[hr] It was the smell of Calder City that always woke him. Not the sound. Not the light. The scene. That unique concoction of smoke, salt water and something he never could quite figure out. [url=https://64.media.tumblr.com/46bf46313bf7fd9641d15fa55cd9c412/af08c2a2a44b18d6-98/s1280x1920/579b5ae99d0cec5032f6ff481bdb4e62ae9f7098.jpg]Rafael Garza[/url] climbed out of the bed slowly, like men of his vintage of fifty one often do. Years of aches and pains finally catching up to him. He did not mind getting older, it was nature's way of providing a new challenge different to the impetuousness and energy of youth. Like most mornings, his shoulder was giving him the worst of the pain but he wore it like a badge of honour, a scar of his time representing his country as a goalkeeper for Mexico. Still, that was another life, another time. He started his morning as he always did. He said a prayer to the Lord and then one to the picture of his father that hung on the wall on his side of the bed. His wife had already gotten up and gone to work. She never could be tempted to stay in bed any longer than what was required; her work was too important to her and Rafe understood that. Her passion and drive were simply two of the many of thousands of things that he loved about her. The mirror reflected his moustachioed face back at him and he smiled at the reflection as the little tuft of grey at the front of hair stuck up. Something in the air made him think it was going to be a good day, he wasn’t exactly sure why. His dark eyes drifted to the nearby window as outside, dawn had only just begun to colour Calder City’s skyline. The neighbourhood was quiet and respectable. The sort of suburb where children still rode bicycles and neighbours knew each other’s names. Rafael liked it that way. After his shower, he dressed himself impeccably as he always did. He adorned himself in a beautifully pinstriped white shirt and grey slacks. Like is dear Abuela used to say, “Appearances are everything.” He descended the stairs before slipping into the leather shoes which sat at the bottom of them. Time for breakfast. He turned on the radio to listen to DreamWave FM, his favourite station. It only played retro eighties classics, what could be better? By the time the kettle boiled, Rafael already kneaded dough he’d prepared the night before into neat rounds, pressing each one flat before laying them into a hot pan.The smell of fresh arepas filled the kitchen, as did the amazing vocals of Luther Vandross on “Never Too Much.” Only then did little footsteps thunder across the landing above. “Dad!” A blur of pyjamas launched itself down the stairs. Rafael caught his youngest daughter before gravity had the chance. [color=E0A200]“Easy, Mercedes. I’m too old and you’re getting too big.”[/color] Another pair of footsteps appeared, slower this time. His eldest son wandered into the kitchen, headphones around his neck and school tie hanging untied. “Mornin’.” Rafael nodded toward the tie. [color=E0A200]“You know how, Esteban.”[/color] “I know.” [color=E0A200]“So why am I still looking at it?”[/color] The boy sighed dramatically. Within minutes the kitchen had become chaotic. Lunchboxes flying everywhere. Homework sitting half undone. One missing shoe. Even arguments over orange juice. Domestic bliss. And for Rafael it was normal, wonderfully normal. By seven-thirty the children were climbing into the family SUV. Rafael looked at each of them before pulling away. [color=E0A200]“Rules?”[/color] His daughter groaned. “Dad…” [color=E0A200]“Humour me.”[/color] She rolled her eyes. “Be kind.” His son continued. “Work hard.” His daughter smiled. “And always come home.” Rafe nodded. [color=E0A200]“Exactly.”[/color] The school gates buzzed with parents and teachers. Rafael crouched beside his daughter. [color=E0A200]“You’ve got your spelling test.”[/color] “I know.” [color=E0A200]“You’ll do brilliantly.”[/color] He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. [color=E0A200]”And if you don’t, then we’ll just practice some more and be ready for the next one.”[/color] She smiled. “I love you.” [color=E0A200]“I love you more, caramia.”[/color] Mercedes laughed as she ran toward the school entrance. His son climbed out next. “Dad? “You coming to my match Saturday?” Rafe didn’t hesitate. [color=E0A200]“I wouldn’t miss it.”[/color] The teenager nodded, pretending not to care. It mattered anyway. He watched both children disappear through the gates before returning to the car. Only then did his smile fade. Not because he became someone else but because another part of his day had begun. Calder Metropolitan Hospital occupied six city blocks. By eight-fifteen Rafe was wearing a white laboratory coat, surgical gloves, and an identification badge that identified him as: [b]Dr. Rafael Garza Consultant Forensic Pathologist[/b] The morgue smelled faintly of disinfectant and steel. Exactly as he preferred. “Morning, Doctor.” His assistant handed over a tablet. “Male. Thirty-four. Possible overdose.” Rafael accepted it with a nod. [color=E0A200]“No obvious trauma?”[/color] “None.” He approached the stainless-steel table. The deceased lay peacefully beneath a white sheet. Rafael pulled it back with the quiet respect he’d afforded every patient for nearly fifteen years; living or dead. [color=E0A200]“They all deserve dignity,”[/color] he’d once told a medical student. He still believed it. He began the examination. The scalpel moved with astonishing precision, with every incision exact and every observation dictated into a recorder. Then he paused. A single droplet of blood rested beside the incision. It should have remained perfectly still. Instead… It rolled. Against gravity. His assistant looked away, busy updating paperwork. No one noticed. Rafael raised one gloved finger and the droplet floated into the air where it then divided. One became two. Two became eight. Tiny crimson spheres orbited one another in perfect silence, hanging above the body like a miniature solar system. Rafe studied them thoughtfully. The blood was speaking. Telling him everything. High cortisol. Trace narcotics. Elevated adrenaline. Microscopic haemorrhaging invisible to conventional tests. He closed his hand gently and the droplets merged once more before settling back exactly where they had begun. No evidence remained. His assistant looked up. “Anything unusual?” Rafael removed his gloves. [color=E0A200]“No.”[/color] he said before waiting a beat. [color=E0A200]“Cause of death is consistent with accidental overdose.”[/color] The assistant nodded, making notes. “I’ll notify the detective.” Rafe watched the covered body for another moment. His expression softened. [color=E0A200]“So young.”[/color] He drew the sheet respectfully back over the man’s face. [color=E0A200]“Let’s make sure his family gets the answers they seek.”[/color] He meant it. Every word. An hour later, alone in his office, the pathologist unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. Inside sat a polished wooden box. Nothing about it appeared remarkable. He opened it anyway. Nestled within the velvet lining rested a black and gold luchador mask. He picked it up, holding it against the morning sunlight streaming through the window. A thing of beauty. Rafael glanced back down at the box and what had been hidden beneath the mask; a single vial of glowing orange liquid; King’s Blood, [i]his blood[/i]. More and more dead Gray’s were coming to him and the blood was always flowing to the point it almost felt like it was an endless supply. It was all he really needed to keep the plan in motion The next phase was already in motion. Wicklow was under his and by association the Cartel’s grasp. It was the perfect foothold for them to begin the expansion of King’s Blood into other territories. Rafael had already begun developing through lines. There was going to be pushback, probably from the likes of the Raciti’s but that was ok. He’d offer a hand in friendship first. If they didn’t take it? Well then what happens would be their own doing. He carefully returned the mask to its box, locking the drawer as he went. Rafe straightened his lab coat and walked from the office with the same gentle professionalism that had made him one of Calder’s most respected pathologists. No one he passed looked at him twice. No one suspected. Because monsters, Rafael had learned long ago; rarely looked like monsters. [center][hr][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/260621/e286a1de.png[/img][hr][/center]