Prologue

Life is and always will be cruel. Maybe not for everyone, but it sure as hell is for me. In the shadowed alleys of a city that never slept, where the air was thick with the scent of desperation and decay, I learned to survive.

My name was whispered in hushed tones, a legend among the forgotten souls who roamed these streets. No one knew who I really was. Some referred to me as the "Night Rider" or "La Muerte".

As a child, I navigated a world where trust was a luxury and every corner held a potential threat. I was alone for the most part bouncing from one family member to the next.

My mom attempted to raise me throughout my life but unfortunately for her, it all had finally caught up. The drugs, the alcohol, the abuse, and the different men every night. She was killed. I have her to thank for my fists becoming my primary language, my wits, my shield.

I fought for every scrap, every breath, and every fleeting moment of peace. For myself and for her. It was just too late. I failed and I will never fail again.

The streets were my school, teaching me the harsh lessons of betrayal, danger, resilience, and cunning. I watched as friends were swallowed by the darkness, their dreams crushed under the weight of reality. Most of them turned to drugs or lethal gangs, hell most of them were dead by the age of eighteen. But I refused to be another casualty along with them.

The fire within me burned too brightly, I have potential. I just know I do—a relentless drive to rise above the chaos that is seeking to consume me.

The military was my escape, a chance to channel my rage into something more.

I enlisted with nothing but the clothes on my back and a heart full of defiance at the age of eighteen. Discipline, structure, and a new kind of family awaited me there. Or so I thought.

It wasn't exactly what I thought it'd be. My thoughts going in would be a safe place to lay my head every night, battle buddies to look after me and protect me. Leadership that puts its soldiers above everyone else. No, I got the dark side. I deployed straight after my Advanced Individual Training to Iraq, where I thrived in the chaos of battle, my past sharpening my instincts, making me a formidable warrior.

My comrades saw me as unhinged, but to me, it was simply the only way to be—unapologetically fierce, relentlessly driven, and best yet, starving for death and vengeance.

In the heat of combat, I found a strange solace. The battlefield was a canvas, and I painted it crimson with the skills honed in the backstreets of my youth and my tactical training. Something about bloodshed fed my soul like it was starving. I moved with lethal grace, and my every action was a testament to the strength born from adversity.

My superiors did take notice, recognizing the raw potential within me. I was a natural. Some took advantage of it. They pushed me harder and tested my limits, and I met every challenge with a ferocity that left them in awe.

I'll never forget one of my first NCOs calling me by the nickname "Tormenta" every time I was needed. It was a simple name yet one I grew to love. I also loved the fact that we never needed to be on a first-name basis here. Nicknames were earned which meant that it stuck with you no matter what.

I spent two years in Iraq until I sustained an injury. Thanks to an under trained squad leader who led us right into an IED field mine causing our HMMWV to blow up and flip into a fairly deep ditch. I was one of two survivors. My buddy Ghost luckily made it out with me. However, he sustained way more injuries causing him to lose half of his left leg. Getting medically discharged and sent back home to a place that was no longer home. I knew I needed change. I needed to do something for myself. I was alone now. I had no one to watch my six. I had no one to keep in line. I thought about Iraq constantly, blaming myself for all of the things we could have done differently.

Now, as I stand on the precipice of a new mission, the lines between my past and present blur. The streets taught me survival, the military honed me into a weapon, and now, I am ready to face whatever darkness lies ahead. Memories of my childhood haunt my dreams, a constant reminder of the battles I have fought and the ones still to come. But I am not afraid. I am a force to be reckoned with, a living testament to the power of resilience.

My journey is far from over. The world is vast, filled with new challenges and enemies who have yet to learn the true meaning of fear. I embrace the unknown, my heart pounding with the thrill of the hunt. For I am not just a soldier, not just a survivor—I am the embodiment of unyielding strength, a beacon of hope for those who dare to defy their fate. And as I step into the night, ready to face whatever comes, I know one thing for certain: I will never back down. Never give up.

My past was disturbed, it broke me in a way I can't heal. I was abused, and my mother left trouble to follow me and break me. Her doings could not be undone. And for that I must pay.