The Gunslinger 1

[Dead Woman]

A small self-contained story that connects to other stories that essentially form the origin of the group.


"A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles." Christopher Reeve

1968 – Mexico City

I

The air smelled of smoke, beer, and sweat along with popcorn and hot dogs.  The lights were low and the spotlight was focused on the center of the ring where it showed two men battling one another for all to see.  Everyone was cheering and screaming with zest including a little boy who stood atop his seat so he could see the action below.

Beside him was his mother.  She worried that her son would trip and fall and tumble all the way towards the wrestling ring, but she said nothing as today was his birthday.  All little boys were allowed to let their energy drive them on that special day.  Besides, this was what he wanted.  It was all little Santiago could talk about.  The great Santo was coming to Mexico City and he wanted so very badly to see him.  She of course made the arrangements as well as adding something else that would make it all special for her baby boy.  To calm her fears, she reached over to lightly grasp her son's pants leg and held onto it ensuring that her worst fear wouldn't happen. 

In the ring was Mexico's greatest champion; El Santo.  Clad in silver, El Santo combated villains with honor, valor, and strength.  He did not lose as his greatest power came from God Himself.  His opponent was clad in black from head to toe without any spec of color.  He was known simply as la mascara de negro or, the black mask. 

The villainous black mask had dominated el Santo through most of the match but it was not enough to bring the champion down.  God was with him as were his fans who shouted his name again and again and among them was the little boy who stood atop of his seat held subtly by his mother so he would not fall. 

"Santo!"

El Santo stood his ground and looked towards his rival. 

"Santo!"

The Black Mask felt a power come from the silver masked one and it worried him noticeably.

"Santo!"

The champion charged against the challenger and used his divine strength to hoist The Black Mask high into the air and slam him to the mat.  The crowd erupted with excitement and watched as he went in for the pin fall.  The referee counted 1, 2, 3.

The whole place exploded with joy.  Santo had won!  Good triumphed over evil!

II

Little Santiago was screaming with happiness and was ecstatic.  His hero had won.  All was right with the world.  He did not see his mother look at him with eyes that misted up with tears.  This moment was special for her to see her little boy so joyful.  She burned that image well into her memory like any good parent would and waited as her plan was ready to hatch.

Santo had exited the ring and made his way up the ramp towards where little Santiago was watching.  The whole world stopped for the eight-year-old.  He watched as the silvered masked champion came closer and closer until finally he stopped.  El Santo was before him and all little Santiago could do was look up in awe. 

Santo kneeled before him so he could look him eye to eye and asked, "Are you Santiago Castaneda?"

The little boy nodded his head emphatically.  He could not believe that this was happening.  He wondered if this was all a dream!  Santo nodded and asked another question, "I am told that today is your birthday.  Is this true?"

This had to be a dream this couldn't be happening right now.  He looked to his mother who nodded at him encouraging him to answer.  He turned, he nodded, saying, "Yes! I am eight years old!"

El Santo nodded as he rose up and said, "Then I dedicated my win to you little Santiago!" At that moment the little boy leapt into his hero's arms and was met with a powerful embrace.  He did not see it, but his mother and El Santo looked at one another.  Earlier in the day she had gone to him and offered to pay him for this moment but he had refused saying that he would do this moment for free.  Santiago's mother thanked him silently and he nodded. 

The crowd cheered El Santo and for the little boy he held up high into the air.

It was a memory he would never forget.  He would call upon that memory during the dark times like when the cartels moved into Mexico that forced him and his mother to cross the border, and when his mother was shot by border guards he would hold her dying body in her arms and remember the moment when good triumphed over evil.  Time would pass and he would forget what El Santo stood for as he would join the US Army and eventually be recruited by Malta, but the spirit of El Santo would remind him of what true heroes were when he saw just how far Malta would go, and it would inspire him to become a hero that Paragon City would know as – The Gunslinger.