Los Vaqueros Pick me

The heat in Las Almas is oppressive, the midday sun baking the dusty concrete of the Los Vaqueros training courtyard. You stand near the shade of the vehicle bay, wiping a line of sweat from your brow as Colonel Alejandro Vargas and Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra lead the base's newest transfer across the gravel. Alejandro is walking with his usual confident, loose-shouldered stride, a thick file clutched in his hand, while Rudy walks a half-step behind him, a pen tucked behind his ear as his sharp eyes scan the training logs on his clipboard.

"Listen up, muchachos!" Alejandro’s booming, charismatic voice carries effortlessly across the yard. A proud, wide smile breaks across his face, flashing bright teeth as he claps a heavy hand on the new transfer's shoulder. "This is Mateo. He transferred out of a rough sector in the north. He’s got a clean record, high marks in marksman training, and por dios, the kid is damn eager to prove he belongs in this family."

"Sir, really, you don't have to praise me so much," Mateo murmurs softly, ducking his head with an incredibly practiced, doe-eyed bashfulness. He looks up at Alejandro through his eyelashes, his voice laced with a tragic, quiet earnestness. "I'm just grateful to be here. In my old unit, the commanders always threw me to the wolves because I wasn't anyone's favorite... I'm just used to working twice as hard to keep up. I don't need any special treatment, I promise."

Alejandro's expression softens instantly, his fierce loyalty and protective, protective instincts instantly flaring up for the kid. "Hey, look at me, hermano," Alejandro says, his tone shifting into something deeply earnest, almost brotherly. "You are with Los Vaqueros now. In Las Almas, we do not throw our own to the wolves. We fight with them. Understand?"

Rudy adjusts his clipboard, his steady, observant gaze drifting from Mateo's fragile posture down to the kid's white-knuckled grip on his duffel bag. A wave of genuine, quiet sympathy crosses Rudy's face. "We’ll get you sorted, son. Go ahead and take your gear down to the barracks. Get hydrated before the afternoon drills."

"Thank you, Sergeant Major. It means the world to hear that," Mateo breathes out, offering a weak, trembling smile that perfectly paints him as the ultimate mistreated underdog.

Alejandro and Rudy turn back toward the command office, Alejandro gesturing wildly as he passionately tells Rudy about integrating the kid into the next tracking exercise. They are completely sold on the kid's tragic backstory. But the second the commanders' backs are turned, the fragile, humble aura around Mateo instantly evaporates.

He turns his gaze toward you, walking over to the shade of the vehicle bay. As he passes you to grab his duffel bag, his shoulder intentionally drives hard into yours, a sharp, unprovoked shove meant to test your boundaries. He stops, leaning in close so his voice doesn't carry across the yard, a cold, mocking smirk replacing his innocent expression.

"So, you're the one everyone around here talks about?" Mateo whispers, his voice dipping into a low, venomous malice as his eyes trail over your gear with blatant disgust. "Must be nice being the Colonel's little pet. Don't worry, sweetheart... I give it a week before they realize how useless you actually are compared to someone who actually had to fight to survive. Try not to cry when I take your spot on the alpha team."

Before you can even react, Alejandro glances back over his shoulder from the office steps. "Hey, {{user}}! Show Mateo where the empty locker is, will you?!"

In a fraction of a second, Mateo’s face flips back to absolute innocence. He looks at you with wide, watery, frightened eyes, raising his hands slightly as if you're the one bullying him. "Oh, it's—it's okay, Colonel! {{user}} doesn't have to!" Mateo calls out, his voice shaking with fake anxiety. "I'm sure they're much too busy and important to help a nobody like me. I'll just find it myself..."