Episode 1
A pat in the back to myself

    I’m the avatar that is called forward, I only observe, our purpose must be kept on the shadows.

    “Haah. I sound ridiculous, do I?”

    The panorama of the snow filled woods and the rocky wall covered almost most of the sky, creating a contrast between the shadow and light where he took the time for his head to make up for the correct way to go. If the bosses wanted an intellectual for the mission, they probably got the wrong guy. He who just yearned for action, always gets rewarded with puzzles. For hours, it was just turning around and around the mountain. So frustrating.

    “West or East… Really, is this map updated at all?”

    El Chamán was resting his back on a tree, trying to decipher the exact place for the entry he was looking for. But of course, the rathole was hidden well, as there was nothing that would look like such nearby. Like a bad joke, the map was also not as precise as he would have liked. He sighed and tired, asking himself once again why he accepted the mission.

    Yeah, join the Divisions. Just some recognition check up. How am I supposed to check on a place I can’t really access?

“Man. At this rate either the breedless will catch me or I will be killed by the Division itself.”

    His throat begged for him to calm the thirst he has been bearing since he arrived. Looking at the river in front of him, he finally decided to take a good chug. After his throat finally got refreshed, he made sure to fill up the canteen for later.

    “West…East…”

    The snow cleared the path previously walked. But some new footsteps were found by closer inspection.

    Was it just his imagination? Chamán felt his body jump back at the realization, and frantically checked the surroundings. His free hand stormed for the gun in a holster of his hips, and a shadow crossed his sight. Yet after, his vision blurred. It was so cold, and the temptation to give in was hard to deny. In the distance, where the rocky path continued, a monstrous, tall dark figure faded away.

    He grabbed the gun, but by the time he could aim the shadow was completely gone like it was a ghost rather than a human.

    Did I hallucinate?

    “West…East…” He finally admitted, his body was reaching rock bottom. He let his back rest again, trying to get something out of it. “Why won’t you help me.”

    Then, he felt it. Of course, he almost felt the cold nails grabbing his head and turning it towards the wall he did constantly surrounded before.

    “Of course… Inside one of the mountains…”

    He checked the map again. He still had to walk a bit. There had to be a path inside one of them. Let 's go. I’m just losing my time here. Thank you.

    He nodded, having a gut feeling that the shadow could have been his old time friend, his companion, and what he always sensed as a protecting spirit.

    “Gracias, Pujay.”

***

    The completely frozen grass. The blood staining the snow red. More than one lifeless body in the middle of the scene. A more common stamp than some would like, but a blessing for others. Insolently, the group of insurgents had no choice but to hide their tails between their legs and sneak away, realizing that their weapons were not enough to fight the soldiers around them. Casualties were too high at this point in the battle to keep on.

    "Withdrawal!"

    At the command of the captain in command of the small crew, they soon gathered their things and ran into the woods. When the soldiers arrived, it was impossible to find anyone. Zero. Not a single human figure of any kind. Of course, they searched and swept the area, looking for hidden entrances, but there was no way. Not a single opening.

    “Look for those bastards. I want them dead by this week. No, by tomorrow!"

***

    “This is a huge fucking embarrassment. Not only have they killed many of our best members, but we have not touched a single hair of them. Tomorrow we are going to stick such a firecracker up their asses that they won't even know where to shoot." Commander Lázár looked at his small remaining group of small terrorists. Neither seemed to be very motivated after the big shit that afternoon. But they knew that complaining could end deadly for them, so they just nodded as meekly as possible. “Emil, you are fucking useless with weapons. Why the fuck are you still trying to look cool wearing a submachine gun? You are not even five feet tall and you end up shooting off yourself with recoil, a chicken weighs more than you and surely knows how to shoot better than you.”

    The member kept silent, trying to keep his composure in the front of the complaints. Fortunately, everyone would know that once he criticized a couple of them he would be much calmer. As a boss, he was especially benevolent, for the leader of a handful of anarchists who wanted to achieve their ideals through violence. What ideals? Really, at this point those who knew the answer had already been entombed long ago.
Old commanders. Guerrillas of the original group. Only Lázár was left standing to be able to convey his message, or that would have been the case if he hadn't lost his mind years ago. Right now, he was just a wacko in command of other people who simply wanted to unleash his most primal instincts for violence. A strangely inexhaustible fund of money and an influx of material from an unknown source offered them an earthly paradise for shooting games. In the most hardcore way possible.
    But it was true that morale was at rock bottom for quite a while. Everyone knew that Lázár was no longer young enough to handle anything. Of course, no one wanted to reconsider that there was nothing more demotivating than just violence for violence's sake, and how easy it is to exhaust the desire to continue with something when there are no results or tangible progress. The old man only had a few years left to retire. And that is something that Lázár himself knew.

    "Listen to me all, you useless bunch. With such a sack of dicks in vinegar that are useless, I can't work. And I'm too old to put up with a bunch of millennials who don't even know how to make a fucking fried egg."

    Some had the audacity to mutter in the background. Lazar cleared his throat.

    “That's why… Tomorrow we will receive an individual more capable of putting you at the front of the line. Someone with a heavy hand.” The commander sat down in the first chair he found, and began to wipe his sweat with a dirty rag that was hanging on another nearby chair. "I want Emil, Eli, and Bakarne to go pick him up to the east exit, where the Drunken Marauder's Rock is."

    The aforementioned protested. Nothing was worse than having to go and travel to this damned place in the middle of the frost. The peculiar name that was given to the rock, or was at least what was told as its origin, referred to a particular member who guarded a rock every night where they had access to a second emergency headquarters. Apparently, his fondness for drinking took its toll on him, and during the nights he spent wandering in the woods instead of performing his assigned task, which eventually caused that base to be found and had to be immediately disabled. Worst of all was not its past, which was clearly a turning point for the group, but also due to its remoteness it was in a much colder and terribly hard zone to move around.
“Stop complaining. Little faggots. Let's see if with a new address you end up being worth something more than shooting in the air and fucking like animals in heat. You have no idea how to behave.”

    Another reason why Lázár no longer gave more of himself. He had become the authority figure he hated so much. Although some found this amusing, it only lowered everyone's spirits much more. That did not mean that his words were not true. If something characterized all those kindergarten terrorist wannabes, it is that the most of them did not know how to fight or kill well, but they also had a high proportion of sexual acts throughout the day. There was almost no one who did not know the orifices of the partner next door. The tension and desire to retaliate had led many to give up their original orientation just to be able to touch a bit of warm flesh.

    “In any case, we will receive our new recruit there tomorrow. And I want all of you to put your best face in front of him.”

    That mainly meant that the life of partying and gratuitous violence was over. Now it was time to get serious for an undetermined goal. Crazy.

    “Oh, and before I forget…” Lázár greeted towards the door. “Here’s a correspondent from the high heads. Look at this guy, strong, menacing!” He leaned towards the recently arrived Shaman, who thanked whatever on the heavens for all his masks and cool gear, because he was shaking inside - after witnessing the horrible mess he had to just to take notice of for his bosses. “What was your name again, boy?”

“Codename is…Chamán. El Chamán”

    “Oooh, some mystic bullshit, yeh… Well,you can accompany them on the mission tomorrow for a nice view of the place.” Lázar pat his back. “I hope you enjoy your stay. Any questions for our new member?”

    Tomb shut silence.

    The cramped corridors of the underground base were witness to their protests once the emergency meeting was over.

    “With this fucking cold, and they want to send us to that hell of a place… Surely, it's a trap or something. I don't believe that someone competent will suddenly come here to command and help and…” Emil stumbled on the words, gesturing effusively with his hands. He couldn't help but hold his arms in a feint to avoid the cold once he was done gesturing furiously. His Spanish legionary uniform did not cover enough of his skin, which showed signs of a mestizo heritage. From the way he pronounced with a few s's, he seemed to be of Hispano-Arabic origin. "I'm sure they will be another degenerate."
   
    "I think you forgot another important detail." With a rather German accent, which contrasted to her goth girl appearance instead of arian, Eli began to play with her long black hair. “Who the hell does the old cunt know that could actually be competent? As long as it's not an old colleague of his or some scheisse like that…”

    “One who is smarter than everyone, of course. We are always the butt of all the Divisions, always undertreated. But then it doesn't make sense why anyone would bother to come here.” Emil shivered. His chest was exposed because of the neckline that the uniform had. Between his small stature, hard chest and his soft face, he was a favorite when it came time for a bit of fun at parties. However, right now there wasn't a group of more muscular, chest-haired men out there willing to give his affection after the demotivating speech, so he was going to have to suck it up and be bored for a while. "Bakarne, could you give me a jacket or something?"

    "Bai, of course." A nasal accent that varied the tones in an exaggerated way emerged from the jaws of the young woman. She took off her mask to breathe a little, and put her broken glasses and txapela back on. As soon as she had let herself breathe, she took off her black jacket and lent it to Emil. "You better give it back to me later, edo...."

    "Yes, yes... I don't want to end up like Victor, beaten to a pulp." He said, a little scared. They were both shorter than Elizabeth, who looked like some kind of queen before them. However, even with certain similarities and origins, Emil and Bakarne were clearly different. Emil clung to maintaining his good manners and looks he prided in, while the Basque looked like an animal, showing her fangs like a dog, perpetually swearing and looking disheveled, like her hair completely worn and uncombed. Instead of getting new glasses, she had simply fixed the temples with sticky tape. The opposite definition of glamour.

    They all went to their rooms, not wanting to share more words between them. Tomorrow, and from now on, a more organized life awaited them. A nightmare more terrible than simply dying in battle. 

    But Chamán could not be bothered to rest. He walked a bit towards the hall, trying to loose his nervousness. He felt the ambient of the halls imprisoning him. The dirt beckoning his sanity. How could people live in such a miserable state. And these guys were meant to be one of the special projects to fight the enemy?

    The light of the moon crossed one of the crumbling windows and illuminated a spacious, trash filled hall where most of the main stances connected. One stair leading to several special offices.

    Before he could go back to his room, he saw one of the offices of the ones in charge of the special operations open its door. He knew they saved some especial equipment for suicide missions, and someone had to be in charge to orchestrate all for the now dementia-driven Lázár. But he could not believe his eyes again, and went right away to bed, after seeing her. There was no way, her dark eyes had to be just the yearning of his heart. He stormed to his bedroom and burrowed himself into the blankets, completely red.

    “She is here…She is here… Why is she here!?”

    He tried to relax himself, but cold, scaly hands took his head again. His head was already not in the best place, but he knew, Pujay was there again. His cold teeth were felt close to his ears, but he couldn’t really understand anything. Finally, he gave in. The slumber took George King’s consciousness and dragged him into the deepest of dreams.

    You let yourself into a deathly trap, Chamán.

    Pujay, in his mischievous nature, for once decided it was better to genuinely warn the poor soul of the Irish-American agent who got himself into the maw of the monster.


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