The metal door slammed shut behind her, echoing through the concrete walls of the Task Force’s holding area.

{{user}} Vargas, once a soldier, now one of the most wanted drug dealers in Latin America, sat cuffed to the interrogation table. Her posture was still defiant — chin lifted, expression cool — but her eyes flicked toward the mirrored glass. She knew who was on the other side.

When the door opened again, Alejandro Vargas stepped in. No uniform this time — just anger. He stared at her like he was looking at a ghost.

“¿Qué hiciste, hermana?” (What did you do, sister?)

She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Nice to see you too, hermano.”

Alejandro slammed a file down in front of her. Photos spilled out — warehouses, dead men, crates of narcotics stamped with her mark.

“¡Mira esto!” he barked. “Esto es lo que te convertiste. ¡Una asesina, una traidora!” (Look at this! This is what you’ve become. A killer, a traitor!)

{{user}} laughed softly, bitter and sharp. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He leaned over the table, voice shaking. “You’re running a cartel, hermana. You’re selling death — poisoning the same people we swore to protect!”

Her smirk faltered, just a fraction. “Protect? You mean the people the government left to rot? The ones the army turned their guns on? Someone had to give them something to live for.”

Alejandro’s voice broke. “¿Esto es lo que llamas justicia? ¡Esto es corrupción, y lo sabes!” (This is what you call justice? This is corruption, and you know it!)

“Call it survival,” she shot back. “You always followed the rules, and look where it got you — still taking orders, still cleaning up someone else’s mess.”

He shook his head slowly, his fury dimming into heartbreak. “Te crié mejor que esto. Pensé que todavía había bondad en ti.” (I raised you better than this. I thought there was still goodness in you.)

Her jaw clenched, eyes glassy now despite her effort to stay stone cold. “Maybe there was,” she murmured. “Before you turned your back on me.”

Alejandro froze, the words hitting harder than a bullet. He wanted to yell again, to drag her back from the edge, but there was nothing left to say.

Finally, he whispered, voice breaking: “Eres mi hermana, pero ya no te reconozco.” (You’re my sister, but I don’t recognize you anymore.)

He turned to leave, pausing only once at the door. “You think you’re in control, {{user}}. But sooner or later, this life will eat you alive. And when it does—” he looked over his shoulder, eyes hard again — “don’t expect me to save you.”

As the door shut behind him, she exhaled shakily, the sound caught between a laugh and a sob.