Chapter 2: Revelationist Mexico

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"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned."


...................................................................................................................................-- Isaiah 9:2


On the day of departure, all of you proceed to the Hanscom Air Force Base northwest of the City of Boston. Upon arriving at the base, a uniformed guard at a security booth checks your identification and places a call. Within minutes, you are greeted at the security gates by two jeeps carrying armed personnel. The vehicles escort you the remainder of the way into the base's grounds. It is explained to you that, as civilians, you must be accompanied by guards at all times while on base. Those of you carrying weapons are permitted to keep them but find yourselves escorted by additional security sporting heavier firearms.

You are taken to a secured waiting area as the transport plane is prepped. The room is sparsely furnished; there is little more than some uncomfortable folding chairs and a table with a Keurig coffee maker and coffee supplies. The blinds for all of the windows are down, but you can make out the silhouettes of armed personnel stationed outside of the room. It's unclear if security at Hanscom is always this heightened, or if it's a byproduct of wartime.

A soldier eventually enters the room. Captain Forrester is a imposing man of African American descent with a military style buzz cut, clean shaven face, and brown eyes like hard citrine. Out of the group, he's second only to Vidar Tyrz in height. Unlike the last time you saw him, the captain is out of his civilian attire and wearing green and gray fatigues with a matching cap. The clothing seems well-suited to him, like a second skin. A duffle bag and an assault rifle are slung over his left shoulder. Other than a brief greeting of acknowledgement, he spares no time on pleasantries.

You gather your things, and the captain leads you into an immense aircraft hangar housing helicopters and chinooks. All of you board a C-23 Sherpa - a small military transport aircraft with a squared fuselage and gunmetal gray paint job. You enter through the rear cargo ramp and sit in one of the bucket seats lining the walls. Captain Forrester helps with final preparations and seats himself last. When everyone is strapped in and the plane is ready to go, the aircraft rumbles to life.

A roughly six hour flight across the continental United States takes you to Point Loma Naval Base in San Diego. You've crossed three time zones and arrive at the west coast around 1 PM/1300 (PST). Though just as secure as Hanscom, the smaller naval base feels much more welcoming. It sits at the edge of San Diego Bay and provides a beautiful, unobstructed view of the Pacific Ocean. You disembark and are again greeted by armed guards who closely escort you. While Captain Forrester heads away to be briefed, you are all taken to a building that appears to be some kind of empty naval dormitory. The rooms are tiny, but they are equipped with beds. You are told to select a room and rest up; your team leaves for Mexico tonight. Aside from soldiers who come to bring you fairly bland cafeteria dinners, no one disturbs you.

Late in the evening, you meet up with Forrester and board a U.S. Navy Mark VI patrol boat. The small but swift watercraft takes you out into the nighttime Pacific waters before eventually turning southward. The vessel travels at a consistent speed and without any active navigation lights, instead relying on GPS and radar to navigate the darkness. The trip goes through the night and most of the next day, with the boat remaining several hundred nautical miles from the coast in order to avoid radar detection. By early evening, the patrol boat reaches its destination. You meet up with a second vessel in the middle of the ocean, somewhere far from the shores of Mexico. In pitch blackness, with each boat rocking to and fro beneath your feet, the team transfers to the other vessel. The new boat is an IX-529 Sea Shadow - a stealth ship intended to carry you the rest of the way to Mexico. Forrester explains that the ship's unique hull configuration provides a low radar profile, making it difficult for Revelationist systems to detect it. During this part of the trip, Captain Forrester gives your team a brief overview of Mexico and what to expect. He tells you that when the Church of Revelations conquers a territory, there are four stages of occupation. The first stage is to crush overt opposition, destroy surviving military and police forces, and secure the general area. The Church replaces the original government and sets itself up as a liberator. Basic services (schools, hospitals, utilities, etc.) are turned over to loyal Believers. The population is told to rest assured that their lives and property are in no danger, and that they can continue living their lives, as normal. Non-believers are treated no differently than Believers.

At the second stage, the Church takes steps to consolidate its power. New rules are declared and enforced, and propaganda and lies are used to lull the population into accepting the new order of things. Initial demands are not overly harsh: confiscation of all firearms, relaxed curfews, limitations on travel, etc. Media is tightly controlled and broadcasts from outside the conquered territory are jammed. Internet access is quickly restricted. People are largely left alone, but resistance is not tolerated. Protests and insurgency are dealt with brutally. This continues for many months to allow the situation to normalize.

Once the population drops its guard a little, the third stage is implemented. The Church reveals new social classes based on one's dedication to Leviathan. Non-believers begin to find their rights restricted. They are deprived of property, lose their jobs, and are harassed by Believers. Neighbors report on neighbors, and paranoia sets in. People start to disappear. Attending masses for Leviathan becomes highly encouraged, if not compulsory. With each passing day, those who refuse to worship Leviathan suffer increasing hardships. More and more people start attending Church services, if only for self preservation, but the corruption takes a hold anyway. At this stage, the Church tries to hide the most obvious effects of Leviathan worship.

In the final stage, Believers outnumber the gentiles. Most of the population walks around with Marks of Leviathan and display their corruption proudly and openly. Non-believers are imprisoned and murdered with impunity. Contact with the outside world is completely restricted. Those who still don't worship Leviathan have been forced into hiding. Eventually, only the Believers remain.

Captain Forrester explains that Mexico is currently considered to be in Stage Four of occupation. This means that non-believers can no longer operate in the open. Anyone that you see walking around must be assumed to be a Believer. The Alliance estimates that 90-95% of the Mexican population has been converted by the Church. As such, the team will need to retain as low a profile as possible. Doubly so since you are all clearly gringos. Still, before the war, Jalisco had a population of over 50,000 ex-pats, so not quite everyone in the region is Mesoamerican.

It takes a couple of hours for the Sea Shadow to reach its destination. The vessel stops just shy of half a nautical mile from the Mexican coastline. In order to fit in better with the locals, you are all provided with an assortment of civilian clothing to choose from. Captain Forrester trades his army fatigues for jeans, a collared shirt, and a hooded jacket, though he retains his sidearm and an assault rifle.

From the rear of the Sea Shadow, a rubber inflatable Zodiac raft is deployed into the water. The special forces combat craft has room for eight occupants. Forrester descends into it first, and then assists the rest of you to carefully climb into the bobbing raft. The choppy water and pitch darkness make the task less than ideal. Once all of you have settled into the Zodiac, Forrester salutes the crew of the Sea Shadow, several of whom are standing atop the hull to see you off. They return the salute and disappear back into the large vessel.

Though the raft is equipped with an outboard motor, you instead begin paddling toward the shore. In the distance, you can see the bright lights of the resort city of Puerto Vallarta shining in the dark. Forrester directs you all to paddle to a point north of Puerto Vallarta and away from the lights of civilization. The paddling is slow going, but you eventually reach a small wooded beach. Forrester hops out of the raft and into knee-high water, helping to drag the raft onto land. He then works to quickly remove the outboard motor and its fuel bladder, deflate the raft, and roll it up tightly. He hides the gear under vegetation within a stand of trees. Forrester pulls out a map of the area, studies it under the moonlight, and puts it back into his pocket. He motions for you to follow him.

Your team finds a narrow foot path that leads away from the beach. Up the path is what appears to be a small coastal fishing village. Most of the houses are simple one-story wooden structures with flat roofs and brightly colored exteriors. There are no lights, and the entire place is eerily quiet. Forrester signals for the team to stop, waits a moment, then motions to proceed.

It quickly becomes clear that the village is deserted, and it seems to have been this way for a while. Front yards are overgrown with tall grass and weeds. Rusted vehicles and rain-filled row boats sit in driveways. At some homes, the front door is gaping conspicuously open, as though residents left in a panic. At others, you see signs of violence: bullet holes, scorch marks, and walls speckled with dark red. You even glimpse a few burned out houses with the phrase "LEVIATÁN ESTÁ AQUÍ" spray painted across the facade. The village is completely absent of the sound of barking dogs, buzzing porch lights, or any of the other noises one would associate with an inhabited community. All you hear is the ocean in the distance, and the pitter patter of the team's foot steps as you all hurriedly pass through.

Forrester points toward a dilapidated abandoned business at the edge of the village. The property consists of a small brick building with two big garage doors and enclosed in a chain link fence that leans so close to the ground you can effectively walk over it. Rusted car parts litter the ground haphazardly. A faded sign says "Servicio Automotriz."

One of the garage doors is open, and you can all make out the silhouette of a figure standing within.

Vidar had been Forrester's shadow since they had beached. He had a curious choice of outfits, a forest green wool poncho and sage colored flight suit. The shirt underneath was a death metal band T-shirt titled "Gojira" and showed some interesting psychedelic art, seemingly related to the ascension of man. Vidar had secured his long hair with an olive durag.

If his outfit was curious, his armaments were strange. When offered a gun he declined, saying he wasn't sure if he knew how to use it. Instead he was armed with a yew warbow, and a broadsword. The bow strapped over his shoulders by the string, riding silently on his quiver, and broadsword on his right hip. He was left-handed dominant apparently.

It didn't seem at all like the archeologist was out of his element, curiously the wild looking man seemed quite comfortable considering the circumstances. Staying exactly two paces behind Forrester, as if he had done this work before.

Before getting in the inflatable zodiac raft, Avel had clumsily struggled into a flak vest and taken the time to apply camouflage paint to his face and bald head. Exposed even in the low light, the Doctor's pasty complexion would've shone like the moon. On some men camouflage paint made them look rugged, on Doctor Avel it just made him look ridiculous.
While Forrester hid & stowed the raft and it's equipment, Avel swept their tracks off the beach with a branch before following the group upwards toward the seemingly abandoned village. The usually chatty doctor kept silent, noting everything in his surroundings, following Forrester's lead and sticking to the middle of the impromptu group of commandos.

Carter showed up in his usual blue jeans and dark t-shirt. Before getting in the raft he goes over his handgun one last time, showing he knows how to handle a weapon.

He seems much more in his element in the dark raft than in a classy bar with cocktails. He shows no hesitation in jumping into the cold water and assisting with the raft.

Once outside the garage, Carter seems to perk up, he looks at the car parts with interest for a moment to check to see if there's any diamonds in the rough among them. Never know when a drag link or sway bar could come in handy.

When the group approached the garage, they could see René's silhouette in the open garage door. He looked nonchalant resting there, watching them, his shoulder leaned against the doorframe. He stood with one scuffed up rodeo boot nosedown in the dirt, crossed over the other. They could see the shadowy figure become less uniform as he gave a little wave.

As they drew closer, they would see he wasn't a terribly big fellow. About 5'7", slender, perhaps some Latin American heritage, perhaps in his early thirties. René was beautiful, too. And in that annoying way where you could tell, in how he held himself, that he also considered himself beautiful. It was aesthetically pleasing but unnerving. You would not think he'd been a revolutionary for the past ten years. Humans always begin to look "lived in." Scars, damage from the sun, wrinkles as their collagen breaks down. René, uncannily, lacked any of that. Like he had just strolled out of an airbrushed photo and into wartorn Mexico.

Converse to his pretty features, René wore raggedy denim jeans and a dark-coral button-up shirt. It looked a little big on him. The light geometric design all over it looked like paisley. The most notable piece of attire was the gray, traditionally patterned, asymmetrical serape that draped over the entire ensemble. It was worn more like an archaic, one-shouldered cape than a proper poncho. The lengthy side hung down past his waist. If he didn't have a hand rested on the hilt, the serape would keep the sword at his hip concealed. So maybe he was showing it off a little, what with the deliberate, elegant posing.

"Hello! The flight was good, I trust? Or the swim? Or however you arrive here?" he greeted, if and when they were in earshot, and he stood up straighter. He spoke English with a French accent. It was quite thick. "My name is René Luc Toussaint. Bienvenido a México. I am sorry you 'ave see it now, it is not as nice as it once was, but, enfin, bon... Donc, in any case, your friends I meet before, they did not come to sightsee either, or so I do not think..."

There was a mischievous glint in his eye when he said this.

Seeing René exposed Vidar then broke rank and jumped and mantles onto the roof of a nearby structure. A broken antenna for cable TV the sole feature of this roof. He draped his poncho over this and ducked under it maintaining a clear line of sight to Forrester and the direction they had been moving.

Vidar hunkered down and peered into the night. Keeping his eyes scanning 25 degree arcs to keep them from focusing, better enabling him to detect movements. He unslung his bow jamming it under his left heel pulling and stringing it in an instant practiced motion. Retrieving an arrow he nocked it on the string and tested the draw weight. Satisfied the string would hold Vidar slowly laxed the tension.

The creak of the warbow was exceptional, the bow itself made of yew and horn was much louder that the ones you heard in the movies. The sound was deeper too, it carried nearly ten feet loud and clear. Releasing tension from the string sounded a lot like a bass guitar's D string being plucked for an open D and vibrated until Vidar twisted his wrist straight and muted it with his forearm. It sounded like a very morose sound, like a sigh that had been strangled midbreath.

One thing he knew was that so long as he could avoid it, this gringo was seeking cover and vantage. Getting the lay of the land. He was enjoying himself though. Still grinning at the prospect of being somewhere new.

Avel looked to Forrrsrer at the man's appearance, perhaps looking for some sign that this was indeed their local resistance contact. The fact that Forrester didn't immediately try to kill the man with the French accent was a good sign. The accomodations were a notch above Guantanamo but I would recommend the voyage on Trip Advisor... Avel replied. So much for the luxurious amenities of Puerto Vallarta, I suppose. I can't say as I'm a fan of what the news management has done to the place. A few stars south of world class destination these days? he shook his head as he entered the abandoned garage. So... Avel asked with pursed lips, Any updates we should be aware of?

Forrester takes a brief moment to assess the surroundings before engaging in any pleasantries. As Vidar climbs to the roof of the automotive shop to perch as a look out, the captain does a quick inspection of the garage. His M4 carbine, previously kept tucked under his jacket, is now raised up as he checks around corners and inside adjoining rooms. His movements are very precise and purposeful. He motions for some of you to do a cursory check around the building. When it's clear that René is alone, Forrester lowers his rifle and finally acknowledges the contact.

"Captain Hayden Forrester, USMC SOTFCOM," he says with a handshake. "Thank you for meeting. To second the doctor's question, can you give us a sit rep?"

Forrester glances around and sees what appears to be a large van covered in a tarp. "I assume this is our vehicle."

René gave an airy laugh, quite clearly thinking the apparent doctor was joking about Guantanamo. That, or he thought something about the place was funny.

"Un plaisir, Captaine, I am sure," he accepted Forrester's handshake, though broke it off to gesticulate vaguely to the van. "Yes, this is yours. Ours, I suppose. I do hope one of you is a good chauffeur. This does handle like a boat, and I have wrestled with it enough for a lifetime."

He moved to the van and started removing the tarp, so the others could inspect it. Check it for any planted bombs, or things like that. The way Forrester swept around the garage with his gun didn't exactly suggest the fellow possessed a trusting nature.

"As for this update, bah ouais. There are many things you should know about here, that you likely do not," he answered. He sat back against the hood of the van. "C'est pathétique. Los Revelacionistas, they have gutted this country. To put it short, we fight a losing fight for years now." René's nose wrinkled like he smelled something foul. "More Resistance die every day. This is why, many peoples we meet, they will not be our friends. Contaminé, now, many, many people. They look for Marca de Leviatán. Léviathan Mark, you know. If our not-friends see we do not have it, or the good fakes, then expect to be killed. Or 'jailed.' I believe this is another word for 'killed?'"

Obispo, the Bishop, Ignado Tallon, he here is... comme tu dis, he is the 'big cheese.' Divine rule, you know, cette merde stupide. If you ever met one 'Holy' dicateur then you have met them all.

Violence and military force come with such managérial styles. This means, accumulated of power near his seat in Aguascalientes, royales guard, et cetera. And the Church send patrols. Patrols. Patrols with big guns and biiiig automobils," he put his hands apart thiiiis wide, like trying to pantomime the length of a huge fish he caught. Otherwise his English wasn't good enough to explain the severity of the patrol's gear without swearing. "And a group of you foreigner, this is hard to explain - so, better not to explain! Eight days ago, I taked your friends through back routes to the Guadalajara. I did not taked them back. Whatever your petits amis asploded, it alarmed the Church. They have calm down a little since, but we should be very, very careful now. I would guess, they know of the outside force's recent - and continued - interest here.

In any case, these are the most important thing to know. I will help you avoid dangereux main routes, wherever we must go. And dangereux rural routes... because the bush has gone bad in places. The Con-taint-ment, or how you call it. Do not try to be a Henry Davide Thoreau there. It is better to starve."

Carter perks up when he hears chaffeur. He dilligently inspects the van, while listening in on the conversation. "Guess it'll do," he mutters.

"Still haven't met a danger I haven't been able to outdrive," he says with exaggerated confidence and pats the van carefully. "Even in this old thing."

Forrester listens to René's situation report and nods. The information is grim but not surprising. He stows his weapon back beneath his jacket and looks at René. "We're here to retrieve someone. An American soldier who recently escaped Church captivity. We have a general idea of where we need to go. It's roughly 220 klicks northeast. That should place us near the City of Aguascalientes. From there, we'll need to narrow down Corporal Briers' location. Carter will take the wheel while Mr. Toussaint navigates."

The captain checks over the van. As advertised, it's a Chevy cargo van. The vehicle is exactly what one would expect for its make and model. It's roomy, with three rows of foldable seats, an empty cargo area in the back, and double rear doors.

Forrester, did you tell him about Kreighoff? Avel casually interjected himself into the conversation between the Captain and the Frenchman. The Church has sent in a bounty hunter to collect the same prize as we're after. Any news on that from your friends in the Resistance?
If they were going to have any success in their clandestine endeavour, they'd have to either eliminate Kreighoff or throw him off the proverbial scent. Avel would prefer to send the hunter back to what passes for Europe these days in a box, if he got the chance, but completing the mission was the primary objective.
What's the local Resistance situation? Avel asked. What's the focus? Evacuation? Guerilla strikes? Assassinations? I might be able to help facilitate and coordinate their goals while we search for our lost sheep.

'Kreighoff is more an assassain than a bounty hunter...' Rylani cuts in. 'Bounty hunter sounds fancy but most our work in those who escape bond, even in this new world, though I do sometimes o after other targets if the alliance is paying. Kreighoff he kills, and mostly our side. Though in this case he may also be going for the capture. Unfortunately he is still above my league, so I just hope we get to our soldier first.'

As she speaks she looks over the care, clearly unimpressed. She preferred the open air of being on a bike, but when needs must...

"Well, no wanted criminals around here," Carter says, uncomfortably trying to avoid Rylani's gaze.

He jangles the keys. "Shall we get this show on the road?"

He gets into the van and tries to start it up.

René frowns subtly when Forrester mentions the City of Aguascalientes. It becomes a proper frown when he hears the name Kreighoff.

"Ouais, but certainly, cut away," he gives a shrug. "This is the first I hear of a bounty h- of an assassin by this name. For us, things will already be quite tricky near the city. It is where the Bishop's forces gather."

He rounds the van to the passenger side and considers the doctor's question. English is his least practiced language, and he's unsure if he understood correctly. He didn't expect any Alliance people to desire boarding this sinking ship. He expected little interest in the Resistance, really.

"Do I understand, you offer to help manage things? C'est possible, though most now are not eager to meet strangers. I would need to 'vouch' for you," he offers. He continues in a deliberately detached way, like a surgeon delivering unfortunate news, "I must stress, you have found this cause at her gasping end. We have not hit the Church hard in some time. Most efforts now, it go to... survival, fleeing, hiding. We move who we can. Those who fight, they try to die in ways that is inconvénient for the Church. We have no anchors in urbain places any longer. Really, what la Resistencia needs is a good funerals directeur. If you are one, alors, vas-y."

Vidar jumped down from the roof and made for the van stopping only to offer his hand to Renė in introduction. "I'm Vidar." He offers casually. "Say whats located over yonder? That patch of wilderness." He indicates to the North East, in the trees, with the sickly green glow which only he could see. "Something about it makes my skin crawl."

Carter starts up the van and it rumbles to life. The gas tank is full.

"Let's continue this conversation on the road," says Forrester. He takes another glance at the abandoned village beyond the garage door and then hops into one of the back seats. He leaves the front passenger seat for René.

When Vidar asks about the patch of wilderness, the Captain looks to the Frenchman questioningly.

I know...knew...a few good funeral directors back in the day. Hermetically sealed coffins made for excellent shipping containers for contraband arms. Avel replied, boarding the van as it rumbled to life. I'd prefer to arrange funerals for Church dignitaries these days. Any heat on them would be a good distraction from scrutiny of our presence or mission and possibly give the Resistance some teeth.

Vidar placed a pair of bone conduction headphones over his temple and ears, and plugged them into an old MP3 player. "Reminds me of Richard's Crusade..." The young doctor said cryptically and observed the foliage and wilderness of Mexico. "You know what I've read about it." He corrected himself, reminding himself that it was just a set of incredibly vivid nightmares that had made him remember those terrible times.

Looking up at Forrester and Dr. Avel he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He remembered why they looked familiar. They all looked familiar. Pulling the cowl of his poncho overhead Dr. Tyrz concealed his face. None of them had lived through his dreams.