Chapter 11
The sun was sinking low as Andreas arrived at Xavier’s shop, casting long shadows across the yard, littered with parts and forgotten projects. The building itself seemed to hum with life, a chaotic mix of half-dismantled machines, scattered tools, and flickering lights from electronics in various states of repair. Inside, the air smelled faintly of burnt metal and oil, mingled with the low buzz of a radio tuned to some distant station. Xavier, as always, was perched on his hands, moving with surprising grace as he hauled himself onto a cluttered workbench, his legs trailing limply beneath him. His hands deftly picked through the remains of a disassembled drone, carefully extracting a tiny component, his eyes sharp and focused. Though the shop was a whirlwind of parts and machines, there was a rhythm to it—an organized chaos that only Xavier could command.
Xavier’s shop was a world unto itself. Every inch of it seemed to serve a purpose, no matter how chaotic it appeared to an outsider. A low metal shelf lined one wall, sagging under the weight of tangled wires, old circuit boards, and the occasional unidentifiable gadget. On the other side, rows of meticulously labeled drawers held screws, bolts, and precision tools, the kind that could rebuild a watch or tear down an engine. His workbench, where he now sat, was a sprawling mess of mechanical limbs, broken drones, and a cluster of screens that flickered with the city’s heartbeat. The glow of the monitors reflected off Xavier’s glasses as he tinkered, his hands moving with the kind of efficiency that only comes from years of practice. Each tool was an extension of him, and despite the disarray, he never seemed to lose track of anything.
The hum of technology was constant here, a low, steady undercurrent beneath the occasional crackle of a soldering iron or the rhythmic tapping of a wrench. Overhead, fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting a pale glow that barely pierced the clutter. Yet, despite the worn-out fixtures and scattered parts, there was a warmth to the space. The shop felt lived-in, like a place where problems were solved and ideas came to life. On one corner of the workbench sat a battered coffee mug, its rim chipped from years of use, filled with pencils and small screwdrivers. Above it, a faded blueprint for some long-abandoned project was pinned to the wall, its edges curling with age. The entire place was a reflection of Xavier himself—complex, efficient, and in constant motion.
Andreas stepped further into the shop, careful not to disturb any of the delicate chaos around him. He had been here countless times, yet the sheer volume of projects Xavier juggled always impressed him. The two men barely needed words to communicate when it came to moments like these. Xavier glanced up from his work briefly, acknowledging Andreas with a quick nod before returning his attention to the delicate wiring in his hands. For Xavier, this shop was not just a workspace—it was an extension of his mind, a sanctuary where ideas, no matter how wild, could take form. Andreas felt comfortable here, knowing that whatever he needed, Xavier would have already thought through, planned for, and probably over-engineered in the best way possible. The clutter of the shop didn’t hide the precision with which Xavier approached his work; every movement had purpose, every tool was used with intent.
Xavier pushed away from the workbench, lowering himself to the ground. Refusing to use his wheelchair in the shop, he moved with a familiar, determined grace, using his hands to propel himself forward in a steady, practiced waddle. His legs hung uselessly beneath him, but his upper body moved with the confidence of someone who had long since mastered this unconventional way of getting around. "It’s ready," he said over his shoulder, his voice casual but carrying weight. Andreas followed, watching as Xavier expertly navigated through the maze of parts and projects that cluttered the shop floor. They headed toward the back room, a place Andreas knew held Xavier’s more private work. The heavy door creaked as Xavier pushed it open, and inside, the atmosphere shifted. The lighting was more focused, casting deliberate beams over the few carefully arranged pieces of equipment. In the center of the room, standing on a tailor’s mannequin, was the Zorro suit—dark, sleek, and perfectly designed for the work Andreas had in mind.
The suit was a work of art, but like everything Xavier created, it was as practical as it was impressive. The fabric shimmered faintly under the soft lighting, hinting at its strength and the layers of protection built within. Kevlar was woven discreetly into the lining, covering vital areas without sacrificing mobility. The dark material seemed to absorb the light, a shadow come to life. Next to the mannequin, laid out on the table, were the finishing touches: the mask with low-light lenses designed to enhance vision in the dark, the bullwhip coiled neatly, and the hat, innocuous at first glance but fitted with a hidden blade in the brim. Xavier had even added a touch of personal flair, subtle silver embroidery tracing along the edges, adding a faint, intricate design that almost seemed to disappear when not under direct light. It was unmistakably Zorro, but updated—crafted for a modern battle.
Andreas couldn’t help but smirk as he took in the details, his eyes tracing the faint silver embroidery and the perfectly hidden blade in the brim of the hat. It was more than he had expected, even knowing Xavier’s obsessive attention to detail. He glanced over at Xavier, who was already busy fine-tuning the mask’s lenses. “How many times did you and Carlos watch those old Zorro movies growing up?” Andreas asked, his voice carrying an amused edge. He could picture the two of them—Carlos with his wild enthusiasm and Xavier, likely pointing out every impracticality while secretly enjoying it all the same. Xavier didn’t look up from his work but let out a snort. “More than enough,” he muttered. “You’re lucky I didn’t add a flaming sword to the mix.”
Xavier paused for a moment, adjusting the mask in his hands, his expression softening just a touch. "But seriously," he said, turning toward Andreas, "this isn’t just for show. I know what you're about to step into. I made sure it’s tough enough to keep you breathing, but light enough to move the way you need to." His eyes flicked back to the suit, the pride in his work unmistakable. "The Kevlar will take a bullet, but don’t go testing that theory if you can help it. The hat’s not just for looks either—pull that blade and throw it right, you’ll make sure whoever’s in front of you doesn’t get back up." There was a pause before Xavier added, more quietly, "I don’t want to have to rebuild this thing because you didn’t come back to collect it."
Andreas ran a hand over the fabric of the suit, feeling the weight of the craftsmanship, both literal and figurative. Xavier didn’t just build things—he built them to last, to protect. "I’m not planning on making this a one-and-done thing," Andreas said, his voice calm but resolute. "The Quechua have had too much free reign. It’s time someone reminds them what fear looks like." He glanced at the hat, the hidden blade now more than just a clever addition—it was a promise. "I’ll use this before the Kevlar ever needs to prove itself," he added with a faint smile, glancing back at Xavier, knowing that beneath the sarcasm, his friend was genuinely worried
Xavier grunted in response, his eyes still focused on the mask’s lenses. With a few precise movements, he snapped the final piece into place and held it up to the light, inspecting his handiwork. Satisfied, he tossed the mask to Andreas, who caught it easily. "You’ll thank me when you’re in some dark alley," Xavier said, his voice gruff but carrying that familiar tone of unspoken care. "The lenses amplify low light. You’ll see everything coming, even if they think they’re hiding in the shadows." He glanced back at the suit, giving it one last once-over, then wiped his hands on a rag. "It’s all set. Now get out there and show them what real fear looks like." The words were sharp, but there was a hint of pride beneath them.
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As Andreas took a moment to admire the suit—its design, its weight, and what it symbolized—Xavier, who had been watching him with a quiet intensity, broke the silence. “You got a lair yet?” he asked, his tone casual, but the question carried weight. Andreas looked up, caught off guard. “A lair?” he echoed, amusement flickering in his eyes. Xavier grunted. “Yeah, a lair. You can’t just keep running out of your mom’s place. Eventually, someone’s gonna connect the dots, and you don’t want those dots leading back to your family. So, where are you setting up shop?”
Andreas scratched the back of his head, the weight of Xavier's words settling in. He hadn’t really thought about it—running around the city was one thing, but operating out of his mom’s house wasn’t sustainable. Before he could answer, Xavier continued, his voice cutting through Andreas’ hesitation. “Forget the mineshaft you’re thinking about,” Xavier said, reading him easily. “I’ve got a warehouse, just outside the city. Fenced, surrounded by woods and a horse ranch. It’s quiet, out of the way, and no one will bother you there.” Andreas raised an eyebrow, the idea already taking root. “You own a warehouse?” Xavier just shrugged. “Picked it up at a foreclosure auction last year. Thought it might come in handy. Guess I was right.”
Andreas nodded, considering the offer. It made sense—he needed a place that was out of sight, somewhere he could plan and operate without drawing attention. "Alright," he said, “let’s check it out.” Xavier gave a brief nod, satisfied with Andreas’ acceptance. “Good, but first, you’re going to need everything,” he said, gesturing toward the suit and the gear spread across the table. “Load up the van and follow me. The place is already set up for what you’ll need.” He pushed off the workbench again, his movements deliberate as he made his way toward the door. “Can’t have you getting spotted in broad daylight on that bike. People are already noticing it. You’re gonna have to leave it at the warehouse for now.”
The drive out to the warehouse was quiet, the hum of the van filling the silence as the city slowly gave way to more open roads. Xavier led the way, and soon enough, they arrived at the property—fenced in, secluded, and surrounded by thick woods on three sides. The warehouse itself was larger than Andreas had imagined, its metal siding gleaming faintly in the dying light. Xavier unlocked the gate and gestured for Andreas to pull in. “It’s not much to look at, but it’ll do the job,” Xavier said as they rolled up to the entrance. As they stepped inside, Xavier flicked on the lights, illuminating the space—spacious, secure, and ready for whatever Andreas needed. Without a word, Xavier moved to a corner, switching on the small TV mounted on the wall, more out of habit than necessity. The low murmur of the news provided background noise as they began to unpack.
The TV flickered to life just as Andreas was setting down his gear. “A 14-year-old girl was reported missing earlier today…” Andreas froze, his attention locking onto the screen. A grainy photo of the girl appeared, her face framed in the kind of detail that made the situation all too real. "Last seen near Lalo’s diner," the anchor continued, and Andreas felt a chill run through him. Without missing a beat, Xavier placed his laptop on the workbench, opening it with practiced ease. “I’ll have a location for you soon,” he said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “Give me thirty minutes. I’ll pull from the traffic cams near the diner.” He didn’t wait for a response—he was already fully engaged, his eyes flicking between the laptop and the TV as he worked to gather information.
Andreas stood in front of the open van, the Zorro suit neatly laid out on a makeshift workbench inside the warehouse. Piece by piece, he began to armor up. The undershirt slipped on first, the lightweight Kevlar lining pressing comfortably against his skin, like a second layer of protection. He fastened the black jacket over it, the fabric smooth but firm. Every seam, every fold was designed with purpose—nothing too loose, nothing that would get in the way. His movements were precise, practiced. He slipped on the gloves next, feeling the familiar grip in his fingers as the black leather flexed with each clench of his fists. There was a quiet focus as he dressed, the weight of what was to come settling over him.
Next came the mask. Andreas took a moment, holding it in his hands, feeling the weight of the lenses embedded in the fabric. Designed to amplify low light, they gave him a subtle edge, perfect for navigating the shadows. He slid it over his face, adjusting it until it fit perfectly, his vision shifting as the lenses activated, casting the dimly lit warehouse into sharper relief. Finally, he reached for the hat—the finishing touch. The brim felt solid, heavier than it looked, hiding the blade Xavier had so carefully crafted within. Andreas set it atop his head, the wide brim casting a shadow over his eyes. In that moment, the transformation was complete. He wasn’t just Andreas anymore—he was Zorro.
Andreas reached for the sword, feeling its weight as he attached it to his belt with a steady hand. The blade hung comfortably at his side, a final piece of the ensemble that gave him an unmistakable presence. He swept the cape over his shoulders, its fabric falling smoothly into place, designed to blend into the night while still offering protection. With a final glance at the hat resting on the table, he picked it up, spinning it lightly between his fingers before settling it atop his head with a deliberate flourish. The wide brim cast a deeper shadow over his face, leaving only his eyes visible beneath the mask. He stood there for a moment, fully transformed, and when Xavier looked up from his laptop, there was a flicker of something across his face—fear. Not of Andreas, but of what Zorro represented. The fear that the men he was about to face would soon feel.
Xavier blinked, trying to mask the brief flash of fear in his eyes as he leaned back slightly from the laptop. The transformation was startling—Andreas had always been calm, capable, but this was something else. Zorro wasn’t just an idea or a mask; standing in front of him now was something more imposing, more dangerous. “Damn,” Xavier muttered, barely audible, before clearing his throat. He tore his gaze away from Andreas and refocused on his screen, fingers tapping the keys with renewed intensity. “You might actually scare them,” he said, his voice low but carrying a hint of respect. “I’ll have that location for you soon. Just... don’t get too carried away out there.”
Andreas gave a small nod, adjusting the brim of his hat once more as he paced toward the exit. His movements were controlled, each step deliberate. The weight of the sword at his side, the flex of the bullwhip coiled on his belt—it all felt natural now, as if Zorro had always been there, just waiting to emerge. He glanced back at Xavier, who was still focused on the laptop, scanning through the feeds with laser-like precision. The flicker of screens cast a pale glow across Xavier’s face, highlighting the quiet intensity that he masked with sarcasm. Andreas took a deep breath, steadying himself for the night ahead. “Just tell me where to go,” he said calmly. His voice carried a finality that echoed in the empty warehouse, a promise of the fear he was about to bring to the streets.
Xavier didn’t respond immediately, too engrossed in the data flashing across his screen. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he hacked into the city’s traffic cams, searching for anything that might lead them to the missing girl. Andreas waited, his breathing steady, his mind already running through the possibilities of what the Quechua might have planned. After a few tense moments, Xavier finally spoke, his voice measured. “Got something,” he said, eyes narrowing at the feed. “Van matching the description from earlier, heading west, just past Lalo’s. It’s moving slow, but there’s no reason it should be in that area.” He glanced up at Andreas, the intensity in his gaze matching the seriousness of the situation. “Looks like they’re heading toward the industrial district. You’d better move fast.”
Andreas stepped out of the warehouse, the cool night air washing over him as the door clanged shut behind him. The moon had risen, casting a silver glow over the landscape, and the woods surrounding the warehouse were bathed in shadow. Without a word, he mounted his bike, the engine rumbling softly beneath him as he revved it to life. The wide brim of his hat caught the moonlight as he adjusted it, giving one last look back at the warehouse before speeding off into the night. The roads stretched ahead, dark and winding, but Zorro had always thrived in the shadows. Tonight, the Quechua would feel the fear they had forgotten. The full moon hung high above him, a silent witness to the reckoning that was about to begin.