The Opening

The sun's warm light glimmers off the surface of a stark white prop plane soaring over a vast cerulean ocean. The skies are bright blue and the clouds minimal, all factoring into optimal flight conditions. The plane had taken off from a private strip of land in Costa Rica a couple of hours ago; its occupants important 'guests' to Paraiso, the biggest of the Islas Del Tortuga which dot the sparkling blue ocean in shades of lush green.

The Islas Del Tortuga are part of a bigger archipelago of Sanctum Asylum which were undergoing some internal strife between a local CIA backed drug lord and a former KGB agent who occupied much of the islands surrounding Tortuga's chain. The plane buckles gently from mild turbulence, but it does not fail to correct itself as it soars over a stretch of jungle below.

Closer to its destination, the plane's landing gear deploy and soon bounce upon a mostly muddy runway. After a few tense moments, the plane gradually comes to a crawl and taxi's onto the only bit of pavement in this isolated jungle paradise. Once the plane stills, the hatch hisses open and is pushed down by the plane's minimal staff. Immediately a well dressed and groomed man with light ginger hair in a suit descends from the hatch. He is followed by a scruffy man with long brown hair, a baseball cap too small for him and hawaiian shirt over long sleeves. Both are ushered through the mud towards a 4x4 piloted by a man with thick brown, curly hair with aviators who is flanked by military looking men in green:



The curly haired man waves them over. "¡Oye! ¡Por aquí! Bienvenido a Paraíso, llámame Jorge. De ahora en adelante, seré tu guía." replied Jorge, who worked for the 'former' drug lord of these isles, Ernesto Salazar; also known as 'De Tortuga' or Turtle, for his longevity and being shielded from harm after so many death attempts on his life.
Jorge lowered his aviators and raised a brow. "¿Qué? ¿No hablas español? how about English then? C'mon, stop dickin' around gringos, I don't have all day." Explained the sighing guide in the muddy off road 4x4.

The sharply dressed man who pushed away flight attendants on the private prop plane's stairwell hurriedly made his way to the off road vehicle ahead of him. "George Espinoza, eh? You're one of Ernesto's guys right?" the pompous man called out to the man with the aviators behind the wheel of the 4x4. This pompous man was tall, with light reddish brown hair and green eyes. A prominent scar down the right side of his lip and a bandage covering the bridge of his nose. He wore a very elegant suit that had seen better days, with mud now clinging to the lower end of the pant legs and his leather loafers. He looked very distressed at this as he crossed the muddy airfield to the vehicle. "Rufus Devlin Harris Junior, and my associate Mr. DeLuka," Rufus introduced himself and his partner, who looked more in place with his hawaiian shirt and generally better suited clothing for the jungle. "Your boss has a funny way of showing us the red carpet, having us fly in the armpit of the Caribbean in a plane older than me that still reeks of skunk weed from your guys last smuggling job!" He complained. "It was cramped, my feet hurt, my back aches head feels like its gonna roll off! I figured he'd send us something more... luxurious? I'm not sendin' him fuckin' American and Ruskie guns just to fly in the back of a cargo plane! Jesus Christ on a fuckin' stick!" Spat the disgruntled fleeing criminal.

"Jorge Espinoza, gringo. You are both lucky to still be in Don Salazar's favor after what Senior DeLuka did in '93! So sorry the flight was not to your liking perra, next time we'll send the jetliner with the five star buffet and with the sign: 'I'm a fleeing criminal!' hanging off the back, eh? I'll put a word in with my manager!" replied Jorge Espinoza, the man that would bridge the gap between the Americanos and Don Salazar. Salazar since his introduction to the CIA has been more lenient towards the Americans as it puts him in a better position against that KGB dropout who ran the majority of the archipelago to the north.

"Just get in the jeep, we are burning daylight! Can't you feel that storm approaching, cabron? C'mon, let's get movin' already! ¡Rápidamente!" he tapped the side of the vehicle repeatedly.