The Cartel

Chapter 1

I woke before the alarm, the way I always did when the nightmares got too close to the surface.

For a few seconds, I didn't move. I just lay there on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling above me, listening to the slow, uneven breathing of the other men in the room. Six of us shared the space-six narrow beds, six metal lockers, barely enough room to walk between them. The air smelled faintly of sweat and recycled heat.

Safe. For now.

No one ever said that word out loud anymore. Not since the collapse. Not since the men who replaced governments stopped pretending to exist.

The cartel.

They didn't have a real name-at least not one anyone agreed on. Officially, there was nothing. No records. No leaders. Just rumors that stretched across every city left standing: a network of powerful businessmen who owned infrastructure, supply chains, entire districts... and people.

Especially people like me.

I exhaled slowly and pushed myself upright, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor, grounding me.

Across from me, a rusted mirror hung crooked on the wall. I stood and stepped toward it, studying my reflection like I did every morning-checking, measuring, reassuring myself.

I still looked like me.

Lean. Defined. My shoulders broad from years of physical work, my waist tight, every line of muscle still visible beneath my skin. Not bulky-food had never been plentiful enough for that-but athletic in a way that made people look twice. My hair, pale blond, fell messily over my forehead, and my eyes-too blue, people used to say-stood out sharply against the dull grey of everything else.

I turned slightly, checking my profile. Flat stomach. Sharp jawline.

Still the kind of body they wanted.

My chest tightened.

"Still checking?" a voice mumbled from one of the beds.

I glanced over. Tomas hadn't even opened his eyes.

"Yeah," I said quietly.

He gave a dry laugh. "Like it'll change overnight."

I hesitated.

"It does for some people," I said.

That got his attention. One eye cracked open, watching me now.

"Yeah," he muttered after a second. "After they're taken."

Silence settled over the room again.

Everyone knew someone. A coworker. A neighbor. A friend who disappeared between shifts and was never reported missing-because there was no one left to report it to.

And sometimes, rarely, they came back.

Not released. Displayed.

Seen stepping out of black cars in controlled districts, dressed better than anyone in places like this-but changed. Bigger. Softer. Their bodies filled out in ways that didn't match the scarcity the rest of us lived with. Not sick. Not struggling.

Refined.

"They like to build them up," Tomas said quietly, staring at the ceiling now. "Private collections. That's what I heard. They take the best-looking ones and... remake them."

I looked back at the mirror, my reflection suddenly unfamiliar.

There were other rumors too. About specialized facilities. About engineered diets, substances that accelerated weight gain without consequences. In a world where most people fought just to maintain weight, the cartel could reshape a body in weeks.

Months, if they wanted to take their time.

"They don't rush it," Tomas added. "That's the point."

I swallowed.

I had laughed the first time I'd heard those stories.

I didn't laugh anymore.

I dragged a hand through my hair and stepped away from the mirror. The less I looked, the better. Awareness didn't protect you-it just made the waiting worse.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling.

That I'd already been marked.