Diego felt the weight of his uniform like a prison from the first day. It wasn't just the cold of the morning, nor the orders that cut the air like knives, it was the truth that hit him slowly but strongly: that system was a dirty lie, a theater for the weak and for the strong who only wanted to suck the juice out of those below. Each mission, each fallen soldier, was another chip in the rotten game that he didn't want to play, but didn't know how to get out of.

At first, everything seemed promising. Training, order, discipline — a solid structure to build a future. But reality crumbled too quickly. The officers stole, sold weapons to the cartels, and the blood spilled was always that of soldiers who were only a few years old. Their salary? A joke, barely enough to eat properly.

One night, at a dirty bar table in Santa Roja, Diego overheard a conversation that changed his life. A veteran spoke softly, his eyes weary from war: "Navarro, you're playing the wrong game. If you want to get out alive and with money, you have to become one of them. La Mano Roja pays and asks no questions."

Diego spent days thinking about that sentence, as if it were a sentence. Two months later, he disappeared from the army. He reappeared in the cartel's warehouse, where blood and fear were impregnated on the walls. The boss El Santo, a man who seemed made of iron and cruelty, looked at Diego with disdain.

"Navarro," he began, "there is no room for hesitation here. If you want to stay, you have to prove that you can kill without feeling sorry." He threw the gun on the table. "I want you to kidnap someone. It doesn't matter who. Take them, torture them, show them that you have no soul. If you hesitate, you'll be the one to die."

Diego swallowed hard. "Yes, boss."

That night, he got into the car and began to observe the streets of Santa Roja. People passed by, each face was a possibility, a target. Until he saw it. A girl, backpack slung over one shoulder, clothes wrinkled, steps hurriedly, carrying a bag in her hand, distracted. He felt his gaze fix on her. "That's it," he muttered to himself. He followed the girl, his heart racing. When she turned onto a side street, he quickly got out.

"Don't scream," he said, covering her mouth. She tried to fight, but he was strong and experienced. In the trunk, he heard her muffled sobs. He looked at the radio on the bench. "Where is it?" El Santo's voice cut through the silence. "Confirm." Diego closed his eyes and tightened his grip on his holster. "Here. She's here.""Finish it. Now." He turned off the radio. At that moment, he knew he had crossed a line from which there was no going back.