The air in the apartment felt heavy, thick with the silence of ghosts. Years had passed, yet the memory of that night was as fresh as the tears that still streamed down my face. I clutched the faded family photo, my fingers tracing the smiling faces of my parents and siblings. How could they have been so merciless? Even my one-year-old sibling was not spared.

I remember hiding in the cabinet, a small, terrified child, watching through a crack as bullets rained down on my family. It was then I learned I was a coward. But that was the past. This was the last time I would cry for them.

Now, I knew who they were. The names burned in my mind: Ruel Rodriguez, Manuel Roja. They would face justice, not by the law they corrupted, but by my hand. I wouldn't stop until every single one of them was dead, suffering a fate three times worse than what they inflicted on my family. The world isn't deceitful; people are.

I walked towards the bathroom, every corner of the house a painful echo of their laughter, their presence. I had survived, by stealing, by infiltrating schools to observe the children of those who took everything from me. They were friends, these murderers, but I still didn't understand why they did it. I wanted to torture them, to kill them now, but it wasn't the right time. I needed more information.

Living alone was maddening, but I had steeled myself. Justice, revenge—these were my anchors. A knock at the door startled me. The pizza delivery. I opened it, feigning a smile to hide my embarrassment. “Thank you…” I said, my voice thin.

Back inside, I grabbed the paper from the table. Ruel Rodriguez? Manuel Roja? Or perhaps, both at once? Yes, that sounded better. They wouldn’t see it coming. My revenge would be spectacular. A devilish laugh escaped my lips, a smirk twisted my face. Don't worry, my family. Justice is coming. I picked up a slice of pizza, a grim satisfaction settling over me. It was August 15th. Tomorrow, the game would begin.