This is a lone journey.99

"How can I ask someone to love me when all I do is beg to be left alone?" thought .99, absentmindedly toying with the trigger of her weapon as the convoy of about 15 vehicles ventured into one of the most troubled neighborhoods in Mexico City. The streets were deserted, save for a few shadowy figures moving furtively in the darkness. Ordinary people were aware of the narco movement. If you see a convoy of high-end, tinted cars, it means danger.

Beside her, Don Nesto, the cartel boss and one of her mentors, broke the silence. ".99, my girl, have you ever thought about the weight of our actions?"

She looked at him, her face a mask of studied indifference. "Sometimes I think our karma is so loaded that not even hell would accept us, Don Nesto. Sometimes I think we're already living in it."

The man let out a rough laugh. "You might be right. If it exists, we'll all end up there. Or maybe, as you say, we're already in it, living this life."

She turned her gaze to the window, reflecting. "It's obvious to people like us. We often secretly hope to be seen, yet never reveal ourselves. We wish to be heard, but we forbid ourselves from speaking."

From the front seat, La Posolera .66, another being disguised as a human, added mockingly, "Humans take themselves so seriously... if they were the center of the universe and God Himself."

To .99, .66's true nature was all too evident, and she wondered how others didn't notice.

The convoy abruptly stopped in front of an opulent house with well-manicured gardens and a gleaming marble facade. They had arrived at their destination: the residence of the district chief of one of Mexico City's most populous boroughs.

The door gave way, and La Posolera Aislin entered like a living shadow. .99 followed, watching as her mentor subdued the family. The lavish décor of the place displayed the status and power of the homeowner. The marble floors gleamed under the light of a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The walls were adorned with expensive artwork and family photos framed in gold.

In the living room, a young woman, dressed in an elegant blue dress, desperately clutched two small children, aware of her family's fate. The children, a boy and a girl, wore cartoon-themed pajamas and clung to their mother's chest, asking who these people were.

Don Nesto barked orders in a low voice, but she barely registered them. Her attention was divided between the immediate mission and the conflict between her ethics and reality.

"Ah, little humans," Aislin whispered, blending sweetness with menace. "We're going to play a game. I'll show you how torture is done in the darkest corners of the galaxy."

The mother sobbed, clutching her children tighter to her chest. "Don't kill my children, they're not aware of our actions. Please don't kill them."

Despite knowing her mentor's true nature, her cruelty still surprised her. "Evil is not a human invention. It's something older, more primordial."

"Good work, Posolera. Show them what awaits those who oppose us."

"Evil doesn't discriminate between species," thought .99. "But neither is it an inevitable constant."

Don Nesto approached. "Secure the perimeter, my girl. I don't want any surprises."

She nodded, moving towards the stairs. Each step took her deeper into the house and into her own reflections. On the upper floor, she found the head of the family trying to escape through a window, dressed in a silk nightshirt and matching pajama pants.

"One more move and your family will be dissolved in acid," she said coldly.

The district chief, a middle-aged man with disheveled hair and a face marked by desperation, froze. "Please," he whispered, "I have a family."

"How can we expect others to understand us when we present them with nothing to see or comprehend?" .99 murmured, more to herself than to the father. "How can we expect them to find us if we're ghosts in their lives?"

The man's gaze met .99's. His hands trembled as he gripped the windowsill.

"Please," he repeated, "I'll do anything. Just let them go."

.99 watched him for a moment. Inside, a battle raged between duty and compassion, between order and humanity. She lowered her weapon slightly, keeping her voice firm.

"Cooperate, and your family will make it out alive," with a coldness she didn't fully feel. "But if you try anything, they'll be the ones to pay the price."

She escorted him back to the main floor. Upon reaching the living room, .99 turned to the district chief and spoke in a controlled tone. "You know well that the Northern District, where we are now, is controlled by another cartel. It's common to eliminate the cops bought by the competition, to replace them with ones who will obey us."

"Four days ago," .99 continued, "we decimated the defenders of the plaza. This is just an extension of that action. We're here to make sure there's no one left to support them."

From the mother's perspective, the world stopped. The image of the armed woman was etched into her mind, accentuated by her large breasts and curvy hips, forming an hourglass figure that stood out starkly.

The father threw himself at them, embracing them and forming an impenetrable shield. The family became a single entity, an amalgamation of fear and love, trembling together amidst the opulent luxury.

"Everything's ready," .99 informed Don Nesto. Don Nesto nodded, and with a signal from his hand, .66 began his work.

She approached the prisoner. "Well, let's see how much you can endure, little girl."

She delivered a punch straight to the captive's abdomen, followed by a barrage of punches and kicks aimed at the vulnerable points of the prisoner's body. At one point, she placed a plastic bag over the prisoner's head, restricting her breathing and plunging her into a state of despair.

"Stop! Please, stop!"

Slowly, he pulled a sharp knife from his belt, letting the blade gleam under the dim light. She slid the knife slowly down the arm, sinking it into the skin.

.99 couldn't take it anymore. She stepped out into the courtyard, where the night air was cool, and the darkness provided a veil of relative peace. Despite her usual elegance and the visual impact she often had, she cried silently.

"What am I doing here?" she murmured to herself, her voice heavy with disillusionment and regret. "I'm not the problem; the world is what's wrong. People see us and all they can say is 'run.' But I honestly don't want to keep doing this."

She rested her hands against the cold wall of the courtyard. The rough texture of the brick felt comforting and tangible.

"I'm a stupid, foolish girl," she continued, the words escaping with a tone of biting self-criticism. "I know what it feels like to be worthless. Even hitmen are afraid. People looked at me like I was someone with no future, and for a long time, I believed it. But then, I learned the truth, and the truth is even more terrifying."

The screams and sounds of suffering were barely audible from her position. Her eyes filled with tears that the night couldn't hide. "Aliens are real, and they don't have good intentions toward the human race. I hate that I'm the one who knows this. I hate being part of this world that has no compassion."

"I do this to atone for my sins," she said softly, almost as if she expected the stars to answer. "If I didn't do this, what would be the point?"

She sat on a stone bench, gazing up at the starry sky. "It's time to stop believing in fairy tales," she said aloud, her words floating in the cold night air. "I've always been afraid of losing people, but who's afraid of losing me?"

She closed her eyes and covered her ears, seeking refuge in the silence of the night, a brief escape from reality.

The scene changed in her mind, transporting her to a very different place and time. It was May 11, 2000, and .99 was sitting alone in a fast food joint on the outskirts of Mexico City, a seedy place. The glow of neon lights illuminated her pale, desolate face. People walked past her, deep in small talk and the routine of their nightlife, but she felt completely isolated.

The establishment was a worn-out building with faded-colored walls and a large window displaying a flickering sign that read "Tacos y Tortas." The tables were made of cheap plastic, some broken or worn down, and the metal chairs were misaligned and creaked with every movement.

The floor was stained and sticky, and the air was thick with the smell of grease and fried food, mixed with a hint of dampness from the old refrigerator in the corner.

.99, a young woman with fair skin and European features that made her stand out among the population of that district, sat at one of the tables near the window. The table was dirty and broken, offering a partial view of the empty parking lot and the potholes in the road.

Her meal, a cold torta and an order of tacos left untouched, was scattered across the table. The plates were disposable plastic, and the cutlery was made of inferior metal, worn out from use.

The memories of her parents and the lack of inheritance from her siblings had left her adrift. She hadn't finished college and didn't know how to do anything other than ask her parents for money. The constant hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional sounds from the kitchen in the back were her only companions in solitude.

The chef, a burly man wearing a grease-stained apron, approached her, wiping down one of the nearby tables. Noticing the sad and distant expression on .99's face, he cast a curious and friendly glance her way. "Güerita, why so sad? Did you see La Llorona or what?"

"Just bring me a bolillo, please," she replied in a dull voice.

"I get it, for the scare," he said as he headed to the kitchen. He returned shortly after with a fresh bolillo, placing it in front of her.

The owner of the place put on some background music, a reggaeton track with a strong and repetitive beat.

Two customers entered, wearing black robes that covered their clothes and starkly contrasted with the rundown surroundings of the place. They were much taller than everyone present, immediately drawing the attention of the room. Conversations momentarily halted, and curious gazes followed them as they took a seat at a table next to .99.

Shortly after, a black SUV with tinted windows and security emblems parked in front of the eatery. Three army escorts stepped out. Some of them entered the establishment, exchanging glances.

At that moment, a couple entered and sat behind .99. The woman wore a flashy dress, and the man donned a dark suit, both elegant in contrast to the atmosphere of the place.

.99 shifted in her seat, observing as one of the soldiers approached the elegant couple. Their murmurs were almost inaudible due to the reggaeton music, but their gestures and expressions were clear. "The shipment successfully crossed the border," said one of the soldiers.

By 11 PM, the place was filled with different people, each with their own story and purpose. .99 noticed how the place, though run-down, was a common meeting spot for people involved in illicit activities and those from low-income backgrounds. The establishment not only offered food but also substances and, at times, more personal and discreet services. However, despite its clientele, the place was known for its flavor, an irony that only time could explain.

The chef returned to the kitchen, and the bustle continued to grow. .99 found herself sharing a table with two people. One was an average city worker, there simply to fill his stomach before returning to his daily routine. The other was a student, searching for something more than just food.

.99 tried to ignore the growing commotion around her. A person moved from table to table, offering a pamphlet to everyone present. The pamphlet was an invitation to join the drug trade, an offer that, in a place like this, was no surprise. It was just another part of the service the establishment provided.

The person continued their rounds, greeting each customer with a polite "Provecho" as they passed. The customers responded with a simple "Gracias," acknowledging the man's courtesy.

.99's eyes focused on the pamphlet. The offer to join the drug trade felt like a cruel joke in her current situation. A girl at a nearby table, dressed elegantly, leaned toward her. "Don't even think about it. That world isn't for you."

One of the soldiers, who had been speaking with the couple, smiled upon hearing the girl's words, understanding .99's circumstances more than she would have liked to admit.

Just then, a handsome and quite attractive young man entered the eatery, carrying a bag of fresh ingredients for the kitchen. His presence caused a small stir; heads turned to look at him. It was clear that his arrival was a notable event in the fonda.

.99 took a taco and bit into it slowly, letting the taste provide her with brief relief from the chaos surrounding her. The weary but sincere worker beside her commented, "You could make money, sure, but in this world, you only have two fates: ending up dead or in jail. Everyone in Mexico knows that."

She nodded, appreciating the man's concern. "Thank you for your concern."

Next to her, the two strangers in black robes continued eating tacos with forks, an incongruous sight in the rustic setting of the place. She couldn't help but laugh at the strange image they presented. "Why don't you use your hands, like I do?"

Laughter escaped her lips, a momentary distraction from the grim reality that surrounded her. The strangers briefly glanced at her, and one of them put down the fork and started eating with his hands, the other following suit.

She allowed herself a moment of distraction, savoring the brief act of normality in her tumultuous life.

The girl on the man's right side asked .99 several questions. Her tone was curious and academic. "What country are we in?" she asked, trying to use her fork to pick up a crumbling taco.

"Mexico."

"And what year is it?"

"2000."

"In which city, exactly?" she asked, wiping the fork with a napkin.

"Mexico City," .99 replied, not understanding the direction of the conversation.

"What language is spoken here?"

"Spanish."

"What is the cultural, political, and social context of this place?"

She felt a slight unease at the depth of the questions. "Mmm, it's a country rich in cultural mixes, with a turbulent political history and a society facing great inequalities. Mmmm, what else? Corruption is a cancer."

Finally, the second stranger asked, "Why are you different from the others?"

.99's discomfort grew, and her eyes narrowed. "I'm... 'White Mexican,'" she replied, her tone reflecting her unease. "It's a way of saying I'm descended from Spaniards, like many others."

"Do you need help with anything?" the soldier asked, looking at the two strangers, displaying calculated friendliness. "If you're looking for more information about the city, I can take you to the tourism agents. They can provide all the necessary information," he intervened.

"Tourism agents?" one of them asked, confused.

"Yes," the soldier replied, maintaining a professional smile. "In Mexico City, there are tourism agencies that offer guided tours and can answer all your questions about the cultural, political, and social context. They will help you better understand the place."

An idea crossed .99's mind. She observed the two strangers in black cloaks, still intrigued by the context of the city. She decided that she could offer them something more personalized than the typical tourist tour.

She stood up slightly and winked at them. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by the soldier who had intervened. He approached again, giving .99 a look that showed he was aware of the game.

"If you're looking for a more… authentic experience," .99 said in a low voice, "I could offer you a personalized tour of the city. I have some contacts and knowledge that might interest you."

"It seems you have an intriguing offer," the soldier said, smiling. "If you want to explore further, this girl can provide a more personalized experience."

Clearly interested in .99's offer, they clapped in unison. "In fact, we'd like to start the tour right now, if possible."

She raised an eyebrow, surprised but pleased by their prompt acceptance. "Perfect. We can leave right now. Just let me prepare a few things."

Before leaving, .99 heads to the bathroom to recompose himself. On her way, she bumped into the office worker. "Good night," He said, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Good night," .99 entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

The constant sound of cars passing close by filtered through the bathroom walls. She looked at herself in the mirror, and for a moment, her emotions surfaced. "I want you to be happy," she whispered to herself. "As long as you're happy..." Tears began to roll down her cheeks. "I have a good feeling about this."

"What are you doing?" came a voice from outside the bathroom. It was one of the strangers in black cloaks.

She opened the door slightly and found the stranger watching her. "You see, happiness isn't something exclusive to your species. One finds it when they learn to love themselves."

She nodded slowly, wiping away her tears. "I understand," she said, showing a melancholic smile. "(They're quite strange.)"

She took one last deep breath, composed herself, and left the bathroom, ready to start the tour. She led the strangers out of the eatery, leaving the reggaeton music and the bustling noise behind.

"Follow me, we'll take the midnight bus," she instructed them.

Once at the bus stop, she introduced herself. "My name is Lupita Martinez Laralai, but you can call me Lu. And you, what are your names?"

"We don't have names."

She frowned and decided to try in another language. "What is your name? Name, nombre," she insisted.

"We don't use those kinds of things," the other stranger replied.

"Hah," she grimaced, opening his mouth. "Then I'll call you Aislin, and I'll call you Taquito. Does that work?"

The bus arrived, and they boarded through the back door. She passed the fare to one of the passengers near the entrance. As was customary on night buses in Mexico City, the ticket was passed from hand to hand in a human chain until it reached the driver.

"My services aren't cheap," Lu warned. Taquito raised his hand, and to everyone's surprise, a yellow cube glowed in his palm. "I understand that your earth values this kind of mineral," he said, offering the cube to Lu.

The other passenger next to them froze in place. Lu took the cube, examining it. It was heavy and seemed to be pure gold. "What kind of magic trick is this?" The other passenger, terrified, crossed himself and murmured a few prayers.

"Hehehe..."

Aislin, noticing the reaction, asked, "Isn't that normal here?"

Lu and the other passenger shook their heads. "No."

Aislin stood up from his seat. Moving his hands in a way that was imperceptible to the human eye, a sudden silence fell over the bus, broken only by the faint sound of their labored breathing. All that remained was a reddish liquid covering the seats.

I felt something warm trickling down my body. I touched my dampened clothes and saw two holes in my torso, bleeding profusely. Staggering, I moved away from the bus. My mind began to drift.

"There was a moment when I was no longer the same person. Life changed me. Did I do well today? That day, I took the first step. It was another night, I didn't notice at first. It was madness. I wanted to do something with my life."

I continued to bleed out, I heard the sounds of violence coming from the bus. They had eliminated the other passenger. Then, the sound of footsteps. Aislin stepped out of the vehicle and approached me.

"I am a paradox, a walking contradiction! In a world full of people, I am often considered wise in terms of common sense, yet I do things that deviate from normal behavior."

Aislin was drawing closer.

"I have an open mind to give you a chance. I will show you the versions of me that I have woven throughout my life, the versions that others have constructed in their minds, the easy versions, the wrong versions, the social masks, the happy versions of me, the easy-to-love versions, the self-hatred."

I extended my bloodied hand toward Aislin.

"That's what you've come for, isn't it? To study us."

My vision blurred, but I could see Aislin and Taquito assessing me, something that seemed almost like... compassion?

.99 snapped out of her brief mental escape upon realizing that the screams had ceased. Don Nesto emerged into the courtyard, his figure casting a long shadow under the moonlight. ".99, my girl, it's time to leave. The 'green ones' are on their way."

The "green ones" were code for the military. Without wasting time, .99 activated her communicator and spoke with a firm and clear voice:

"Squad, attention. Operation complete. Evacuate the area immediately. I repeat, leave the zone now."

The convoy of dark vehicles withdrew from the residence, leaving behind only the echo of their presence and the consequences of their actions.

Shortly after their departure, several military vehicles arrived at the scene. Armed soldiers disembarked, followed by a group of military detectives.

A black limousine arrived, from which emerged a man dressed in the unmistakable robes of a cardinal from the Holy Church.

The lead military detective, a short-haired woman with a single eye, approached the cardinal.

"Your Eminence," said the detective, her voice a mix of respect and urgency, "do you believe these are the same individuals involved in the bus incident in the historic center?"

The cardinal observed the scene with experienced eyes, evaluating the torture techniques, the quirky procedures, the bagging, and the manner in which the victims had been dismembered.

"No, detective. This bears all the hallmarks of a cartel settling scores. The bus incident... that was something entirely different. Something beyond our earthly understanding."

The detective nodded, though her eyes revealed that she wasn't entirely convinced. "I understand, Your Eminence. We will proceed with the standard investigation then."

The cardinal withdrew a silver cross from within his robes and raised it toward the night sky. The gesture was captured by figures hidden in the shadows. Assault teams dressed in black, bearing discreet insignia of the Holy Church, vanished into the night's cloak.

Military Detective III, Eco, could not stop looking at it, after several years.

"Your Eminence, why is the Church so obsessed with that incident from years ago? I know it was just before the total eclipse of 2000."

The cardinal lowered the cross. "Detective Eco, we are seeking answers. Answers to questions most people don't even know they should be asking."

"With all due respect, I don't understand the Church. Your methods, your motivations..."

"We've been working together for several years now, detective. You should know how I am by now." — "I still remember when you graduated from the Academy (AONAO). You were the most promising of your class."

Eco couldn't help but smile at the memory. The AONAO, a secret institution founded jointly by elite military forces, anti-narcotics agencies, and the Holy Church, was known only to a few.

Reflecting on her career, she continued, "You know, Your Eminence, the Mexican government has intensified the training of military detectives to be on the front lines against the drug cartels. All cadets aspire to reach the highest level: to become members of the Elite Aztec Eagle Unit."

"Ah, the famous Aztec Eagle. I've heard of them."

"Yes," Eco continued with pride. "The Elite Aztec Eagle Unit is the crème de la crème of military detectives. One of the key components of the AONAO."

"The Academy of Anti-Narcotics and Hidden Threats," the cardinal nodded. "A unique institution in Mexico, isn't it?"

"Exactly. The AONAO is the pride of the military forces." — "The AONAO prepares us to face everything from the most powerful cartels to threats that most people can't even imagine."

The cardinal gazed at the starry sky. "Mexico has always been a land of mysteries and spiritual power. I'm not surprised that it's here where the fight against drug cartels blends with the defense against the supernatural."

"May the Virgin of Guadalupe protect the AONAO and the Aztec Eagle," murmured the cardinal.