Xoc Couoh felt pretty good. Sure, he detested what the uniform he wore represented, but there was a pride in having the cleanest, neatest clothes in the barracks - maybe the whole town. His hair was nicely pomaided into a respectable swoop in the style of the rich school boys of Veracruz. Sure, he would never get to live that life, as far as he knew, no indigenous boys got to live that life no matter how lucky, but it was a nice dream to live in.

He zips up the street, giving the bell on his bike a smart ring to shift a wagon out of the way. He weaves deftly through the traffic of the small city that, in his mind, is his kingdom - his bell his harald, his uniform his decree, and his pistols his sword.

The fantasy came to a grinding halt as the gate of the military base loomed. He quickly slips off of the bike, standing on one pedal until he could cruise down to a walking speed. The guards at the gate give him the once over, then wave him through with an eyeroll like a trebuchet against his castle. He perches the bike against the back of the guardpost and draws a neatly folded letter from the basket.

“Captain Fernandez de Vega de Granada y Lopez!” Xoc announces, standing at attention just outside the flap of the largest tent in the camp. The captain lifts the curtain, then turns to the Americans waiting inside with a raised finger to ask for their patience. They wave him away, then turn to confer with the rest of the occupants of the tent. Xoc catches a glimpse of the twins he hates so much, as well as a man in a general’s uniform he doesn’t recognize - all before the flap closes behind the captain.

“What is it?” The man snaps sharply and Xoc comes back from his thoughts with a neat salute. He hands over the letter and is given another in return with the instruction “give it to the shop on the north side, they’ll know what to do. It’s the usual supply order. Make sure they receive it this time, I won’t hear that they didn’t see it this time.”

In his mind, Xoc has his sword, like the great and powerful knights the missionary had told his village of. In his mind, he drives the sword through the evil emperor who kept the keys to his kingdom. Xoc knew prison awaited if he gave up his uniform. Maybe it would be worth it. Maybe he’d see his parents again.

The Captain opens his letter, then glances at Xoc with confusion. “Well? Go!”

The boy startles and gives a hurried salute. The Captain rolls his eyes and returns to his tent. His oh, so flammable tent. In Xoc’s mind, none inside would be able to bother him again

Xoc sighs and remounts his metal-and-rubber horse. He would never have true freedom, not here, but it was a nice fantasy to live in. His mind wanders again, leaving his body to ride through town to the general store. In his mind, he’s infiltrating enemy lands to deliver a secret message. He circles the store and leans his bike against the back, tucking it away in an alley so no horse-thieves could find it. He creeps around to the front, past imaginary guards and into the secret entrance - the front door.

His heavy boots clatter loudly on the hardwood floor, despite his stealthy imaginings. He doesn’t see his “contact”, so he begins to circle the room, creeping about as he lets his imagination get the better of him. He even takes time to read the secret message he ferries by holding it up to a light sifting through the rafters above. It only contains an order for food, bullets, and bread - and little more of interest.

A glitter in a case catches his eye and he approaches the impeccable glass. Inside, a delicate stiletto knife rests on a stand, the plaque under it proudly proclaiming it a product of “Chekhov and Gun’s” weapon manufacturers. He admires the piece of foreign weaponry for a long moment before a sharp voice draws him from his fantasy.

The shopkeeper snaps her fingers at him and he hastily scoots over. He hands the order over and says “The usual, to the usual place, béet - ah uh… Por favor!”

The shopkeeper waves him away dismissively and he obliges. Xoc is almost out of the door when a word slaps him in the back of the head. It is a familiar word, one used against him and his people with uncomfortable regularity, yet every time it hurts a little more. He braces himself, then continues out the door and around the building to the back.

As he passes the window, he notices a few things in quick succession. He notices the shopkeeper draw a pack of American cigarettes from under the counter. He notices her head out of the front door, locking it behind her. But most of all, he noticed a thin gap in the wooden walls. A few boards had fallen away, revealing how the light had shown through the rafters previously.

A smile sneaks its way onto his face and back off again, determination taking its place. He watches through the window as the shopkeeper steps to the other side of the building and into a small garden to smoke. As soon as she is out of sight, he begins to furiously kick his boots off. He tucks them next to his bike, then quickly scales the building, easily fitting his thin frame through the gap.

He may not have the stature of a great knight, but a clandestine British spy was the next best thing. He creeps through the rafters, over the back room and into the main shop area. With barely a sound, he drops down to the floor.

Setting traps comes second nature to him and in a quick moment, he has a tripwire of yarn stolen from a bin near the back. It's harmless, but the satisfaction he gets from it is second to none. He starts to creep back out when a familiar glitter catches his eye once more.

“Níib óolal.” Xoc whispers, jimmying the case open without a second thought. He grabs the knife and it’s matching sheath from the case, puts a cheaper knife from a lower shelf in its place, and closes the door. A quick jump from the counter and scramble through the rafters and he emerges back into the street.

He slips his boots back on and begins to tighten the laces when something whistles past his head to bury itself in the wooden wall. He ducks, looking with shock at the near miss, then over to the source.

Across the street, deep within the opposite alley, a young woman with a blue-black bandana over her face leaps over a barrel. Her pistol is drawn and she fires a stream of cusses in his direction. The voice rings familiar in the back of his mind but he's too busy leaping onto his bike to examine the feeling. He turns down a busy street, slipping the knife into his pocket, and passes a confused shopkeeper with a key in the lock.

“Dammit!” Adelita cries in frustration, breaking out into a run behind the escaping bike. She shakes out her gun hand as she runs, trying to clear the persistent tingling in her fingertips.

“Don’t shoot in the crowd!” Teo warns her through labored breath, barely able to keep a running pace, let alone catch up. “And don’t… Don’t attract the whole… the whole army eh?”

The words fall on near deaf ears. Adelita clears a cart the young soldier only barely swerved around and nearly manages to grab his neatly pressed collar. He slips from her grasp, forced to turn down a side-alley by a clogged street of curious onlookers. She turns into the alley and fires again, barely missing the boy once more, instead, shooting a burnt-out building that seems to cap the alley at a dead-end.

“I’ve got you ratton!” Adelita crows victoriously, “Nowhere to run!”

She is quickly proven wrong as he bounces off of the adjoining wall and deftly clambers over the soot-covered barrier. She curses once more and, after two pained attempts, she manages to follow him through the collapsed thatch roof.

Adelita lands on the dirt floor, her boots crunching loudly on brittle, collapsed beams. She’s alone in the single-room building. She turns slowly in place, defeat creeping its way into her shoulders as she regards the three other streets the boy could have escaped down.

Doroteo bursts in through a door set in a wall leading to in a different alley than she’d come from, breaking the splintered structure off from the wall in the process.

“Lost... him?”

“What does it look like?” She spits out venomously. She tries to climb one of the other two walls, but the soot is simply too slippery on this side.

“Looks like... he went to heaven.” Teo retorts breathlessly.

Adelita turns to regard him with confusion and he gestures to the center of the square. A pair of boots sit, half laced, pristine in the center of the destruction. Suddenly, Teo draws his gun, but he’s too late.

“Don’t move!” a high, clear voice says behind Adelita. A stiletto knife glints against her dark skin, easily drawing a bead of blood with little force. “Or she dies!”

“Again?” Teo sasses, though he slowly raises his hands anyway.

“Máaxech? Who are you?” Xoc demands, first in Mayan, then correcting himself in Spanish, “What do you mean ‘again’?”

Adelita slowly reaches a hand up to pull down her bandana, growling, “Remember me?”

The knife falls away from her throat. He pushes her away, his eyes searching her face in disbelief. “I do… I mean, I think I do. You were the last one, right? In Campeche? Dios mio you’ve… I’m so...”

“The same.” She says, “And don’t bother, apologies get you nowhere.”

“Hey, hold on,” Teo cuts in, his expression cloudy, “you do know we’re here to kill you, eh?”

“Of course, you’re here to avenge your… well, not a fallen kingdom so much as… your… face.” He trails off awkwardly, sheathing his knife.

“Well, if you’re alright with it.” Adelita says, her hand moving to her belt quickly.

“Ah, no!” He says hastily, holding out a hand, “Let me join you!”

Teo and Adelita exchange looks of disbelief. In unison, they blurt out “Que?”

“Let me join you!” He grins, the light in his eyes growing slightly manic, “Every knight needs a squire, right? Here, sorry for cutting you.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and holding it out to her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he suddenly felt less like a king and more like a damsel.

The two assailants exchange glances once more, a silent conversation taking place purely through the eyes. Their conversation is cut short as a third party, Adelita’s stomach, voices it’s objections.

“Are you hungry?” Xoc offered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “I know a place where none of the other soldiers go.”

Adelita steps forward, taking the handkerchief and presses it to the cut.

The noise in the tiny cantina is nearly unbearable. Groups huddle in every corner, loudly arguing and laughing and living ignorant of the conspiracies being brewed in their midst. The three sit around a small table crammed in a small alcove clearly meant for half as many chairs.

Doroteo and Xoc sit opposite each other, their hands wrapped around their respective cups and the knuckles white with their grip. They stare each other down, a battle of wills that Xoc is quickly losing. To Teo’s side, Adelita gorges herself on beans and rice, heedless of the tension.

“Tell me again.” Teo demands, breaking the silence. “Convince me this time.”

“I hate them just as much as you do and I feel bad for what I’ve done. Simple as that, really.” Xoc replies, his thumbs rolling against his cup. “This is my chance to… right things, I guess.”

“Convenient.” Teo retorts and Xoc shrugs.

“I mean it. I know I’m on the wrong side and this is it, this is my chance to cross over.”

“Why didn’t you do it earlier, when it mattered? When the right side had the advantage, eh?”

“It was join or go to prison with the rest of my people. My parents, they told me to join, told me to kill Carranza for them if I get close enough.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Adelita cuts in through a mouthful of food.

“Because I don’t trust him!” Teo exclaims.

“Exactly!” Xoc retorts, “No one will trust me now, now that I’m…”

He gestures to his uniform, then continues, “And if I cross, they’ll execute me if they ever catch me.”

“Oh no.” Adelita replies bluntly.

Xoc ducks his head, wincing slightly. “Sorry… but you know what I mean, right? I’m one guy -”

“One kid.” Adelita quips under her breath.

“I’m 23, thank you.”

Adelita chokes on her meal, coughing heartily in surprise. Teo thumps her on the back with a chuckle. She points a ripped piece of tortilla at the turncoat inquisitorial,“You’re older than me?”

Xoc shrugs, smiling wryly. The tension in the alcove lifts, if only by a small degree, but it's enough. Doroteo gestures to a woman making tortillas by a chiminea and calls for a bottle of their worst liquor.

“I just want to see my family again and…” Xoc says. A bottle appears before Teo and he flicks the cap off to pour a foul smelling drink into his tin mug. Xoc adds under his breath, “... and… and be a hero.”

Teo snorts into his drink, then downs it. “I don’t like it. I say we finish the job and move on. We found him easy… can’t be that hard to find the rest, neh?”

“Oh, of course! I know where a few people are, actually!” Xoc exclaims, apparently relieved to contribute.

“Prove it.” Teo retorts. Xoc opens his mouth to answer.

“Do you like fishing?” Adelita cuts in, her eyes narrow and a spoon pointed like a dagger in his direction. Xoc halts mid-thought.

“I… I haven’t tried, to be honest,” Xoc ventures slowly, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “ but it… It’s always sounded nice? This missionary who used to come to my village, he told us stori-”

“Good enough,” Adelita replies curtly, drawing a shaking head from Teo. He forgoes the cup to take a long pull straight from the bottle. The two younger people watch in amazement as half the bottle vanishes in seconds.

“This is going to get us both killed.” Teo growls, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“He wouldn’t dare.” Adelita retorts, amused. She locks eyes with Xoc and reaches across the table to scoop some beans off of his plate with a tortilla. Xoc opens his mouth to argue, then quickly glances away. “See?”

Adelita points her tortilla across the table once more, this time with all the authority of a scepter, rather than a blade, “Tomorrow morning he takes us right to that puta who put his hands on me.”