Freight trains thunder from Mexico’s southeastern border with Guatemala, across approximately 1,500 miles of track, toward the north of the country near the United States.

It’s one of the most dangerous routes in the world, and is called "The Train of Death" for good reason.

Summer temperatures of 118 degrees Fahrenheit ensure the heavy-duty, industrial-steel cargo scorches skin.

But that doesn’t perturb undocumented migrants from climbing aboard moving boxcars to the top of the carriages. There are no seats. And few riders take the decision lightly considering one slip from the roof can lead to the loss of a limb through amputation if they’re run over on the track. There have been instances of decapitation, too. Bodies are left in the wilderness as the train doesn’t stop — it runs through remote areas, sometimes at night.

Mexican cartels target those on board to rob or even kidnap them.

Nobody is safe. Not even athletes hoping to secure a better life fighting for pay in the States.

“My path to make it to the U.S. was really, really tough,” Leonardo Perdomo tells Uncrowned, ahead of the knockout artist's heavyweight fight Friday against Rashad Coulter at BKFC 87 in Hollywood, Florida.

The hulking, 260-pound 34-year-old refers to the train as "La Bestia" — The Beast. And said he had no choice but to board after defecting from Cuba, then entering Mexico through Nicaragua, Honduras and Guatemala, with nothing but the clothes on his back and $ 200 in his back pocket.

He hid from the cartel, was caught, and eventually freed — but not without putting up a fight.

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Speaking in Spanish through a translator, Perdomo says his travels in Mexico “were especially tough, on the famous train … which is so dangerous, patrolled by the cartels,” he said. “But I kept my faith in God and I always knew I was going to make it one day.”

Not everyone makes it.

Kidnapping is more prolific in Northern Mexico than it is near the south.

Cartels hold migrants in gallineros, holding cells likened to chicken coops. They're detained for extortion, with gang members forcing captives to call relatives in their home countries, demanding ransom fees up to $ 20,000.

Beatings, called tableado, are common. As is torture, and starvation. Anything to make families more desperate to pay. Women are vulnerable to sexual assaults. Men are sometimes forced to assist cartels with their criminal activities.

“I tried to block my mind from the fear of being caught,” Perdomo said. “One of the toughest moments was spending two days with only a bottle of water, hiding in a hole in the dirt that was made from earthquakes. On one side were all these cartel members.”

Perdomo couldn’t avoid detection forever.

La Bestia isn’t a continuous journey, and there are 10 to 15 connections to ride all the way to the northern border.

At one stop, Perdomo was involved in an altercation with a drunk who disrespected him. “So he knocked the guy out,” Perdomo’s manager Julio Izquierdo says.

Then two cartel members “kidnapped him,” Izquierdo recalls. “And if you look at the scar that Leonardo has on his eye, it’s because of that.”

Perdomo thought of only one thing to say.

“I’m a fighter,” he kept telling them.

The only problem was the cartel wanted him to prove it.

And so they picked one of their toughest guys, and tied rope all along Perdomo’s left arm, wrapping the rope around the thug’s left arm, too. Neither could take a backward step, if they wanted to. Their punching hand, the right, was left free.

“They do this as part of the culture,” Izquierdo says.

Perdomo hadn’t boxed competitively for years because of the scale of his migration, but muscle memory kicked in and he landed huge right hands that saw him score a quick, mean win over the thug. After he beat another cartel member in the same game, they released him.

The fighter entered the U.S. via Texas and headed east, to Florida. The first thing he did was go to church and pray to God.

Meeting Izquierdo changed Perdomo’s life in 2024. Perdomo wanted to compete for the upstart fight firm Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship, and turned up for a trial wearing dress shoes, as he didn’t yet own anything else.

Izquierdo bought him sneakers, helped him get his paperwork in order, and trained him, he says, like a linebacker for fast-twitch muscle movements in the ring.

“In the trial, he was really impressive,” Izquierdo reminisces. “It was enough to convince me to get to know him, see his work ethics and dedication to his craft.”

And though he was far away from armed kidnappers, Perdomo “only felt safe” after meeting Izquierdo.

“Up to that point, I didn't trust anyone,” Perdomo says. “We decided to spend three months together before we signed a contract. Those three months felt like a long while, but then I felt safe … and the rest is history.”

Perdomo has lived with Izquierdo and his family ever since.

“It was very, very special,” Izquierdo says. “It felt like something that was meant to be.”

The partnership, so far, has been fruitful. Perdomo has stormed to a 10-0 record in BKFC, drawing parallels to his idol, boxing Hall of Famer Mike Tyson, because of their shared penchant for lightning-quick finishes from their similarly stocky statures. All 10 of Perdomo's wins have come in first-round knockouts, all in 100 seconds or less.

“Typically, a Cuban boxer has a lot of movement, but I feel in my heart I can cause a lot of punishment, keep on fighting, trying to hit harder,” Perdomo says.

“The name that I always carried with me was Mike Tyson’s. He was who I could relate to in how he approached the game and a fight.

“And with so many world champions from Cuba, the thing I want to accomplish now, there’s never been a Cuban heavyweight boxing champion — a true champion of the world. That’s what I want to do.

“I want to take the negative energy inside of me, and display that with my fists and win a Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship title.”

It may not be long before Perdomo challenges for that belt.

The heavyweight title recently changed hands when former UFC star Andrei Arlovski scored a third-round finish over a sluggish Ben Rothwell at BKFC KnuckleMania in February. From what Uncrowned understands, Perdomo could challenge Arlovski for the championship within a year.

It was even mentioned in conversations when Perdomo and Izquierdo renegotiated the fighter’s BKFC deal with the promotion’s founder and president David Feldman.

Perdomo cried when he signed the latest contract. “It’s life-changing money for him,” Feldman says.

“He’s been on a phenomenal journey,” Feldman continues, remarking that another of their Cuban fighters came to Florida on a raft. “These fighters come over from Cuba the hard way and really make a name for themselves in the Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship.

“Perdomo deserves it because of his humbleness. A lot of promoters are in it for one reason [money]. I always say I’m in it to change lives.

“We’ve gone through blood, sweat, tears and almost near-death to get BKFC to this point. I want everybody to be happy to work for me, or to fight for me. They don’t have to reciprocate [beyond that], but he’s one of the ones who truly does, and that's why it's even more of a pleasure to have him on board.”

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For Perdomo, days away from his 11th fight, it’s a realization that the journey from Cuba to BKFC was one he was “born” to do.

“I’ve been ready to fight for the championship since the very first fight,” he says. “Whenever the opportunity comes to fight for the BKFC title, I’m ready.”

Perdomo vs. Coulter, part of Friday’s BKFC 87 event, airs on the BKFC app as well as DAZN.

And, during the show, you might hear Perdomo, and the commentators, call himself "El Zambo."

But after everything he’s gone through — and the unforgiving way he fights — he’s also La Bestia.