You decide to risk it. To be a hero. You break from your cover and, firing your weapon, run toward where the enemies are taking cover. You trip over a corpse, but instead of face-planting, you manage to roll on the ground, and your hands collide with the AK you wanted to reach. You grab the weapon, stand up, and with your heart galloping, you unload lead onto the socialists. The barrel screams. You scream. You attack almost without aiming, and luck leads you to gun down one, two, three, four green-and-red bastards.
A gunshot echoes and strikes your shoulder. Two more follow, hitting your arm and your abdomen, knocking you to the floor. The AK falls beside you. Your blurry vision remains fixed on the ceiling. Is this how you will die...?
Your eyes cloud over...
Darkness.
You wake up in a well-lit white room. It takes you a minute to realize, given the equipment and how pristine everything is, that you are lying in a hospital bed. The machines signal your recovery, and a man in a hat and trench coat invades your sanctuary. You recognize him; he is the agent you noticed on the train. He walks over to your side and speaks in such an amiable manner that the words seem spoken by a person hiding behind his back.
"You crossed the Rubicon and lived to tell the tale. Congratulations, son."
He extends his black leather-gloved hand. It's difficult, but you manage to shake it. His grip is firm, or perhaps your weakened state amplifies his touch. Sensing your discomfort, he releases your stiff fingers.
"There were many brave passengers on that train. But you were the only one who managed to open your eyes, if you know what I mean."
You swallow hard. The agent lets out a dry chuckle that sounds sinister to your ears.
"This is for you, a souvenir. When you have kids, it will help you tell them the story."
He leaves a pistol whose red surface you recognize on your bedside table. It's the Trejo.
"You have what it takes to protect the nation. You will receive news from us soon... Have a good afternoon."
With a tone hovering ambiguously between compliment and threat, the agent withdraws, making way for a girl who takes you a moment to recognize without her attendant uniform. Melody gives you a smile as sweet as honey.
"I told the nurses I was a relative of yours so I could visit you, I hope you don't mind."
Her frankness, her image, her everything is refreshing. Even more so coming from a brush with death and with Estrada's phantasmagorical agent. You share a smile with Melody, feeling that it is the beginning of a beautiful friendship... And who knows? Maybe something deeper.
Ending 5: National Security.