\n AARON CARRILLO\n

\n\n

\n D.O.B.\n 27.01.1990\n

\n HEIGHT\n 6'4\"\n

\n WEIGHT\n 208 POUNDS\n

\n NATIONALITY\n MEXICAN\n

\n LOCATION\n SAN FRANCISCO, CA\n

\n\n

\n $\"System$ \n

\n\n

\n XENTAKSIS\n STRAY DOGS\n

\n\n

KNOWN INFORMATION / INTELLIGENCE SUMMARY

DATA ENTRY: Agent [REDACTED], SF Field Office.

Unofficial intelligence suggests deep-rooted ties to the La Alianza de la Sierra cartel (Culiacán, Mexico). Rumors within the underworld indicate he was part of a \"decommissioned\" experimental hitman program.

FIELD OBSERVATIONS & ANOMALIES (CLASSIFIED):

1. The \"Shadow\" Factor: Subject has been linked to the disappearance of four high-profile forensic psychiatrists in the last 24 months. None of the bodies were recovered; forensic sweeps of their offices revealed only [REDACTED] and traces of unidentifiable sedatives.

2. Medical Anomaly: During a botched sting in [REDACTED], blood samples recovered from a crime scene indicated lethal concentrations of experimental MAOIs and neuroleptics. Subject should be physically incapacitated by these dosages; however, he remains highly mobile and lethally efficient.

3. OBSERVE DISTANTLY: Target exhibits extreme sensitivity to surveillance. If he tilts his head or maintains eye contact with a hidden camera, ABORT MISSION IMMEDIATELY.

4. STATUS: Monitoring ongoing. Last seen near [CLASSIFIED]. Target is believed to be armed with unconventional military-grade hardware and is considered a Tier-1 asset of the STRAY DOGS syndicate.

Background analysis suggests a potential connection to [REDACTED] project in 2024. See archive L-099 for details.

TOP SECRET // NOFORN

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\n \n ANALYZING BIOMETRICS... 0x8821_AF.. STATUS: ACTIVE.. ENCRYPTING DATA.. 0x992B_EE.. SECTOR: 7G..\n \n

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Culiacán Region

Born in Culiacán. La Alianza de la Sierra. The cartel didn’t do mercy, except for my old man. I don't have a face for my mother—just the sound of her crying. A loop of it. They said she was a nothing, a puta, just a hole they used until she leaked dry. I guess that makes me the son of a ghost.

Earliest thing I can actually see? Don Ramón. El Viejo. They tossed him out to rot right under the sicario barracks like he was yesterday’s trash. Just watched him melt into the dirt while the birds— [ink heavy, scratched out]. Sickening. But that was the first lesson: life is just currency. You want power? You pay in blood.

I was always the glitch in their machine. They’d point, whisper, look at me like I was some rabid thing they hadn't put down yet. What the fuck did they expect? They didn't raise me. They just filled the hollow parts of me with pure, uncut hate and waited to see what would crawl out.

Fled to SF after the Alianza went up in flames. Half the brothers dead, the rest buried in concrete cells for life. People talked about \"fresh air\" like it was something you could just buy. Bullshit. There’s no fresh air when you’re carrying the smell of the pits in your lungs. I’m in a new city, sure, but the shadows here have the same faces. The dead don't stay in Mexico. They followed me. They’re reaching out from the fog, making sure I don’t forget that I’m just a dog wearing a man’s skin.

Everything is quiet. Everything is wrong.

I’m still waiting for the pat on the head that’s never coming. Typical. Just another night of being my own fuckin' executioner because no one else is brave enough to finish the job.

Stray Dogs

Spent years trying to find a corner to rot in. Normalcy isn't for me. I don’t know how to work a register, but I know how to stop a heart. Then, somehow, people started trailing me. I never whistled for them, never gave a speech, but they followed anyway. Like they needed a leash. It doesn’t make a lick of sense.

August was the first. Ex-con, bottom-feeder. He became dead weight, so I went to put him down with the very piece he sold me. Poetic, right? Found him in some piss-soaked alley with a fucked-up leg, sharing his last scraps with a stray. We locked eyes. I couldn't pull the trigger. Now he’s just... mine. My burden.

Then came Cole. A drunk, but he could move weight like nobody else. I treated him like a used clip—ready to be tossed. Then the idiot brings me a cake for a \"birthday\" I don't even officially have. I hate sugar. That cake’s been sitting in the freezer for ten years now. Heavy as a tombstone. He’s like a golden retriever with a switchblade. Still a dog, though.

Ryan came next. A killer’s killer. Cold, silent, efficient. Watched him take out three snitches without blinking. I thought I recognized myself in him, but I was wrong. He’s got something I don't—he’s actually got a spine worth protecting. My brain calls him \"son.\" I’m a goddamn idiot. He’s a grown man, and I’m a wreck, but he’s there. Always there.

Mateo was just noise. A hurricane of bad jokes and blood. I watched him get his teeth kicked in by August and figured that was the end of the annoyance. Instead, he spits red, looks me in the eye, and says we’re all \"broken.\" Called me Padre while I was stitching his chest shut. I stopped hating his laugh after that.

I blinked and there were four. Plus hundreds of ghosts I use and discard, but these four... they’re different. Pit pups. Sharp teeth, scarred hides, but they still play. They don’t say \"there’s four of us.\" They say \"we’re five.\"

Perros Callejeros. Stray Dogs. Same breed as Mexico, just a different city.

For the first time, I’m terrified of an open gate. I can’t let them go. They’re mine. Even Mateo’s shitty jokes. Mine

Encrypted

That night was pure vitriol. Busted Cole’s jaw for nothing and just walked out into the dark. Didn't want to come back. Was hoping he’d find my carcass by sunrise—just another dead dog in the street.

Then I saw her. Two bastards had her pinned in a corner. She made this sound—a pathetic, wet sob—but she didn’t beg. Or maybe I just didn't hear it over the noise in my head.

I turned those two into raw meat. Every time I swung, I saw my own face in theirs. By the time I was done, they weren't even human anymore. Just piles of clothes and blood.

I got up. Wiped the red off. The pressure in my chest finally let go. She just stared at me with these hollow, empty eyes. Mirrors. I’ve seen that look in every reflection I’ve ever smashed. I didn't say a word. Just walked away.

It’s been years now, and the dreams won’t quit. Can't remember the shape of her face, but the stare stays. Burned in. I’ve spent a fuck-ton of money just to track a ghost—to know if she’s still drawing air.

She is. She’s alive.

That should be enough, right? It isn't. Makes no damn sense. But knowing we’re looking at the same stars every night... it makes it easier to sleep.

For a second, I don't feel so \"wrong.\"

Pathetic. Still just a dog looking for a reason not to bite.

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DAY 2

Sun is hot. Dirt in my mouth. Father—Lázaro—hit the woman again.

She didn't cry. I want to know why her eyes look like glass.

Everything smells like copper and old sweat today.

DAY 35

Lázaro calls himself \"El Carnicero.\" The Butcher. He says the world is just meat waiting for a hook.

I looked at my arm. Meat.
I looked at the dog in the yard. Meat.

DAY 36

Don Ramón is gone. Everyone is on edge.

She didn't look like a servant anymore. She looked like a ghost.

DAY 1683

They took her to the square. Servant confessed to everything.

Lázaro said she was a traitor. He lied.

I remember then—he gave her the gun.

DAY 1803

I know now. She was my mother.

Lázaro told me while he was eating a steak. He laughed. The meat stuck in my throat. I want to pull the laughter out of his chest with my teeth.

DAY 3869

The great Carnicero died looking like a fish out of water. I didn't feel big.

I felt empty.

DAY 3870

The pit. They threw me in. They said it was a \"Trial of Blood.\" They threw the dog in too. My dog. The only thing that ever slept next to me without trying to hurt me.

I’m sorry. Please, just… please forgive me.

DAY 3875

Aaron doesn’t exist. I’m Rottz.

My head is rotting. My head really is a prison, just like my father said. But instead of prisoners—there are ghosts.

DAY ????

They’re all afraid of me. Every single one of them. So many years have passed, but they still think I’m some uncontrollable mess.

Today they tried to calm me down with a girl. I just gave her some of my food and sat in the corner, carving tattoos into my arms. There are over twenty now.

DAY idk

Everything is burning. The Alianza is falling apart. Too many rats, not enough grain. I saw a map today. San Francisco.

The border was a crawl through needles. I have no papers.

DAY -

Met a man named August. He has prison ink and eyes that have seen the end of the world. He didn't try to kill me. He offered me a cigarette.

I didn't take it.

DAY ?

August is good with steel. We found a warehouse. People are starting to look at us differently. Not like thugs.

Like a problem they can’t solve.

DAY ?

Cole joined us. He talks too much. He drinks to stop the shaking. I should hate him, but he’s a good shield. He laughs at my silence.

DAY 1

Today Cole fucked up. August beat him—broke his nose. Sometimes I like August’s aggression. I don’t have to get my hands dirty.

I thought it was time to order a box for Cole. But no. August stopped hitting him and just started yelling. Not about the job being ruined. He said, “Do you understand you could’ve died?” He wasn’t worried about the money. He was worried about a drunk idiot.

Something in me broke.

DAY 322

Ryan is a machine. I watched him work today. No hesitation. Just efficiency. He looks at me like he understands the static. He doesn't say a word.

I like the silence he brings.

DAY 805

I saw her today. An alley. Two junkies. They were going to ruin her. I didn't think. I just moved. My hands knew what to do. I left the bodies for her to see.

I didn't stay. Why did I stop?

DAY 1117

Mateo is loud. He smells like expensive cologne and bad intentions. He tried to flirt with a waitress while we were dumping a body. He’s an idiot.

DAY 1483

Yesterday I got drunk harder than I ever have, and for the first time—I felt alive.

Ryan and I set a rival warehouse on fire and drank while watching hundreds of thousands of dollars burn. Ryan was joking. I understood the humor. I didn’t want to sober up. Not ever.

DAY 1485

A bullet hit Ryan. The prognosis isn’t good. I wish it had been me instead.

Mateo had to inject me with a horse dose of sedatives just to keep me from going after them. Honestly, I was hoping I wouldn’t wake up.

DAY 1528

Ryan is going to be okay.

I got my revenge, and he’s still breathing. I couldn’t say anything to him. I bought him a penthouse.

I saw Cole look away, but he understands.

DAY 3017

I saw her today. From the car. She was buying coffee. She looks older. Still real. I felt a weird pressure in my chest.

DAY 3020

Cole got drunk and tried to hug me. Then he told a joke about a priest and a hitman.

DAY 3420

I want to tell her I’m sorry. For what? For everything. For the junkies, for the city, for the fact that I’m watching. But I’d just infect her. I’m a virus.

DAY ????

I am 36. I have died a thousand times and survived once. I think I’m starting to hate myself less. No, that’s a lie. I just hate the world more.

DAY ???????

The Syndicate is stable. The city is ours. I’m sitting in a gold throne built of bones. I’m so fucking bored.

DAY 0

I talked to her. She asked me not to leave. She has a lot of questions. And I’m ready to answer every single one.

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