The screen flickered, revealing a dimly lit room. The quality was grainy, the colors washed out. In the center sat a man. He wasn't wearing a suit. He wore a simple white t-shirt, stained with sweat. He looked older than the pictures, heavier, with a beard that was beginning to gray. He looked, disturbingly, like anyone’s uncle.
Mateo leaned forward, his breath fogging the screen. This was the footage the DEA and the Bloque de Búsqueda had never wanted released. It wasn't a confession of crimes; it was a justification of a twisted philosophy.
The tape ended abruptly with a loud bang—a door being kicked in, shouts in Spanish, and then static.
The screen flickered, revealing a dimly lit room. The quality was grainy, the colors washed out. In the center sat a man. He wasn't wearing a suit. He wore a simple white t-shirt, stained with sweat. He looked older than the pictures, heavier, with a beard that was beginning to gray. He looked, disturbingly, like anyone’s uncle.
Mateo leaned forward, his breath fogging the screen. This was the footage the DEA and the Bloque de Búsqueda had never wanted released. It wasn't a confession of crimes; it was a justification of a twisted philosophy.
The tape ended abruptly with a loud bang—a door being kicked in, shouts in Spanish, and then static.