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Cinco por Cinco: Hijo De La Luna

Brown Dynamite

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El Chopo

Colonia Guerrero, Mexico
Saturday, September 17th, 2016

11:00 AM


Much like every Saturday afternoon before it, the open street market was filled to the brim by the thousands.  Every youth subculture under the sun was represented.  From the head bangers to the hardcore street punks.  To the naked eye, it was just the start of another weekend.


But, at least two tourists knew of something more sinister for sale in the flea market this week.  Hidden in the deepest depths of the darknet there was chatter of an alien black market auction.  The interested buyers weren't megalomaniacal supervillains in need of the latest super bomb.  No, the sale was targeted towards mundane organized criminals looking to outfit their footsoldiers for a leg up on the competition.


That was if they could even find the auction in the first place.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Alek adjusted the sunglasses on his nose, frowning a bit.


"Bright. Why are we out here, at this time, again?"


The young hero, currently fairly incognito between not being in costume, and his current outfit hitting a sweet spot of "don't pay attention to me". The fact that he wasn't really "white" helped as well; he was pretty clearly not from the area, but stuck out less than other tourist-types might have. He'd gotten some leads with his research, but not enough, not yet.


"Also, next time, we're getting a bigger suite. You snore."


It was clear that the unfamiliar environment and ongoing investigation had him riled up. Still, his words held no venom; he was being teasing. It's just that Alek was bad at this sort of thing. 

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"Patience you must have, my young padawan."  Erick calmly responded.  He was nursing a glass of horchata, fully at ease with maneuvering the crowd.  A polo short and khaki shorts made up the prescient acrobat's outfit of choice.  "Give it a few more years of unhealthy sleep habits, and we'll see if you start shaking the rafters too."


Erick teased in response.  In reality, he was more a fly by the seat of his pants type when it came to planning.  He'd contribute a suggestion or two when Vanguard was drawing up its plans of action.  But, Foreshadow tended to play things by ear.  This day in the market was no different as he hadn't even done half the cursory research.


"So you said you narrowed down our leads some?"

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  • 2 weeks later...

Alek just sighed and shook his head at the Star Wars reference. Couldn't be helped.


"I got the snoring beaten out of me years ago."


Well isn't he a ball of joy and sunshine.


"Leads, a few, yeah. Not as much as I wanted. But we want to try and go for the more isolated market areas. There's 3 stalls, and they're all kind of tucked away. Two of them sell clothes, while the last one sells music. Couldn't find out what their password is, though. But those 3 stalls? That's how folks get led to the auction."

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  • 8 months later...

"I guess being grounded meant a whole lot of different for you.  Password, huh.  Straight up spy stuff.  Well we won't need that."   Erick responded confidently.  "Since you put in the work, how about you narrow down which stall is the winning bid?  I'll get us in."  Location was everything when it came to Secret Auctions.


Security has to be appealing enough for others to be willing to come to you.  But, you can't openly advertise either.  Of course word still travels.  It's not only the criminal element of the top 1% who wish to strike gold.  Criminal opportunists, especially in a location where the police could be just as corrupt as the criminals, would love to get their hands on what was being sold.  Nowadays, you could host your auctions online.  Even demonstrations could be done over video.


Unless you're still trying to build a customer base.  Or your customers are old school that is.

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"We called it being boxed. Though my folks have grounded me a couple of times. Got a bit snappy with them on a bad day."


Well that's a cheery thought, and Erick's an imaginative young man, he can probably deduce what it means. Still, at least things are more normal for him? At any rate, the dour teen was looking about the market area without really looking at anything, seemingly just taking in the sights for a few moments. Finally, he spoke again.


"Let's go for whichever clothing stall is more tucked away, and/or can lead to a full hidden door. I think the one more toward the market's center can do that. Probably underground tunnels?"

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"I hope so.  I haven't been inside spooky tunnels in a while.  Bad guys just don't a taste for the theatrics when they're not wearing costumes.  So sad."  Erick replied while following along as they made their trek to the most isolated stall.  The wares were different punk rock clothing and for some reason whiskey themed shirts.  The Russian American gave the owner a once over before smiling and dropping to one knee pretending as if he was picking up something off the ground.  On his way up he calmly set a wallet on the booth of the stall


<"Oh excuse me sir, I couldn't help but notice you dropped this.  Believe me, I know how difficult it is too lose something important.  I once lost an invitation to a private party.  Was running around all day trying to find out if anyone could get me on the list.  But, no one would return my calls.  When I finally showed up, the darndest thing happened.  The doorman just let me in.">


The owner was a hefty man of short stature in his mid fifties.  He was balding, but combed his hair in such as way as to poorly resist the ravages of time.  He didn't say a word while opening the wallet, finding it stuffed with hundred dollar bills, making it all the more difficult to gauge if he understood the implication of what was being said.  Before finally simply nodding and pointing to a nearby outdoor changing room.  Essentially looking like a poorly constructed shed that could fit one person at a time.

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"Hm. I think there's an even chance of one of those big, severe, scary-looking desks showing up before we're done. You know, the one they can have a bit swivel chair behind to dramatically turn around in?"


Before he could invoke cliches further, they made it to the clothing stand. Alek made sure to pay absolutely no attention to the blatant bribing...that is, return of a lost wallet...that was going on. Instead, he carefully, casually browsed the visible wares at the stall, nodding to himself without manhandling anything. When the changing room was indicated, he simply looked over to Erick, eyebrow raised. Slowly, he made an "after you" gesture, before turning and giving the shop owner a polite smile. 

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Inside of the changing room was a full length mirror and a cardboard box.  The contents of which was a wide assortment of luchador masks.  Once the pair donned masks and stared into the mirror they were gone.  No time for one's eyes to even settle on the reflections looking back at them.  In that moment Erick and Alek were sitting on a bench.


There surroundings appeared to be an abandoned warehouse with stadium seating.  Aside from a spotlight focused on the center of the room, the area had no actual lighting.  In fact, there was nary a window in sight.  Walls were plastered with graffiti, some of which had been painted over likely in an attempt to make the location look more presentable.


There were multiple broken down high rise platforms, rusty ladders, and dust covered barrels adding to the general ambiance in view.  If the decor bothered anyone, they certainly didn't let it show.  There were at least one hundred other masked persons inside the warehouse.  All waiting.

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Aleksander had easily donned the luchador mask that he'd picked out, one that, perhaps ironically, had a draconic flair to its decorations. If it brought back memories he'd rather forget, Erick couldn't tell. Instead, the young vigilante had just silently waited for his partner in crime-fighting to don his mask before opening the door for him. Once through, he fell in a step and a half behind and to the right of Erick, his posture shifting a bit to be...not quite a bodyguard, but the air of someone more interested in staying aware than conducting business. Let these others think what they would, he'd just stand there silently. 


After all, he really did want to make sure he had a very, very good idea of the layout. 

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