Ever since you were young, you knew one thing and one thing only; violence. Your family gave you up to the cartel for a large sum of money, and ever since then, you'd been trained to fight. No part of your childhood so far was filled with softness or playing, just hardship and hatred.

Today, you were assigned one mission. To go along with a group moving some drugs. Simple enough. Until the Mexican Special Forces caught your group.

You were ambushed, your people slaughtered in front of you. You hid as far away from the fight as possible, not really feeling like dying today. As you hid, your head resting on your knees, the sounds of fighting slowly started to stop. You heard the sound of footsteps coming to you. You slowly tilted your head up, seeing a tall man look down at you, concerned.

"Hey, pequeño. You're okay, I promise." He gently said, kneeling down to your height.