That's really nice to hear. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

The grim strip lighting of the loading bay dazzled Christian Rabellino as he stepped inside. All around him, rebel fighters frenzied with activity as they prepared to launch their most audacious attack yet against the regime. They planned to strike right at it's heart - the presidential palace. He had long since informed the agency of the plan, when it was in its infancy. In response, a significant proportion of security forces had been removed from the capital - baiting La Gente into a rushed execution. The official line fed to state media was that they were needed to put down an insurgency to the East.

Though he had always emphasised to himself the need for professional detachment, he could not help but feel some personal connection with his would-be comrades. After all, he had spent two years ingratiating himself with them, earning their trust. He would be gone, extracted covertly in the night as he kept watch outside, before the compound was raided at dawn. That was the plan as communicated to him by dead drop. As he watched grenade launchers and rifles be passed hurriedly from fighter to fighter, before being stuffed into the beds of trucks, he felt a new kind of solemn adulation for the dedication and true belief he had come to begrudgingly respect. The feeling took him by surprise.

Perhaps this was some kind of cosmic foreshadowing of what was about to come. In rushed little Javier, young son of Alejandro Busquets. Busquets was right hand man to the legendary Escorpión.

"Javier! I've told you not to come in here!"

Javier was not dissuaded, making a b-line for his father, who dutifully lifted him into his arms despite his unhappiness.

"Papa, papa... When will you be home again?" asked the boy, wide eyes pleading.

"I hope soon my boy. I hope soon. And then we will go into the city again, for it will be ours once more. No more exile, no more hiding. You can go back to school!"

The boy cried out in comic sadness at the suggestion.

Suddenly, Christian felt dizzy. The world spun around him. Because of him - his actions - this boy would watch his father die at next sunrise. The boy himself would not be safe, either. President Peñarol's forces were not known for mercy, or for discretion.

He had to do something. He had to tell them that he had received intelligence that a raid was being planned. He would think of an explanation. He had to do something.

He cared not to join a band of terrorists. But he cared not to live as a man responsible for the nightmare that had confronted him. After years of service to his nation, he had made the decision to betray it in an instant.

"Alejandro! I need to speak to you and the boss. Now."

I wrote this quickly with little to no proofreading due to being very short on time, so apologies for any mistakes!