The afternoon sun bathed the streets of the small town with an orange glow when Lola and Miguel's patrol arrived at the crime scene. The young 25-year-old officer frowned upon seeing the yellow police tape gently waving in the breeze.

"What the hell happened here?" she muttered, more to herself than to her partner.

Miguel, a burly, graying man nearing his forties, shrugged impassively. He had been on the force for too many years to be easily surprised.

"Just stay back and observe, rookie. Let me handle this," he grunted, lighting a cigarette.

Lola pressed her lips together, annoyed by her partner's condescending tone, but nodded and followed him to the crime scene. Once they crossed the tape, they came to an abrupt stop, struck by the gruesome spectacle before them.

Sixteen bodies lay strewn across the street and sidewalk, in grotesque poses and surrounded by pools of darkened blood. But the most disturbing were the wounds: deep gashes tore through flesh, limbs torn clean off, necks shredded to expose bones and tendons.

"Oh my God..." Lola gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

Miguel simply spat on the ground, jaw clenched. He pushed the young woman aside with a light shove and approached one of the corpses, inspecting it with a clinical gaze.

"Looks unrecognizable, but from the tattoo on his forearm I'd say that's Julio Ramos, the bastard who until recently worked for the Ríos," he commented with a nod.

Lola blinked, snapping out of her initial stupor.

"You think it was a cartel hit? Because this..." she gestured at the scene, "not even criminals could..."

"You kidding?" Miguel cut her off with a bitter laugh. "You've seen what those sick fucks are capable of doing just to send a message."

The young woman shook her head, feeling nauseous. She was used to seeing her fair share of violence at the precinct, but this was too much, even for her.

Miguel continued inspecting the scene with an impassive air, casually kicking a skull at his feet. Suddenly, he stopped and bent down to pick something up from the ground.

"Look at this, Lola. It's a fang," he said, showing her the long, sharp tooth he held in his hand.

The officer approached, frowning in confusion.

"A fang? Like from an animal?" she asked.

"I don't know, looks too big to belong to a dog or coyote," Miguel replied, turning the fang between his fingers.

Suddenly, a chill ran down Lola's spine. She shook her head, dismissing the absurd idea that had crossed her mind. She had heard the ramblings of the locals when they talked about that day, saying the chupacabra had freed them from the cartel.

Lola knew the locals must have been terrified hiding in their homes during the altercation and were just making things up. But the marks on the bodies were strange, her biggest doubt was why the bodies didn't seem to have bullet wounds.

"Anyway, we'll have to wait for the forensic report to determine what species it belongs to. And send samples to the lab, it's probably from some jaguar, they found a pelt so these bastards were surely trying to traffic skins," Miguel said, putting the fang into an evidence bag.

Lola nodded silently, grateful that her partner had regained his professionalism. She took one last look at the massacre and shuddered, mentally praying for the poor souls of those wretched thugs.

♢♢♢♢

Later, back at the precinct, the young officer couldn't get the scene out of her head. As she filled out the paperwork, her mind wandered, formulating increasingly fanciful theories to explain the inexplicable.

"Ready to head out, rookie?"

Miguel's gruff voice snapped her out of her reverie. She looked up to find him standing before her, smirking mockingly.

"I'm glad this happened right before you got transferred to the city. So you won't have to deal with this shit for the next few months," he commented as he shrugged into his jacket.

Lola frowned, confused by his words.

"What are you talking about? What does my transfer have to do with this?" she asked, gesturing to the reports in front of her.

Miguel snorted a bitter laugh and shook his head.

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"Wow, you really are new, huh? Listen, girl, things like today don't happen often in this godforsaken little town. I've been here fifteen years and the biggest thing I'd seen were occasional truck robberies or maybe a common assault," he explained derisively.

The young woman narrowed her eyes, beginning to understand where her partner was going. She opened her mouth to protest, but Miguel raised a hand, stopping her.

"No, seriously. Thank all your saints that they're getting you out of this rural shithole before you have to deal with the real crap that's coming," he continued relentlessly. "Because believe me, after today's show, there'll be more blood and violence on the way. Those cartel bastards have already marked their territory in our little town."

Lola swallowed hard, suddenly grateful to be able to escape that place before it turned into a veritable war zone. She looked at Miguel with renewed respect, perceiving the bitterness and weariness accumulated in his eyes.

"I... I'm sorry, Miguel. I had no idea..." she stammered, unsure of what to say.

The man shrugged again and ruffled her hair in an almost fatherly gesture.

"Don't apologize, little one. Just be thankful for your good luck to get out of here alive," he replied with a sad smile. "Because those of us who stay... Well, we won't be so lucky for sure."

With that, he turned and walked away wearily, cursing under his breath his bitter luck of being stuck in that forgotten corner of the world.

♢♢♢♢

The shadows lengthened in the alleyway as a nervous, wiry man slid inside, furtively looking around. He adjusted the baseball cap partially hiding his face and approached the back door of the abandoned building.

He knocked three times, in a specific pattern, and waited with his heart pounding. A few seconds later, a small slit opened at eye level, revealing a pair of dark eyes that studied him distrustfully.

"The pizza?" a gruff voice growled from the other side.

The man swallowed hard and responded in a trembling voice:

"Well... the pizza got a little cold tonight."

There was a pause, then the slit closed and several locks could be heard opening. The door cracked open and the informant hurried to slip inside, nervously smoothing his wrinkled shirt.

He found himself in a dark, smoke-filled room. Several silhouettes moved among the shadows, watching him in silence. The man held his breath as one of the figures broke away from the others and advanced toward him with a confident stride.

"Speak fast, Sánchez. What news do you bring me?" the harsh, menacing voice of the cartel boss sounded directly in his ear.

The informant swallowed hard and began to stammer:

"M-Mr. Riquelme...there's a problem in the highway town. Several of our men...were found dead this afternoon."

A heavy silence fell over the room. The boss narrowed his dark eyes and scrutinized Sánchez's terrified face.

"Dead? What do you mean dead? Explain yourself!"

"N-not executed as usual, boss..." the man stammered, trembling. "It was...it was a massacre. They literally tore them to pieces."

A tense silence fell as Riquelme processed the information. His face darkened with rage and his hands clenched into fists.

"Who dared...? Was it the Ríos, the Rodriguezes?" he bellowed, causing Sánchez to shrink back.

"W-we don't know, sir. We've never seen anything like it..." the informant blubbered, his voice quivering. "The police are investigating but..."

Suddenly, Riquelme grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and violently shook him, bringing his furious face close to the terrified Sánchez's.

"Well, they'd better find out what the hell happened! I won't let anyone make a mockery of my organization like that, you hear me!" he roared, spitting in the man's face as he shook him.

"Y-yes, sir! We'll find out, I swear!" Sánchez squealed, terrified.

With a disgusted grunt, Riquelme released him and the informant fell to the ground in a trembling ball. The boss turned toward his men, who stood in silent waiting.

"I want answers! And when we find out who's responsible, I'll make them pay in blood!" he roared, slamming his fist on the table. "Nobody messes with the Oriente Cartel and gets away with it!"

The silhouettes nodded somberly, preparing to track down every last clue. As Sánchez crawled out of the room, a chill ran down his spine.

♢♢♢♢

Riquelme paced back and forth, his face contorted in rage. He was the most powerful capo in the region, feared and respected by all. How dare someone challenge his authority in such a brazen way?

"Bring me Lupe," he growled at one of his lieutenants. "That pendejo better have some answers."

Moments later, a wiry man with sunken eyes and twitching hands was shoved into the room. He fell to his knees, trembling violently.

"P-patrón... I swear, I had no idea-"

"Shut up!" Riquelme roared, backhanding him across the face. "Your useless informants missed this, you inept fool!"

Lupe cowered, blood trickling from his split lip. The boss leaned down, his face mere inches from the terrified man.

"You were supposed to have eyes and ears all over that zone. How did you not see this coming?" he hissed menacingly.

"I...I don't know, Patrón. B-but I'll find out, I promise!" Lupe blubbered. "Just give me a chance!"

Riquelme's eyes narrowed to slits as he considered the sniveling wretch before him. Finally, he straightened up and beckoned to his men.

"Take him away. Let him scurry back to his rats and dig up whatever information he can," he spat in disgust. "But if he fails me again, feed him to the coyotes."

The lieutenants nodded and roughly hauled Lupe to his feet, dragging him out of the room. The informant blubbered desperate promises until the door slammed shut behind him.

Alone again, Riquelme lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, his mind already plotting revenge. No one made a fool of him and lived to tell the tale. He would find the ones responsible for the massacre and make them suffer unimaginable torments before putting them down like the rabid dogs they were.