There is no chivalry in a brawl, especially when outnumbered five to one. Roger's punch cut through the air, a swift whoosh barely audible before impact. Yet as his fist moved at a blur, his opponent spun with equal swiftness, parrying the blow—a stark reminder of the imminent danger.

He almost stumbled; the guard's reflexes were formidable, blocking quickly and firmly. Roger sensed the air shift as the others converged, their movements a well-rehearsed symphony of aggression, tightening their circle with predatory precision.

Might have needed to think this through. Too late now!

Roger seized the offensive, exchanging rapid strikes with the first guard. Their dance was a visceral blend of motion and counter-motion, a ballet of potential pain. Roger's focus sharpened to a razor's edge as he sought to inflict damage while sidestepping the looming threats.

Sweat beaded his brow, adrenaline sour in his mouth. He ducked under a wild swing and countered with a low kick, the thud against his opponent's shin satisfying. Yet, as he fought, his mind raced—each decision split-second, each movement critical.

His Ch'ulel flowed, probing for a weakness, a flaw to exploit, but they were met with a wall—something he had only experienced while training with his grandfather.

Do not push. Surround and embrace. Meld and feel. The echoes of his grandfather's lessons resounded.

A misstep from the third guard was all Roger needed. He pivoted, kicking not where the man was but where he would be. The satisfying crunch of impact was followed by the guard's collapse. Yet, the victory was short-lived as his original opponent swept his legs, sending him tumbling. Only a feline-like twist saved him from crashing face-first.

Regaining his footing with the grace of a dancer, he faced the remaining four, their eyes gleaming with malice. They charged, synchronized. Roger dodged, weaving through them, touching and moving, a ghost among shadows.

The fight escalated. He tasted blood from a cut lip and winced from a kidney punch that almost blacked him out. He knew better than to get cornered again.

Suddenly, their demeanor changed; from each of their hands, brass claws gleamed under the moonlight.

"Take him alive," the woman's voice echoed from a distance, chilling in its detachment.

The guards renewed their assault with increased ferocity. Roger's movements became sluggish; fatigue and pain melded into his senses. He dodged an arm swipe but couldn't escape a vicious kick that sent him sprawling onto his back.

The cold metal of a tiger claw pressed against his throat, three blades threatening to pierce skin. Above him, the woman approached, her voice filled with a twisted joy.

"Welcome, grandson. It's nice to see you again after so many years." She looked at him with disdain.

"Tie him up and put him in the plane with the rest!"

Two Humvees quickly positioned themselves on either flank of Claire's armored SUV, the left one just in time to block the brunt of an RPG; the force of the explosion rocked Claire's SUV, jarring everyone inside against their restraints.

"Stay low!" Commander Adkins shouted over the ringing in their ears. His voice was calm but carried the urgency of the moment. Outside, the air filled with the sound of gunfire, a chaotic symphony punctuated by the deeper thuds of heavier weapons.

Adkins peered through the reinforced window, assessing their rapidly deteriorating situation. "We're sitting ducks if we stay here. Driver, move out—now!" His command cut through the confusion, spurring the driver into action.

The SUV's engine roared to life as the driver maneuvered out of the immediate line of fire. Bullets pinged harmlessly off the armored exterior, a stark reminder of their precarious safety within. Claire gripped the armrests, her mind racing with each maneuver.

As they moved, Claire glanced out the window, catching glimpses of their assailants. They were well-coordinated and moved with military precision. It was clear this was no random act of violence but a calculated assault to stop her from uncovering the truth about Roger and the mystic secrets he was tied to.

Adkins kept his weapon ready, eyes scanning for threats. "We need to break contact and find cover," he stated, already coordinating their next move with the convoy through his headset.

The SUV swerved onto a narrower path, trees lining either side. The dense foliage offered some cover but also new dangers—any one of these shadows could hide an assailant.

Suddenly, ahead on the road, a fallen tree blocked their path. The driver slammed on the brakes, sending a collective jolt through the cabin.

"Out, now! This way!" Adkins's voice was a beacon in the turmoil. He led the charge, opening his door and moving with swift precision to assess the obstacle. Claire followed, her training kicking in despite the chaos. She knew hesitation could prove fatal.

Behind them, the remaining vehicles in their convoy scrambled to form a protective barrier. Gunfire continued to echo around them, a relentless reminder of the stakes at play.

Adkins signaled to Claire and the rest, pointing towards a small depression in the land just off the road. "We can use that as temporary cover. Move on my go."

Claire nodded, adrenaline sharpening her focus. The ambush was intense, but she was not about to let fear or uncertainty deter her. She needed answers, and no amount of gunfire or danger would keep her from the truth that lay hidden in Chiapas. With a deep breath, she prepared to make the dash to relative safety, her resolve as hardened as the armor that had so far saved their lives.

"Ready... now!" Adkins's command snapped her back to the moment, and together, they sprinted towards the small ravine, bullets whistling dangerously close.

As Claire and her team dashed towards the ravine, the ominous thump of helicopter blades sliced through the cacophony of gunfire. Overhead, two Mexican military helicopters emerged, their silhouettes stark against the dusky sky. The ground forces seemed momentarily stunned by the arrival, giving Claire and her team the split-second they needed to reach the depression in the land.

Once hunkered down, Adkins pointed upwards, "Air support!" he shouted over the noise, relief evident in his voice despite the ongoing danger. The helicopters, painted in the dark green of the Mexican military, maneuvered into position, their mounted guns ready.

A burst of machine gun fire from the helicopters rained down on the attackers' positions. Trees splintered and dirt erupted as the precise and overwhelming firepower suppressed the ambush. The attackers scattered, their organized assault crumbling under the unexpected firepower from above.

In the chaos, Claire's team took advantage, returning fire and advancing cautiously. Adkins directed their efforts, using the helicopters' support to push the attackers back. Within minutes, the tide turned. The gunfire from the assailants grew sporadic, their retreat hastened by the relentless aerial assault.

As the sound of gunfire dwindled, the helicopters landed nearby, disgorging additional troops to secure the area. Adkins and his team, including Claire, approached the clearing cautiously, eyes peeled for any remaining threats.

One of the attackers, injured and unable to flee, was quickly apprehended by the troops. He seemed to be a commander, grimy and desperate, his eyes wide with fear as he realized his fate was sealed.

Adkins oversaw the interrogation right there, the urgency of the situation leaving no room for delay. "Talk! Who sent you? What do you know about an American named Roger?" Adkins demanded, his tone brooking no argument.

The captured man hesitated, glancing nervously at the circling helicopters, then at the stern faces surrounding him. Finally, he spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper, "They took him... to a compound... in Chiapas. He's... he's supposed to be important."

Adkins relayed the information to Fiscal González, who was coordinating their efforts from a safer location. González, in turn, made a call to Claire, who had just returned to the safety of her armored SUV.

"Claire, we've got a lead," González's voice came through clearly despite the residual noise of the helicopter blades. "Our captive confirmed they have Roger at a compound in Chiapas. It's where they wanted to take him all along."

Claire's heart skipped a beat. Roger was alive but still in danger. "Thank you, Fiscal," she responded, her voice steady but her mind racing. "I'm heading there now."

She ended the call and looked out of the SUV's window, her resolve hardening. The road to Chiapas had never seemed so daunting, yet her purpose had never been clearer. She turned to Adkins, "Set course for Chiapas. We're not stopping until we find him."

Adkins nodded, and the convoy, now bolstered by the military presence, prepared to move out. The helicopters would escort them from the air, ensuring that Claire's journey to rescue Roger was shielded every step of the way.