I rode my bike through the streets of San Miguel de Los Cielos, a city alive with street vendors and their plastic-bag makeshift stalls, stacked with DVD towers, shit-quality phone chargers, and cheap junk lifted from truck raids. Among them were honest folk struggling to stay afloat: old ladies selling sweet bread and coffee, men polishing shoes for dirt cheap—and those left with nothing but their hands to beg.

  The self-proclaimed rulers prowled the streets, their gang names tattooed onto their skin, proudly advertising which cancerous crew they belonged to. Nobody will miss you when you’re gone, walking sacks of shit.

  Locals knew better than to defy them. No matter how much they fucked them over, fighting back would end with your family paying the price for your ‘petty’ pride. Only clueless tourists dared to protest—and ended up with no cash and a couple of broken bones.

  They acted like corrupt nobles—anything a peasant had belonged to them, any woman was fair game. The only law they followed was their own; the police were nothing but walking practice targets.

  ‘Fucking gangsters turned a nice city into a PvP zone’, I muttered, weaving cautiously between cars like I was moving through fog of war. Those fuckers liked to target unaware riders.

  I reached the pub, but it had no parking lot, and the street was already full of parked cars. I drove a bit farther until I found a spot in front of a beauty salon.

  “Hey, mister! May I leave my bike here?” I shouted to the old, chunky security guard.

  “No. It’s only for clients,” he refused nonchalantly.

  “Come on, I’ll buy you a coke,” I said, relaxed.

  “Fine, but park it here.” He yielded, extending his hand, expecting his tip.

  “Thanks, mister.” I parked where he told me, gave him five bucks, and took off my helmet. The midday summer sun immediately heated my shiny bald head. It didn’t get too hot, as baldness came with the passive skill light reflection, turning me into a human disco ball.

  I chained up my bike and helmet with a chain sturdy enough to laugh at bolt cutters. A shitty, cheap chain is no chain at all.

  Before getting on my way, I pretended to adjust the bike mirror and checked my surroundings—lots of rookie gangsters larping as ugly gargoyles on every block corner, watching, waiting.

  I whipped my head to make it shinier. A few gangsters squinted at my brilliance. I managed to hold my chuckles, because something as tiny as that would make you the kill of the day.

  I kept my eyes low, my ears sharp, and my pace steady; the relaxed face I’d shown the security guard was long gone. No matter how much I wanted to haul ass, I knew running was calling for lead.

  My ears caught screams—pleas for mercy, some for help—but I kept repeating the sacred mantra: see, hear, shut up. Playing the hero here was nothing but a warranted, meaningless death.

  Close to the pub entrance, a nervous boy stood selling gum and cigarettes. Behind him, his scrawny little sister clutched his ragged, dirty shirt, her wide eyes peeking out. I gazed at them for a moment, their figures pulling a memory of me and my sis doing the same.

  ‘Life dealt you a bad hand, lad.’

  The boy noticed my stare, manned up, and spoke.

  “H-hello, sir. I sell gum!”

  “Gum!” his sister echoed, poking her head out, the cheerfulness of her voice unfit for the place she was in.

  “How much, lad?” I crouched to meet his eye level.

  “One dollar,” he said, and his sister chimed in, proudly holding up a single finger.

  “That’s too much. Nobody will buy,” I told him bluntly.

  “Ehm…” His eyes swam around, trying to find a reply, his grip on the box tightening.

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “H-he went North, so we could eat and go to school…” Sadness and hope mixed in his tone.

  ‘Jumping the wall, huh? That’s an atrocious idea nowadays.’

  “Your mom?”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “S-sleeping! She works all night selling food.”

  ‘There ain’t no way she just sells food. And seeing these smol fishes swim among sharks—hang in there, night lady.’

  I sighed inwardly, grabbed a piece of gum from his box, and dropped five coins into it.

  “Thanks, sir.” The kid smiled when he saw the golden coins. I snuck in another five.

  “Buy some food for your sister. She’s just skin and bones.”

  “Danks!” the little girl said, beaming as she handed me a crumpled, worn-out lottery ticket.

  ‘This little thing doesn’t even know what’s happening,’ I chuckled to myself.

  “Life… dreashur!” she declared with all the pride in the world.

  “Thanks, lassie.” I grinned, pocketed her life treasure, and ruffled her hair before standing up. The ticket had GLT17 2P printed on it in faded ink.

  ‘I’ll keep it as a lucky charm.’ I said goodbye to the kids and went on my way; spending more time with them might get me in trouble, so I sped up my pace.

  ‘You may starve tomorrow, so at least eat for today.’

  I finally entered the shithole of a pub. A jukebox held together with duct tape blasted banda music, its rhythm competing with the chaotic chatter of the room. Bullet holes adorned the half-assed patched walls. Cigar smoke hung thick in the air, swirling downward as wobbling ceiling fans struggled to do their job. The stench of stale beer and burnt tobacco made me regret stepping in. ‘I’ll never get used to this damn smell.’

  In the middle of the lively chaos, I spotted a familiar face seated dead center in the pub, shamelessly flirting with the waitress.

  A face shaved clean, a spiky quiff that had refused to die since the 2010s. A button-up shirt a size too small, stretched tight to flex his muscles.

  ‘Shameless motherfucker.’ I smirked. I suppressed my presence and enjoyed his shenanigans.

  “Which one do you recommend? I don’t drink much, so I don’t know about beers.”

  The waitress pressed her rack against his back, her head peeking from his left side while pointing at the menu.

  “Corona is my favorite. I think you’ll like it, mister, uhm…”

  He moved his head to the left with a calculated motion. She turned slightly and ended up locking eyes with him. The waitress smiled nervously and pulled back.

  “Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you join me while I wait for my friend?”

  He turned to see her better, still reestablishing eye contact. She seemed to like the idea and was about to sit, until her boss yelled at her to get back to work.

  “S-sorry, I can’t right now, maybe another time.” She slid a piece of paper into his shirt pocket and felt up his chest.

  ‘Another one for the harem.’ With the function over, I finally made my way over to him. I plopped down on the creaking chair.

  “Why did you wait for her to go? I needed your help to boost my conquest speed,” he said, smiling creepily on purpose.

  “Nah, I wanna have my conscience clean when Maria finds out you’re cheating on her again.”

  “What, will you snitch on me?” He grinned shamelessly.

  “I won’t tell, but I won’t hide it if she comes to me with a knife asking for answers.” Nelson half-ignored my rant and ordered a beer bucket.

  “Fair.” He began rubbing his hands together. “Mister Frank, I bring you a proposal.”

  “But first, let me grab the beers. I can’t discuss business sober.” He got up and went to the counter.

  Meanwhile, I put my elbows on the table and began to scan my surroundings. Half of the pub was filled with gangsters. Goddamnit. I kept scanning and spotted a Santa Muerte shrine—a small table with a white cloth, black candles in glasses, coins, and fresh flowers surrounding a skeleton wrapped in black.

  Greetings, Miss Grim Reaper. I nodded, showing respect. The small flame of one black candle hypnotized me, and soon I began to notice a fresh flower drying up, the flame flickering white, and a haunting, sick chuckle. My coyote instincts screamed at me to nope the fuck out.

  The sound of Nelson setting the beer bucket on the table snapped me back to reality. The flowers were once again fresh, and the flame was normal.

  “Drink up, Frank. Today we get wasted with my money!”

  I grabbed the beer Nelson handed me and chugged it in one go. Tastes like fermented piss. I glared at him. “Where’s my vodka?”

  “No, it’s banned,” Nelson said, shaking his head as he laughed.

  “Why, dammit? I don’t like beer.”

  “Last time you had vodka, you tried to make out with a dog, restore the Soviet Union, and drag me to a war zone to loot tactical boots.”

  I groaned, rubbing my temple. “I don’t remember shit. The alcohol corrupted my save file.” ‘Never drinking to that point again.’

  “It seems almost dying didn’t change your grumpy cunt self,” Nelson said, gulping half the bottle in one go. “Glad to see you alive.”

  “I did wish to die. Flu with broken ribs in hell on earth.” I chugged down the entire bottle of bitter beer.

  “Why’d you drag me to this shithole? I don’t plan on committing suicide by gangster.”

  I kept looking around, but there wasn’t a rear exit in sight. Nice.

  “Relax, Frank. The owner’s the brother of the city ruler. Your ass is safe here, as long as we drink enough and the owner considers us good clients,” Nelson said as he gulped his beer.

  “At most, someone might ask to borrow your phone.”

  “I brought my lizard tail just in case,” I replied smugly, patting my pocket. My trusty ‘stealable phone’ was always at the ready.

  “You’ve been carrying that shit for three years now, paranoid fuck,” Nelson chuckled.

  “Actually, this is the third! It works!” I grinned.

  “Still, it’s fucking stupid.”

  “If it’s stupid and works, then it’s not stupid” I declared proudly.

  “Speaking of stupid, how’s Jonathan doing?”

  I leaned back. “I haven’t seen your brother in two years. The cunt doesn’t even respond to my messages. Did he manage to graduate and get his dick wet? Or is he still—”

  “He’s dead.”

  I froze mid-sentence, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. My hand moved aimlessly, as if reaching for the right words. “Fuck… I’m sorry, man.”

  “It’s okay,” Nelson said, his voice heavy, his hand gripping the bottle.

  “I didn’t tell you sooner because… well, his death was so sudden and…” He sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Hard to believe.”

  He paused, clearly struggling to piece his thoughts together.

  “May I know how?” I asked as politely as I could.

  “Cheer up, man. Don’t get too serious on me!” Nelson forced a smile, but hesitated again. “It’s just…”

  I waited, but he didn’t continue. He looked

  extremely uncomfortable.

  “If it’s too hard to talk ab—”

  “He choked on a chorizo and died.”