Mexico City, United Imperial States of Mexico. Late November 2015.
“…With a step to your left and a flick to the right you catch that mirror way out west... …You know you're something special and you look like you're the best…”
The crowded streets of Mexico City reminded Marcus of the diplomatic mission that he’d taken during his tour of Central and South America in his own timeline. Most of the landmarks he knew were there, but the buildings were certainly taller and more imposing. The clash of old Catholic churches that dated to colonial times against the newer shining skyscrapers reminded him of what New York or London might’ve looked like. The cool winter air nipped at his lightly dressed, skinny frame – all he had on was his leather jacket, albeit with a winter fur trim that was merely for show. The Agent occasionally heard gunshots in the distance, a sign that while this version of Mexico was seemingly more prosperous to other versions, it had the same problems at the same time. VTOL aircraft were zipping above his head, armed with what looked to be deadly machine guns on the sides as the pilots were barking out orders in Spanish over a loudspeaker to whatever hapless criminals decided to pick a fight with the long arm of the law.
It had been a while since he’d been let off the leash by Claude and his superiors. After having arrived in Mexico City mere hours ago via teleportation, Marcus was given the arduous task of keeping watch over the small building that was suspected to hold Red Army Faction materiel. After milling around the façade of the building for over two hours, it seemed that their little hunch was nothing but a rumour. A sudden tug at his jacket sleeve took him by surprise as he turned to face a small child who was standing in front of him. Marcus quickly took off his Walkman’s headphones in response before looking at the small, poor looking girl with a sympathetic smile.
“Something wrong, kid?” he asked in a hodgepodge of Brazilian Portuguese and Castilian Spanish, both of which he’d failed to fully master. The kid looked alone and was shivering in the cool air as people walked past them with not a care in the world. Alarm bells started ringing inside the Agent’s head, but he quickly disregarded them.
“I need some money for food, can you help me Mister?”
“Sure, I guess. How much do you need?” the diplomat then forked out a few Peso’s from his back pocket and showed them to the girl as she was about to take them. It was at that point that he heard heavy footsteps coming behind him, it seemed that whoever had decided to trick Marcus had gotten him right where they wanted him, or so they thought.
“Que vergonha…”
“You trying to extort a little girl, turista?” one of the narcos growled while three other gangsters came up behind their leader with cold smirks on their faces. It was at that point that the girl had skipped off around the corner as Marcus turned to face the man. One of his arms was a prosthetic by the looks of it, hiding a simple, but deadly shiv that was implanted on his forearm. The rest of his crew seemed to be of the same composition with various prosthetics or implants that were either for show or were to be used in some gruesome manner.
“What are you gonna do to me, eh?” Marcus smirked whilst speaking in a faux American accent. He sized up a few of the men who were also wielding some sort of small melee weapon that was either implanted in them or not.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Roza chimed in from beyond the grave as Marcus readied his own melee weapon, a simple stun baton that was formed from his nanocube.
“It isn’t~”
It was at that point that the standoff was broken as one of the men tried to impale Marcus, only to be dodged at the last minute and to receive a sudden shock as 250 volts of electricity was sent through his body via a quick jab to the back from the stun baton. The man then collapsed onto the ground as his prosthetic arm began to spasm from the overloaded circuitry.
Two out of the three remaining men then leapt at Marcus, only to be dodged by their agile opponent, who violently tore an arm from one of the narcos sockets before kicking him in the back, sending him face first into the pavement. The other gangster was to then receive a simple thwack over the head with the butt of the stun baton.
Then only one man remained, who quickly turned tail and ran for his life down a narrow alleyway. The screams of the man seemed to awaken something in Marcus, some ancient, primitive desire for blood. His eyes started to glow blood-red as he slowly walked down the alleyway to the narco, who was trying to hide behind an old crate. The man was screaming at this point as he laid eyes on the mere shadow of the man that he was to face, it seemed to give off the air that he was different, something that man was never meant to lay eyes on. It was as if his human form was a mere façade from what truly lay underneath. As Marcus loomed over him with blood-red eyes and a slowly melting mask, he could only smirk with delight. He didn’t want to kill him, just give him a taste of what he was truly capable of.
“Guten tag~”