A large black SUV, the rear door opens. The lights of the temple visible in the background.

‘Tecate?’

‘Si’

‘You made us proud today, Chico.’

El Patron extends his glass, offering cheers. His golden rings and watch glistening almost as much as the ice in his tequila.

‘Gracias.’

‘Rememer Chico, the lessons we were taught back in the old days…’

‘Si Patron. Más vale prevenir que curar.’

Santiago steps out of the vehicle, before it drives away, disappearing into the darkness of night.

A slight fist pump as Santiago slouches down against the nearby wall, exhausted, clutching the can of Tecate still in his hand, his head back against the brick wall.

‘I was just a nino the last time I felt like this, successful, vindicated, accepted by my amigos, my tribe. There’s something to be said for that feeling of victory, the feeling of success. But alas, I cannot rest upon my laurels, for this is war coming.’

‘An ancient Mexican story tells of a tribe of Aztec warriors, men who were enslaved as chicos and forced to fight for a leader who didn’t care for them. This leader was only out for his personal gain, to conquer and further only his own place in historia, often at the expense of those who fought for him, those who were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder with him in war.’

A drink from the cerveza.

‘The story tells of a small fishing aldea, who stood against these warriors. They were simple men, farmers and fisherman, not warriors. They gathered as an aldea, scared, with fear in their hearts. It wasn’t until  an aldea elder stood up when enough spiders unite, they can tie down a lion! and with that they began to believe that united, they stood a chance.’

‘When the warriors arrived at the aldea, they were met by these simple men, who were united and prepared. They had laid traps and separated the warriors, forcing them to fight alone. It wasn’t long before the will of the warriors diminished, broken and they surrendered to the villagers. United, they stood victorious in the face of impossibility.’

A longer sip from the Tecate, followed by a brief pause.

‘War machine is united, moving in unison towards a singular goal. But we are not fisherman, we are not farmers but rather warriors and killers. We are an engine firing on all cylinders or a rifle pointed directly at the head of a target.’

‘A rifle consists of three core components, the action of loading the rifle, the preparation before taking the shot, the forethought. The planning, like a doctor who always ensures he has one last bullet in the chamber.’

‘The handle, the support. The always reliable, strong and sturdy, like a warrior from the future. Reliable, sturdy and the backbone of the weapon.’

‘And finally, the barrel. The creator of the violence, the precision. Like a man who has spent his life in hell, unafraid.’

“War games will indeed be a war, but we’re bringing a rifle and our opponents? They’re bringing nothing more than a positive attitude, hopes, dreams and maybe a riddle…’

‘At Turbo Violence, Newton, Pixelshift, Ziggy it will be your turn, to meet God! You’re in the crosshairs of the rifle.’

A final drink, before crushing the can in his hand.