[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://cdn.movieweb.com/img.news.tops/NEvyrxPbk7zLyD_2_b/Inmate-Number-1-Movie-Danny-Trejo-Documentary.jpg[/img][hr][b] [color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] La Hacienda 
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A[hr][hr][/center]

	Today was not a good day. That much was obvious. Burying your only daughter (ok, only legitimate daughter of which he was aware) never made for a pleasant day, ever. Nor were the days leading up to it. Come to think of it, the last decent day he had involved him waking up from a crappy dream where zombies were gnawing on him, right before the chick from Resident Evil put a blade into him as a mercy killing. He was tired, he was hungover, and he kicked down the door to his baby girl's apartment with a machete and bottle of tequila in his boxers and fuzzy bunny slippers. Someone died that day, too. Someone always dies. It was just the way things happened. It was a piss-poor excuse for a decent existence, one he hoped to spare his children. Well, he failed that one, too. His daughter died because of his life's decisions. Now he was dragging his brother, his niece, and his ex-wife into it. Well, he wasn't dragging his niece, persay. It was more of her decision based upon a world in which his actions colored the options and skewed the concept of [i]normal[/i] horribly. People died because of Caesar. That was also how things worked. It was why few people remained close to him for very long. People die. 

	Now, if he could just figure out where to lay the blade, several more were about to. Ones that deserved it this time. Caesar strolled through the crowd of people viewing his M'hija, the press of people politely parting to allow him access to wherever he needed to go. Where he went was straight over to a table laden with the gifts and trinkets that the guests had left for the family. He selected a very large and nasty looking machete, just because he thought it was pretty ad he felt like holding something sharp. Cleared his head, like meditation. Likewise, this is why he also selected a bottle of decent mescal. There was a chair toward the side of the viewing area, a couple of them actually, reserved for persons of honor like Caesar and Maria. He selected one, settled into it, and removed the top to his bottle. Blade in one hand, bottle in the other, Caesar began to get his mind right for what was to come after. 

	[i]Meanwhile, back upstairs...[/i]

	"Shit. Shit shit shit. And... shit." Not the most eloquent speech ever given by the young lady, but she was a touch pressed for time at the moment. Her fingers worked over the keyboard like a woman possessed, eyes twitching this way and that on her screen. Details, damnit, details. Thalia could barely keep up with the countermeasure that Alicia had safeguarded her drive with. She was in the middle of a stalemate with the programming, one that seemed to be slowly shifting the way of the virus. "God damnit, you bitch..." she whispered, hoping Alicia's spirit was present for her to hear. "You're going to fry my system over a message you [i]wanted[/i] me to get. You can go eat a spectral dick."