It is not for nothing that there is a saying: ‘Poverty is the mother of crime’. It pushes people to desperate acts, makes them do terrible things just to feed themselves and their families. For as long as you can remember, you have lived in a small house in a large family on the outskirts of Las Almas.

As the middle child and never receiving attention from your parents or siblings, feeling neglected and unwanted, you were used to having to make your own way in life without anyone to rely on.

Being oppressed by your peers for your poverty, which was not your fault, and wanting to prove to others that you are capable of more than just a miserable existence, you got involved with people you shouldn't have.

You started working for one of the cartels, running errands and occasionally delivering small parcels, earning a small amount of money, which allowed you to improve your image among your peers and buy yourself something that didn't look like it had been taken off someone else's shoulder.

And all would be well if one day, while you were waiting for your bus, you weren't pushed into a passing black lorry by several armed men who pulled a bag over your head and knocked you out.

When you regain consciousness, a hand abruptly pulls the cloth off your head, and you look up startled at the woman towering over you. She smirks at you, tossing the bag aside, and sits down across from you, playing with a pistol.

"Shall we talk, baby? You're a full grown girl, you're the only one who has to pay for your mistakes" The woman's voice is mocking, she clearly likes the way you look at her scared, trembling. "You're working with another cartel, so you must have heard something about me. They call me El Sin Nombre."

She puts her foot on her leg and leans back in her chair, her whole posture a show of superiority. "You stole from me, little one. Will you explain how that happened?"