Chapter 2: The Day the World Changed

San Rosario – Tuesday, 5:57 AM

First, the sound of footsteps. Quick, sharp. Someone running, I thought. That wasn’t strange in this neighborhood. But this time, it was different.

Because the front door burst open.

And footsteps echoed inside my home.

Without thinking, I grabbed the knife that always sleeps next to me. A tip my father once gave me. Ironic—it's the same knife that killed him.

I listened. Silence. Not a sound.

Barefoot, I moved down the hall. The air felt colder than usual.

The living room was lost in shadows. My mother lay on the couch. Motionless.

Behind her... a man. Young. Breathless. Wild eyes. A pistol trembling in his hand.

Our eyes locked.

“Don’t move!” he shouted, voice cracking.

I raised my hands slowly. My throat was dry.

“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice came out low, calm on the surface, but about to snap.

He stepped back, knocking over the table, and pointed the gun at me.

“They’re chasing me! I hid here—I didn’t know anyone was home—I just wanted to—”

He was panicking. His hand shook violently. Then he pointed the gun toward my mother. She was still... or pretending. I saw her chest rise.

I knew if I didn’t say something fast, fear would make him do something he’d regret.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” I said, lowering the knife to the floor. “Nobody’s gonna get hurt. I get it. You’re scared. We can help you. Just breathe.”

He listened, but his eyes darted wildly. Voices outside were closing in.

“He’s close!” someone shouted. “Search every house, every corner!”

The guy went pale. Trembling like a leaf.

I motioned toward my mom’s room—“Hide there,” I whispered. “Lock the door.”

He nodded and ran in. But his panic betrayed him. A shot fired.

The bullet struck the ceiling.

Silence shattered.

“There! That house! Move in!”

Everything erupted. They stormed the building. The fugitive burst back into the room screaming, grabbed my mother, shoved the gun against her head.

I froze. Sweat dripped down my back. I couldn’t move.

Four men entered. All in black. Armed. Tense. One of them stepped forward, commanding the air around him.

He stopped a few feet from the intruder.

He was tall, built like a wall. A worn bulletproof vest stretched over his chest. A scar split his face from brow to jaw. His beard was clean-cut, but his eyes...

His eyes were iron. Gray and dead.

He held a Glock in each hand. He didn’t need them to be dangerous.

This was Pablo. The leader.

He spoke in a low, calm voice—like the kind of calm that comes before an explosion.

“Put the gun down, Diddy. It’s over.”

The young guy—Diddy—was shaking.

“Please, Pablo... I didn’t mean to... I just want this to stop...”

“Then drop the weapon. Let the lady go. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

“That’s a lie! You’re gonna torture me! You’re gonna kill me!”

“Not if you lower the gun. That’s my word.”

But Diddy had already crossed the line. Too far gone. Too scared.

He pulled the trigger.

A single shot.

Straight into my mother’s head.

Her skull shattered.

I think I screamed. But I’m not sure. Everything went silent.

Half a second later, Pablo fired.

Two bullets. One through the throat. One through the eye.

Diddy collapsed like garbage.

Silence.

Now it was just me, Pablo, three armed men, and my mother’s body.

---

A few minutes passed.

I knelt beside her. Blood everywhere. My arms. My shirt. Under my nails.

I touched her face.

She was already cold.

Pablo stepped over to Diddy’s body. He looked down at it with disgust, then spat beside it.

“You held on this long,” he muttered, “and this is how you go out? Over nothing? A worthless little rat?”

I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

The only thing in my head was the hope that she hadn’t felt anything—that it had been quick.

She suffered too much already. I hope she didn’t feel the last part. I really hope...

A single tear escaped. That’s all I gave myself.

I wanted to give you a better life, mamá. I knew it was too late since you got sick... but I still tried. I fought for you. I fought hard. And now...

I clenched my jaw. Forced myself to hold it all in.

---

Pablo walked over. He holstered his pistols, then crouched down in front of me.

He looked at me the way a general looks at a soldier lying broken in the mud.

“That was your mother?”

I nodded.

“You didn’t scream. Didn’t beg. You watched her die and didn’t shatter. That’s rare.”

“I’m shattered right now. I just don’t show it,” I said quietly.

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s strength. Not the muscles. The control.”

He handed me a card. Crumpled. Faded. Just a name, a number, and a red mark.

“My name’s Pablo. Los Rojos.”

“I’m looking for a right-hand man. Someone quiet. Smart. Someone who can take a hit. If you’re interested... come find me in our zone. I’ll tell my boys to let you in.”

He stood. Gave me one last look.

“No more attachments. No more excuses. All that’s left... is to decide who you’re going to become.”

He walked out. His crew followed.

I stayed there. Kneeling. Hands full of blood. Her blood.

The card pinched between my fingers.

I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s like walking through fog with no path and no light. But still... I want to move forward.

---

End of Chapter 2