Gustavo Fring (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hideinplainsight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
all_inclusive2013-11-11 10:34 pm
hideinplainsight) wrote in all_inclusive2013-11-11 10:34 pm
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This is not how Gus Fring thought that this particular war would end.
He did not think it would end here, at a sad, pitiful nursing home, with Hector Salamanca turning into just another coward who runs to the DEA when he is out of options.
Gus thought that Hector deserved to suffer more for what he'd done, but now, Gus' hand was forced. His desire to prolong Hector's suffering for a more glorious revenge was outweighed by his desire to punish Hector for being a rat.
As he takes his slow walk from the car to Hector's room, he allows himself to think, just for a moment, of Max, alive, as he was. Brilliant and genuine and driven, taken away by Hector Salamanca and the cartel.
But he spends the rest of his walk remembering the blood drain from Max's body; the lifeless, unblinking stare; the feeling of a boot grinding his neck into the concrete.
The rest of the cartel is dead. All that is left is Hector Salamanca, drooling and twitching and pissing himself. Pitiful.
Gustavo Fring is not the sort of man who would ever lose his nerve, but in case he did, these are the images that would remind him of why he, and he alone, must be the one to see Hector's life to its pathetic end.
Outside the door, Gus pauses, straightens his tie, pulls his cuffs back into place. He is playing the role of angel of death today, finally.
Gus Fring does not knock. He just enters. He has a duty to carry out. But when he steps over the threshold, the room dissolves and changes and shifts, and he is no longer where he was. Instead, he stands in the lobby of a hotel.
This is unexpected. He wracks his brain, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. He knows with precise detail all of the things he has put into his body, and he knows that not a single one could have contained a hallucinogen. His belongings have not been tampered with, he knows this for a fact -- because if they were, the perpetrator would be suffering or dead already. Such is the way one goes when attempting to harm Gus Fring.
Assessing the situation, Gus marches straight for the front desk, hoping that he will come across someone who will be able to provide him a reasonable explanation.
Whatever this is -- hallucination, stress-induced psychotic break, unanticipated drug ingestion -- he is going to reverse it.
Gus has a job to do.
He did not think it would end here, at a sad, pitiful nursing home, with Hector Salamanca turning into just another coward who runs to the DEA when he is out of options.
Gus thought that Hector deserved to suffer more for what he'd done, but now, Gus' hand was forced. His desire to prolong Hector's suffering for a more glorious revenge was outweighed by his desire to punish Hector for being a rat.
As he takes his slow walk from the car to Hector's room, he allows himself to think, just for a moment, of Max, alive, as he was. Brilliant and genuine and driven, taken away by Hector Salamanca and the cartel.
But he spends the rest of his walk remembering the blood drain from Max's body; the lifeless, unblinking stare; the feeling of a boot grinding his neck into the concrete.
The rest of the cartel is dead. All that is left is Hector Salamanca, drooling and twitching and pissing himself. Pitiful.
Gustavo Fring is not the sort of man who would ever lose his nerve, but in case he did, these are the images that would remind him of why he, and he alone, must be the one to see Hector's life to its pathetic end.
Outside the door, Gus pauses, straightens his tie, pulls his cuffs back into place. He is playing the role of angel of death today, finally.
Gus Fring does not knock. He just enters. He has a duty to carry out. But when he steps over the threshold, the room dissolves and changes and shifts, and he is no longer where he was. Instead, he stands in the lobby of a hotel.
This is unexpected. He wracks his brain, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. He knows with precise detail all of the things he has put into his body, and he knows that not a single one could have contained a hallucinogen. His belongings have not been tampered with, he knows this for a fact -- because if they were, the perpetrator would be suffering or dead already. Such is the way one goes when attempting to harm Gus Fring.
Assessing the situation, Gus marches straight for the front desk, hoping that he will come across someone who will be able to provide him a reasonable explanation.
Whatever this is -- hallucination, stress-induced psychotic break, unanticipated drug ingestion -- he is going to reverse it.
Gus has a job to do.