#san expedito | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dxckinson · 1 year ago

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Status: Closed — Self Para / Lore Dump

TW: REFERENCES TO WAR, GENOCIDE, IMPLIED CHILD DEATH

The Hill—the Afternoon—

CASE █████████ PROTOCOL PROPOSED BY: AGENT ████████

RESULTS: SUCCESS — POTENTIAL CRISIS EVENT AVOIDED — FAILED TIMELINE(S) DIVERTED | JANUARY 20, 1981 ; 10:56 EDT | WASHINGTON, DC | EXACT LOCATION: █████████████████ — BOMBING — 151 LIVES SAVED

CHECK POINT DATE AND TIME: ██-██-████ / ██:██

LOCATION: ████████, NEW YORK — EXACT LOCATION: ██████████████

ASSIGNED TO: AGENT WHITMAN [@whitmanners] & AGENT STEIN [@anotheryear]

MISSION DATE: AUGUST 24th, 1977 — 1:05 PM (MST) | SONORA DESERT — ARIZONA — SERVICE ROAD OF THE N AJO SONOITA HIGHWAY (AZ 85) NEAR WHY, AZ — 32°14'32.7"N 112°46'04.5"W — RESULTS : 256 LIVES SAVED — (1) NEW AGENT RECRUITED

With sweat pouring from every orifice, Gael Esai Tiul-Xol regarded the tightly sealed metal doors of the trailer from the truck’s bed. There was a small array of seemingly random objects laid before him: a short blunt knife, a pile of different sized coins, the laces from various pairs of shoes, a folded pair of tube socks, two rosaries, an empty aluminum can, a small metal nail file, a pocket mirror, and a frayed, three-foot length of braided rope.

Though the items may not have looked like much, these were the tools of his salvation. It was a puzzle he had managed to solve countless times, in another life. Or rather, in a multitude of other lives. He was not aware of this fact, or would ever be. God willing.

Thin ribbons of light pour in through the dozens of rust holes scattered across the top of the truck and the two 6-inch by 4-inch vents on either side of the doors. There was no comfort in the fact that he wouldn't suffocate, however. Behind him, the other migrants on board the semi-truck's trailer were despondent. Moral had plummeted after hours of pushing at the doors and rocking the trailer with no success. And though he managed to calm everyone down as to not exhaust their limited oxygen flow, they all knew what was coming. For as the sun breached the night sky and continued its slow ascend, so had the temperature. He could already feel himself growing weaker as they baked in their steel coffin.

They were running out of time. All he needed was a little more time.

His mind struggled to form a plan, distracted by his own labored breathing and the wails and pleas from his ill-fated travel companions. They cried out for their God, their Shepherd, their saints and martyrs; anyone who could offer them deliverance from their upcoming, excruciating death.

—Por favor, Diosito, ten misericordia en nosotros, tus fieles seguidores. [Please, God, have mercy on us, your loyal followers.] —!Por Dios!, ¿cómo nos pudo dejar aquí? [Oh, God! How could he leave us here?] —¡No somo animales ni basura! ¡Regresa culero! [We’re not animals or trash! Come back, asshole!] —Ten piedad de mí, Señor, conforme a tu misericordia. [Have pity on me, Lord, in accordance with your mercy.] —San Expedito, ayúdenos en esta hora de aflicción y desesperación. [Saint Expeditus, help us in this hour of grief and despiration.] —Por favor, ¡hagan algo! No me puedo morir aquí. Tengo un hijo, por favor…[Please, someone do something! I can’t die here. I have a son, please…]

Part of him wanted to tell them to shut up, so he could think, but could not bring himself to silence their laments when he could offer them no solution, no salvation. Pressing the palms of his hands into the sockets of his eyes, Gael crumpled downward into himself, willing his brain to find the solution with the tools he had before him.

The knife and nail file were too thin and blunt to withstand the force of human desperation. Perhaps the rope could be unbraided and used to rip off on of the welded on metal vents if they used their combined strength, but then what? Even if someone in the truck had arms thin enough to fit in the small rectangular space that would be left, Gael could not remember where the latch for the doors had been. And what if it had been locked with a padlock?

What would he do if, with the temptation of freedom seemingly so close, he lost what little control he had over the group? Would they panic and rush for the gap, crushing everyone in their way? He needed to find the answer before he tried anything. He just needed a little more time.

Keeping his eyes shut, he shifted his hands to cover his ears, trying to visualize the exact make and model of the semi from his memories. Had the latch been at the center, bottom, or the right of the doors? 'C’mon. Remember, damn it!'

So lost in thought, Gael didn’t notice the sound of a vehicle pulling up beside the truck until one of the elderly men on board began to shake his shoulder.

—Mijo, alguien juego. ¡Escucha!, se bajaron del coche… ¿Qué deberíamos hacer? [Young man, someone is here. Listen! They got out of the car… What should we do?]

But the question was a moot point as the others rushed to the side of the truck where the noise had come from and began yelling for help. Straining his ears to hear over the sound of the crowd, he realized with cold trepidation that there is no sound of sirens or police radio chatter. Gael’s heart raced with anxiety as he moved to stand.

Whoever just arrived was not U.S. law enforcement.

He then heard the sound of gravel crunching under boots; whoever was out there was moving towards the doors. Trying to calm down, he noted that the steps were off beat from each other. It had to be more than one person, then. But how many? Two, or more?

As Gael continued to rack his brain, there was movement at the doors; someone was cursing in English. Before Gael could mentally translate what was said, the doors burst open, the full force of the August sun leaving him momentarily blinded. Standing at the front of the group and nearest to the door, Gael spread his arms wide, his eyes tightly shut; he needed to stop his companions from rushing forward before he gave the all clear. They had no idea if whoever had just arrived had ill intentions or not.

His intuition was validated when his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight. A Colt AR-15 gleamed in the sun, its barrel aimed directly at the crowd, who shrieked with renewed despair.

—No se muevan. El señor Tiul, por favor bájese del camión. [Nobody move. Mr. Tiul, please step out of the truck.]

Gael’s heart soared, only to drop like lead once he realized his EGP comrades would not speak Spanish in such a heavy American accent.

“C’mon, man. We don’t have all day,” A second voice said, its owner looking directly at him.

‘Must be the Feds then’, Gael thought solemnly, lowering his arms. He wondered who among the EGP ranks would betray them like this. Matching gazes with the agent holding the gun, Gael let out a deep breath and started to step forward, but was stopped by multiple hands grabbing at his shirt and arms. Surprised, he turned back to look at his travel companions.

—No vayas.[Don’t go.] —Algo no está bien, mijito. No lo hagas.[Something isn’t right, sweetie. Don’t do it.] —¿Cuántas balas piensas que tienen? No nos pueden matarnos a todos si avanzamos como un grupo.[How many bullets do you think they have? They can’t kill us all if we move forward as a group.]

Gael knew that the campesinos were no strangers to scenes just like this, where one of their own was taken by men with guns to never be seen or heard from again. But Gael wasn't one of theirs; they had only met him in Nogales prior to this trip. And yet, they felt enough solidarity with the guatemalteco to risk their own lives for his. Their compassion almost brought tears to his eyes. But he would not let them die in his place.

Turning back to face the agents, Gael lifted his chin and addressed them in unaccented English. “What will happen to these people if I go with you?”

—Solamente vinimos por el señor Tiul. La policía y ambulancias llegarán en treinta minutos. No nos importa lo que hacen ustedes. Si se quedan a esperarlos después que nos vamos o no es decisión suya. [We only came for Mr. Tiul. The police and ambulances will be here in thirty minutes. We don't care what the others do. Whether you stay and wait for them after we leave or not is your decision]— the agent with the rifle said in his stiff Spanish.

“How can I trust that you will keep your word?” Gael challenged, shifting his gaze to motion at the gun with a tilt of his head.

“You don’t. You just have to have a little faith in people, Gael,” the second agent responded, a smarmy smirk on his face. “But to be completely frank, you don’t really have a choice here.”

Gael felt rage burning in his chest. They both know who was holding all the cards; Gael’s only bargaining chip was himself.

There was a beat of silence where Gael stared down the English-speaking agent, he quirk an eyebrow at him but say nothing else. Sighing, Gael maked his choice; in the end, the decision was always an easy one. He’d give his life a thousand times over to protect these people every time.

—Déjenme ir. [Let me go.]

Slowly, the vice-like grips loosed as his travel companions quietly came to terms with the reality of the situation they had found themselves in. He briefly wondered if, years from now, they’d still remember the Guatemalan boy they lost in the desert. Or will he be one of many they’d lose as the U.S.’s ‘War on Drugs’ ravaged their country the way the coup ruined his.

As a hush overtook the trailer, Gael stepped forward and into the sun, his hands up in the air. When he reached the edge of the truck’s bed, he kneeled slightly before jumping off and walking away from the vehicle. Eyes on the rifle, he stopped and turned his body towards the agent and slowly stepped backwards a few feet to make sure his back not facing the open doors of the trailer.

The slightly shorter Asian man holding the gun shifted his grip on the Colt AR-15 slightly but said nothing. The man's large, dark eyes seemed... troubled, perhaps; his thick eyebrows bunched up, leaving a deep furrow at the center of his face. Gael pondered on that for a second.

“Good choice,” the English-speaking agent remarked, pulling Gael's attention away from the agent with the gun; Gael turned his head and made eye contact with the other man, perturbed to see something like fondness sparkling in those crow footed eyes.

‘How strange,’ Gael thought, watching the older man closely. His eyes regarded the other's features; the older man's deep set-heavy, lidded eyes, the contours of his jaw, the slant of his nose, and the shape of his eyebrows. 'Light-skin, but not a white man,' Gael thought and narrowed his eyes. Figures that the U.S. would send two of its citizens of color to hunt down a target who'd only been described as an unknown terrorist.

After a moment, the agent snorted, an amused tilt on his lips. Then, he beckoned Gael over with an upward facing palm; all fingers but his pointer and thumb tucked downward, a single gesticulating finger flicking up and down in quick succession. Gael felt a spark of irritation at that; the over familiarity of the gesture grating on his nerves.

Taking a calming breath, Gael turned his head towards the people in the truck, wanting to see them one last time, when the blood drained from his face and his heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach. There was a bearded man in a dark hoodie and a cap watching them from far in the distance; a lone sentinel on the mountain ridge at the edge of the desert.

The coyote had never left.

What kind of person could leave a truck full of people stranded in the desert, and sit back to watch as they perished? Gael’s stomach turned with disgust. For all the kindness in the world, there is also cold, unfeeling cruelty.

Though Gael couldn’t be one-hundred percent certain that the man in the mountains and the man who had driven them across the border were the same person, but who else could it possibly be? Who else would know they were here?

In any case, who ever it was seemed in no hurry to offer help, content to only witnessing what happened down in the valley. Without consciously thinking about it, Gael's body rotated on its axis, drawn to the man in the sierra like a magnet.

“What’s the hold up? Get. Moving,” the gun wielding agent scolded, finally speaking in English. Gael’s attention and head snapped back to a new, more immediate threat: the rifle now pressed against his back.

Licking his dry lips, Gael took the risk to sneak a final glance at the man in the mountains. Though, to his surprise, the man had disappeared in the seconds Gael had taken his eyes off of him. ‘Figures’, he thought grimly.

Refocusing his attention on the agents, Gael muttered a sharp, “Alright, let’s go.” before he raised his hands high in the air and languidly placed them on the top of his head.

The handcuffs never came.

‘These guys must be overly confident that the rifle is enough of a deterrent,’ Gael thought, irritated once more by the overconfidence of the Americans. Taking care to make no sudden movements, Gael swiveled back around to face the agents, hands up still on his head.

Then he paused and waited for further instructions. His eyes lowed slowly to evaluate the snippy agent’s hold on the firearm. Gael couldn't be certain, but he got the distinct impression that the older man didn't feel all that confident, even with a gun.

Playing out all possible scenarios in his head, Gael came to the conclusion that the chances that he could successfully wrestle the gun out of the agent's hands while fending off his partner were not zero. He was significantly younger than them. It probably wouldn't be that hard to out speed the both of them. He could definitely win the tussle and once he got his hands on the rifle, then it'd all be over—

“Don’t even think about it,” The smiley, bearded agent whispered directly into his ear. Gael jumped back, but an arm around his shoulders held him still. He hadn’t even noticed the agent move.

“We don’t actually want to hurt you, kid. This is all just a business proposition,” The man said, a bright smile stretched across his face. The most disturbing part was that the warmth in his eyes seemed genuine.

Fresh sweat collected at Gael’s temples, though the Arizona heat was not to blame this time. 'This dude's nuts,' he thought, mildly horrified.

Gael shifted his sight to the snippy agent, who just rolled his eyes and walked towards the unmarked cruiser parked ten feet away from the trailer. The other man then opened the backseat door and motioned for Gael to get in.

Gael set his jaw, but that option was better than the alternative than continuing to allow the bearded agent to practically snuggle him. Extracting himself from the older man's side, Gael moved in long strides to the vehicle before ducking his head to slid into the back seat. As he started to situate himself in the car, the smiley jerk pushed him and and cheerily said, “Scoot over, the other door doesn’t open.”

“You cannot be serious!” Gael hissed, his anger bubbling over the boiling point.

“Shut up,” The other jerk snapped back from the driver's seat. “We have a lot to go over on the drive.”

Gael glared daggers at the driver as thunder boomed somewhere over the mountain side. Rain soon overtook the valley, as the agent behind the wheel started the car and began to steer towards the N Ajo Sonoita Highway. The weirdo sitting beside Gael casually reached forward into the pocket on the back of the front passenger seat and pulled out a thick, worn manila folder.

“Alright,” he began, shooting Gael another toothy grin as he leafed thought the contents. “Where do we start?”

Roughly an hour later, Gael was staring out the window as rain continues to pelt the car. They were still a few hours away from Phoenix, he thought. In all honesty, his brain was completely fried. He didn’t understand half of what the 'Temporal Bureau' agents had explained to him during the ride. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was just struggling to wrap his mind around the implications that something like this could be true.

His soul ached at the thought that this was more than some bizarre, elaborate prank. If it was all real, he was just handed the opportunity of a lifetime. Of multiple lifetimes.

“A penny for your thoughts?” The smiley agent hummed. Gael didn’t want to look at Agent 'Whitman'. What a stupid name. That couldn't possibly be his real last name. Was it supposed to be funny? Or 'Stein', but unfortunately for Gael, Agent Stein caught his eyes in the rearview mirror at that very moment.

“You understand that you really don’t have a choice here, right?” The older man groused, those thick eyebrows furrowed deeply again.

Gael glared at Stein for a moment, but it only made him feel a child throwing a tantrum. It was almost as if he never stopped being that angry, little boy lost in El Quiché. Five and thrown into hell on Earth as war broke out; eight and an orphan; eleven and his remaining family wiped out like they were nothing; thirteen and struggling to scratch out an existence; sixteen and looking for any sort of answer that would give reason to the madness that was his life.

The futility of resistance in the absence of choice resonated deep in his bones, in the atoms that vibrated together to create his very existence. He knew it was pointless, but old habits died the hardest; and all he had ever done in his life was fight and rebel to the biter end.

But if what the 'Temporal Bureau' had told him was correct, his greatest battle was already lost. His entire's life's work all but a tiny glitch in the matrix that needed to be fixed, erased, eradicated; one way or another. This was just a new solution they were trying and in the end, the choice was never truly his.

He'd either fold or be destroyed a thousand times over until they got it right.

On one hand, this was a harrowing, universe shattering revelation that should have broken his mind and sent him into madness. But on the other, what was this if not the Holy Grail of life purposes? How many more trailers full of people could be saved if he joined? How many wars could he stop before they even started?

After another moment of quiet contemplation, Gael opened his mouth, the strained, hollow quality of his voice startling him, “Where do I sign?”

Beside him, 'Whitman' burst into laughter.

—¿Oye, pinche chucho, de qué te ríes? [Hey, fucking mutt, what are you laughing at?], Gael snarled.

“What I tell you, Stein? This kid’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

Hours later, at the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, Gael Esai Tiul-Xol stared blankly at the massive throngs of people milling to and fro down the crowded halls. He was waiting for someone, though he did not know who. Agents Whitman and Stein had dropped him off roughly fifteen minutes ago and told him to wait at the second terminal for whoever it was that would pick him up.

A migraine pounded at his temples. He couldn't believe the agents had left him; after everything that had happened, after everything they had told him. He had half a mind to just get up and leave. It'd be easy to slip away, lost among the hoard of people. But a part of him wondered how many times he'd lived this event, and if the speech the 'Temporal Bureau' agents had given him was just a song and dance they'd gone through countless times.

Yawning loudly, Gael rubbed sleep out of his eyes, trying to remember the last thing Whitman had said to him before they let him out of the car. What had it been? 'You'll know they're here to pick you up the moment you see them?' What a fucking load of dog shit. Like he'd be able to pick out another pair of agents in this crowd, when the first two had just been some nondescript guys.

Lowering his fist away from his eyes, Gael beadily stared down the people filing through the entrance of the terminal. His eyes lingered on a messy head of ash brown hair, then trailed down to the neat dark locks of their companion. Gael froze in place, his eyes fluttered in disbelief. At a lost, he looked around the open space, but no one else seemed to notice how extraordinary this instant in time was.

On the other side of the room, Agent Whitman, a younger version of him, matched gazes with his. The other man then lifted an open file before elbowing his partner and pointing towards Gael.

Gael Esai Tiul-Xol felt his heart fly up towards the mood and his face broke out into an elated smile.

Time travel was real.

#~`*records‚ reports‚ and other little reminders #(now with new and improved scenes!)#(if there are mistakes in this i'm so sorry but i am dying and cannot look at this anymore)

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