Somewhere in the Sonoran Desert, at a rundown motel in Room 001, a man named Nash woke up with a low grunt.
The ceiling fan above him creaked as it spun lazily, barely pushing air through the stale room.
He pushed himself up, rubbing his face, reaching for his phone as it buzzed loudly on the cracked bedside table.
It was Nestro calling.
"Bro, where you at?" Nestro asked immediately over the phone, his tone impatient and loud.
Nash exhaled slowly, still shaking off sleep. "Chill the fuck out, man. We got time. How are the two girls we picking up?"
He sat up properly now, rolling his shoulders and stretching his back until it popped. He switched the call to speaker and placed the phone down on the mattress.
A laugh came through the speaker. "Bro, the two girls I'm about to introduce you to are definitely gonna make your dick go up. Hahaha."
Nash snorted, shaking his head with a tired grin. "Fuck you, cabrón. Hahaha."
They both laughed, the sound rough and casual, like this was just another routine day for them.
About ten minutes later, the sound of an engine pulled up outside the motel. A battered RV rolled into view, dust trailing behind it. Nestro leaned out the window as it stopped.
"Come on, bro! We got some bitches to pick up and fuck!"
Nash clicked his tongue, grabbing his things and standing up from the bed. "This guy…" he muttered under his breath, though there was a faint smirk on his face.
He paid for the motel room at the front desk, tossing the keys down casually, then walked out and climbed into the RV. The inside smelled faintly of gasoline and old leather seats. The two men settled in, shoulders relaxed, slipping into familiar conversation as the RV rumbled back onto the road.
After a while, they reached a quiet suburban small town. The streets were too clean compared to where they had just been, the houses lined neatly like they were carefully placed.
Nestro slowed the RV as they approached one of the houses.
There, two girls stepped out from the front door.
One was a bright, confident-looking woman named Vivien. The other stood slightly behind her, a woman named Carla, quieter in presence but sharp in her gaze.
For a moment, even the noise inside the RV seemed to fade.
"Shit…" Nestro said under his breath, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel.
Nash leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied them. Then he reached over and tapped Nestro lightly on the side of the head.
"Stop drooling. I know they're hot."
Nestro blinked, snapping back into focus with a short laugh.
"So, who's this black guy?" asked Carla, her tone blunt as she crossed her arms, her eyes scanning Nash from head to toe.
Nash could tell immediately she was his type. Dressed in black, with a sleek, almost latex-like outfit that hugged her curves, she carried herself with confidence and attitude. He leaned slightly against the RV door, studying her with a faint smirk.
"Carla, please. The shorter one is cute though," said Vivien, nudging her lightly while giving Nash a more welcoming smile.
Nash and Nestro glanced at each other for a brief moment.
"Where did you find them?" Nash asked, lowering his voice slightly as he leaned closer to Nestro.
"Whorehouse," Nestro said bluntly, not even bothering to hide it.
"Dude…" Nash almost staggered, blinking in disbelief before Nestro burst into a hearty laugh.
The tension quickly melted into casual chatter. Soon, the four of them climbed into the RV and began traveling toward a place that looked like it sat in the middle of nowhere. The road stretched endlessly, desert winds brushing against the vehicle as the sun climbed higher.
Inside, the atmosphere loosened. They talked about life, their pasts, what they liked, and what they hated. Vivien laughed easily, leaning forward between the seats, while Carla remained quieter but occasionally threw in sharp, teasing remarks toward Nash.
By the time they arrived, the mood had shifted completely.
The party began casually, drinks passing between hands, laughter filling the quiet space. Music played softly from the RV speakers. As time passed, the atmosphere grew warmer, more relaxed, and eventually more intimate.
Carla seemed particularly drawn to Nash, her attention lingering on him longer than necessary. She leaned close, her voice low and teasing.
"Damn, baby… what a stallion," Carla said, clearly impressed, her smirk playful.
They continued until nightfall, exhaustion finally catching up with them. Nash and Nestro ended up sleeping on the sofa, both half-awake as they quietly talked about the two girls, debating who had the best and better assets.
Eventually, Nestro drifted off, his breathing slow and steady.
But Nash couldn't sleep.
He shifted slightly, rubbing his face before quietly getting up. He walked softly, checking on the girls. He peeked into the room, only to see Vivien sleeping peacefully. Carla, however, was missing.
He frowned slightly and looked around before noticing the bathroom light.
He approached and pushed the door slightly open.
Carla stood there, leaning casually against the sink, her eyes locking onto his immediately.
"Come in… we haven't even tried my puckered hole yet," she teased, her voice low and daring.
"Fuck, woman…" Nash whispered, shaking his head as he stepped inside.
They moved closer, hands roaming as they kissed, the tension between them building quickly. The quiet bathroom filled with soft laughter and hushed whispers before they eventually gave in to the moment.
Afterward, Carla leaned back slightly, her expression softer now.
"You know…" Carla began after sex, brushing a strand of hair aside. "You're so my type. You like a bad girl?"
Nash raised a brow, then leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"Meh… you're my type, alright. Just not the wife type."
"Puta, I ain't no wife type," she replied with a small laugh. "I'm a free independent woman. I fuck whoever I fuck, cabrón."
"Hahaha…"
"Hihihi…"
The two laughed quietly together before eventually leaving the bathroom and heading back to bed.
"So, how's that ass?" Nestro whispered from the sofa, his voice barely audible in the dim room.
Nash froze for a second, then slowly turned his head. "Jesus, man. You weren't asleep?" he asked quietly, lowering his voice so he wouldn't wake the girls.
Nestro smirked, eyes still half-closed. "If I smell sex, you know it's tight, bro."
Nash shook his head, suppressing a laugh as he leaned back against the cushion. "Man, you've been weird ever since we hit puberty, Nestro."
The two shared a quiet chuckle, keeping their laughter low. The night air was still, and the faint hum of insects outside filled the silence. They shifted slightly on the sofa, trying to get comfortable.
Gradually, their voices faded, and they began drifting toward sleep.
Suddenly, Nash's phone buzzed on the table.
He frowned, reaching over quickly and grabbing it before it rang again. He glanced at the screen. It was Paul.
"Sup," Nash answered in a low voice, turning slightly away.
He listened quietly as Paul explained, his expression slowly changing from relaxed to serious. His jaw tightened, and he rubbed his forehead.
"Shit… really? Fuck, man… he's as good as dead." Nash paused, glancing briefly toward the sleeping girls. "Alright… tomorrow then."
He ended the call and placed the phone down quietly.
"Who was that?" Nestro asked, sitting up slightly, his voice groggy as he rubbed his eyes.
"It's Paul. Word is Miguel took cash from Don Torhec," Nash said quietly, his tone now serious.
"Dios mío… he's asking for death," Nestro muttered, shaking his head. He leaned forward slightly. "Want me to come along?"
Nash stayed silent for a moment, thinking hard. His eyes lowered, his mind already running through possibilities.
After a few seconds, he exhaled slowly.
"Don't worry… I got this."
The next morning, in the middle of nowhere in the desert, a black four-wheeler came to a slow stop. There were no roads, no signs, just endless sand, dust, and silence that felt like death itself.
The engine shut off, leaving only the sound of wind brushing across the dry land.
Nash stepped out of the vehicle, the heat already creeping in despite the early morning. He walked toward a small, worn bunker partially buried under sand. His boots crunched softly as he approached the metal door.
He opened it and stepped inside.
"Wake up, motherfucker," Nash said coldly.
A groan echoed from inside. Nash grabbed the tied-up man by his collar and dragged him forward, forcing him onto his knees. The rope around the man's wrists tightened as he struggled weakly.
"Miguel… Miguel… you really asking for death," Nash muttered, staring down at him.
He pulled out his handgun, the metallic click echoing loudly in the confined space as he cocked it. Nash raised the weapon and aimed directly at Miguel's head.
"Nash, please… let me explain!" Miguel said, panic flooding his voice. His breathing quickened, eyes wide with fear.
"You can explain that to Mother Death in the afterlife," Nash replied flatly.
"Please, man… just give me a chance. I have my reasons," Miguel begged, his tied hands lifted as much as he could, his body trembling.
Nash hesitated.
The silence stretched for a moment. His finger rested lightly on the trigger. His jaw tightened as he stared at Miguel, weighing his decision.
Then he slowly lowered the gun.
"Fuck you, Miguel. Spit it out," Nash demanded.
Miguel exhaled shakily, relief washing over him as he began explaining. He spoke quickly, stumbling over his words, saying he needed money for his mother's surgery, that the cost was too high, that he didn't know what else to do.
"That's it?" Nash asked, his expression unreadable.
Miguel nodded quickly. "That's it… I swear."
Nash narrowed his eyes. "Why didn't you tell Don about this?"
Miguel let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly.
"Who? Him? You, Nestro, and Paul were treated like sons to him. Me? I'm nothing more than collateral. He's a pusher, Nash. You know it."
Nash fell silent.
He thought hard, staring at the ground, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. After a moment, he turned and walked back outside toward the vehicle.
He opened the door and reached inside, pulling out a bag. He returned to Miguel and dropped it in front of him. The sound of bundled cash shifting inside echoed softly.
"This bag is the money you stole, right?" Nash said calmly. "For Don, it's like pocket change. But for you…" He paused, then looked directly at Miguel. "Just get out of here and never show your face in Mexico City ever again, comprende?"
"Sí… sí… thank you, Nash," Miguel said quickly, his voice shaking. "Mother Death knows you done good and—"
"JUST GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND, DAMMIT!"
Miguel flinched, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed the bag tightly and ran off into the desert, not daring to look back.
Nash watched him disappear into the distance.
After a moment, he exhaled heavily and walked back to the vehicle. He sat in the driver's seat, rubbing his face slowly.
"Fuck my life…" he muttered.
He started the engine and drove out of the desert.
Somewhere in an isolated private property villa, a black limo slowly rolled up the long driveway. Tall gates closed behind it, and armed guards stood at their posts, watching silently as the vehicle came to a stop.
Inside the villa, Torhec was on a phone call with a man named Darios.
Darios ran a prison chamber, and his finances and support came from Torhec, in exchange for information and intel. The arrangement had lasted for years, and both men understood the value of silence.
Torhec stood near the large window, overlooking the private estate. His posture was calm, but his eyes were sharp as he listened.
Beside him, a Latina woman around the age of twenty-eight slowly swirled a glass of fine wine. She wore a fur robe loosely around her body, one leg crossed over the other as she leaned back comfortably on the leather couch. Her eyes occasionally drifted toward Torhec, her expression amused and slightly impatient.
"Torhec, when will you ever get off your phone?" she said in a seductive voice, tilting her head slightly as she watched him.
Torhec raised one finger, signaling her to wait while he finished the call.
"Yes… I understand. Keep watching him. I'll handle the rest," Torhec said calmly before ending the call.
He lowered the phone and finally turned toward her.
"Calm yourself, Vegra," he said, his voice smooth and controlled.
Vegra took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes glinting as she studied him. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on her knee.
"You've been busy lately," she murmured, her tone teasing. "Business or trouble?"
Torhec walked toward her, loosening his collar slightly. "Both."
Vegra smirked faintly, already sensing something was coming.
She set the glass down and walked downstairs with slow, deliberate steps. With a casual motion, she slipped off her robe, revealing a provocative lingerie set that hugged every curve of her body.
"Dios mío…" Torhec gasped in awe. Even the security guards nearby stiffened, their jaws dropping before they quickly looked away.
Vegra had a well balanced hourglass figure, with very large breasts, wide hips, and a plump ass. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a teasing smile.
"Like what you see, mi amor…?"
Without waiting for an answer, she stepped toward the pool and let herself fall into the water. The splash echoed across the villa. Moments later, she rose slowly, water cascading down her thick body as she brushed her wet hair back.
Torhec loosened his collar, his eyes fixed on her.
"You're going to pay for disturbing my work," he muttered, walking toward her.
He stepped into the pool, pulling her close. Their movements grew heated as they embraced, the tension between them spilling over. They shifted around the pool, laughter and hushed voices blending with the sound of water rippling against the edges.
After some time, the two eventually settled back inside the living room. Torhec sat on the sofa, turning on the news, while Vegra cleaned herself up nearby, wrapping a towel around her body.
"When can I see my two children, Torhec?" she asked softly.
Her tone carried a hint of pleading.
"Not for now, currently," he replied coldly, not even looking at her.
"You said that the last time," she raised her voice, frustration building.
Torhec slowly turned toward her, his expression hardening.
"You dare question me?"
Vegra scoffed, her eyes flashing with anger. "Watch your tongue, old fool. I'm alive for you ever since you killed my husband and took away my two kids because you got the hots for me. If one of my children gets even the tiniest scratch, I will kill myself. Goodnight, worthless dickhead. Can't even get it up nor last longer."
"You bitch!" Torhec roared, grabbing a glass bottle and tossing it toward her.
She moved quickly, stepping aside as the bottle shattered against the wall. Without another word, Vegra walked into her room and slammed the door shut.
Torhec breathed heavily, his jaw tight as he turned back toward the television.
The news shifted to the current election coverage. A young prosecutor appeared on screen, announcing that he would soon release evidence exposing Torhec's crimes and corruption.
Torhec narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly.
"Young blood playing with a nose he can't sniff," he muttered.
He picked up his phone and contacted Nash, Nestro, and Paul, telling them to meet him tomorrow at his villa.
The next day, at Torhec's villa, the three men arrived together. The gates opened slowly, and their vehicle rolled into the large estate. As they stepped out, they heard soft piano music echoing from inside the house.
They entered and saw Torhec seated at a grand piano, his fingers moving smoothly across the keys. Beside him sat his biological daughter, Andrea, a young girl of twelve. She watched closely, her small fingers carefully pressing the keys as she tried to follow along.
Torhec guided her hands patiently, his usually cold expression softened slightly.
"Good… again," he instructed calmly.
Andrea repeated the notes, her brow furrowed in concentration. When she finished, Torhec nodded approvingly.
"You learn quickly," he said, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Learn whatever you must to survive in this world. Skills keep you alive."
Andrea nodded quietly, absorbing his words even if she didn't fully understand them.
Torhec then noticed the three men standing nearby. He gestured for Andrea to leave.
"Go on. Practice later."
"Yes, Papa," she replied softly before walking away.
As she disappeared down the hallway, Torhec slowly turned to face the three men, his expression returning to its usual cold seriousness.
"Listen, my boys. This is something I would handle myself if it weren't for my age. I'm sixty nine now," he said, folding his hands behind his back. "I want you three to assassinate a prosecutor who has dirt on me. He's trying to make sure I won't step into politics."
"Sure, Don. What's his name?" Nestro asked.
"Olson Valdo," Torhec replied calmly.
Paul let out a low whistle. "Uff… the current mayor's son? Valdo Brunes' son?"
"Yes," Torhec confirmed. "Can you three do that? And I also want it to be public. I want Mexico City to know never to mess with me… Torhec Zalasar."
The three men exchanged uneasy glances. Broad daylight. Public assassination. It was a difficult task, even for them.
But after a moment, they nodded.
"We'll handle it, Don," Nash said.
Torhec gave a satisfied nod.
As they turned and left, Nash noticed a woman walking past them. Vegra Zalasar entered the hallway, her presence immediately drawing attention. Her posture was elegant yet guarded.
Their eyes met for the first time.
Nash gave a small nod and a faint smile.
Vegra noticed and gave a slight nod back before continuing into the room.
"Dude, don't look at her. If Don finds out you're ogling her, you're dead, man," Paul whispered as they walked out.
"Shit… that was Don's wife? When?!" Nash's eyes widened slightly.
"Yeah, bro. Word is Don killed her real husband and separated her and her two kids about two years back. I'm guessing her kids are about four now… twins, boy and girl," Paul explained quietly.
"You two done talking or what?"
They turned to see Nestro already sitting in the Range Rover, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.
Soon, the three gathered what they needed and drove out of the villa.
Not long after, they stopped at an R&R diner to refuel their gas. The vehicle rolled to a stop, and the smell of grilled food drifted through the air.
"Shit… I'm starving. A little bite won't hurt, right?" Nestro said, stretching his arms as he stepped out.
"He's putting on weight, isn't he?" Paul asked, glancing at Nestro as they walked toward the diner.
Nash smirked faintly. "Pfft… if you want to know, two days ago he introduced me to two girls. They work in some brothel. And this one girl, Vivien, said he looks good with a mustache," Nash whispered, leaning slightly closer as he shared the detail.
Paul snorted quietly. "A mustache? That guy?"
"Yeah," Nash replied, shaking his head with amusement.
Soon, the three men sat down at a booth and ordered their meals. The diner had a rustic, worn feel, with old wooden tables and the smell of grilled meat filling the air.
The waitress, a sexy Latina MILF, noticed the three men immediately as she wiped her hands on her apron. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Dios mío… can't we just get normal people nowadays?" she muttered under her breath.
Behind the counter, the chef and owner of the diner turned toward her.
"Licinia, I don't care. This is what business means. If they give you a hard time, just go with it," he said calmly while flipping something on the grill.
"Julius, when will you ever man up," she sighed, shaking her head as she walked toward the three men.
Licinia approached their table and took their order, her tone professional but slightly guarded. Nestro, however, leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with a grin.
After a brief exchange, he quietly slipped out a folded stack of cash and placed it subtly on the table.
"One thousand. Quickie," he muttered.
Licinia hesitated, glancing briefly toward the kitchen before sighing. She grabbed the cash quickly and nodded subtly.
Moments later, the two slipped into the back.
Paul leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. "Jesus… one of these days, karma's gonna get him."
Nash chuckled softly. "Probably."
The two laughed quietly while waiting.
A few minutes later, Nash suddenly felt something brush against his side. He turned and saw a small hand reaching toward a bullet shell sitting near his belt.
He gently caught the hand before she could grab it.
"Hey… that's not a kid's toy, little girl," Nash said softly.
"Ah… I'm sorry. I'm just curious. What is that?" the little girl asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Nash raised a brow and gently let go of her wrist. He took out the shell and held it up between his fingers.
"This here is my lucky bullet shell," he said, watching the little girl's eager expression. He chuckled softly before placing it gently into her small palm.
"Really?" she asked, her eyes widening with excitement as she examined it carefully.
"Your family needs more luck in this dump, kiddo. What's your name?" Nash asked, leaning slightly forward.
"Di—" she began, but before she could finish, her mother returned, her forehead damp with sweat and her expression immediately turning stern.
"Dilara, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?" Licinia said firmly as she approached.
"I'm sorry…" Dilara lowered her head, her voice small and apologetic.
"Hey now, she's just a kid. Curiosity is in their nature," Nash said calmly, gently patting the child's head.
Dilara looked up at him again, clutching the shell carefully in her hand, while Licinia studied Nash for a moment, her expression softening slightly despite herself.
The three men finished their meals quietly. Nestro leaned back in satisfaction, patting his stomach, while Paul wiped his mouth with a napkin. Nash remained silent, his eyes briefly drifting toward Dilara, who sat near the counter.
They paid for their meals and stood up to leave.
As Nash passed Licinia at the counter, he quietly slipped a few thousand pesos into her hand. She blinked in surprise, looking down at the folded cash before glancing back at him.
"Consider it for the child," Nash said calmly. "Give her a good life, lady."
Licinia looked at him, caught slightly off guard by the gesture. Before she could say anything, Nash had already turned and walked out.
Outside, the desert wind brushed lightly across the parking lot as the three men climbed back into the Range Rover. The engine started, and the vehicle slowly rolled away from the diner.
Inside, Dilara stood by the window, her small arms folded on the sill. She rested her cheek against them, watching quietly as the vehicle disappeared down the dusty road.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the bullet shell Nash had given her, holding onto it as the car vanished into the distance.
A few hours later in Mexico City, the three men began their operation to assassinate Olson Valdo, son of Valdo Burnes.
Intel confirmed that Olson lived in a condominium. The three loaded their rifles and handguns carefully. Since Torhec wanted it to be a public assassination, they prepared for a loud and direct approach.
They positioned themselves across the street, waiting patiently.
Minutes passed.
Eventually, an SUV pulled up to the front entrance.
Olson stepped out of the building, accompanied by two security guards. The guards scanned the surroundings cautiously, but it was already too late.
Nestro raised his hand, signaling the attack.
Gunfire erupted.
The two security guards quickly reacted, pushing Olson toward the SUV. They dashed for cover behind the vehicle as bullets struck the pavement and nearby walls.
Paul pulled a grenade and hurled it toward the SUV.
The explosion rang out, sending debris and smoke into the air. The vehicle was heavily damaged, but it still provided partial cover.
Through the smoke, Nash spotted an opening. Olson's foot was exposed near the damaged passenger door.
Nash steadied his rifle.
With precise timing, he fired.
The bullet struck Olson's ankle, forcing him to collapse onto the road in agonizing pain. As Olson fell, his head became fully exposed.
Nash fired again.
In a millisecond, Olson was dead from a clean headshot.
Meanwhile, Paul and Nestro exchanged fire with the two security guards. They managed to take both of them down, but one of the guards fired a final shot before collapsing.
The bullet struck Paul in the thigh.
"Argh… mierda," Paul cursed, gripping his leg tightly as blood began to seep through his pants.
"Move!" Nestro shouted.
Sirens could already be heard faintly in the distance.
Nash and Nestro quickly helped Paul and retreated, escaping before the police arrived.
An hour later, the three arrived at a designated location only they knew. A rundown motel outside of Mexico City.
They laid Paul down on the bed carefully, removing his jacket and checking the wound.
"Wait here, bro. I'll go fetch some medicine and stuff for Paul," Nestro said.
Nestro left the room, leaving Nash behind to guard the door while Paul lay on the bed, breathing heavily.
About ten minutes later, Nestro was returning with the medical supplies when he turned the corner near the motel entrance.
Before he could react, he was slammed hard against the wall.
A rifle was immediately pressed under his chin.
Uniformed police officers surrounded him. At the center stood their chief, Marco, watching him with a cold, almost amused expression.
"Greetings, Nestro," Marco said. "Heh… you look like shit."
Nestro glared at him, breathing heavily, trying to steady himself against the wall.
"Shall we kill him?" asked one of the officers beside Marco.
Marco tilted his head slightly. "Now, now. His life isn't worth that much." He leaned closer. "I only want one answer."
Nestro stayed silent.
Marco's eyes sharpened. "Who did it?"
Nestro spat to the side. "Fuck you."
A faint smile formed on Marco's face. He straightened up and gave a small nod.
"Do it."
A shot rang out.
Nestro cried out in pain as a bullet struck his leg, forcing him down against the wall. He struggled, breathing hard, teeth clenched as pain shot through his body.
"Where are your friends?" Marco asked calmly. "I'm sure they'd be more cooperative."
"Like hell I tell you," Nestro growled through gritted teeth.
Marco sighed, almost disappointed. He exchanged a glance with his men.
"Target pressure," he said flatly.
The officer beside him adjusted his aim lower, using it purely as intimidation.
Nestro froze for a split second, realizing what they were threatening.
His jaw tightened. Sweat ran down his face.
"…Fuck," he muttered.
"Room 616," he finally said.
Marco nodded slowly, as if filing the information away in his mind.
"Heh. Emperor Nero from history. You boys really like dramatic hideouts," he said, turning away. "Move."
The officers released Nestro roughly, leaving him collapsed against the wall as they prepared to move toward the motel.
Back in the room, Nash felt a growing sense of unease.
"What's taking that fat boy so long?" he muttered under his breath.
He stood up, moving toward the door to check.
But before his hand even reached the handle—
The door exploded inward.
The force sent Nash flying backward through the thin wall, crashing hard into the bathroom tiles. Dust and splinters filled the air as the motel room shook from the impact.
"Hands in the air! Gun! Gun!" voices shouted.
Bootsteps thundered inside the room. Gunfire erupted instantly, bullets tearing through furniture and walls.
Nash staggered up, disoriented but reacting on instinct. He grabbed his rifle, still strapped from earlier, and fired back in full auto, spraying the hallway blindly while trying to regain control of his position.
Two officers rushed forward and tossed smoke grenades.
White smoke flooded the room, swallowing visibility. Shapes became silhouettes. The air turned thick and suffocating.
A second grenade followed moments later—detonating with a sharp blast that shook the structure again.
Nash was thrown off balance and dropped to the ground under pressure and concussion.
"Cease fire! We've got him pinned!" a voice called out.
Within seconds, he was forced onto the ground at gunpoint.
"Chief, we found one shooter," an officer reported.
"And the other?" Marco asked calmly from outside the smoke.
"Dead, sir. Must've gone down during the exchange."
Marco stepped through the doorway, scanning the wrecked room until his eyes landed on Nash lying on the floor, breathing heavily, barely conscious.
He crouched slightly, studying him.
"Kid… you're in a heat of trouble," Marco said coldly.
Nash's vision blurred. The noise around him faded, the room spinning as exhaustion and shock overtook him.
His grip loosened.
And then everything went dark as he lost consciousness.
In a dark room with a single hanging light still intact, cold water was splashed onto Nash's face. He jolted awake, gasping sharply—only to realize he was restrained, bruised, and stripped bare.
His body ached from head to toe. Every breath felt heavy.
"It's been a week, kid," Marco said, sitting across from him, completely relaxed. "Want a donut?" he mocked lightly.
Nash didn't respond. His head hung slightly forward, eyes cold but exhausted.
Marco chuckled under his breath. "Not bad. You can handle our torture and shit… despite you having a big fucking dick."
The room erupted in laughter from the officers behind him, their voices echoing with mockery.
Then the mood shifted.
Marco leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping into something sharper, more controlled.
"Look, Nash… it was fun while it lasted, but face reality."
He tapped a folder on the table.
"The person you were hired to help you didn't come through. Your friend Nestro is alive, currently receiving treatment and held in a jail hospital. He's confirmed for five years as an accomplice."
Marco paused briefly.
"As for Paul… may Mother Death have mercy on him."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Then Marco continued.
"And you… here's the deal I'm going to give you."
He crouched slightly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocked. His gaze stayed fixed on Nash.
"You were confirmed as the one who shot Olson Valdo. That puts you at sixty to seventy years minimum."
Marco tilted his head slightly.
"Unless you accept my offer. One name. That's all it takes, Nash. Just one."
He leaned in a little closer.
"And it's already been a week. If you accept, I'll reduce it to eight years for giving us the source we need. What do you say? Sweet money ticking bomb of a deal, eh?"
Nash stayed silent for a long moment.
The room felt heavier now, the silence pressing down on him more than the interrogation itself. A week of pain, exhaustion, and pressure had worn him down to the edge.
Finally, he exhaled slowly.
"…Torhec… Torhec Zalasar," he said hoarsely.
Marco straightened up immediately, a faint smile forming on his face.
"Good boy, kid," he said. "Congrats. I'll fill in the papers and documents. Be grateful—you're only wasting eight years instead of becoming an old man in here."
He stood up, closing the file.
The deal was done.
Later, the official sentence came through: originally sixty to seventy years. Reduced to eight years after Nash's cooperation and Marco's recommendation to the judge.
Nash was processed and transferred, the weight of his choice settling in as the doors of the prison closed behind him.
8 years passed.
Nash, now 31 years old, sat alone in a prison cell when a heavyset police officer walked in.
"Huh… so you're Nash, huh?" the officer said, looking him up and down.
Nash slowly looked up. His face was rough, covered in stubble, his eyes hardened by time. "Yeah. What is it to you?" he asked flatly.
"What were you in for?" the officer asked.
"That's personal," Nash replied immediately.
"Yeah, well I don't give a damn. I'm ordered to release you today."
Nash didn't react much, just exhaled quietly.
Soon after, he was taken out for release—but not before receiving a rough final beating from the guards under the guise of "procedure."
"Congrats, Nash. You're releasing today. This is our congratulations to you," one of them mocked.
Minutes later, Nash was placed into the back of a patrol car. The heavyset officer drove him out of the facility.
"Lots of shit happened while you were locked up," the officer said. "Torhec is mayor now. Prostitutes, drugs, guns, corruption… all that shit went up."
Nash slowly turned his head. "Wait… Torhec is mayor?"
"Yup," the officer replied casually.
Eventually, the car stopped in a narrow alley where no one could be seen.
"Oi," the officer said, tossing him a hundred pesos. "Here's a hundred bucks too. Every time a criminal is released, we give them that as a small support. Name's Zes, by the way."
Nash caught the money silently.
Zes drove off, leaving him alone in the alley.
Over the following days, Nash wandered through Mexico City. No one recognized him. People saw him as just another beggar. He slept where he could, ate scraps, and survived however possible.
One night, he found a half-drunk bottle of whiskey and drank it without hesitation.
The next morning, he was woken by another homeless man shaking him.
"Oi… you can't end waste your life like shit," the man said.
Nash blinked and looked up, focusing on the man's face.
"…Wait. Aren't you Burnes Coldul? The mayor before Torhec entered politics?" Nash asked.
"Was," the man replied bitterly. "Because of him I'm living in this dump."
Nash sat up slowly. "So it's you…"
Burnes studied him for a moment. "Looks like you got betrayed. Cartel member?"
"Was," Nash answered.
Burnes let out a tired laugh. "Well, not that it matters anymore. I'm eighty, kid. My life's done."
"I'm thirty-one," Nash said quietly.
"So? Fuck it," Burnes shrugged. "My life's over, yours isn't. So shut up, touch some grass, and start over. Even a beggar has intel that cartels or unwanted people need gone."
He turned and began walking away.
Nash stayed silent for a long moment.
"…Dios mío," he muttered to himself. "What am I doing?"
His thoughts drifted back to his parents—dead in a car crash when he was five. What would they think if they saw him like this?
He clenched his fists slightly.
"Fuck it. I'm done with the cartel. I'll start fresh. I still remember where Nestro's original home was… I'll start there."
Slowly, Nash pushed himself up.
And with nothing but empty pockets and a broken past, he began walking forward—leaving the old world behind.
From a nobody… to someone again.
---
Chapter 1 — End