewhat hysterically, and then the pair of them were jumping again.
Fenceposts cleared, now nothing but a stretch of dusty, vacant land separated Luis from the land of harsh iron. What time was it… six minutes? Five? No matter how insignificant the number seemed, Luis knew that it made all the difference. The blare of the train’s whistle vibrated his bones and set his teeth on edge. He could feel the intense thrumming of its heavy wheels against the tracks, a repetitive, chugging slam which shook the very earth. Rattling and clanking. The overwhelming stench of thick, black smoke. Luis quickly flicked through the maths within his head, and then he steered Rocinante into a diagonal trajectory onwards.
He would be seen like this by the engineer and fireman, but what else could he do? Running head-on would have the pair of them overshoot the compartment that Luis needed. Furthermore, waiting around until his schedule was back on track was also out of the question. The sound of nearby gunshots hunted them. Whether Clint had survived, or whether townsfolk had joined in on the fray, Luis didn’t know nor care to find out. The bullets whizzed by with terrible inaccuracy, but some of them did stray nearer than he would’ve liked. Gritting his teeth as he reached up to clutch at his hat, Luis spurred his horse on.
Still, irregardless of how fast they were going, it was here that Luis felt as his cowardice caught up with him. Here he was, about to throw absolutely everything away for the slim chance of freedom. It was ludicrousy. Madness. The type of dream even Don Quixote himself would fail to chase. It was every single ghost of Luis’ past rearing up to haunt and hound him once more.
Was it too late to turn around and beg for forgiveness? Had his betrayal already gone too far that Saddler and Los Illuminados would be unwilling to take him back? Luis gripped the reins and Rocinante’s mane so tightly within his fisted hands he feared he was in danger of tugging the strands loose. Who’s to say that Luis wasn’t about to make the greatest mistake of his life? What a cosmic joke, as if his existence hadn’t merely been a string of bad decisions tied into a sickening loop.
Luis physically shook his head. No, he had to be brave and beat back the coward. He had to continue running, because remaining here meant a continued circle of misery. If Luis broke free of that noose, then he finally had the chance to be something better. He had to believe in that possibility.
So, with a deep inhalation, Luis set his jaw and steadied his trembling hands. Rocinante’s hoofbeats thudded against the ground to the tempo of Luis’ pounding heart and the screech of the train’s wheels. There was no time to check the pocket watch, but there was no need, was there? Time was up. As that final minute ticked over, Luis kicked upwards and his heels left the stirrups.
For the briefest of moments, it was as if everything suspended within time. Weightlessness overtook Luis and squeezed into his lungs. Air howled about his ears, whipping and snatching at his clothing like physical, grabbing hands. The train whistled deafeningly, the surroundings vibrated and thrummed with energy, and that bile coating Luis’ throat like thick syrup coalesced upon his tongue. He felt his legs kick futilely beneath him, the bottoms of his boots uselessly seeking out traction. Luis wanted to scream or shout. Sob, cry, fly.
Wings clipped, his journey came to its end and Luis slammed into the hard metal of the ladder. His hands scrabbled clumsily at the rungs, fingers screaming with agony as they clutched to a structure the world was desperately attempting to tear away. Only a second later, the weight of Luis’ body crashed down onto his arms and he shouted out against the pain. The ladder screeched terribly, metal on metal, but it held. With nothing but the mad rush of adrenaline fuelling him, Luis hauled himself up the compartment’s ladder and dropped over into the coal car. It was a rough landing, bits of hard rubble and charred logs digging into his sides, but an uproarious laugh tore free of his throat all the same. He’d made it.
Forcing himself up onto wobbly hands and knees, Luis jammed his fingers into his mouth and whistled a long, sharp note. His eyes itched with dampness and a cloying sadness crammed itself up within his throat. Breathing felt difficult, his innards tearing themselves apart as he refused to glance back. He hadn’t heard Rocinante cry out, so he figured it was safe to assume no collision had occurred. His steed was far too smart to find himself caught up within the wheels of the train, he would’ve pulled away as soon as Luis jumped.
Despite this knowledge, Luis still found himself sick with worry. Glancing back would reassure his catastrophizing brain, but he didn’t think he’d be able to survive the sight of his oldest friend leaving him behind. Rocinante would be fine, but would Luis? God, he wished more than anything that he could’ve brought the horse with him. If only this train had been carrying freight rather than passengers. If only- well, there was no point in agonising over what would never come to be.
Gritting his teeth and attempting to shake the misery from his bones, Luis began to heave aside the lumbar. He wasn’t built for this kind of labour, his already battered arm muscles throbbing upon each strained movement. Still, he had little choice. Freedom was so close that Luis could taste it upon his teeth. Bile, blood, and grit. The horrors of the past week plagued the edges of his vision and danced along his thoughts, but he clenched his jaw and persevered. Log after log, he shifted aside the intricately constructed cage. Just as Luis began to doubt his own memory, he found his fingers strike gold.
A heavy, metallic box; inconspicuous aside from the embossed symbol for Los Illuminados. Luis scrounged through his pocket for the key and then grinned madly as his fingers closed about its cold, familiar surface. He wasted no time before he jammed it into the lock and relished in the sharp click of inner mechanisms undoing. As the lid clunked open, shimmering orange greeted his eyes. Luis plucked the amber sample free, raised it to the light in order to examine it, and then tucked it securely within his inner jacket pocket. He patted it once, as if reassuring himself it was truly there, and then he set himself to work re-covering the hidden chest.
By the time Luis was done, his hands and face were streaked through with remnants of coal and charred log. He pulled his lip between his teeth, mulling over his options. Was it safer to go into one of the passenger carriages and attempt to blend in, as impossible as that was considering the state of him? Or did he simply lie down here and hope to remain unspotted? Both options carried great potential for disaster, but Luis was without a clear route of escape now that Rocinante had fallen far behind them. That terrible internal clock of his chimed, alerting him to the fact that over fifteen minutes had passed since he first boarded this train.
Actually, Luis was an idiot. Neither of those options he’d proposed to himself were possible. Members of the Los Illuminados gang were boarded within the passenger carriages, and every thirty minutes they’d surely come to check the smuggled amber was undisturbed. Luis clutched at his hair, terrified laughter bubbling up but catching within his throat. What was he supposed to do? What the fuck was he supposed to do? Ada had demanded the amber but provided him very little in the way of actual support. No matter how much Luis listened in on conversations he shouldn’t be privy to and agonised over potential schematics, there was just no way to cover every single basis.
What did she expect him to do? Storm into the passenger carriage and slaughter everyone who pulled a gun on him? Loiter atop these uncomfortable lumps of wood and simply shoot any head which popped up over the coal car rim? Luis thunked down onto his back and covered his face with his hands. He tucked his mouth into the sleeve of his jacket and screamed, the blaring whistle of the train drowning out any un-smothered sounds which snuck free.
Against his will, vivid imagery flashed forth. Luis imagined his body plummeting over the edge and tumbling beneath the train’s undercarriage. He’d be eaten up by the wheels, mangled corpse nothing but unrecognisable slurry. It’d probably hurt less than whatever Saddler would do to him. At that terrible thought, Luis choked on something torn between a sob and a laugh. Despite the messy end, it would be kinder on him, wouldn’t it?
Alas, Luis was and always would be nothing but a snivelling little coward. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, even if his terrified brain did urge him so. Saddler, Krauser, Father Bitores; Luis could barely stand the thought of them, let alone their ire. He didn’t want to die, but more than anything else, he didn’t want to die to them. Still, there wasn’t a single cell in his body which didn’t recoil violently at the thought of rolling off this moving vehicle. No matter what death imminently awaited him, Luis refused to go down without at least trying to outrun it.
Damn Los Illuminados. Damn Saddler. Damn Ada and this amber and Luis’ entire blasted life. Forcing himself up on unsteady legs, Luis checked that his pistol was fully loaded. He sucked a deep breath in between his teeth, and then without a second to spare anymore thought to this, he dropped himself down the side of the coal car. The opposite carriage rumbled beneath Luis’ feet as he hopped over to it and hooked his fingers into the door seam. He tugged, teeth grit and shoulders screaming, and with a screech of sound it tore open. Luis muttered something beneath his breath- maybe a curse or perhaps a prayer, even he didn’t know- and then he threw himself inside.
Luis hadn’t been expecting to collide chest first with what felt to be a solid wall of muscle. He shouted something amid his surprise, the stranger huffing loudly as the weight of Luis sent their pair stumbling. Strong arms raised to clutch around Luis’ back and grasped desperately at the carriage surroundings in an attempt to halt their tumble. Luis, ever helpful, found his own hands fisting within the front of a shirt. His forehead knocked painfully into another’s, a woman somewhere screamed, and Luis felt his stomach sink as the resounding click of a gun racking echoed throughout the carriage.
“Serra, you fucking rat!” A furious voice shouted, and Luis recognised the cadence, even if he failed to recall the gang member’s name.
“Well, shit,” Luis said with feeling. He felt himself suddenly grabbed around the waist and swung to the floor behind a wooden seating bench. His teeth clacked together, mouth moving to snarl a protest, but the ricochet of bullets hailing down upon the walls stopped him short. They pinged off the door and chipped into the sides of the benches, thundering into the spot he’d just vacated. A cacophony of screaming started up, and Luis instinctively moved to roll and pull his gun free. Unfortunately, the body pressed like a shield atop his own stopped him with a firm hand to the wrist.
Luis looked up and then he felt all the blood drain from his face, because pinning him to the floor was none other than that very same bounty hunter Clint had spoken of. At least five of Los Illuminados were confirmed dead at his hands. Luis felt sweat dribble down his forehead, and so he bore all his teeth in a poor semblance of a smile.
“Hey, uh, bad spot for a vacation, eh?” The bounty hunter didn’t smile, but he also refrained from outright snapping Luis’ puny little neck, so a win was a win, right?
Instead, the man merely raised an eyebrow at him. “I take it you’re with them?” he asked.
“No,” Luis lied through his teeth. “Well actually, ah, yes? I was? They definitely wish to kill me now, though” he decided to correct, because he’s always been a terrible liar and dishonesty didn’t seem like a clever first impression here. “Enemy of my enemy and all that, eh señor?”
This time, the bounty hunter did actually snort. He leant slightly away from Luis, the pressure upon his wrist easing up. “I don’t know if I’d quite say that,” the man said, and Luis experienced a brief moment of sheer, unfiltered terror as a knife was drawn free. No pain ever arrived for him, though. As deftly as if he were merely breathing, the man swung around with the blade and clipped the heel of an approaching attacker. The gang member went down with a pained cry, and Luis whistled, impressed.
“That guy’s name is Greg. Never liked him.”
The eyes which refocused upon him were incredulous and so, so unbelievably blue. It was ridiculous to currently find himself captivated by such a feature considering his incapacitated state, but Luis simply couldn’t help it. A strong jawline, heavyset brows and a mop of blonde hair which curtained over his forehead and spilled into his eyes. Luis felt his breath catch, which was ridiculous, considering it already felt as if his lungs were being compressed into the floor of the train carriage.
He must’ve been staring like an idiot, because the bounty hunter shook him roughly. “Can we try to focus?” he bit out, voice harsh as he drew a sidearm and checked the magazine in an impressive, single-handed flourish. “It’s gonna become a bloodbath here real quick if you-”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Luis interrupted, mouth already running ahead as his brain caught itself up within lunacy. The most sensible decision here would’ve simply been to make a break for it, but Luis found a poor taste left behind in his mouth from that thought. For whatever reason, this bounty hunter hadn’t outright shot or stabbed him. He was giving him a chance. Furthermore, what he had mentioned mere moments ago was terrifyingly true. Los Illuminados would completely wipe out this carriage of innocent passengers if they allowed it. Luis, as damned and bloodied as his conscience already was, simply couldn’t allow for that. He’d never wanted people to die because of him. “I will distract them, that way you can pick them off easier and, much more importantly, they can have a target.”
A subtle widening of the eyes was the only confirmation Luis received that the man had been listening. The weight pinning him down eased, and Luis felt a grin spring across his face as the first offerings of a smile curled across the other man’s mouth. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, you know that?”
Luis placed a hand over his chest, feigning mock heartbreak. “Oh guapo, if only you knew.” He forced himself upright, hands shaking slightly as he released the cylinder on his revolver and checked all chambers were loaded. Considering he’d already been sprung by Los Illuminados, there was little point in risking missed shots with Ada’s unfamiliar weapon. It’d be a shame to potentially die without his Abuelo’s gun in hand. One small, lingering trace of the man that still watched over him. “Eh, majo, I would buy you a drink-” As he snapped the revolver cylinder shut, Luis forced on his most dazzling smile. “That is, if we both live this, and if I didn’t already know who you were.”
“Gotten a reputation, have I?”
Luis had already lived a life constantly courting death, so why not blatantly flirt with it just a little more right before the end? For luck, or something like that. “I don’t forget a face that handsome.”
The bounty hunter- because Luis recognised him from sketch portraits and posters but still hadn’t placed the name- seemed to actually fluster at that. His eyes dipped away for the briefest of seconds, jawline and throat the subtlest tinge pinker. “Would you just focus your damn ass on not getting shot, Serra?” he barked, voice no longer quite as measured. Definitely embarrassed, then. At that discovery, Luis felt his grin stretch all the wider. “I’d like to ask you some questions later, so try not to become swiss cheese.”
Luis elegantly flourished his gun around his hand, excruciatingly aware of the fact that their time here was already up, even if he desperately didn’t want it to be. “Aww, how sweet, so I will see you later at drinks?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just concerned about this carpet.” The bounty hunter said dryly, and Luis finally- finally dredged up the courage to push onwards. “Heard it was expensive, and blood’s a bitch to wash out.”
If any further words were said, Luis didn’t hear them. He sprung forth, feet pounding across the floor of the still-rumbling train carriage as he made a wild dash for the opposing side’s benches. The crack of gunfire, the acrid burn of smoke, and more loud, screamed terror. Without looking, Luis fired off several wild shots in the direction he’d glimpsed his assailants. A yell rang out, and Luis just hoped desperately that it was a Los Illuminados member he’d managed to hit, rather than a random civilian.
This space provided such a ridiculously enclosed environment to manoeuvre within, that the back of Luis’ shoulders hit the opposing wall within three seconds of initial movement. He dropped down, breath drawing deeply into tense lungs, and then without a moment to hesitate, sprung back upright. Predictability was the enemy here, and discordance was key. Luis vaulted his way across several of the bench seats, only flinging himself back to the floor once a bullet whizzed past his cheek with such close proximity he could practically taste a tang of lead. He choked on a gasp, somebody beside him sobbed out a prayer, and then Luis was back to action. He cut a wild zigzag, his pathway so erratic even he could scarcely track it. No time for thought, no time at all. Luis embodied a frenzied rabbit amidst the jaws of hounds.
Eventually, his luck ran out. These particular members of Los Illuminados may have been terrible shots, but unfortunately they possessed the same advantages that Luis himself did. Somebody vaulted a bench right as Luis rolled himself behind it. The punch of boots into the side of his ribcage forced out a sharp burst of agonised air. Starbursts of agony inside his bones; like the pressure of a landslide collapsing upon his lungs. Was the tinny, dizzying sound of that slam his own head against the wooden bench? Luis rolled instinctually, but the weight just followed him. He lacked the air to scream, but he still owned enough to wheeze. Smothering, asphyxiating, crushing. Luis felt thick hands close around his throat and panic overtook him.
There was a knife- anger; the spitted vitriol of furious words. He watched his attacker’s eyes go very wide and white as blood pushed up and through a gap in his throat. Hot blood splattering against Luis’ skin to strike him with blindness. He rolled, scrubbing at his face desperately as that overwhelming weight fell away from him. Luis could hear more voices- more shouting and fighting. Was that somebody crying? He thinks he heard his name, heard gargled, choked venom from the lips of a dying man. Luis’ ears rang from where he’d hit his head, but as he finally looked up, he heard the sudden shift in the train carriage’s atmosphere. Cold, quiet, hostile. The bounty hunter’s eyes were as wide as the dead man’s, but rather than containing only cold haziness, they sparked with something hot and furious.
He’d- he’d mentioned Umbrella, hadn’t he? Before the knife plunged into his throat for a second time and scooped out the contents of the trachea, that Los Illuminados member had spilled Luis’ deepest sin. His past; just a continuous cycle of selfishness and inflicted suffering. Luis was a monster. He knew it, Los Illuminados knew it, and now absolutely everyone in this train knew it too. How terrible did one have to be, for even the likes of monsters to loathe you?
Luis didn’t even try to block the incoming blow, just took the hard caress of the rifle stock to the head like a hanged man accepting the knot.
After that, everything went rather dark.