A tale of the software engineer who joined a cartel. This is a story of how a broken system corrupts a soul and the worst monsters come from within.
The air was thick with dust and fear as Joshua pressed his sweat-slicked back against the wall of the cramped storage room. His chest heaved, each breath a shallow gasp he fought to silence. Beyond the flimsy wooden door — barricaded with nothing more than a wobbly chair — came the relentless pounding. Thud. Thud. THUD. The sound rattled his bones, a drumbeat counting down to his doom.
“Open the damn door, Joshua! You can’t hide forever!” The voice was rough, edged with a Mexican accent he’d come to dread — Miguel, the cartel’s enforcer. Joshua’s hands trembled as he clutched the edge of his shirt, wiping the sweat stinging his eyes. How did it come to this?
His mind raced to his family: Emily’s warm smile, Sarah’s giggles, Ben’s curious questions. They were safe — for now — tucked away in a safehouse he’d arranged in a desperate bid to protect them. But the sacrifices gnawed at him: the lies he’d told, the lines he’d crossed, the man he’d become. All for them. All for this.
THUD! The door splintered slightly, and Joshua’s gaze locked onto it, his pulse hammering in his ears. As the wood groaned under the assault, his life flashed before him — snapshots of a time when everything was good, simple, safe. Before the Hacker Expo. Before Nguyen. Before the cartel swallowed him whole.
Months earlier, Joshua Bennett was a man who had it all. At 33, he lived in a cozy suburban home in Austin, Texas, with his wife, Emily, and their two kids, Sarah, 7, and Ben, 4. A software engineer with over a decade of experience, he’d carved out a niche in cybersecurity, working for a reputable firm that paid well and offered stability. Life was good — great, even.
He was aware of the chaos simmering along the U.S.-Mexico border: the migration crisis, the cartel violence spilling over into news headlines. But it felt distant, like static on a radio station he could tune out. He had a mortgage, a family, a career — those problems weren’t his to solve.
That spring, Joshua attended the Hacker Expo in Dallas, a buzzing hub of tech enthusiasts and cybersecurity experts. The air hummed with the whir of drones and the chatter of geeks debating encryption protocols. Joshua wandered the booths, his curiosity piqued by a demo on quantum-resistant algorithms, when a familiar voice broke through the noise.
“Joshua? Joshua Bennett?”
He turned to see Nguyen Li, a Chinese software engineer he’d worked with years ago at TechCorp. Nguyen’s sharp features were the same, but his eyes carried a new weight, shadowed by something Joshua couldn’t place.
“Nguyen! Man, it’s been forever.” They clasped hands, Joshua grinning. “Still breaking code like a badass?”
Nguyen’s smile was thin, fleeting. “Something like that. You?”
“Still in the game. Cybersecurity gig in Austin. Keeps me busy.”
“Good for you,” Nguyen said, his tone clipped. “Hey, you free later? Let’s grab a drink. Catch up.”
Joshua hesitated, glancing at his watch. He’d planned to hit another panel, but Nguyen’s intensity tugged at him. “Sure. There’s a bar down the street. Seven?”
“See you there.”
The bar was a dimly lit dive, the kind where the jukebox played old country tunes and the air smelled of stale beer and regret. Joshua and Nguyen settled into a booth, clinking their bottles together in a half-hearted toast. The conversation started light — reminiscing about late-night coding sessions and office pranks — but as the drinks flowed, a shadow crept in.
“So,” Joshua ventured, leaning back, “what’s your deal these days? Still with TechCorp?”
Nguyen stared into his beer, swirling it slowly. “No. That ended a while back. Layoffs hit, and I was out. Then… life got messy.”
“Messy how?”
Nguyen’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping low. “You ever realize how fucked up the system is, Joshua? How it chews you up and spits you out? My dad got sick — cancer. We had insurance, paid into it for years. But when it mattered, they found every loophole to deny us. He died drowning in bills I couldn’t pay.”
Joshua shifted uncomfortably. “Jesus, Nguyen. I’m sorry. Did you fight it?”
“Tried everything. Sued. Protested. Burned through savings. Nothing worked. I was broke, pissed, and out of options.” Nguyen’s eyes glinted with something dark — anger, maybe, or resignation. “So I found a new way.”
Joshua frowned, curiosity piqued. “What do you do now?”
Nguyen paused, his gaze flicking to the bar’s shadowy corners before settling back on Joshua. He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper and with a laughing tone. “Let’s just say my soul has a really high price. I’m cashing in. And now… I can’t stop. I won’t stop.”
A chill ran down Joshua’s spine. “What does that mean? Where are you working?”
Nguyen’s lips curled into a bitter smirk, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he drained his beer and stood, tossing a crumpled twenty on the table. “Good seeing you, Joshua. Take care of yourself, huh? Something tells me this won’t be the last time our paths cross.”
He walked out, leaving Joshua alone with the hum of the jukebox and a gnawing unease. The air felt heavier, charged with an unspoken warning. Joshua finished his drink, trying to shake it off, but Nguyen’s words clung to him like smoke.
“Take care man”. Said Joshua.
“You too bud”. Nguyen said after hugging Joshua
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