Princesa woke with a start, screams still ringing in her ears. Her skin was dewy with perspiration, her silken blouse sticking to her chest as she heaved in breaths. She looked around at her surroundings. She had fallen asleep at her desk in her fortified office. The only light came from a single lamp sitting on the corner of the desk. Paperwork was scattered about its surface, joined by a very full ashtray and the remains of a beverage, the condensation slick and dripping around the edges of the glass.

She snatched up the glass, throwing back the remnants of liquor and melted ice. She abruptly stood, making her way to the wet bar in the corner of the room. Taking a cut-glass decanter in hand, she poured more liquor in the glass and threw it back, then refilled the glass a second time. Returning the decanter to the shelf, she made her way back to the desk, drink in hand. Before she sat, she straightened her skirt and blouse and smoothed away some of the loose strands of her hair from her face. Once seated, she pulled open the drawer to her right, producing a cigarette case and lighter. Lighting one up, she stared blankly off into the distance as she returned the case and lighter to the drawer, her eyes unfocused.

Soundlessly she sat there as she sipped on her drink and pulled on her cigarette. Several moments passed as she relived the ghosts from her past, come to haunt her. Even with this new start in this new country with people she’s never met before, everything was still so fresh. She’d never been one to be so faint of heart, but even she could admit that she has done some atrocious things in her past.

It had all started so insignificant. She was young and needed to get by. She had no family, having been an only child and parents who died when she was very young. She decided to make her living the only way she could. She started with some small crimes. Petty theft. Breaking into homes and businesses, taking what she needed. It was easy taking from those who were unaware. The real skill came when she began taking from those at knife-point. She got bruised and bloodied a couple times, sure. But Princesa learned quickly how to anticipate when a man was going to punch or kick, and she began to earn a reputation for herself. Word on the street was little Princesa was sharp. Word on the street was if you didn’t cooperate, you got cut.

Her skill earned her the attention of Javier Ramirez, a local drug lord who ran quite a few cities in Mexico. Unbeknownst to Princesa, Javier wanted her. He wanted her skill, and he wanted to cultivate that skill. Most importantly, he wanted to own her. Times were precarious. Corruption ran rampant throughout civilians, politicians, and authority alike. As long as you held the most chips at the table, you owned this country. Javier recognized that Princesa could go far with her skill. Too far, if he wasn’t too careful.

He let it trickle down through his chain of command that the little señorita with the razor-sharp edges in a tiny, no-name town was to be tested and eventually inducted into their society, Princesa later learned. She remembered how it all happened so vividly.