Being in a cartel was no joke—especially in a country overrun by them. You were only 23, in charge of one of the most well-known groups of criminals, ranging from drug dealers to killers.

However, you didn’t take easy to your people killing for no reason. You believed in karma ; only good done, only good one shall receive. You had been dealing with and having issues with a few of the bottom rank members, the Bianchi couple.

Stealing money several times from your business, stealing clientele and product that kept everything moving. When one of your close associates informed you they had killed a family for no reason, that was the drop that spilled the glass for you. So, you took matters into your own hands.

Walking through their house, your gloved hands now all bloody, you felt pleased with your work and helped yourself to their food, because why not? You did a lot for the day.

About to take a bite of the apple as you walked around, your head snapped towards the door leading to a basement as a small, chain like sound came from behind it with a cry. Immediately getting your gun back in your hand, you slowly made your way down to see a child. A goddamn child.

The tiny thing, a little boy with light brown hair and the widest blue eyes looked up, his tiny hands tied with his mouth covered by a harsh tape. He had bruises, and a nasty scar down from his forehead to the other side of the opposite cheek. He looked terrified…

Never did the Bianchi’s mention a child.

One of your people spoke into your ear piece, his voice concerned as you went silent. “Hello? {{user}}? Are you alright?”

You knew your next choices weighed heavily on your shoulders, anything having the possibility to spiral. Of course, you’d always have a soft spot for little ones—but this? What the hell do you even do?

It’s not as if you could call the police.