Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

Through the peephole the old man, Rafael's father, saw a young and handsome white man who had no business standing under his door in the middle of the night.

Tristan could easily imagine the thoughts going through the old man's head.

'A thief wouldn't ring the bell, right? Right? This young man doesn't look like a thief or like a drunk who mistook this house for his own; what does he want?'

Tristan stared right at the peephole, making it look like he was meeting the old man's eye. His expression was deathly serious and his voice, despite being quiet, cut through the wooden door and the listener's ears right to the primitive primal parts of his brain.

<Your family is in danger. This is your last chance to save them all.>

<Wha-what?!>

<Tomorrow, a local drug cartel will send its execution squad after you, and you won't even know what for. Unless you follow me, now.>

Tristan heard another fearful gasp from the other side.

His direct words left no room for doubt, no matter how sudden they were. The conviction with which Tristan said them, together with the impact of his presence, made them feel more solid than facts of life themselves.

At this moment, he could've said that the sky turned green and the aliens have attacked the Earth, and the old man would've believed it.

With shaking, wrinkled hands, he unlocked the door and opened it a crack.

<D-demons! How—what's going on?> Rafael's father, Mr. Villanueva, asked. <This… Is this about Rafi? Is Rafi alright? Who are you?>

He wasn't actually THAT old—somewhere in mid-fifties—but his hair was fully gone, and his face was sagging and full of wrinkles. He was trembling with worry.

'He guessed it—then he must've been worried about Rafael already. His family might've been less oblivious than he said. Could this have been a factor in why they protested being moved to America? Were they afraid for their or Rafael's safety?'

Tristan edited his strategy a little.

<My name's Tristan. Rafael is alright, and he asked me to help you, since I owe him a favor. Now, please, you must act quickly. We only have this night. Wake up whoever you can and pack whatever you need to stay a couple of weeks elsewhere. Call your children and nephews who live on this street, and tell them to do the same.>

Tristan still spoke in this impossible-to-deny cadence. Rafael's father noted dumbly on reflex before gasping.

<Mother! She can't walk far. How—>

<I will help. Just follow me, and you won't have anything to worry about. Two weeks, and you will be able to return to your homes. I will tell you everything else you wanted to ask, but later. We don't have the time right now.>

Tristan opened the door wider and ushered Rafael's father inside by the shoulder. There the old man began sporadically moving around, picking up and putting down things in-between calling for his family in other parts of the house.

This would've gone nowhere if Tristan hadn't been here to organize the proceedings.

He had to go through every little thing the elderly couple had to do. Even if they had organizational skills in normal circumstances, right now they were all overridden with anxiety. If not for Tristan, they would've not only have forgotten to turn off water faucets and electricity, they wouldn't have forgotten to put on something else than pajamas.

And when this was done, Tristan had to repeat the procedure with every other offshoot of the Villanueva family.

14 people, three cats in pet carriers and two dogs on leashes too big for carriers. Everybody stood or sat with hastily gathered bags in their hands, or with their things already packed into their cars. They were yawning, chugging coffee, and rubbing tired eyes. A toddler was crying, while a baby was sleeping peacefully while his mother rocked him.

But by this point, the family have fully accepted Tristan as their leader and helper. He had dropped some information about the threat of Cuatro Angulos, hinted at approaching gang war, and promised that everything will be alright with everybody, as soon as they listen to him.

By the time everybody gathered, the sun had begun to rise on the East, and Tristan's team returned to him. Some of them actually had a nap in the meantime.

"The horizon is clear, boss. We brought spare supplies for the journey, the tents, checked the hour ahead on our planned route, and are ready to go," Sam said.

He had bags under his eyes, but he was used to working on not enough sleep on occasion. This couldn't be said for the civilians.

None of these people should've been driving in their state. But at least the roads were almost clear of cars at this time of day—too-early-o'clock.

Tristan nodded. "Good work, Sam. Remind me, how long until the first stop point?"

"Two hours. Should be safe enough to rest then."

"Alright. Then let's go."

***

The convoy of five cars full of people would've inevitably attracted too much attention if people were on the streets at this time. Even so, Tristan knew there would be witnesses and recordings from a road camera or two.

That was why, as soon as their convoy left the town, Tristan directed them to a side-road, through which they drove for another hour, before stopping in a field in the middle of nowhere.

The first stop was too close to the original point to go to a hotel. Instead, Tristan's team set up the tents and told people to get some sleep so they could drive farther away.

Seven hours later—they didn't have all the time in the world to rest—they continued the journey in the earnest, driving until the next morning. Find adventures at empire

By then, they reached a town, which had two things Tristan needed—a large enough hostel to fit all 14 people and 5 pets, and a lack of Cuatro Angulos' presence.

As far as Tristan knew from his sources, this town wasn't of interest to any large cartel.