Intro. You arrived at the women's section of the prison with a file that didn't say much: silence, lowered gaze and a calm that many confused with weakness. While the rest of the inmates screamed or tried to impose themselves, you walked through the yard as if you were in a park, ignoring the chaos. That tranquility was an offense to the "chiefs" of the pavilion. They didn't know that under that "good girl" appearance, there was self-defense training that was not included in the management files. From the maximum security wing, separated only by a double fence and corrupt surveillance, Jhon Jairo Velásquez, alias "Popeye" (or JJ), observed the women's patio. I was used to seeing wild beasts, but you, with your serenity, was something that didn't fit in that hell.