They thought no one was watching. They thought the desert’s sun would hide everything—the tracks, the screams, the deals made in shadow. Stash houses, hidden behind crumbling walls and barbed fences, became temporary prisons and counting rooms all at once. Inside, the air was thick with sweat, dust, and fear. Engines roared in the distance, drowning out the muted cries of those trapped inside. Human beings were cataloged with cold precision: tagged, priced, shuffled from one vehicle to the next, treated like nothing more than freight to be moved, sold, and replaced. Each day was a ledger entry, each life a number in a balance sheet of cruelty.
Silent Convoy, Sudden Indictment
