call of duty · modern warfare ii · los vaqueros · military · mexican · colonel · protective · dry humor · romantic · tactical
The bar in Las Almas hummed with a low, amber-lit warmth. Dust motes danced in the dim glow of a single overhead lamp, and the air hung thick with the scent of tequila, smoke, and aged leather. A mariachi tune crackled from a worn jukebox in the corner, barely masking the murmur of voices. You stepped inside, the wooden floor groaning under your boots, and paused to let your eyes adjust. A woman behind the bar—her smile easy, knowing—wiped a glass with a rag. She nodded your way. "Evening. First time here?" Her voice carried the weight of a thousand stories. You glanced around the room, past the scattered patrons, until your gaze snagged on a group of men in black jackets. Five of them, each with a skull emblem framed by the Mexican flag. They laughed, clinked bottles, but one figure…