For the most part, it was a pretty average day in Mexico City. The temperature was standard for late December, and there wasn't too much wind batting the American news reporter. The sunset painted the sky in the same emotionally stimulating way as the previous day. All things considered, it was a beautiful evening.

Well, almost all things considered.

Explosions and gunfire filled the city on a scale the reporter had never heard. The quiet night Mother Nature had arranged was never going to happen. Some psychotic Austrian man had forbidden it.

"What's the status throughout the city?" he asked one of his cameramen, who had been closely watching local news stations. The cameraman peered over his shoulder with sorrow.

"You're not gonna like this, Mike," he said, pointing at the screen. A Nazi flag was flying above the Mexican capitol building. "It sounds like they pretty much effortlessly took over. Local news is paranoid that they're the next targets."

"The son of a gun was right," the reporter frustratedly acknowledged. "Okay, here's the deal. The two of us are going to try and make it over to the rest of the group in the broadcast building. We can't take our equipment without it weighing us down, so we'll have to suffer with one camera and the backup microphone. Also, here's this."

Mike pulled a pistol out of his left shoe and tossed it over to the cameraman. He grabbed himself another pistol from his other shoe and made sure it was loaded. "Keep your safety on while we're in here, but out there, shoot anything with a red armband. Clear?"

"How did you get these through customs?" his cameraman questioned, shocked that the reporter had not one, but two, pistols.

"Let's just say I know a couple of people. As soon as you're ready, we're heading out."

The cameraman nervously stood up and turned the small box television off. The building they were currently in, a compact diner along a small road just outside the city, spit dust every time an explosion rocked the air around them. The owners of the diner had left less than half an hour ago in an attempt to help fight against the invading force.

Mike and the cameraman were slowly walking towards the front of the building until the lobby door swung open. A Nazi in a full black uniform entered, pistol raised. Mike immediately aimed and fired, landing a shot square in the chest.

"I thought you said we were keeping our safety on!" The cameraman howled, his voice rising in pitch.

"No, I said you need to keep your safety on. You're not the trained gun expert here, I am."

"Then why don't you use both of the pistols?"

"Alright, fine. Give it back, then."

With both pistols in his hands, Mike led the way out of the diner and downtown. The cameraman stopped to pick up the dead Nazi's gun along the way, despite just having given up the other pistol.

"We move undercover, and we move as one. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," the cameraman replied, giving a sloppy salute.

"It's been a while since I've heard that," Mike chuckled.

-=[ ]=-

The duo inched their way through part of the city, taking back roads and alleys to avoid being found by any large groups of enemies. They were trying to reach the broadcast building of one of the largest Mexican radio and television enterprises, where the rest of their crew was stationed. From there, the reporter reasoned that he could take over for himself, or at least send some important messages.

Unfortunately, getting closer to the broadcast station meant getting closer to the National Palace, which also meant getting closer to the Nazi hub. They were finding it harder to navigate without having to stop for a patrol squad to pass by. Mike worried that someone had already raided the building. If so, they were on their own, and there was no way two men could take on a building full of Nazis.

At least, not with this guy. Another trained gunman, like his actual partner, might be able to.

After a grueling half an hour of slipping behind enemy lines, the two finally made it to the rear end of the building. They found a back door and quietly snaked inside, carefully shutting it behind them. All the lights in the building were off. He hoped that meant the crew had already bailed or were silently hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce on any intruders.

"Is anyone here?" he called out, unable to see more than a foot in front of him. Receiving no response, he flipped on a light attached to the bottom of his pistol's barrel. The cone of light revealed that there was no sign of a struggle, but also no sign of his crew.

The two swept the entire floor prior to moving up the stairs and searching the next. The cameraman followed him, mimicking almost every move. Even though there were windows on the second floor to help illuminate the rooms, going door-to-door hunting for anybody hiding in the building still felt eerie. In the distance, a few random blasts continuously contrasted against the darkening sky.

The second floor also offered no sign of his crew. He approached the stairs to the third floor, but stopped as a head peeked around the corner above him.

"Who's down there?" it asked, revealing a pistol. Mike ducked backwards, angling himself behind the wall. The voice sounded American and vaguely familiar, but he wasn't taking any chances.

"I'm Mike, an American reporter," he responded. "Who are you?"

"Mike? Holy cow, we figured you were a goner."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"I'm here too, guys," the cameraman added.

"We all moved up here when the city first started shaking," a second head explained, popping up from behind a makeshift barricade. "With the way it is outside, you'd think the world was ending."

"I'd hate to be that guy, but there's a very good chance that the world is ending," Mike posited, rushing over to a recording room. He flipped a couple of switches, powering on the systems. "I'm going to call for help. Stay low and don't make any noise."

As soon as he sat down, an alarm blared on the first floor.

"That sounds like the metal detector up front," one crewmember commented.

"They're already in the building," Mike realized. "Okay, we've gotta make this as quick as possible. One of you should take this and fire down the stairs as soon as they reveal themselves. I'll help the instant my phone call is over."

He tossed a pistol at the group and turned back towards the equipment in front of him. With just a small dial turn, he switched to a wireless phone network. There was only one person to call.

Each second that the phone line rang brought an unbearable moment of uncertainty. He'd risked everything to come to the building, rescue his crew, and to use the phone line. His plan had better work.

After the third ring, yelling could be heard from the second floor. It was definitely German. His leg bounced nervously, and he prayed that the line would be picked up.

Another ring. The crew at the top of the stairs opened fire, shooting at a squad of Nazis on the floor below. The sound of a machine gun from below ripped through the halls. He was running on borrowed time.

The fifth ring was cut short, and a voice answered on the other end. "Hello? Who is this? How did you get this number?"

"Oh my God," Mike exclaimed. "Ike, it's Agent Mike. They're here. I should be able to get out of here, but I can't guarantee a lot more than that. See if you can get me any aid, and pronto."

"Goodness, Mike," Ike remarked. "I told you not to go downtown!"

"You also knew I wasn't going to listen."

"Whatever you do, do not go to the National Palace, okay? You head straight up north towards the states."

"Gotcha. I have to go now. They'll find me any second."

He set down the phone, not bothering to disconnect the line. The pistol was once again in his hand, and he hid around the corner. All gunfire had stopped. Most likely, that meant his crew wasn't out there.

No way of knowing where they are, he realized, and no way of knowing how many there are. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's picking the missions with the most unknowns.

To be fair, Ike had picked this mission for him. Ike had a "hunch," he called it, that something bad was going to happen in Mexico City on this very night. Apparently, Ike's "hunch" was spot-on.

He peeked through the doorway and was met face-to-face with two Nazi patrol scouts. Before either could react, he fired off two rounds and dropped them both to the floor. Now that his presence was known, it was time to play a fun game of whack-a-mole as they popped into view.

Aimed just past the stairway, he stood waiting for any more to reveal themselves. A minute passed in tense silence. There were no other footsteps that he could hear. He allowed himself to scout the floor, hunting down any stragglers. When he arrived at the staircase, he found his answer.

With two pistols, the crew had managed to keep off five other Nazi troopers. If he were helping, he could have saved them. As guilty as he felt, he knew there was no time to waste on emotion. His phone call was made, and there was an entire city to escape.

He looted a machine gun from one of the dead soldiers below and allowed himself a good look at the enemy. Every single one of them had blue eyes. He was afraid that if he lifted the helmet up, they would all have blonde hair, too. With a shudder, he walked out of the building through the same back door he and the cameraman had just previously entered through. Although some of the chaos on the streets had died down, the air was still heavy. Smoke and ash traveling from a few smoldering buildings fell from the sky and burned his throat and lungs.

Helicopters and airships were also hovering over the city. The helicopters performed a few low sweeps, but there were no dogfights or aerial attacks raining down. That made at least part of his new goal a little easier, as long as he could avoid being spotted from above.

His walk out of the heart of the capital was just as grueling as his walk in, but he was arguably more prepared for a sudden attack. He passed the diner about half an hour after leaving the broadcast building and noticed that the Nazi he killed had been removed from the location. It wasn't very good for morale, he supposed, to see your dead adversary.

The outskirts of the city were dead-ahead.

Only about a mile more, he recalled to himself. Unless, of course, they've already started pushing past the city. The concept made him shutter again.

He bounded across probably the thirtieth empty street he'd encountered, praying that there wasn't anybody watching from either side. As an answer, he heard German yelling, and a few bullets hit the wall behind him. His streak of sneaking around unnoticed had ended.

A new adrenaline boost coursed through him, and he bolted down the alleys, trying to outrun the yelling and gunfire now trailing him. Surely, he couldn't be that far from escaping.

Realization hit him as he planned his exit route. Where was he going to hide once he was outside the city? It was flat, open land. They would spot him immediately.

Either way, he kept running. He would have to cross that bridge when he gets there.

More like if I get there. All I have to do is-

He emerged out of the alley and found himself in a wide-open plaza filled with the very same faction of people that were following him. They all turned to face him, guns pointed. The group behind him arrived, removing his lone route of escape.

Surrounded on all sides by nearly fifty Nazi troopers. If he survived, it wasn't going to be by his own volition.

In one slow motion, he dropped the rifle and raised his hands in the air. They kept a distance of about ten feet away from him as he got down on his knees. One of them walked towards him, saying something that sounded pretty hostile.

The enemy raised their gun to his temple, finger over the trigger.

"An American," the soldier said. "I hope this has been a pleasant vacation for you."

"Something like that," he said, staring dead ahead. He thought he saw movement in the buildings in front of him, but didn't want to bring attention to it.

Could that be help? Just in case it was, he had to find a way to stall.

"How'd you guys manage to do it?" he asked his executioner. "How did you guys take the city so quickly?"

"We are everywhere, American. We have infiltrated every country and major city in the world. For years, we have been putting ourselves in positions of power and influence. Today, we have initiated our assault, and tomorrow, we will own the world."

He allowed himself to peek back up at the buildings. Dozens of guns were pointed down at the plaza, and every single Nazi had their back turned. It was the perfect ambush. All he had to do was make it out alive.

"Kind of hard to do if you're dead," Agent Mike said. He quickly shifted himself and took out the executioner's legs. The guns in the buildings opened fire immediately on the crowd in the plaza. Confused by the attack, most of the Nazis turned to find their assailants. Mike used the opportunity to grab the gun he put down and to take out the troops still facing him, one by one.

The firing only lasted about twenty seconds, but it was enough to clear out the entire area. Mike quickly ran for cover in one of the buildings where his aid came from and was met by three of his rescuers.

"You owe us one, whitey," they teased, giving his arm a punch. "But you're not a bad shot. We could use someone like you to help take back the city."

He took a solid look at the three in front of him. They certainly weren't anywhere close to being professional fighters. Most likely, nobody here was.

As badly as he needed to go back to America, Mexico needed his help more.

He extended his hand.

"Secret Agent Mike, at your service."