ã€ŠWorking as a police officer in Mexicoã€‹


 Chapter 1: 1: Jail Guard

    Mexico should not be defined.

    Except by chicken wraps.

    And drugs and gunfights.

    Even God would have to wear a helmet if he came to Mexico.

    Standing in the desert 80 kilometers outside Mexico City is the highest-security federal prison in the entire federation.

    ¡ª¡ªEl Altino! (The High teau!)

    This is a gathering ce for Mexican gang members and drug traffickers, with an average of 5 big drug traffickers, 3 gang leaders, and 2 serial killers out of every 10 inmates.

    The 5000 inmates are each the "cream of the crop" from the gangs and the "elite of the drug trafficking world"; just bringing one out could threaten national security.

    Stitching with a sewing machine?

    Don''t make meugh.

    These drug traffickers can spend money to get people from the outside to work for them, and asionally when they are happy, they can give some money, turning jail guards intoborers.

    Of course, this carefree lifestyle has been much restrained since the Camorer incident in 1985.

    The United States got angry.

    Keep these beasts locked up; as long as they don''t escape from the cage, it''s fine¡ªMexico doesn''t have the death penalty...

    But it was just a reduction.

    After all, although Franklin''s face is hideous, the US Dor still smells very sweet.

    Second District.

    In the toilets.

    A young man with a robust figure, wearing a ck prison guard uniform, short ck hair, and deep brown pupils, looked at himself in the mirror.

    Gao Jun''s eyes still held a trace of disbelief.

    It had been two weeks since he had crossed over, and he was still somewhat unustomed.

    Originally, he was a boxer, the kind who specialized in freebat in Southeast Asia. During a so-called fight of the century, he didn''tply with rigging the match and was directly killed.

    His full name now was Victor Carlos Vieri, a Mexican prison guard, who had been "administratively suspended" for two weeks due to work reasons and was just returning to work today.

    But that wasn''t the worst part; the craziest thing was that he discovered his eyes could see through a person''s criminal life!

    If he caught or shot dead a criminal, he could obtain corresponding points, and through a virtual panel, he could gain skills, weapons, or even assistants.

    However, it all depended on the job; he had to rise in rank to unlock them!

    This wasn''t forcing him to be some kind of shining savior in Mexico, right?

    Fortunately, there was nopelling requirement to arrest anyone, nor were there any tasks. It waspletely up to you whether you wanted to y or not¡ªif not, then get lost attitude.

    "Damn it, to hell with this!" He took a deep breath, turned on the faucet, and sshed water vigorously onto his face. The extra memories in his head were still giving him a slight headache.

    "Hey! Victor, the warden is calling for you."

    The toilet door was pushed open, and a white man with a potbelly, a baby face, and a Polic¨ªa Tercero (Police Junior Sergeant) badge on his shoulder shouted. Seeing the water droplets on the other''s face, his voice faltered.

    "Are you trying to drown yourself in the sink? I''m sorry to tell you that your head won''t fit."

    Victor wiped his face with a guard''s uniform, walked towards the toilet door, and said, "When I die, I''ll make sure to take you with me, Casare. I wouldn''t want you to be too lonely."

    "No, no, no, I want to live to be 100 like my great-grandfather. By then, I''ll get the $200,000 from the insurancepany, and I''ll immigrate to the United States!"

    Live to be 100?

    Your bones would have been dragged away by dogs.

    Victor nced at him and prayed to God to protect him.

    Seeing that Victor didn''t respond, Casare looked left and right, then lowered his voice, "Hey, buddy, you shot and killed Hoyle. The Gulf Group''s guys are probably going to have a grudge against you. A boss has already put out a word; they want you dead in prison."

    In his memory, Victor remembered.

    Two weeks ago, just a few days after he transmigrated, he didn''t know what got into the warden''s head, but they decided to hold a ser match.

    And it was between people from Tijuana and Juarez¡ªholy crap, seriously holy crap.

    Both groups had once been under Guadjara, but after the Godfather went to prison, the organization disbanded, and they had been fighting over territory ever since.

    The game of ser eventually turned into a brawl.

    A drug trafficker carrying a couple of handguns, no problem, right? It gradually escted into a riot, and who knows where they got those guns from?

    More and more factions joined the chaos, and the prison called in the Guard Corps to suppress it, but during this period, Victor, who was hiding on the side, "just happened" to run into Hoyle from the Gulf Group. The guy charged at him with a vicious smile.

    The two of them fought, and in an opening, Victor got the opportunity and shot him dead.

    For this, he gained 1000 points.

    Hoyle was no low-level thug.

    But something Hoyle said stuck firmly in Victor''s mind.

    "Finally found you!"

    Why was he looking for him?

    His former self had no conflict with him.

    There seemed to be something fishy.

    That riot was quickly suppressed, but he was injured, so he got two weeks of paid leave.

    But since he had killed a boss from the Gulf Group, Victor was extra cautious, not daring to stay at home. He hid in hotels and kept changing locations but was still found, and an assassin shot at him several times before escaping.

    But the shooter''s skills were clearly taught by his grandmother; he didn''t hit the mark.

    Otherwise, he should be waiting to be reincarnated by now.

    In the prison corridor, you rarely see sharp angles, nor did you see people out for air because of the riot that killed 17 people, everyone was locked in their zones.

    However, the warden had enough pull that he wasn''t unseated and was stillfortably ensconced on his fishing tform.

    As they were reaching the office door, a white man with a Polic¨ªa Segundo (Sergeant) badge came out just in time. He noticed Victor, his gaze grew sharp, but he quicklyposed himself and put on a smile again.

    "Oh, Victor, I''m so happy to see you! How have you been? Feeling any better?"

    Seeing the other person''s smile, Victor instinctively felt a bit of aversion. From his memory, he knew the man''s name, Haggis Baird, a true crime scion.

    The Haggis family was a criminal family from Chihuahua City, with Baird as one of its members.

    The background checks under the Mexican police system were practically non-existent, and many criminal organizations would nt their members into government departments to serve as protection umbres.

    With money paving the way, many had risen to high positions long ago.

    For instance, in 1987 when the Juarez leader Acosta was killed, his sessor named Agur became the Commander of the Mexican Federal Security Directorate. Only after him came the so-called "Sky King," Armando.

    The reason for their disagreement was that Baird''s father was apprehended by Victor''s father andter died in a prison conflict.

    A legacy of grudges passed down from their forefathers.

    Victor felt ufortable at the sight of the other''s smile and subconsciously blinked his right eye fiercely, which acted like a switch, instantly scanning for the other person''s information.

    Haggis Baird.

    Male!

    Born in 1958 into the criminal Baird family of Chihuahua City.

    Entered the police academy in 1973.

    ...

    Criminal Points: 300.

    Just as I thought!

    The original body''s death had something to do with this guy!

    This resume...

    Even Jesus would have to turn vegetarian after seeing this.

    This guy got into college at 25, graduated from Mexico City Police University in 3 years. That is to say, he came out at 28, and by now, at 31, he has risen to the rank of Sergeant. It has to be said, his promotion speed really needed a Viagra boost.

    It took Victor 8 years to be promoted to Sergeant!

    "I hope you''ll enjoy your work from now on and take good care of yourself," Haggis Baird said, patting his shoulder, his toneden with profound implications.

    This guy is still trying to kill me!

    Victor could feel the malice brimming beneath that smile.

    "Buddy, this guy wants to take you down," Casare said worriedly. "Be careful, he ys dirty."

    Looking at the concerned face of the plump little guy, Victor nodded, then turned his head to look at Baird''s retreating figure with narrowed eyes.

    He was not a weak person, a free fighter by trade; in other words, he was tough as nails at heart.

    I need to find a way to kill him first!

    "I''ll be careful."

    Casare nodded, nced at his watch, "Let''s have lunch together at noon. I''ve reached my guard shift, so I need to go patrol."

    Without further ado, he hurried to the armory.

    Victor adjusted his police uniform and knocked on the door. A deep male voice responded from inside, "Come in."

    He pushed the door open only to see a man in his forties sitting inside, with a square face and mild eyes,ing across as a "good officer."

    "Good morning, sir!" Victor said, saluting in the manner he remembered.

    "Victor, how''s your health? Come, sit and talk," Webster Ashburn inquired with concerned tones, pointing to the chair in front of him.

    "I''vepletely recovered, sir."

    Webster sighed with relief, "That''s good to hear. If anything had happened to you, I wouldn''t be able to face your father."

    Victor''s father and he had been colleagues.

    However, the former had a short life, dying in a gang conflict with seven bullets in his back!

    Webster appeared like an elder who cared for the younger generation, engaging in a few pleasantry questions before asking, "The pressure at the Second District is too much. I''m thinking of transferring you to the First Prison Zone. As soon as the Warden''s position is vacated, you''ll be in line to take over. What do you think?"

    That good, huh?

    The First Prison Zone was rtively speaking for "light offenders" ¨C just asional killing, dismembering, and maybe a bit of cooking the flesh. The minimum sentence for inmates there was 25 years.

    Victor was a pragmatic man, and he believed that the good will from others always came with strings attached. Pie doesn''t fall from the sky, but hand grenades might.

    He was not rted to Webster in any way, so why was he being so nice?

    Don''t attribute malice to what can be ounted for by worthlessness of the human heart.

    Victor subconsciously blinked his right eye.

    The other person''s information became crystal clear all at once.

    And the longer he looked, the more his pupils narrowed in focus.

    Webster Ashburn

    Male!

    Born in 1944 in Monterrey.

    Enlisted in the United States Coast Guard Academy at 16, killed a ck man in a fight on campus at 18, was expelled, returned to his country in 1975 to join the local police department, became a member of the Monterrey Drug Enforcement Unit in 1978, the same year he joined the Gulf Group.

    In 1981, he became the senior assistant of the Chihuahua City State Police Department, was promoted to Deputy Police Commissioner in 1984, and has been serving as Warden of "El Altino!" prison ever since.

    ...

    Recent Priority: Has agreed to Haggis Baird''s request to assist in his promotion to Sergeant First ss, eliminating other obstacles, will transfer Victor to the First Prison Zone, and has assigned "Press Machine," the alias of the former Gulf Group member Jerry Aldrich, to kill him during exercise time!

    Criminal Points: 21,000!

    Seeing that number, which seemed about to turn red, Victor felt deeply malicious intent.

    Now, a phrase suddenly came to his mind.

    Give up...

    The outside is full of Jackie Chans!

 Chapter 2: 2: Still so arrogant without paying?

    I had 13 pairs of twos in my hand, and I thought I had a sure win by cheating.

    Who would have thought the guy would pull out a royal flush and didn''t even bother to disguise it, just flipped the table over.

    In this part of the "resume," he saw a familiar name.

    Theo Carlos Vieira!

    His biological father.

    His death indeed had foul y involved, but who would have thought the killer would be the senior who''d been "looking after" him all this time?

    Just thinking about it sent shivers down his spine.

    "Victor, what''s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?" Webster asked softly as he put away his pen, "Do you need to rest for a couple more days?"

    "No, no need." Victor waved his hand, forcing a smile, "Just a bit of a headache, it''s nothing."

    "So, what do you think of my proposal? The First Prison Zone is rtively safe."

    Victor looked up and into the other''s eyes, calm, concerned¡­ benevolent?

    Just like a senior truly considering his junior''s best interest!

    Damn it!

    Victor felt a craving for a cigarette. Seeing one on the table, he pointed and asked, "Can I have one?"

    Webster was taken aback at the request, looked down at the cigarette box with a smile, and nodded, "Of course." He pushed the box forward, indicating for him to help himself.

    Just as Victor took a cigarette and put it in his mouth, he heard Webster say, "Victor, I remember you don''t smoke, do you?"

    He paused slightly in his movements.

    "The stress has been too muchtely, smoking helps me rx."

    Webster didn''t pry any further.

    "Where''s the most dangerous ce in our prison?" Victor suddenly asked.

    "The Third District, heavy crime area."

    "Then I want to go to the Third District."

    Webster''s brows furrowed as if he heard something unbelievable, fell silent for a moment, thenughed, "Is today April Fool''s Day?"

    "Certainly not, sir. I just feel it''s my duty. As a federal officer, I should be on the most dangerous front line, where the public needs me the most. I remember my oath..."

    Webster''s expression was quite expressive.

    In Mexico, you remember your police duties?

    Buddy, isn''t this like ying with a lighter next to a gas canister¡ªAbe¡ªcrows flying nes?

    Drug enforcement has to rely on the navy.

    The army? Those idiots have long since turned traitor.

    Victor wasn''t a fool, either. The leaders of the Third District sounded intimidating, but they were under strict control; they were only let out once every half-month, and unlike the First and Second Districts, the Third District''s armed forces were significantly increased, with permission to carry HM-3 9mm submachine guns!

    The usual Glock 17s weren''t bad, either, the same as what the Yanks next door used. Of course, this was only for important facilities like El Altino. The other minor police stations?

    Having a revolver would be pretty good.

    They even turned into a joke where the police station in Alvarado City used slingshots, as personally ordered by the mayor, that twit must have taken drug traffickers'' money.

    Slingshots?

    As long as the firepower is strong enough, I''m safe enough!

    Most importantly, Mr. Gao felt that this prison was like a huge cage, trapping him tightly, uncertain when he could actually be killed by someone, and besides, his Golden Finger was useless in prison.

    He surely couldn''t intentionally let them escape and recapture them, right?

    And next to Golden Finger was a small note: Subordinates'' catches also count as points.

    Isn''t this just encouraging me to climb up as hard as possible?

    The best approach would be a dispatch to some remote ce to serve as a small Director. Mexican Police is extremely dangerous, with dozens dying every day, and it''smon for Directors toe and go.

    But Victor had no backing. It wouldn''t be easy to jump out of this cage.

    So, the only option was to go to the Third District to see if there were any "big legs" to cling to.

    He wasn''t a man with moral scruples. If he could please the "boss" well, wouldn''t riches and honor be just a word away?

    That''s how society is. When you don''t have the power to change the world, learn to bow your head first.

    There''s nothing shameful about it. Pretentiousness?

    Can your skull withstand a 7.62 bullet?

    Kennedy was pierced by a 6.5 mm bullet and didn''t even have time to say a word.

    Seeing Victor didn''t seem to be bullshitting, Webster''s frown deepened even more, but soon rxed, and he chuckled dryly, "I''ll consider it. The police force iscking your kind of enthusiasm."

    "Thank you, sir!" Victor stood up with the cigarette in his mouth and saluted.

    Webster nodded with a smile, "Get back to work, and if you encounter any difficulty, you cane to me, Victor, my door is always open for you."

    I want to put a hole in your forehead...

    Of course, that was just said in his mind. With 21,000 criminal points, I could exchange a lot of stuff.

    But Lu Xun once said: When you cannot challenge someone, sheathe your de, learn to stick your tongue out, hypocrisy is also a form of self-preservation.

    Coming out of the office, Victor even closed the door behind, adjusting his hat, he looked left and right, then headed towards the canteen, greeting familiar colleagues with a smile as he passed.

    "?Si¨¦ntate! (Sit down)!"

    Entering the canteen, he saw sitting inmates, about a hundred or so. The Second District had arger poption, with more than two thousand people. They had to eat in batches, afraid of any trouble.

    The jail guards were loudly ordering with megaphones.

    The inmates didn''t care at all, some even giggled after sitting down and whispered among themselves, not giving a damn.

    Victor was also a Sergeant, serving as the deputy head of the Second District, covering areas including the canteen, airing out, and showering. The work was not only tiring but also made enemies.

    "Victor." Casare stood at the entrance of the canteen with his hands behind his back, catching a glimpse of Victor''s shadow, he promptly called out.

    Victor''s facial muscles rxed slightly as he walked over, but as he was about to speak, amotion erupted. He whipped his head around and saw a ck man with dirty dreadlocks, speaking rapidly and very agitatedly, violently throwing tes and cursing. People nearby started to egg him on.

    The jail guards shouted nervously at him to sit down, but he ignored thempletely.

    "Who''s that?"

    Casare squinted and stood on tiptoe for a better look, his memory was good, "Friedson Kulman, a key member of the Millennium Group."

    "Millennium Group?" The name sounded familiar. They must have had some celebrities. "Did they pay?"

    Casare was taken aback but then he understood what he meant, "No, the Millennium Group never pays."

    "In my ce, not paying and still acting so arrogant? Interesting," Victor said with an annoyed chuckle, pulling the stic stick from Casare''s waist.

    "Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Casare quickly grabbed him and asked.

    "What am I doing? I''m going to make him understand that poor yers should keep a low profile." Victor spat on the ground.

    "You bastards! We won''t eat this pig feed. I want caviar! I want fruit, you sons of bitches, go feed the pigs," Friedson Kulman yelled loudly.

    People nearby cheered, joining in.

    "Yeah! We want caviar! And I want a woman, I want to do it!"

    "Women! Women! Women!"

    The people around were pounding on the tables and chanting.

    Friedson Kulman was smug about it. In the criminal world, it''s all about showing off. Even if you get hacked to death, you''ll make the news.

    "Caviar? You f***ing paying for it?"

    As Friedson Kulman heard the voice from the side and turned, a stick came crashing toward his head. It was toote to dodge; he was struck and flopped to the ground.

    Covering his head, blood poured everywhere.

    "F*** you all! Starting trouble? You didn''t pay and you start trouble, eat caviar? I''ll feed you shit," Victor yelled, swinging the stick and smashing it down hard.

    He didn''t hold back.

    "Hey, hey! What are you doing? Stop it."

    "Pull him back."

    "Kill the cop!"

    The atmosphere grew increasingly tense. Casare was very nervous, and the jail guards standing on the second-floor perimeter were already sounding the rm.

    A brawny man with year rings tattooed on his head was closest and moved fiercely to grab Victor, but Victor spun around, drew his gun, and shoved it into the man''s mouth, all in one fluid motion.

    "Make another sound and I''ll blow your mouth apart."

    A foreign object in his mouth, the brawny man became even fiercer, not scared at all, wailing and arrogantly pointing to his own temple as if challenging, "Shoot me dead!"

    Bang!

    The gun fired!

    Instantly, the cafeteria fell silent. The brawny man clutched his left ear, screaming, blood seeping through his fingers, a severed ear lying on the floor.

    "Shut your mouth!" Victor stepped hard on the man''s mouth and put his finger to his own lips, "Shh, you''re too loud, you know?"

    Friedson Kulman was stunned with fear.

    The jail guard...

    Dared to shoot first?

    That''s not very Mexican.

    "Everyone, get down! Don''t think I''m joking. Anyone still standing will make my hand jittery, and I won''t know where the bullets might go," Victor said with an unfriendly tone.

    Most of those who end up in prison aren''t fools. Those too stubborn are already dead. They all understand the saying, "Only the wise survive."

    They obediently squatted down.

    Just as he had gotten the situation under control, he heard footsteps. The emergency response team rushed in. Haggis Baird''s face was dark. When he saw the scene, he raised an eyebrow, "What happened here?"

    Casare hurriedly exined the situation from the beginning.

    Haggis Baird nodded, "Take the injured to the infirmary, lock the ringleader Friedson in solitary, and starve the rest for three days."

    After speaking, he turned to Victor and seeing his nonchnt demeanor, a sh of surprise crossed his eyes. He said solemnly, "I will report this to the Warden."

    Their direct superior had been injured and supposedly couldn''t work normally, so they were reporting directly to Webster.

    "Of course, by the book," Victor said casually.

    His actions were by the book. If threatened, he was permitted to use a weapon. This was teau Prison, not an ordinary jail. You had to be a murderer to get in.

    Haggis Baird eyed him, "The man you just injured is not just anybody. He''s the cousin of the leader of the Desan Knights."

    Victor stared right back at him. The other frowned but held the gaze. However, it wasn''t long before he felt his eyes sting and gave in.

    "Do you know Dealey za in Das, Texas?"

    "What''s that?" Haggis Baird furrowed his brow. He felt belittled, and his tone wasn''t good.

    "A president of the United States oncey there. Is there anyone of higher status than him?"

    Victor chuckled, patting his shoulder and making a gun gesture with his fingers by his temple, "No matter how high your status, bang, one shot and you''re dead. Isn''t that right, Mr. Haggis Baird?"

    Fury surged in Haggis Baird, who was about to speak when Mr. Gao pushed him aside and walked away. Casare hesitated, then gave an apologetic smile to the former and followed.

    "F***! Son of a bitch!"

    Haggis Baird kicked the dining table, his face sagging with anger.

    "Victor, saying that, aren''t you afraid he''ll retaliate?" Casare caught up with a worried look.

    "A tortoise might hide from a machete, but it can''t escape a bomb. Now that we''re enemies, it''s do or die. Besides, if I don''t make some noise, how will certain people be convinced to make a move?" Victor spoke cryptically, puzzling Casare.

    "Just be careful," Casare said.

    "Don''t worry, I was at the hospitalst week. The doctor told me my bone density is thicker than a bulletproof vest."

    ...

 Chapter 3: 3: The Terror of the Third District

    "He''s so arrogant now! Sir, I even feel he''s more brazen than any drug trafficker I''ve met, you didn''t see it, he fired a shot! He fired a shot in teau Prison!"

    Inside the Warden''s office.

    Haggis Baird''s face turned red, and he waved his arms around, visibly agitated, leaned on the desk with both hands, staring intently at Webster, "I even suspect he''s possessed by the devil, he''s nothing like the man he used to be!"

    Webster, with a cigarette in his mouth, replied, "The devil? Then you should go looking for a priest in the Vatican, but are you sure we don''t have any little boys here, would they evene?"

    The corner of Haggis Baird''s mouth twitched, "Sir, there''s nothing funny about this." He paused, his breath slightlybored, "You promised you would help me kill him!"

    "My family gave you 20,000 US Dors!"

    Webster''s eyelids lifted slightly, "He''s requested a transfer to the Third District."

    This news stupefied Baird, causing two "??" to sh across his mind.

    Even the dogs wouldn''t go to the Third District; although those big shots were physically restrained, their temperaments were downright bizarre. You never knew which word or action of yours might suddenly infuriate them.

    Drug traffickers are utterly inhumane!

    In Mexico, if you offend the president, you will face legal judgment.

    But if you offend a drug trafficker, you will understand what it means to wish for death over life!

    From mayors to vigers, if you anger them, tomorrow your head might appear in Mexico City, your arms in Santiago City, and your butt in Tijuana¡ªdon''t doubt it, they have that capability.

    "He... he..." Baird was at a loss for words.

    "Inform him that he is to work in the Third District starting tomorrow." Webster took a transfer order from the drawer and tossed it in front of Baird, leaning back with his hands crossed over his stomach, "In memory of his deadbeat dad, I''ve granted his request."

    "How long he lives is now in God''s hands."

    Looking at the transfer order in his hands, Baird felt it wasn''t direct enough. In Mexico, such subtlety was unnecessary. They were the Gulf Group, the oldest criminal organization. He was just a little jail guard, wasn''t he?

    Just find some guys to kill him, and everything would be settled, right?

    Police killings are all toomon in this country.

    "I know what you''re thinking. If you''re capable, go find someone outside to kill him. But inside the prison, we must y by the rules. You can''t let a drug trafficker arm himself with a gun and storm into the jail guards'' dormitory to kill him, can you? That''s provocation.

    Last time, to make Tijuana and Juarez go at each other, a lot of people died; settling the matter cost quite a bit, and some higher-ups have started to criticize me, so I need to keep a low profiletely."

    Webster was a sly fox.

    That ser match was actually a premeditated murder against the two organizations!

    Back then, a Tijuana underboss nicknamed "Clown" Gagliardo died. He was the illegitimate son of the Tijuana Group''s leader Benjamin and was quite favored. His death triggered open warfare between the two major groups outside!

    One of the three giants, Sinaloa, was also forced to join the battlefield.

    The Gulf Group profited handsomely from this.

    For that ser match, the Gulf Group handed five million US Dors to the Chief of the preventive police department.

    Every action was for the sake of profit.

    "As long as the price is right, even God could be sold."

    "Jesus must have had a price tag at some point."

    Baird wasn''t too happy with Webster''s arrangement, but what could he do? In any organization, the other person''s rank was higher than his own. He saluted silently, and walked out of the office.

    Standing at the door, he began to grumble under his breath. He tucked the transfer order under his arm and walked to Office No. 2 of the Second District, where Casare was sitting and making coffee. "Where''s Victor?"

    "Restroom," Casare pointed to the office''s bathroom. As he finished speaking, he saw Victor shaking the water off his hands as he came out.

    "Victor, Sergeant Baird is looking for you," the hefty Casare called out to him with a hint in his eyes.

    "Your transfer order has arrived. The warden has approved your move to Third District as the Deputy Warden. Congrattions, buddy." Baird handed over the transfer order with a sardonic smile, "I hope you canst a long time in your new post¡­"

    "Oh?" Victor took the transfer order and took a sigh of relief after seeing the seal on it. The first step of his n wasplete. He seemed not to notice the "curse" in Baird''s tone and responded with an appreciative smile.

    A bitter taste lodged in Baird''s throat, and with a darkened face, he left.

    He didn''t forget to m the door heavily behind him.

    With a bang, even the dust settled.

    As soon as Baird left, the anxious Casare couldn''t wait to speak up, "Victor, you''re going to the Third District? That ce is dangerous¡­ don''t you know? Justst year, nine jail guards died. Even though it was outside the prison, it''s obvious it was the drug traffickers'' retaliation."

    "I heard of some poor guy who got kidnapped with his wife and daughter during his vacation because he refused to wash a drug trafficker''s feet. They were found dead in the forest three dayster with not a single piece of good flesh on their bodies."

    "And Quim Luca, you know him, the good-looking one¡ªmy ssmate. When he was at the Third District, he caught the eye of a drug trafficker with homosexual preferences, but he wouldn''t give in. Later... they cut off his genitals and hung them up in the street!"

    Casare trembled as he spoke, and his pupils even dted with fear.

    Clearly, drug traffickers had left an indelible shadow in the heart of Casare, the police officer.

    Thwack!

    A handnded on Casare''s shoulder. "What are you afraid of?"

    Casare lifted his head to meet Victor''s gaze.

    "All you''re afraid of is death, but why shouldn''t they be the ones to die? In this screwed-up society, words are useless. The only thing that can speak for you is a weapon. If a drug trafficker is holding a pistol and you have an AK, who do you think should be scared?"

    "My old man used to tell me all the time that you have to have a sense of justice as a person, the young need to have drive, and need to understand that morality is the bottom line of being human. And what happened? He got beaten to death himself. I get it now, at any time, you have to climb up. The words of a mere underling don''t get heard by anyone."

    "Why did you be a police officer?"

    "For..." Casare stumbled.

    "Don''t tell me it''s for some bullshit justice. Don''t be too rigid in life and work; absolute justice is doomed to fail. To survive, you have to be ruthless. In the cafeteria, if I hadn''t taken that shot, do you think I''d still be standing? Those sons of bitches, are they afraid of thew? No, they''re afraid of bullets!"

    Victor patted Casare''s face. "If someone bullies you, you fight back. If you can''t fight back, you find someone else to take the fall. Drug traffickers are human too, they''re also afraid of dying. I don''t believe there''s a bullet that couldn''t be stuffed in their mouths."

    Though he talked tough, the fear that had been ruled by drug traffickers for decades wasn''t so easily dispelled.

    "Don''t worry, in Mexico, I''ll live even longer than God."

    "How about a drink after work tonight? My treat," Victor said with a smile.

    ...

    The prison work hours were nine to five.

    No overtime required.

    Since teau Prison was about fifty kilometers from downtown, many officers chose to live in the dormitories, but not far outside the prison, a "night market" provided plenty of services.

    Victor had little interest in the prostitutes by the roadside, mainly because he was afraid of bing an AIDS Warrior, regretting it toote. If he was going to have some fun, it had better be with a Hollywood star.

    All were selling themselves, just a matter of paying a bit more.

    It was Casare who was less discerning, giving the women a once-over, "We''re two guys here."

    Thedy sized up Victor, "For two, it''ll be extra."

    "How much?"

    "Ten pesos each, half price for the second one."

    At this, Casare''s eyes lit up. He nudged Victor with his elbow, lowering his voice, "Victor..."

    "Forget it, I''m not interested. You can go ahead if you want, but I think you should take precautions."

    With a conflicted expression, Casare found the woman quite to his taste, but since Victor wasn''t interested, he couldn''t just leave his buddy behind. Just as he was about to refuse, he heard Victor say, "You go ahead, I''ve got something to deal with. When I''m done, I''ll meet you at the open-air bar."

    With that, he even pulled out twenty pesos and handed them to thedy, "Take good care of my buddy here."

    He pped Casare on the shoulder and walked off toward the distance.

    Casare was puzzled, following the direction Victor was heading, he spotted a familiar figure. Was that... Haggis Baird?

    "Sir!" Thedy pushed him, taking his hand quite assertively and leading him into a tent behind her.

    Victor indeed saw someone he knew; Haggis Baird''s ugly mug was second only to Franklin in his mind, thetter being significant for one reason ¡ª he was US dors.

    This guy followed someone who looked tough to deal with into a secluded RV. Wanting to know this person''s identity was easy for Victor, right?

    One blink of his right eye.

    All the information popped up.

    "Mil Baird.

    Male!

    Born in 1970 in the Baird criminal family of Chihuahua City.

    Nickname: ''Family Watchdog.''

    At 18, robbed a French tourist with associates, killing and mutting the victim; at 19, joined the family''s drug trafficking business, using bodies for smuggling across the US-Mexico border, and in the same year, shot dead three Chihuahua City policemen.

    He was listed as Chihuahua City''s 67th most wanted criminal, with a bounty of 6,000 pesos; at 20, he tormented and murdered a Chihuahua City anti-drug councilor, killing and dumping the body.

    Recent focus: The family assigned him to kill an opponent, nicknamed ''Madman,'' the old-school boss of LOS Chihuahua City confined in Second District of teau Prison ¡ª Miguel H. Ram¨ªrez.

    Criminal points: 900."

    So the "family" had sent someone, no wonder Haggis, despite being horny as hell, hadn''t sought out a woman.

    In the past, he would be with his little crew, but now...

    He was alone?!

    Victor''s eyes suddenly lit up.

    He touched his waist; no weapon on him.

    The prison didn''t allow carrying firearms outside of work hours, and in Mexico, the restrictions applied mainly to government departments, while others werex.

    Maybe it was to give criminals a chance for retaliation.

    But...

    Victor still had the 1,000 points he had earned from killing Hoyle in prison.

    Enough to exchange for a weapon of choice.

    Having learned from one setback, he didn''t like to leave danger behind. Now that Haggis was alone, it was time to take him out!

    Kill him and toss the body outside, who the hell would know it was him?

    He looked around and, with hands in his pockets, walked nonchntly towards the back of the RV, listening with ears perked.

    "What? You want me to kill Miguel H. Ram¨ªrez?" Haggis''s voice.

    "It''s a family order," Mil Baird''s voice was hoarse, as if his vocal cords were damaged.

    Haggis was silent for a moment.

    "No problem, but I want you to help me kill someone. He''s annoying and getting in the way of my rise in teau Prison."

    "Who?"

    "Victor Carlos Vieri."

    "No problem, he''ll be dead outside soon."

    The killing intent in Victor, leaning against the RV, grew stronger.

    You damn want to kill me, but I''ll kill you first!

    He blinked once, and a redemption window appeared.

    Bnce: 1000.

    He exchanged forty points for two old Russians-made F-1 hand grenades!

    Time to blow you up, you son of a bitch!

 Chapter 4: 4: Full of Malice!

    Everyone who frequently tosses hand grenades knows that theye in defensive and offensive types, but in reality, that''s all bullshit. Once you throw it, who gives a fuck about the type, everyone''s going down!

    An F-1 hand grenade crammed with 60g of TNT, motherfucker, even a turtleing at you would blow up like a Japanese ghost.

    Even though it''s a relic from World War II, it''s still a relic from your granddaddy, after all.

    Victor crouched and moved close to the edge of the trailer, looked at the half-open window, pulled the pin, and lobbed it inside. The crisp sound it made as it hit the ground turned the heads of both Haggis and Mil Baird.

    An oval-shaped object resembling arge turd rolled across the floor.

    Mil Baird, with his abundant experience of taking hits, reacted quickly. He grabbed his head, tucked his ass in, and curled up into a ball on the side.

    This reduced the area exposed to injury, which could increase his chances of survival.

    Anyone who has used a hand grenade knows that the chances of it actually killing someone outright are not high¡ªnot that it''s impossible. Its deadliest harmes from the fragments inside that can slice through a person''s organs.

    Basically, it''s beyond salvation.

    Even Jesus would have to be hospitalized.

    However...

    Just to be sure, Victor didn''t wait long after throwing the first one before lobbing a second grenade inside!

    Double insurance.

    Boom!

    Two trails of smoke seeped out from the edges of the trailer window. The explosion was muffled, but it was loud enough to startle Casare, who was in the midst of fucking a girl. He shot up, his balls shriveling, panic-stricken as he grasped for his clothes and dashed out of the tent like a scared elephant.

    Around him were other old johns just like him.

    Completely shameless, all baring their naked bodies.

    They nced at each other, their eyes filled with fear.

    "What''s going on? Why was there an explosion?"

    "How the fuck would I know? I was in the heat of battle and it scared the hell out of me too. Don''t just stand there, scatter!"

    Someone shouted, and some people ran off in panic. Some didn''t even pay for their services.

    As experienced Mexicans, they understood a principle¡ªnever be curious. Whoever''s curiosity gets the better of them, their entire family would be screwed.

    It was different for Casare, though; as he looked towards that corner, his mouth half-open, it seemed like...

    That was exactly where Victor had just gone!

    ...

    Victor had balls of steel; after throwing the hand grenade, he didn''t run off immediately. Standing at the door, he could hear moans and screams from inside.

    He kicked open the already sting-battered door, crawled inside, and saw Haggis rolling on the ground, bleeding all over, while Mil was not so lucky, clutching his neck with wide-open eyes, already dead.

    Seeing a figure, Haggis instinctively reached out for help, a wheezing, blow-dryer-like sounding from his throat, "help! help!"

    "Don''t you know you''re supposed to say ''please,'' buddy?"

    Upon hearing a familiar voice, Haggis''s face cleared with recognition and he became frantic, gasping for breath, his chest heaving.

    "No rush, no rush."

    Victor squatted down, looked at him, and smirked, "Does it hurt? No worries, I''ll help you out."

    He nced around and saw a fire extinguisher rolling on the ground, picked it up, waved goodbye to Haggis, then smashed it down hard on his head.

    What''s harder, a skull or a fire extinguisher?

    Clearly, thetter won.

    After banging hard a few times, brains were oozing out. Looking at the unrecognizable Haggis, Victor tossed the fire extinguisher aside, lit a cigarette for himself, and then tried to wedge it into the mouth that had been smashed to pieces.

    But the mouth was battered beyond holding the cigarette.

    Victor lost his patience in no time, and with a final smash, he ttened the head again with the fire extinguisher.

    "Fuck you, not even giving the respect for a smoke, you goddamn bastard."

    After swearing, he bolted, already hearing peopleing nearby, the mor of footsteps growing louder.

    In the pitch-dark night, just dive in and as long as you''re not caught on the spot, how hard could it be to escape?

    About two or three minutes after Victor sprinted off, a dozen armed men holding weapons rushed to the scene, their arm tattoos revealing they all came from the same organization.

    Leading them was a bald man with a scar between his brows, hisplexion ashen and grim. Someone had stirred up trouble on his turf; the fucker was asking for trouble!

    "Boss, there''s trouble, this guy looks like Mil Baird." a subordinate called out.

    The bald man paused, his expression something akin to constipation, as if he realized something. He bellowed and rushed over, recognizing the familiar face on the ground, his face contorting even more.

    He knew Mil Baird all too well. Mexico City''s turf originally belonged to the Guadjara Cartel.

    But due to the destruction of a 1000-hectare ntation, Quintero, one of the three bosses, couldn''t swallow his pride. At the time, Gardo had already arranged a deal with Pablo of Colombia, so the money could definitely be recouped.

    But on February 7, 1985, under Quintero''s orders, a DEA agent, Camarena, was kidnapped in broad daylight.

    The autopsy revealed he had suffered 30 hours of brutal torture, and that during the ordeal, he was repeatedly injected with adrenaline to keep him conscious.

    The grisly state of Camarena''s body prompted the DEA tounch itsrgest-scale murder investigation ever.

    As things blew up, Quintero ran off with his girlfriend Sara, who happened to be the daughter of the Mexican Minister of Education.

    Talk about education going to the birds.

    The Godfather Gardo sacrificed pawns to save the game, handing over Quintero and Tang Neito to the authorities, while he continued to lead the Cartel, meeting officials'' demands for shares.

    Quintero was sentenced to a maximum of 40 years in prison.

    But since there was no extradition agreement, the Yanks disagreed. In order to give their employees an exnation, theyunched "Operation Legend", sending agents with bounty hunters to infiltrate Mexico, abduct the six murderers involved in the killing of Camarena to the United States for trial, and simultaneously exert pressure on the Mexican authorities.

    Then Gardo was abandoned by his protection umbre, Defence Minister Bar, and in 1989, the Guadjara Cartel crumbled to the ground.

    During this power vacuum, Mexico City, of course, couldn''t stay calm.

    Palma, leading the Sinaloa, shed with the Gulf Groupmanded by the Abrego family.

    Among them appeared many characters with cruel and insidious tactics, and "Family stud" Mil Baird stood out especially.

    He led Gulf Group gunmen to attack the costume party of Guzman''s younger brother, who held the second-inmand position in Sinaloa, resulting in 17 deaths.

    These included Guzman''s brother''s lover and their four illegitimate children.

    His reputation was severely shaken!

    The Sinaloa Group offered a bounty of 150,000 pesos for his life!

    For such a hotshot to die here was a stark reminder of life''s unpredictability.

    But this bald man saw another business opportunity. He looked at Mil Baird''s body, his eyes glowing with greed.

    150,000 pesos!

    Most importantly, getting in good with the Sinaloa could be a huge advantage, even if it meant facing retaliation from the Gulf Group and the Baird Family. But in this line of work, is life and death really that important?

    Make money, make money, make money!

    Those with faint hearts had long either died on the streets or emigrated.

    "Who is this person?" the bald man asked, pointing at Haggis''s body.

    The subordinate looked left and right, shook his head, "Can''t recognize him; he''s too disfigured."

    "Don''t waste it, take him with us. Tonight, we''re throwing our lot in with the Sinaloa Cartel."

    His subordinates exchanged nces, hesitating.

    The bald man, perceptive, understood their thoughts and said, "We were in charge here tonight. With Mil Baird dead, do you think we won''t be thrown out as a scapegoat?"

    "This..."

    "Boss den surely wouldn''t do that," a subordinate whispered, but even he trailed off and closed his mouth.

    In Mexico, the unwritten rule for small gangs was to always stick close to a major cartel. If you had a powerful backer, you were good; without one?

    You were just expendable and cannon fodder.

    "Alright, no more hesitation. Those who want to leave with me, let''s do it. The bounty for Mil Baird will be split among us all. Those who don''t want to, we can part ways here," the bald man said, furrowing his brows at the subordinates in front of him.

    In the end, all the subordinates followed him. Clearly, the draw of the bounty in pesos was stronger than loyalty to their boss.

    With the watchers gone, who else woulde around for no reason just to take a look?

    If it''s none of my business, then keep it off my back.

    After all, death was far toomon an urrence.

    ...

    Victor made his way to the prison under cover of darkness. His dormitory was inside. On the way, he encountered many colleagues, who were cursing and swearing, all because they felt the night had been too dull.

    When crossing a pontoon bridge, he stumbled, not seeing a stone that had been ced there at some point.

    "Victor."

    In the darkness, a soft call made him tense up. Frowning as he saw the emerging figure, he rxed, "Casare, don''t you know it''s very easy to scare someone to death lurking in the night like this?"

    The fat man approached, looked Victor up and down, "You alright?"

    This perplexing question caught Victor off guard, setting his heart pounding, but he quickly regained hisposure, his eyes fixed on him, "You mean the explosion just now? Scared the hell out of me. I was just about to find a spot to pee when I heard the st and immediately hid. Are you okay, pal? I heard that getting startled during exercise can lead to impotence."

    Heughed, reaching for Casare''s groin, and Casare stepped back, "I''m fine." Then, turning away, "Good that you''re okay."

    But a slight hardness in his gaze, he smelled the scent of blood on Victor.

    Definitely, it was not as simple as he had imed.

    Casare was no fool; there are no real fools in this world, just different perspectives.

    Don''t think you''re too clever.

    Behind him, Victor squinted his eyes, his instincts telling him that Casare was beginning to suspect him.

    His instincts were always urate.

    Looking at the back of Casare''s head, there was a sudden urge in him to go forward and crack it open.

    Murdering a colleague, especially one from a criminal family, required only a shred of suspicion before those dog-bred drug traffickers would strike a deadly blow.

    Victor was not someone who liked to leave his fate in others'' hands.

    Casare walked ahead, suddenly feeling a twinge at the back of his head.

    As if someone was staring at him with malice.

    In the end.

    Victor refrained from striking him down; after all, he was now visible to the guards on the high walls at the entrance of the prison.

 Chapter 5: 5: What can be done to earn the first pot of gold?

    "Goodnight, Victor."

    "Sweet dreams, Casare."

    The two men bid each other farewell, Victor walked into the dorm and shut the door. Within seconds, the wooden door cracked open a sliver.

    An eye watched Casare''s retreating back, and only when he had entered his own dorm did the wooden door slowly close.

    Victor turned on the light, and the dorm room wasid bare.

    About 15 square meters, with a bed, a bathroom, and a desk.

    One could see spider webs on the walls.

    The air was permeated with a smell of decay.

    The treatment of the Mexican Police was atrocious; having a roof over your head was already a luxury, let alone a bicycle.

    Victor lifted the toilet seat, took a leak, then stood at the sink washing his hands. After all, no man washes his hands if he doesn''t pee on them, right?

    He looked up, meeting the gaze of the reflection in the ss. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, like those of a man who had justmitted murder in a TV drama.

    He fished a cigarette from his shirt pocket, put it in his mouth, and fumbled with a lighter, but the one-peso lighter was not cooperating. Victor flicked it hard, and with a snap, a tiny me sprung to life.

    "Join me for one."

    He nervously touched his cigarette to the "person" in the mirror and cracked a small smile; the "person" in the mirror mimicked the gesture.

    The death of Haggis Baird was a relief to him.

    Because with fewer malicious eyes around, life didn''t seem as precarious.

    The next one... Webster Ashburn!

    That man had many strengths but one ring weakness; he was petty. You want to kill me? Why would I waste my breath on you?

    But after all, he was the Warden, not some random beggar on the streets of Mexico City. He was considered upper echelon; the forces behind him were a tangled web. To kill him required careful nning.

    One misstep could cost everything.

    Lying on the wooden bed, his weight caused it to creak loudly.

    Victor mulled over his next move.

    Having killed Haggis and Mil, the Baird criminal family was unlikely to let things slide. A family that stands tall in the face of crime is by definitionwless, and retribution was nearly within reach.

    The only constion was that he was in Mexico City, and Chihuahua City was not close by.

    It was essential to make money quickly!

    Even yearster, gang upstarts knew that aligning with a well-off leader was the key; just buy them a milk tea, and they''d happily bring a sweet young thing home at night.

    Drug traffickers and gangs in Mexico openly recruit members, offering meager sries and a cut from the drugs they handle.

    The lowest rank, living conditions worse than a dog''s.

    "The first pot of gold."

    Victor furrowed his brow and thought it through carefully.

    Drug trafficking¡ªtoopetitive, too tainted, under too close a watch by the United States Drug Enforcement Administration.

    Kidnapping¡ªlow profit, slow money, too many poor in Mexico, too many rich with ample security.

    Human trafficking?

    Victor hesitated, wondering if he could sell African migrants to France?

    But nowadays, people don''t need cotton pickers.

    Furthermore, most human trafficking involved forced prostitution, vebor, body parts, etc. Unless you''re dealing on arge scale, small operations hardly make money.

    Mr. Gao actually took the matter seriously and analyzed the pros and cons.

    What''s the most profitable trade in the world?

    Apart from finance and the inte, it must be arms dealing, drug trafficking, and smuggling.

    During the Prohibition era in the United States, the precursor to the Gulf Group made its fortune smuggling alcohol into the U.S.,ter turning to drugs after Prohibition ended in 1933.

    Compared to these, arms dealing seemed rather "low-key."

    It wasn''t that criminals in Mexico or Colombia didn''t want to deal in arms; it just required investment, unlike marijuana, where any farm could quickly bring in cash.

    A one-peso item in Mexico could quintuple in value when transported to the U.S.

    Most importantly, you manufacture weapons for sale in America?

    It''s like hauling coal from Datong to Inner Mongolia to sell.

    The profit margin for arms is even something drug traffickers hesitate over. You just need to understand that the real money isn''t in the hands of individuals; state-level sales are where the real profit lies.

    The Penal Code is nothing but a means for some elites to exert a monopoly under the guise ofw.

    Arms dealing?!

    Victor''s eyes brightened instantly; apart from disposable henchmen, weapons were the Mexican drug traffickers'' fastest dwindling resource, and he had just the way to replenish their stock with points.

    He blinked, and simple data appeared before him.

    Points: 2160!

    Haggis had 300 points, Mil Baird 900, and after deducting the points for two grenades, he was left with this total.

    With 2160 points, he could buy 108 F-1 hand grenades.

    World War II junk, I''m only asking for 10 US dors apiece, not expensive, right?

    All together, thates to 1080 US dors.

    Damn, that''s not a good deal at all.

    Victor flipped through the panel again, which conveniently indicated what could be exchanged.

    A genuine Swedish-made Carl Gustav M45 submachine gun ¡ª 70 points.

    A Czech-made CZ 25 submachine gun with original factory markings ¡ª 120 points.

    An AK-74 assault rifle produced by the Izhmash Company ¡ª 150 points.

    This price is a steal; a Haggis could buy two AKs.

    And the international selling price of an AK ranges from 300 to 800 US dors, of course, I''m talking about the genuine articles from the original factory, not those fakes from the outskirts of Darra in Afghanistan¡ªyou certainly can''t mention those.

    With its high cost-performance ratio, AK47s are drug traffickers'' favorites, outgunning military and police forces.

    With 2160 points, I could exchange for 14 guns. Even if I sold each for 200 US dors, that would be 2800 US dors. That earns more than selling hand grenades.

    2800 US dors, nearly two years'' sry.

    Victor''s eyes reddened as he did the math.

    People who''ve really been poor get really red-eyed at the sight of money.

    He took a deep breath, forcing down the surging excitement in his heart, trying to stay calm.

    You can''t just go up to anyone on the street and ask if they want to buy; that''s asking to get double-crossed.

    I need to cover myself with ayer of protection.

    Better yet, find a "tiger''s skin" to bolster my courage.

    That means using my job to find a decent "mountain" to lean on in the Third District.

    In the game of careers, you always need someone to lend a hand.

    Otherwise, you won''t get far.

    Though impatient at heart, he knew that haste wouldn''t bring sess. Now that he had a target, the thing to do was to sleep.

    But the moment he closed his eyes, thoughts of getting rich filled his mind.

    Tossing and turning, sleep eluded him.

    It wasn''t until nearly dawn that his eyelids began to battle, and he fell asleep.

    ¡­

    Just as he starts work in the morning, Casare hears a "shocking news" in the prison cafeteria.

    "Haggis is dead!" said a colleague at a nearby table "quietly," but somehow managed to draw the attention of everyone around.

    "Really? Impossible," his chatting coworker asked in surprise.

    "True. This morning when I went to the Warden''s office to submit some documents, I heard it mentioned over the phone. It happenedst night at the night market. I also contacted some friends outside, and they said, Haggis and Mil Baird''s bodies were carried off to the Sinaloa Group. Apparently, Guzman paid them 150,000 pesos."

    This amount elicited a round of gasps from the jail guards.

    150,000 pesos, that''s like 75,000 US dors, damn...

    Do you know what this represents?

    Some shook their heads in feigned regret, "Can''t believe Haggis is dead. He was a bit proud, but still a decent guy."

    Of course, there were those who disliked him and made some snide remarks, which were quickly silenced by their mates who had good rtions with them, reminding them that you can''t talk about someone with a family backing them.

    Casare chewed on his potato, but it tasted like wax. He couldn''t hide the shock in his eyes.

    He hadn''t expected Haggis to be the one who died!

    This made him even more suspicious of Victor''s whereabouts yesterday.

    Suddenly, a pair of hands pped down on his shoulders, startling him so much that his spoon fell to the floor.

    "Huh? What are you thinking about? You look scared."

    The neer picked up the spoon from the ground, ced it on the table, and sat across from him with a smile, "Thinking about a woman?"

    Looking at that familiar face, Casare swallowed the potato mush in his mouth and then squeezed out a smile, "No... not really, your sudden p just reminded me of a horror movie."

    Victor unceremoniously grabbed a potato from his te, broke it open, stuffed it into his mouth and said, "Tastes good, looks like Uncle Sals is in a good mood today."

    Casare gave an awkwardugh, took a sip of soup, and looked up, his eyes hesitant but still questioning, "Victor, Haggis is dead."

    "Oh? That''s too bad, but may God bless him," Victor replied casually, without any sign of surprise.

    "Aren''t you curious how he died?" Casare asked urgently, licking his dry lips.

    Victor nced at him, "Buddy, asking and paying too much attention to how the deceased died is disrespectful. Do you think Jesus would like it if people discussed how he was nailed to a cross?"

    I wonder what those medieval priests were thinking.

    Using a cross as a LOGO, how is God supposed to bless you?

    It''s like whispering in your ear, reminding you, "Hey buddy, you died quite uniquely."

    If God blesses you, that''d be something.

    Looking at Victor''s demeanor, Casare nced around, leaned forward, and with urgency in his brows, he asked in a lowered voice, "Has Haggis''s death got nothing to do with you?"

    Victor''s smile gradually faded until it vanished.

    ¡­

 Chapter 6: 6: The First Meeting Gift!

    "What do you hope I will answer?"

    "Or rather, what answer do you want to hear?"

    Victor neither denied nor admitted anything, just stared straight at Casare.

    There was no need to ask; it was clear enough that the explosion yesterday was his doing, and it was indeed aimed at Haggis.

    Casare was half-open-mouthed, "But you''re a cop."

    Victor, on the other hand, waspletely rxed, pinching something sticky between his fingers and sniffing it under his nose, "Of course, I''ve always been a cop, and I''ve often been proud of that fact."

    He pushed himself up from the table with both hands and stood up with a sinister look on his face, "But if Haggis wants me dead, then I''ll tell him, offending Jesus might not get you into heaven, but offending me, I''ll make him die today, fuck it. In Mexico, if he ys with my life, I''ll take him down first."

    Casare was frightened by Victor''s almost insane remarks.

    "Are you really a..."

    "Mad dog?" Victor finished the sentence for him, leaned back,ughing happily, and pointed around, "How many do you think here are cops? They are all undercover agents sent by drug traffickers from the outside,ing here for the money. The national g they hang outside feels too rough even for wiping their asses.

    For people like you and me, with no background, no education, no culture, what else can wepete with except our lives?"

    "Now even selling sperm requires an educational background check! What''s your education?"

    "I know you have three siblings still in school, and your mother sews clothes for others. After you send your sry home, how many times a month can you afford women? The ones you''re with are of low quality, really low-ss. Your ex-girlfriend, didn''t she run off with some rich guy? If you had money, would she have left?

    You could have any woman you wanted, and if tonight you say you want to have children with a femalewmaker, throw the money down, and by the afternoon she''d have her IUD removed. Money, it can do a lot of things."

    "Want to join me?"

    Victor had gone through Casare''s resume. To put it tly, the guy was as innocent as a white lotus flower, or in other words, always the good boy who did whatever mom said ¨C study, drop out, take exams, be a cop.

    It all looks smooth-sailing, but the aplishments of your lifetime can just be brushed aside with a bribe from a drug trafficker.

    "I promise you, you''ll earn at least 1000 Pesos more a month."

    Casare''s breathing quickened at that, but he didn''t speak up.

    Victor wasn''t in a rush, stood up, and patted his shoulder, "If you''re interested, you cane to my room after work tonight. You know what to do about Haggis, right?"

    Victor didn''t wait for his answer and left.

    Stunned, Casare''s mind raced as he sat there. He''d always thought Victor was as honest as himself, but now it seemed that was all a damn disguise.

    "Hey, Casare, you done eating? Time to clean up." The cafeteria''s on-duty jail guard came over, saw him still sitting there, and called out a bit impatiently.

    He hurried up, apologetically waved at the guard, and watched as the unfinished mashed potatoes were dumped into the bucket, swallowing hard.

    A thought suddenly shed through his mind.

    If I had money, probably no one would rush me at mealtime, right?

    ¡­

    Third District.

    In teau Prison, it''s like a lonely city unto itself, isted, constantly buzzing with high-voltage electricity, equipped with its own cafeteria, rest area, and work zones. It looks very strict.

    But it''s actually just a load of crap.

    Later, when Guzman was caught in February 2014, his son paid a jail guard to smuggle in a GPS-tagged watch, then spent a whole year from the outside digging a 1.5 km long, over 10 meters deep, 1.7 meters high, and 75 cm wide tunnel,plete with lighting and venttion.

    On July 12, 2015, under surveince, Guzman escaped from prison again!

    So, Mexican Prisons are just a freaking joke.

    If you haven''t broken out of jail a few times, do you even dare call yourself a Big Drug Trafficker?

    But on the surface, Third District was still very "strict". On entering, I passed through four checkpoints, including name and photoparison, and full-body contraband check.

    Once all the checks were done, I was led to Kona Bsk, the person in charge of Third District, a stocky Senior Police Sergeant.

    "Wee, Sergeant Victor," he said, seeming very friendly and even reaching out to shake my hand.

    Victor blinked his right eye. Now, whenever he meets a "strange" superior, he has to figure them out first for a sense of security.

    Kona Bsk.

    Male.

    Born in 1952 in Monterrey, Nuevo Leon.

    ¡­

    Has been the in-charge of Third District of teau Prison since he was 31.

    Criminal points: 1500.

    These points were about five times Haggis, one and a half times Mil Baird.

    Not that he was meaner than the other two, but because he had more influence and a father-inw who was the Director from Sinaloa State behind him.

    Tsk tsk tsk...

    As long as you actively cooperate with the rule of the Sinaloa Cartel, you''re basically the Emperor around here.

    "Heard you were injured before? How are you now? All better?" Kona Bsk asked like an old friend.

    "Much better, thank you for your concern, sir," Victor replied.

    The other man nodded, flipping through Victor''s brought-in resume folder, and casually mentioned, "Those bastards are utterlywless. I heard that Hoyle is a small-time leader of the Gulf Group; take care of yourself. And if you need anything, you cane to me."

    Victor got the hint at once.

    Sinaloa and Gulf Group were rivals, often at each other''s throats over market shares ¨C today you kill my mother, tomorrow I kill your lover, just like what "Godfather" Gardo said when he got caught.

    "Without me, the beasts will have no restraint!"

    Victor was no fool, he certainly wouldn''t turn away such freely offered amiability. Pushing everyone to the opposition was what real idiots did.

    "I''ll be counting on you in the future."

    He picked up the lighter from the table and lit Cona Bsk''s cigarette, who was holding one in his mouth.

    Appropriate ttery was all about making life easier.

    Dignity?

    Worthless.

    Before Guzman became famous, he even resorted to stealing cars.

    Any boss that made a name for himself, which one had it easy?

    Some things, if you weren''t born with them, you probably won''t get them in this lifetime, but some people refuse to ept their fate, which means you have to give up a lot.

    For instance: dignity.

    Do you think it''s a joke for the poor in Mexico to talk about dignity?

    Cona Bsk was clearly very satisfied with Victor''s attitude, holding the cigarette in his hand, "The Third District used to have a deputy, but he got involved in a shootout while on vacation and was killed."

    "From now on, you''ll take over his duties, arranging patrols for the jail guards, roll calls for prisoners, armory weapons inventory..."

    That was more power than he ever had in the Second District.

    "Anywhere can be chaotic, but as long as those drug lords stay within the Third District, let them do whatever they want. Even if they ask you for condoms, you satisfy them."

    Victor wasn''t rash, he lowered his stance considerably, putting on a "I''m new here, I don''t understand, you''re the boss" look.

    "I''ll have someone take you to get familiar with the office," Cona Bsk pressed the desk phone, "Anna,e in."

    Someone responded from the other side.

    You could tell by the voice that she was well-endowed.

    A few minutester, there was a knock on the door. The sound of high heels tapping rhythmically on the floor came through, and as Victor turned his head, he saw a tall figure wearing a police uniform, with her breasts almost bursting out.

    It was particrly eye-catching.

    What else would a man look at first if not the chest? The heart?

    "Anna, this is the new deputy warden of the Third District, Victor Carlos Vieri."

    "Hello, officer," Anna saluted, seemingly shaking her arm intentionally or unintentionally, causing her chest to bounce along automatically.

    This was a woman who knew how to use her assets well.

    "I''m the head of the Third District''s psychological counseling intervention team, and if you have any physical or psychological needs, I can arrange for them."

    The Third District has this kind of service?

    Why did it sound like she was soliciting?

    Mr. Gao blinked.

    The message about her was clear at a nce.

    Reading the "resume," Victor had an aha moment, his eyes filled with confusion.

    He wasn''t wrong, Anna was indeed for sale, part of a "night owl" prostitution organization, which belonged to Juarez''s operation, doing business even within the prison, mainly providing sex services to the big shots inside.

    Charging hundreds and even thousands of US dors per time.

    Just with this, Tijuana could make millions of US dors a year.

    Damn!

    This was absurdity opening the door for absurdity¡ªit reached the pinnacle of absurdity.

    No wonder many drug traffickers were even willing to go to prison, where they could ensure their safety and control their organizations remotely. In prison, they could live morefortably than outside, assuming of course they didn''t encounter an underling growing too powerful, like the Los Zetas under the Gulf Groupter on.

    "Take Sergeant Victor to look at the office," Cona Bsk said. "I have a meeting to go to in a bit."

    Anna nodded with a smile.

    Exiting the office, Anna walked in front, her hips swaying more provocatively than a swinging fan. She led the way to the adjacent room, twisted open the door, "Sergeant Victor, this was the former deputy warden''s office. Take a look, if there''s anything you don''t like, I''ll have someone throw it all out."

    Victor nced inside, where everything was tidily decorated, with a bookshelf that held world-famous titles, and he even spotted two works from China.

    He casually pulled open a drawer, and therey an envelope, raising an eyebrow.

    "I heard there was a new head of the Third District yesterday, this is a wee gift from the gentlemen..."

    The gentlemen must be a veiled reference to the drug traffickers.

    Victor peeked through an opening he made and saw colorful money inside.

    "It''s fifty thousand Pesos in total," Anna said, observing the young officer''s clearly surprised expression.

    A sense of conquest rose from the depths of her heart.

    "Anna," Victor nced at her shoulder patch, "Corporal, could you do me a favor?"

    "Of course."

    Anna smiled invitingly, already prepared to take off her clothes.

    "Could you help me break down this fifty thousand Pesos? Who among the gentlemen gave, and who did not?"

 Chapter 7: 7: A Unique Self-Introduction

    Tijuana: 2000 Pesos.

    Juarez: 3000 Pesos.

    Sinaloa: 4000 Pesos.

    ...

    For Victor, this amount of money was considerable at the moment.

    The tribute that Sinaloa had to pay to the Director of the Federal Police Bureau every month was 450,000 US Dors. The 5,000 Pesos, merged and scraped together, were like a handout to a beggar.

    "However, I assume that the Third District houses the heads of more than 17 organizations, right? Why don''t the others pay up?" Victor pointed at the list as he spoke.

    Anna was dumbfounded by this, her face freezing over in a strange expression. She tried to put it gently, "Sergeant Victor, perhaps some people are not aware of your appointment."

    "That makes sense, but I''m a man who values fairness. Those who haven''t paid should each give a greeting gift of 2000 Pesos. That''s not too much to ask for, is it?"

    "I''ll pass on the message."

    Seeing that he was all about the money, Anna could only bite the bullet and agree.

    Victor seemed very calm. In the Third District, besides the Warden, Daddy was the boss. Didn''t you know that if you don''t use your authority, it expires?

    He was in urgent need of money to grow his power, and if he could fleece anybody, of course it was for the best.

    Anna thought this guy was too greedy to live long, so she didn''t bother to waste more words on him, exchanged a few words, and left.

    The Deputy Warden on previous duty onlysted 2 months, and although he received nearly 100,000 Pesos in tribute, his entire family was wiped out just the same.

    All because he''d crossed a Drug Lord in the district.

    Too much greed shortens one''s lifespan.

    If Victor knew what she was thinking, he''d definitely have a word with her, as if those who weren''t greedy could live a century. "Just give money, you could kill my whole family and it wouldn''t matter because I have nobody, and if you give enough money, I''d even take you to my ancestors'' grave. If you don''t mind the trouble and add more money, I''d let you blow up the grave."

    After sitting in the office for more than ten minutes, feeling restless, Victor put on his hat, grabbed the keys, and nned to take a walk around the district to see which big shot would be best to cozy up to.

    The Third District was much quieter than the first two.

    Without yard time, there was no noise.

    As soon as he reached the cells, he heard a woman''s voice from inside, a provocative scream that echoed deeply in the empty corridor.

    Damn it...

    What time is it?

    They''re still at it?

    ncing at his watch, Victor walked with his hands behind his back toward the cell block. The cells here were single rooms with private bathrooms, about 20 square meters, equipped with air conditioning, TVs, and even game consoles.

    Better amodations than the police dormitory.

    The hierarchy within the prison was clear, the most dangerous criminals were always kept in the deepest part.

    "Hey!"

    The prisoner in the outermost cell heard footsteps, turned his head and saw a cop, whistled casually and said, "For lunch, I want a tuna fish fry and a corn cake, and bring me a bottle of Tequ."

    Victor nced left and then right.

    "Damn it, I''m talking to you, remember that!" the man got up from his bed and kicked the railing, causing a reverberating sound.

    This was an older man, about fifty years old, with a rather violent temper.

    Victor blinked.

    Stepan nquart

    Male

    Born 1949 in Medellin, Colombia.

    Dropped out of school at 16 to join gangs and start a criminal career, from car theft and street fraud to kidnapping, smuggling, and gradually making a name for himself.

    Joined Pablo Escobar''s Medellin Cartel in 1973, serving as a technical head.

    In November 1985, Pablo financed the left-wing guerri attack on the Supreme Court building in Bogota, Colombia, taking 300 hostages. Stepan nquart yed the role of a liaison officer in the incident.

    Appointed as the chief officer for Mexico City, North America in 1986, working with organizations such as Sinaloa and Tijuana.

    Arrested in 1987 for beating up a prostitute in the red-light district, he''s been in prison ever since.

    Crime Value: 77,000 points!

    ...

    Indeed, a tough character.

    The guy from the Medellin Cartel had shown up.

    In fact, starting with the first generation Drug Lord, Pedro Aviles, Mexican drug traffickers have been doing business with Colombians, he was known as the first Mexican drug trafficker to cooperate with Colombians.

    He was also the first to use airnes for drug trafficking.

    The payment for each trip was half the value of the cargo, but since Mexico was so close to the United States, the profit was lucrative for the Colombians too.

    This became the cooperation model for subsequent international drug trafficking organizations such as the Guadjara Cartel and Gulf Group.

    With a high score of 77,000 points, killing him would be enough to exchange for a jet ne used for aerial spraying of pesticides.

    You could even redeem a small boat with them.

    This firepower was far more fierce than that of the "Mongol" under the Seven Warlords of the World.

    "Hold on a second."

    Victor pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, which listed the drug lords they had given "courtesy" to, and carefully scratched with his right hand, "Are you from the Medellin Cartel?"

    Stepan nquart raised an eyebrow and sized up the man before him.

    "I''m sorry, but you didn''t pay up, so I can''t serve you." Victor folded the paper neatly and put it back into his pocket. "You don''t pay, it makes things difficult for me."

    Is this about money?

    Stepanughed in anger, with a grin that seemed capable of swallowing a child whole, "You know who I am, right? And you still dare to ask me for money." He suddenly reached out, grabbed Victor''s clothes, and yanked hard.

    Victorughed. You threw the first punch, so officially, I''m allowed to hit back now.

    Even if the warden called him in for a talkter, his actions would be justifiable.

    He grabbed hold of Stepan''s thumb and broke it with a forceful twist. Thetter clearly tried to twist it back, clenching his teeth and exerting all his strength as if his life depended on it, but being older and out of practice, a crack was heard and his thumb was brutally broken by Victor.

    Stepan cried out in pain, clutching his thumb and stumbling backwards.

    Victor took out his keys and opened the door, then pulled the baton from his waist, extending the steel rod with a swing and smashing it down towards Stepan''s head, frightening him into hastily raising his hands to block.

    "Stop! Stop!"

    "You motherfucker think you can be so arrogant without paying the gratuity? Medellin Cartel? This is Mexico. Do you not look at a map when you''re out and about?"

    Victor swore it wasn''t just because the guy hadn''t paid him and it was a blow to his pride; he genuinely wanted to teach the criminal a lesson.

    After all, he had already offended the Gulf Cartel; what was there to fear in offending others?

    A multitude of lice don''t itch; a mountain of debts don''t worry.

    If you''re meek andpliant, do you think these drug lords will respect you or look at you differently? To them, a cop is nothing more than a government-housed dog.

    But if you beat them so bad they can''t recognize their mothers, they won''t dare to talk back.

    They''re vicious, so be even more vicious than them!

    Patrolling jail guards, hearing themotion, rushed over, stopping at the door, at a loss, only to see a sergeant beating Stepan nquart, known as the "Rat," with a baton. The once arrogant man was now curled up into a ball, covering his head and crying out in pain.

    After tiring of the beating, Victor turned to see the two patrolling jail guards standing at the door, tossing the baton aside, startling them both too much toe inside.

    Cowards!

    Victor sneered, crouched down, and looked at Stepan''s bloody face, grabbing his neck, "Fucking remember to have someone make up the courtesy visit fee, or else, I''ll beat you up every day when Ie to work."

    After wiping the blood on his hands on the prisoner''s uniform, he walked out of the cell, ncing at the guards, "Get him a doctor. And, my name is Victor, the new Deputy Warden."

    Quite the fierce self-introduction.

    Came up and started with the prisoners.

    The two jail guards dared not enter the cell, afraid that Stepan nquart, with his bad temper, might take his anger out on them after the beating.

    "Quick, go call a doctor. I''ll report to the warden."

    The over 200 jail guards of the Third District were in an uproar.

    A tough new guy had arrived!

    He had beaten a drug lord, making many guards look at him with new respect, but others scoffed. And still, some secretly ced bets on how he''d die.

    The odds of getting shot to death within a week were 1 to 1.7.

    The odds of being chopped up and stuffed in an oil drum were 1 to 7.

    The odds of being dismembered were 1 to 6.7.

    These were the three killing methods drug lords favored most.

    Meanwhile, Anna in the psychological intervention office was applying red nail polish to her toes¡ªquite sexy¡ªand listened as a colleague barged in breathlessly, presenting the story as if they had witnessed it firsthand.

    "What do you think, has he gone mad?" her colleague asked.

    Anna was stunned. In her mind, like a movie, she could already envision him being shot dead by outside drug traffickers. She shook her head vigorously, slipped on her shoes, and ran off to notify her lover.

    Watching her leave, several colleagues nced at each other.

    "That bitch is definitely going to take credit again," the colleague who hade in muttered jealously. This woman from the psychological intervention team had the best performance and was the most attractive.

    The spite between the women was astonishing.

    ...

    When Kona Bsk returned from his meeting, he ran into Anna, who seemed in a great rush, and he even found the mood to pat her on the buttocks.

    "Chief, Victor... he beat up Stepan nquart in Cell No. 1," Anna said.

    Anna watched as Kona Bsk''s face turned green in an instant right before her eyes.

    She swore...

    It was just like the face-changing act she had once seen in the United States.

    ...

 Chapter 8: 8: I have a path abroad, though its a bit risky.

    "Why did you beat him up!"

    "Don''t you know that the first rule of the Third District is that abusing prisoners isn''t allowed?"

    "Are you new to prison? Idiot, they are worth more than your parents in here. You want to die, why drag us into it!"

    Cona Vsquez smacked the table in anger, cursing Victor, not because he genuinely "cared" about the other person, but out of fear.

    Those were people from the Medellin Cartel!

    If the Guadjara Cartel made money for all Mexicans with their "za" system, then Pablo from Medellin was simply too arrogant.

    He even wanted to run for president.

    By then, he was already a congressman, but an ethical Attorney General had publicly exposed him. Proud Pablo, what did he do?

    He had the Attorney General killed.

    It was all the same to him¡ªflip the table, because surely your bones aren''t as hard as bullets.

    Kidnapping high-ranking officials'' children, torturing supreme court justices, attacking the president, bombingmercial airliners¡ªwho wouldn''t find this troublesome?

    Of course, this isn''t to say that the Guadjara Cartel wasn''t fierce.

    They at least dared to mess with the DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration). Even Pablo, at his most arrogant, knew that you could kill ordinary Americans without issue, but if you messed with the DEA, they would genuinely fight you to the death.

    It was an ident that Stepan nquart was captured, because Mexico and Colombia had no extradition treaty, and both sides were ying hardball; most importantly, the United States also hoped to extradite him for trial locally.

    But that doesn''t mean you can just bully people from the Medellin Cartel.

    This must be a joke.

    Cona Vsquez feared being dragged into this. The Medellin mass murders always rooted out their victimspletely.

    Watching his superior who seemed ready to pull a gun and kill him on the spot, Victor appeared very calm, pointing to his own clothes, "He struck first. I could feel the damage he intended, I was forced to retaliate."

    "Go tell that to the drug traffickers!"

    Cona Vsquez couldn''t be bothered to waste more saliva on the "dead man." Having been friendly in the morning, he now showed disgust, pointing outside, "Get out, you idiot. If you don''t believe it, take a dog leash and kneel in the cell, praying for others'' forgiveness."

    "Don''t say I didn''t warn you."

    "I''m sorry, but my profession doesn''t allow me to do that. I''m a police officer. It''s not that I fear criminals, but rather, evil should fear me!" Victor refused, saluted, and walked right out the door.

    "Asshole! Bastard! Idiot!"

    Cona Vsquez was taken aback by his words, showing a flicker ofplex emotion in his eyes, but it was quickly reced by ferocity as he cursed loudly, "Just wait for your death."

    The police passing by also witnessed this scene, and they heard the exchange between them.

    Some looked up to him with reverence, while others looked at him as if he were a dead dog.

    There are always people who maintain a moral baseline in a filthy society.

    ...

    But in reality, he was just posturing.

    Taking this stance was entirely Victor''s own doing, how else could he enhance his "positive image" if he didn''t publicize it?

    The Mexican Government is corrupt, but that doesn''t mean everyone is theirckey, there are also those who are trying to save the country, hoping to find like-minded people and give them power.

    Pablo was wild on the outside, but he also knew how to maintain his base. When he died, his hometown of Medellin had thousands attending his funeral.

    People live with two faces, one for others to see, and one for themselves to carry out.

    In the light, I proudly hold up the patriotic g.

    In private, patriotism is a business.

    This is called building a persona. If I ever get rich, Mr. Gao even ns to write a book, start a TV station, all to exaggerate his own image.

    Buddy, these are just a few words; no one would take them seriously, right?

    Victor nced at his watch, clocking out early. Nobody said a word, not even the guards thought the Deputy Warden would live much longer. Life was being shortened, so why not work hours?

    But obviously, the events of the Third District quickly swept throughout the entire prison.

    When he walked out, familiar people whispered and pointed, but none dared to approach and talk. When he reached the canteen and stood at the window, no one came to serve him food.

    Everyone was afraid of being involved.

    Avoiding danger is a basic instinct of carbon-based life forms.

    Victor wasn''t upset, if no one was going to serve him, he''d do it himself. He even scooped up dozens more chicken legs than usual, packing them to take back to his dormitory, knowing they''d make a good snackter in the evening.

    "He''s not running? Isn''t he afraid of retaliation?"

    "Run? Where to? Even in the government building, you could be assassinated. The prison is actually safer. If I were him, I''d spend my whole life here, never leaving."

    His colleagues huddled and chattered, but a pair of eyes watched him with aplex gaze.

    ...

    Evening fell.

    The darkness came swiftly.

    The light in the dormitory was dim as Victor wrote intermittently in his notebook, sometimes furrowing his brows in deep thought.

    The page was filled with densely written notes.

    For instance, aiming to be appointed as a Director with real power within half a year to a year.

    The location should preferably not be on the territories of major cross-border organizations like Sinaloa or Tijuana, but when going through each state, damn it, the territories controlled by drug traffickers have taken over the entire nation.

    The poorest state of Chiapas, due to its proximity to Guatem and direct ess to Central America, has an excellent geographical position and is now rampant with drug lords.

    He had to settle for second best.

    He selected three ces: Guadalupe Ind in Lower California State, which is in the heart of the Pacific Ocean with a poption of around 80,000. Because it''s close to the United States, drug lords are rampant here too, but since it''s surrounded by the sea, for drug traffickers tounchrge-scale "armed attacks" like onnd would be more challenging.

    The traditional home turf of the old power Tijuana.

    The second option was Taxco in Guerrero State, a city nestled in the mountains and forests that was previously inhabited by Indigenous people. Later, after their scalps got too itchy and were scythed off, it became a gathering ce for Mexicans, with a poption of over 100,000. The transportation here is inconvenient, but it is suitable for hiding, making it an agricultural area.

    The third was Ciudad Juarez in Chihuahua State, a traditional stronghold of Juarez, located on the south bank of the Rio Grande, opposite to El Paso in the United States¡ªa ssic smuggling paradise, where at night one could even see small submarines transporting drugs.

    These three ces were his choices, and in his notebook, he detailed his ns even more. When he got appointed as a Director, he must develop a group of gunmen totaling no less than 30 people.

    Some of these people could be added to the police department through connections. That way, once he took office with his own team, he would be able to make a lot of moves freely.

    The rest would get involved in the local "ck gold" market, taking on the arms business, providing him with continuous intelligence and US dors.

    Then, he would use this money to invest in higher-level elites.

    The ns in the notebook were very detailed. If thrown out and picked up by someone on the roadside, they might even think it was some "fool''s" deathbed fantasy. But for Victor, who had life goals and aspirations, this was his starting point!

    If a person has no goals, how are they any different from a salted fish?

    "Dong dong dong."

    Just as he was adding ns to the notebook, there was a knock at the door, a heavy sound, perhaps to avoid being overheard.

    Victor tucked the notebook into the desk, pulled out a Colt M1911 from the side, worth 120 points, almostparable to the CZ 25 submachine gun.

    He disengaged the safety of the pistol and cautiously walked over.

    Even in prison, one has to be careful.

    "Who is it?"

    "It''s me, Casare," the person outside deliberately lowered his voice.

    Victor opened the door, nced out, and after identifying the visitor, he unhooked the chain that linked the door and dragged the fat man inside. After looking around, he closed the door.

    "Decided? Are you going to work with me?" Victor asked directly.

    Casare, the one who had be a prostitute yet still wanted to stand as a saint, gestured with his hands, "I don''t deal drugs. My father was killed by drugs. I swore I''d never touch drugs in my life."

    "That stuff has too muchpetition. With your slight build, sticking a foot in it, you might end up a corpse in the wilderness by tomorrow."

    Of course, the drug traffickers wouldn''t want anyone encroaching on their market.

    You bring in one person, and I make one less dor.

    The infamous "gentleman" drug trafficker from Colombia, the Cali Cartel, had to apply to Pablo for permission to do business. One of the founders, Gilbert, was a childhood buddy of Ochoa, a member of the Medellin Cartel, which is how he obtained the sales license for the American cocaine market.

    Ironic, isn''t it?

    But this business, if you don''t have the strength, then really don''t get involved.

    If you have the strength to deal with drugs, you''re called a warlord. If not, you''re a gangster. Without any strength at all, you''re just a small-time hoodlum.

    Victor bent down, pulled arge red suitcase from under the bed, the kind used for festive asions. Under Casare''s gaze, he opened it to reveal a quietly lying AK47 and a CZ 25 submachine gun.

    He picked up the AK, pulled the bolt with a backhanded swipe, and patted the cold metal sound, "This is the business I''m doing."

    "Weapons?" Casare was genuinely surprised.

    He had thought of many things beforeing here, wondering if Victor might steal cars, organize prostitution, and even sell blood, but he didn''t expect him to y it so big.

    "I have a route in the Soviet Union. Although the risk is high, the profit margin is huge. I''m just not sure how big your courage is?"

    "This AK47, pure Soviet stock. I don''t care how much you sell it for, I just want 200 US dors, and anything extra is your sry. If you have the guts, even if you sell it for 1000 dors, I still only want 200."

    "How about it? If you''re good at selling, just this one gun could feed your family for a year. The thing to fear most when you''re out there is not making money. Now, I''m giving you the chance to make money. My philosophy in life is to share meals with my brothers, to make money together. A deal like this, I won''t forget you."

    Casare hadn''t spoken when Victor already stuffed the AK47 into his embrace.

    "Try testing the waters first."

    "However, I think you should find someone you know first. Otherwise, if you run into backstabbing, I''m afraid I might have to attend your memorial service."

    Were you nning to distribute flyers for your arms business?

    Drugs might destroy a person''s will, but firearms can break down a system. Let''s see if the Mexican Military Policee after you.

    Casare was listening.

    "I have a cousin who works for a syndicate in Mexico City, serves as a boss. I can contact him."

    Victor was not surprised at all.

    In Mexico, who doesn''t have a rtive who is a drug trafficker?

    Even now, there are familial ties between the big drug traffickers.

    "Alright, let''s make money together!"

    ¡­

 Chapter 9: 9: We Are Relatives, How Could I Possibly Trick You? (Leave Some Comments)

    Victor pulled out a bottle of wine.

    He also found two highball sses from somewhere, took them to the bathroom to rinse, saying they''d been sitting for so long, they even had cobwebs.

    He poured the wine and handed a ss to Casare,ughing with grand promises, "Rest assured, I have a firm grasp on this business. Wherever there''s violence, there''ll be customers. The Mexican drug traffickers can''t possibly be fighting with sticks and stones, right?"

    Having said that, he startedughing himself, "We either don''t make money or we make a ton. When the timees, we buy a mansion next to the president. Who''d dare look down on us then? y less by the roadside stalls. Otherwise, all the money you earn will just go to treating AIDS."

    As Victor spoke, he clinked sses and downed his in one gulp.

    The taste of cheap red wine...

    AIDS had been discovered in 1981, and the Yanks always wanted to be at the forefront of everything, even f***ing around in such fancy ways.

    Casare, not thick-skinned, flushed red at these words, sipped the red wine as if something urred to him and asked, "I heard you offended a drug lord today. Could he retaliate against you?"

    "Retaliate?"

    Victor slumped into a chair, crossed his legs, took out a cigarette, smelled it under his nose, then tapped it a few times in his palm, "He''s locked up in jail like a dead dog. I''m a cop, why should I be afraid of him? Even if theye at me with dirty tricks, and someone gives him face to kill me, do they have more firepower than me, the motherf***er?"

    "I''ll just mow them down with an AK47."

    "Just the two of us... might be tough..."

    "What''s there to fear?" Victor said, holding his cigarette between his fingers, "What business doesn''t run into trouble?"

    "Drug lord?"

    Victor spit, "We''re cops. Isn''t catching drug lords part of our job?"

    Victor nced at him, "These guys involved in grey-area dealings either end up rich beyond measure or rotting in prison. The same goes for us. Do you see any way out? Believe it or not, the moment you sell weapons with your cousin, every gang in Mexico City will know there''s a fat man smuggling arms. Then... you''ll be picked clean."

    "Casare, my ambitions in life are low. I want to f*** women I''ve never f***ed before, I want people to stand up when they see me, and when I''m not happy, I want everyone to shut up.

    I don''t just want to find a woman, have a child, and toil my whole life only to live in poverty, then get a serious illness one day, and have my sons do hardbor, and my daughters prostitute themselves to pay for my medical bills ¡ªand then lying in a hospital bed, say ''to be ordinary is to be blessed.'' F*** that, I''m going to get rich.

    If Jesus gets in my way of making money, I''ll f***ing move Good Friday to Friday!"

    As he spoke, he poured himself more red wine, raised his ss in a toast, "If we''re going to y, let''s y big, right? Afraid of risks when making money? The greater the risk, the more money we make!"

    Casare had been a cop for four or five years, receiving little money from drug traffickers on the side, and he was already tired of it. So poor that he could wash off the white dots on his underwear and use them as salt, looking into Victor''s eyes, he gritted his teeth, snatched the red wine, with about a third remaining, and gulped it down.

    "Victor, whatever you say, I''ll follow."

    Casare was sharp, "But we''re cops, some things we can''t do openly, we need to find someone to help."

    Victor nodded, feeling that the other man made sense, then suddenly a name popped into his head, "Do you remember Nuriel Best?"

    Casare was startled upon hearing the name, "Didn''t a drug trafficker kill his whole family?"

    "He''s still alive, living in Chimalhuac¨¢n. I have his contact details."

    The original owner of this body was an honest man with plenty of "friends," and Nuriel Best was one of them. He, like Casare, was a cop, and the three of them had even worked together before.

    However, that guy was crueler and lustier and had slept with a drug trafficker''s mistress and got caught, and then his whole family suffered.

    His two brothers were stuffed into barrels and filled with concrete.

    He couldn''t be a cop anymore. Fearing that the drug lords would find out he wasn''t dead and would try to harm him, he often hid. The reason he was in touch with Victor was that thetter had once seen him in Chimalhuac¨¢n.

    "Do you want to bring him on board?"

    Victor nodded, "By getting him on board, at least we have a good understanding of him. He''s now ''dead,'' so many things are easier to handle for him than for us. We''re dealing with arms ¨C are we supposed to do it in police uniforms?"

    "But what has he been up to recently?"

    Casare furrowed his brows, "Seems like he''s been ying middleman, selling information, helping to make connections. But you know, he''s a bitzy, living a tight life, gutsy but otherwise useless."

    Being gutsy is great. So long as you''ve got guts, even the Queen of Ennd goes on maternity leave!

    "You take a day off tomorrow. You start by doing business with your cousin with the weapons in the morning. Tell him as long as the cash is right, there''s plenty of goods. We don''t take drugs, only US dor, not even rubles. I''lle outter, and we meet at the market outside."

    After pondering for a moment, Casare nodded.

    "And remember, if your cousin asks tomorrow where the goods are from, you can hint at some information. Just tell him I have an uncle in the Soviet Union who''s an officer in the military, with deep connections. He can even get RPGs, it''ll just take some time."

    Casare looked at him in surprise. He didn''t remember Victor having rtives in the Soviet Union, but he wisely didn''t ask.

    "Obscure my existence, don''t give him my name."

    Unlike Mexican drug lords who unt themselves before their underlings day in, day out, Victor preferred to keep a low profile. If there wasn''t something important, he didn''t even n to show his face. Casare was his glove.

    As for the drug business? If the boss delegates powers, a minion familiar with the production process and sales channels over time will start getting ideas. Who can''t grow raw materials?

    Mexico''s economic crops have all been reced with raw material cultivation.

    But munitions are different, you don''t have any stock. Do you really think you can start production just by pulling together a few machines? If Victor controls the supply, there''s nowhere Casare can run.

    Victor has his sights set on a political career.

    He thinks long-term, and Casare doesn''t care as long as there''s money to be made. Whatever Victor says, goes.

    Around 10 p.m., after staying in his room, Casare finally opened the door and walked out carrying a bag filled with AK47 parts.

    "God bless."

    Victor lit a cigarette, propped up his leg, took a drag, and blew a smoke ring, "Ah Men."

    ¡­

    Mexico is a country well-suited for tourism.

    You wake up early in the morning and can get quite "high".

    If you encounter the military burning crops, you could reach heaven. Obviously, this is just a rhetorical exaggeration¡ªwho''d be foolish enough to use fire?

    The whole country would turn into junkies.

    Casare, holding a leave of absence slip and carrying a dark grey bag, walked out of prison wearing a baseball cap. Just as Victor had said, once you''re out of prison, nobody cares about you¡ªthey don''t even check.

    When Guzman was caught before the Millennium, do you know how he escaped?

    He paid over two million US dors to have a cleaner stuff him in aundry cart and wheel him out.

    Outside the prison gate, Casare saw groups of men on both sides of the entrance, staring at him menacingly and pointing fingers; some even held up pictures forparison. Clearly, they were here for revenge.

    Casare''s eyelids were trembling.

    These people might as well have "Drug Lord" written on their foreheads. If they started shooting, with the space around, there''d be nowhere to hide.

    Casare took a deep breath and calmly walked past them. At the bus stop, he saw a bright red car waiting. He checked the license te, then opened the rear door and got in.

    Inside were already four people: a driver, and on the passenger side, a man with bushy hair and a scruffy beard; in the backseat, two burly men who looked tough to deal with.

    "Casare, cousin, long time no see," said the man in the passenger seat as he took off his sunsses and turned to greet him with a smile.

    Casare, holding his backpack, said pointing at him, "Dragan, when did you get a gold tooth?" amidst the stench of men, a mixture of body odor and smelly feet.

    "Good-looking, right? Cost me 3,000 Pesos," the other said with a hint of boastfulness.

    Damn it!

    That''s so expensive, you could buy several lives in Mexico with that kind of money.

    As Casare inwardly cursed the wastefulness, he still smiled and gave a thumbs-upplimenting his good taste. He knew his own cousin''s character, didn''t he?

    He likes to show off. In the outside world, ites down to two things: your wallet and your reputation. If you don''tpliment him and say he''s wasting money, cousins? Believe it or not, he''ll do you in.

    "You told me over the phone you got good stuff, what is it? I was about to take my boys to collect protection money, and I drove dozens of kilometers here. Don''t tell me you just yed me," Dragan said, slightly tilting his head.

    Casare opened his backpack and took out the parts of the AK47, assembling it under the gaze of Dragan and the others¡ªhe had been taught by Victor the night before.

    "This is the good stuff, right?" He patted the gun and handed it over with a smile.

    "F***! AK47!"

    With a ssic expletive, Dragan took the rifle, working the bolt a few times, enjoying the crisp sound, "Where''d you get this?"

    "We''ve got people in the Soviet Union; getting some weapons is easy. The minute I got my hands on something good, I thought of you. Do you want it?"

    Dragan took another look up and down at Casare, "Seems like you''ve joined a promising organization."

    "You want to join? The Mexican Government? The police force is recruiting," Casare said, "Is there a bigger organization than this one?"

    Dragan was left speechless by this remark.

    Forget being part of a gang¡ªbe a cop?

    Has he lost his mind?

    "I''ll give you a good price for this gun, just cover the shipping and handling fees, and take care of my business in the future. How about 800 US dors? We''re cousins, I won''t cheat you," Casare said.

    ...

 Chapter 10: 10: Urinate Anywhere, and Your Tools Will Be Confiscated!

    Dragan nearly choked on his own spit.

    "What? Eight hundred US dors? Are you robbing me?"

    The spittle almost sprayed onto Casare''s face.

    His head dodged back subconsciously; not only did the guy''s breath stink, but he also had the nerve to negotiate price while robbing him. He could''ve just put a bullet in his forehead.

    But then again, who doesn''t start with a high price in business?

    You think this is charity work?

    "What, too pricey for you? The cost to manufacture an AK47 is around 200 US dors. I''m just charging you a bit over for shipping it from the Soviet Union to Mexico. Dragan, have I ever tricked you since we were kids?" Casare took the rifle and removed the magazine, "Standard 30 rounds.

    When you go out at night for a shootout with others, they fumble with a pistol and go limp, but you, my cousin, can let them know who''s the real boss of the street with this."

    "Most organizations in Mexico use American guns. If you''re the first to use Soviet weapons, you''ll be cool. Didn''t you always say you wanted to stand out since you were a kid? American rifles would cost you more than 800 US dors, not to mention, among simr firearms, AKs have proven themselves in realbat."

    Terrorists step out with AKs; those who''ve used them swear by them.

    Every word of Casare embedded itself deep into Dragan''s heart. He nced at the driver and the two sturdy men in the back seat, lifting his chin slightly, "What do you guys think?"

    "I think it''s good, boss. If we had this thing, would the Whale Brotherhood dare to vie with us for those two KTVs? Just wipe them out," said the driver bluntly.

    The two burly men in the back seat also nodded their heads.

    Their organization wasn''t big, just over twenty people holding down two streets, collecting protection money from shops, especially KTVs and brothels, those were their big earners, with yearly revenues around 500 thousand US dors!

    The ordinary minions got paid about a thousand Pesos a month, but as the "security backbone" responsible for assaults, Dragan could take home a thousand US dors monthly, which was an absolutely high sry.

    Earning money was great, but of course, he wanted more!

    The boss said he''d double the sry if they took over the neighboring street.

    Don''t think ordinary Mexican gangs are all that impressive. They still use machetes, and there''s a shortage of firearms. Military weapons smuggled from the United States were all pre-ordered by the big drug traffickers, and the remnants that made it across the border were quickly distributed by the big organizations with many informants.

    A small outfit like Dragan''s found it hard to grow.

    "Fine, eight hundred it is. Write me a receipt, I need to get reimbursed." Dragan took out greenbacks from his wallet, Franklin''s bald head looked damn handsome to Casare.

    "Right, make it nine hundred US dors."

    The guy was even skimming off the top!

    Scribble, scribble, scribble, Casare wrote the receipt and handed it over, taking the US dors with both hands and tossing the backpack, "It has 100 bullets inside. This is my gift to you, nobody else gets it. But that''s the extent of my authority. Next time you want bullets, you''ll have to pay."

    Dragan''s eyes lit up. He opened the backpack, and sure enough, there were two boxes of ammunition inside. He looked at Casare with even more warmth.

    Money in hand, Casare was ready to leave. As he pushed open the door and his foot barely touched the ground, he seemed to remember something, "Oh, and we also provide rocketunchers,ndmines, grenades. If you need anything, just get in touch, I can assure you a special price."

    Can''t forget the sales pitch.

    It''s a matter of professionalism.

    After saying that, he got out of the car, closed the door, waved to Dragan in the passenger seat, and walked away with hands in his pockets, carefree.

    "Boss, that cousin of yours couldn''t possibly be an arms dealer, could he?" the driver asked curiously as he watched his retreating figure in the rearview mirror.

    "Arms dealer? How could that be? He hasn''t even left Mexico."

    Dragan frowned, "Maybe he''s working for some big shot."

    "Forget about it; let''s go, tell the boss first. If it really works well, I''ll ask the boss to fund us. Then, with a dozen AKs, we can expand and strengthen!"

    ...

    It was Casare''s first time engaging in "illegal activities," and he found it somewhat thrilling. This was different from just taking a bribe; that was charity, but this was a genuine business of his own.

    He ran to the market opposite the prison. Although it was bustling at night, it did business by day too. Half-awake prostitutes leaned against tents, cigarettes hanging from their lips, yawning, looking emaciated, almost like junkies.

    With Casare''s experienced eye, he could tell this one stank worse than a scallop ¨C one bite, and you''d turn into a biohazard mother.

    Just as he was about to enter, he saw an ice cream truck. He licked his lips and walked over, "Gimme one."

    After taking a couple of licks of the ice cream in his hand, his eyes lit up.

    He loved ice cream as a kid, but his family was poor. His mother struggled to support four kids on her own. He was the eldest and the most sensible, so he never indulged in ice cream, even though it cost just two Pesos, because that money could feed the family instead.

    Once grown up and working, the wages of a cop were worse than a dog''s ¨C at least army dogs got a ten Peso meal ration. Casare saved his sry for his parents; his siblings needed to go to school, and he hoped his mother could toil a bit less.

    But now...

    He had a "fortune" of eight hundred US dors in his pocket; he could finally indulge in ice cream without reservations.

    "Psst,"

    A whistle interrupted Casare''s thoughts. Under an umbre at the roadside, Victor, dressed in ck, was sitting with a ss of juice in front of him.

    "Been here long?" Casare jogged over and asked.

    "Not even half an hour. How did it go?"

    Casare took the money out of his pocket, ced it directly on the table, and pushed it forward, "That''s a total of 800 US dors."

    Victor looked at the greenbacks on the table, quite satisfied, picked up two bills, and pushed the rest back to him, "We agreed, I only want 200 US dors, the surplus is yours."

    As Casare stared at the US dors on the table, his Adam''s apple bobbed, he thought Victor was just talking, who knew he was serious?

    With a sheepishugh, he took out a US dor bill, "I''ll just take one, I didn''t really do anything, and the goods were provided by you."

    He knew his ce, understood where he stood, and recognized who was the main leader in this business. If he took too much and Victor wasn''t happy, would he still make money?

    Don''t be so naive to think that when a leader says, "It''s fine, you can raise concerns about me personally."

    And then you take it seriously and point out his ws.

    The next day, you''re fired for stepping in with your left foot first.

    Don''t believe in that kind of scoring system at school either. It seems random, but didn''t you notice that everyone is arranged in neat rows and columns?

    If you really receive a bad grade, just wait for it.

    The world is full of tricks; you have to learn to discern them.

    Casare thought Victor''s previous statement about only wanting 200 US dors was just a casual remark.

    Seeing Casare being so "understanding," Victor clearly very pleased, pushed the money to him, "I''m a man of my word, nobody can touch my money, and I won''t touch what''s yours. Take it, we''re going to make big money together in the future."

    In the "grey business," you have to let your underlings make money too. You can''t just give them empty promises, or one day they''ll turn on you.

    What you hold in your hand is what''s real.

    No amount of talk is as appealing as a clinking coin.

    Realizing Victor was serious, Casare looked up at him, and Victor smiled at him, pointing to the money, "Hide it well. Leave it on the table, and it will be snatched away in a moment."

    After saying this, he finished his juice, leaned back on the chair, and stood up, "Let''s go, we''re heading into the city to find Best."

    Upon hearing this, Casare grabbed the money from the table, stuffed it into the inner pocket of his clothes, and looked around, only to see a woman not far off staring intently at him. Casare bared his teeth like a dog guarding its food.

    Whoever dared to touch his things, he would bite them to death!

    Try not to take taxis in Mexico because you never know where they might take you, or if the drivers are drug traffickers moonlighting. If they see you''re good-looking, oh snap, you''re the star of the night show tomorrow.

    So, take the officially sanctioned buses whenever possible.

    But even these buses can be dangerous.

    In 1985, when Tang Neito, the third-man in the Guadjara Cartel, was arrested, his subordinatesunched a riot to confront the government. Armed drug traffickers stormed the streets and killed anyone they saw.

    A school bus passing through the city center was stopped, and those heartless and vicious scoundrels opened fire, leading to 24 students and teachers killed inside, with an average age of 7 years old.

    There was also a bus carryingborers who had finished a day''s work and were on their way home. It was stopped as well, and six men were beheaded, their heads thrown at the city hall.

    This country has decayed to the core!

    You can''t expect anyone to save it. Even if Jesus came, he''d have to learn to smoke weed to fit in.

    Fortunately, Victor and hispanion didn''t encounter such misfortune. After reaching their stop, they found a diesel three-wheeler and headed straight to Chimalhuac¨¢n.

    Chimalhuac¨¢n is actually arge slum in Mexico City with about one million inhabitants, which constitutes one-fifth of the entire Mexico City poption.

    It''s muchrger than Tiantongyuan.

    Victor knew the exact address, showing it to the retching driver, who gave an OK gesture, twisted the throttle, and weaved through the streets and alleys.

    The driver was a reckless one. Passing through a narrow street, he shouted as if he were a horn, not yielding to people sitting at their doorsteps, just charging ahead, angering a woman who was nearly hit and cursed at him from behind.

    Bold and brazen kids chased after the vehicle, and if they''d seen foreigners, they might have already tipped over the car and started robbing.

    As soon as they entered Chimalhuac¨¢n, Victor''s face turned stern, and he handed a Colt M1911 to Casare, "Take this, just in case."

    "What about you?"

    Victor nced at him, opened his jacket, revealing an Uzi submachine gun, "When stepping out, you always need to carry something for self-defense; otherwise, I don''t feel at ease."

    Casare''s eyes bulged out, at a loss for words, but he nodded and took the handgun, tucking it into his waistband.

    The three-wheeler was swift, and in just over half an hour, they arrived at their destination. But Best''s door was kicked in andy on the ground, with sounds of smashing and cursinging from inside.

    "It seems we''vee at an inopportune time," said Victor.

    Victor entered the house, and Casare followed after paying, only to see four teenagers surrounding a man lying on the ground.

    One of the youngsters was urinating on the man.

    When they heard the noise at the door, all four turned their heads and saw a man with a submachine gun aimed at them.

    "Gentlemen, urinating in public could cost you your equipment!"

    ¡­

 Chapter 11: 11: The Middleman! (Revised)

    Guns!

    The young man peeing was so scared that he hurriedly tucked his "tool" back into his pants.

    The four of them looked at each other, one of them, who looked slightly more mature, was about to speak.

    Victor pulled out his police badge, flicked off the safety on the back of the grip, and started shooting.

    Ratatat...

    Casare jumped with fright, his shoulders shrank, his eyes widened, and he watched the bodies on the ground, his scalp tingling with numbness.

    Could you at least wait for them to say something before spraying them so decisively?

    Hearing the gunshots, Best, crouching on the ground, hugged his body tighter.

    After firing all 25 bullets and hearing the click of the empty chamber, Victor lowered his hand and nced at Casare beside him, shrugging his shoulders, "These guys intended to assault a police officer, don''t study well; sooner orter, they are just backup options for drug traffickers. Might as well take them out first."

    In fact, these four people were also heavily sinful, havingmitted robbery, rape, and murder, providing Victor with 378 points.

    Casare''s facial muscles trembled as he listened, he gave a thumbs up, walked over to Best, and smelled urine, a bit pungent ¨C obviously, the young man was a bit upset.

    If you''re that overheated, just finish it with a burst.

    "Best?" He called out twice, not wanting to touch him, obviously a bit repulsed.

    The other man, upon hearing his name called, cautiously revealed his eyes. Seeing the familiar face, his eyes filled with excitement, and his voice was hoarse, as if it were damaged by smoke from a fire, "Casare!"

    "Victor!"

    "Buddy, I haven''t seen you for so long, and you''ve already be like this?" Victor frowned, and seeing that the other man wanted to speak, he waved his hand, "Let''s go, let''s get out of here, the smell of urine is strong."

    Victor expertly changed the magazine in his hand and walked out the door, seeing the slum residents looking their way upon hearing the gunshots, but no one dared to gather.

    "Look at your grandma, get your head back in!" He fired a burst at the wall, scaring them into silence.

    Reckless!

    Arrogant!

    Standing behind, Nuriel Best was a bit stunned by this scene, it was nothing like the Victor he knew.

    That Victor was a gentleman, even rarely raising his voice against others, and sometimes, when encountering a girl, he would even be a bit shy.

    But this man in front of him...

    If you said he was a bandit, people would believe it.

    "People change, Best, don''t they?" Casare said with a smile.

    Best was taken aback, not sure whether to believe it or not.

    The three walked toward the main road, hearing the noise of cars outside. Victor saw a red Beetle with the door open, and ady with perky buttocks was buying something next to it.

    "Get in the car!"

    Victor slid into the driver''s seat, and once Casare and the others were in, he twisted the ignition key. Thedy buying something, wearing high heels, turned around at the noise, only to see a strange man starting her car.

    Angry, she was about to run over, cursing as she did.

    Victor raised his gun, and she instantly shrank back, shouting, "OMG!" and ran to the side holding her head.

    "Buckle up, we''re taking off!"

    He stepped on the clutch, changed the gear; though he looked skilled, the car jolted forward and then hesitated, almost causing Casare and the others in the backseat to bump their heads on the front seats.

    "Sorry, let''s try that again."

    Victor looked in the rearview mirror, smiled, and muttered to himself. He slowly started the car, the Beetle''s engine wasn''t great; it felt almost like a slow push.

    "Who were those guys?" Now there was time, Victor asked.

    "Members of a Chimalhuac¨¢n gang."

    "How did you get mixed up with them?"

    Best''s left face twitched, half of his face was wrinkled like a burn scar, "They demanded protection money, 5 Pesos a week; I had no money, the bastards still made me pay taxes!"

    "I''m just a facilitator, what taxes should I pay?"

    "That was the fourth gang this month demanding protection fees; I paid the others."

    Hearing this, Casare looked at him with a hint of pity.

    The Mexico City slums are a huge box of chives; any gang cane to collect protection money. It isn''t much, sometimes just 5 Pesos a week, but there are so many gangs; it''s more brutal than taxing.

    Many ordinary people just can''t bear it, and the gang members force you to sell your children. If you have a son at home, he would be forced to join the gang to provide them with "fresh blood." This is one of the reasons why drug traffickers cannot be defeated.

    They provide a never-ending supply of criminals.

    The Brazilian gangs are the same; when the military and police enter the slums, everyone''s a criminal. It''s the people''s quagmire warfare against organized crime.

    The underlying structure determines the height of the superstructure.

    Think about it, with over a million people in Chimalhuac¨¢n of Mexico City, how much profit can these people bring to the gangs?

    Even from the poor, one can extract something. If there''s no more juice to squeeze, there''s always blood.

    "A few bastards daring to call themselves a gang." Victor said disdainfully.

    "You''re looking for me ..." Best asked.

    "Don''t rush, take a bath first, soak well and then we''ll talk," Victor interrupted his inquiry, primarily because the smell of urine on him was too strong.

    Best nodded, nced at the Uzi submachine gun on the passenger seat, and thought: The police force is equipped with these things now?

    Had Mexico''s government gotten rich over the past few years?

    The car stopped at the entrance of a bathhouse, which had "Northeast Old Soak" written on it in Chinese and Spanish.

    The owner of this ce was Chinese, who emigrated in the 70s. He opened six branches in Mexico City, was very wealthy and, it was said, had good rtions with both the local gangs and the government, having a foot in both camps.

    Getting out of the car, he threw the keys to the parking attendant, who looked at the crowded Beetle car then back at the three burly men walking in, thinking, ''This man has some pretty saucy tastes.''

    "I want a private room with a hot spring."

    "And go buy me a set of clothes, the rest is your tip," Victor said generously, handing over 200 pesos. The receptionist looked at Best strangely¡ªwhy did he smell so strong?

    Was this some kind of performance art?

    They took the money with a smile, agreed, and had someone lead them to a very private room on the third floor.

    "Take a wash, you smell," Victor said as he took off his clothes and was about to put the Uzi in the locker but then thought better of it and, keeping it ready, said to the bare-assed Casare, "Keep the gun with you."

    In Mexico, it''s not unheard of for people to get killed in a bathhouse.

    Seeing Casare with a Colt, Best asked, "Where did these weaponse from? Uzi? That''s some quality stuff."

    "How can you dare to stir up trouble without some capital?"

    Victor looked at Casare and said with a smile, "I have ways to get arms. They traffic drugs; we sell arms. I provide them with military support. It''s business. You do what others don''t, that''s called having an eye. You follow when others do, that''s called eating farts behind their backs."

    Lying back in the hot spring, he couldn''t help but let out a sigh of relief.

    "Go wash over there, don''t make this ce all pissy."

    Feeling a bit embarrassed, Best hurried to the shower to rinse off, drying himself with a towel before slipping into the warm bath.

    "I know you''re reluctant, you want revenge, but right now you have no money, no people, and no power. What are you going to use for your revenge?"

    "Everything in this world has a price tag, including human youth, ideals, conscience, justice. We''re all busy every day for money. Why were you a cop before? Wasn''t it for money or was it for justice? Money is what drives our lives. If you had money, if you put a 200,000-peso bounty on your enemy''s head, would no one respond?

    If not, then offer 500,000. Still no takers? Then 1 million!"

    "See if he won''t end up dead then."

    Victor spread his arms wide, resting them on the sides, "Follow me, and I will help you get your revenge."

    What''s a drug trafficker anyway?

    When my position climbs higher and higher, won''t it just be a matter of a simple word from me?

    Scared of having a backer? I am someone else''s backer!

    Actually, Best had thought about seeking protection from other gangs in the slums too. Being a go-between wasn''t easy, but... he was a cripple. The fire had left him alive but also inflicted serious damage¡ªa burned half-face, a removed meniscal, and a slight limp when he walked.

    He looked miserable.

    He only thought for a moment before nodding, "I agree."

    He had no choice. The gangsters who died in his house had a powerful backing, which would surely seek revenge against him. If he went back, it meant death.

    "Casare, there''s a stack of money in my bag, go get it."

    The fat man acknowledged and climbed out of the spring, still shivering, open Victor''s locker, and handed him the money.

    "Here''s 20,000 pesos. Get yourself some new clothes, rent a decent ce to live. You won''t always have to look so wretched hanging with me."

    That''s almost 10,000 US dors, just given like that?

    "The benefits for you two are the same, no monthly sry but a 5%mission on sales. How does that sound?"

    Casare did the math. 5%. For something like the AK47 they had earlier, at 800 US dors, he''d get 40 US dors! It might not seem like much, but they were ying a numbers game. If he sold 50 a month, that''s 2,000 US dors.

    "I agree!" He was quick to ept.

    Seeing Casare agree made it clear to Best that this 5%mission was substantial. He nodded, and as Victor got up to leave for a shower and massage, he said, "You guys chat first."

    When he was far enough away, Casare twisted his neck.

    It felt so good.

    "By the way, Casare, do you know Fremont Holder?"

    The name sounded familiar to him, and Casare furrowed his brow.

    "Is he that former Deputy Warden of teau Prison who robbed the gangs?"

    "That''s the one!"

    Best''s eyes gleamed, "He''s made a fortune recently."

    ...

 Chapter 12: 12; Baron!

    ```

    Catching thest bus back to the prison.

    The VW Beetle they had hijacked was left for Best to deal with, and in Mexico, there''s no shortage of used car dealers willing to buy it as fund for the organization.

    Stepping off the bus and standing by the lonely bus stop sign, he could see the fervor of the "Night Market" not far away; even if an attack had happened just two days ago, it was only about dead people, wasn''t it?

    Did anyone''s death ever stop the world from turning?

    When Kennedy died, it didn''t stop Americans from celebrating, now did it?

    "In a couple of days, a shipment from the Soviet Union ising in, sell it off as quickly as possible," Victor said, with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

    Casare''s eyes gleamed; he had gotten a taste for it, "How much?"

    "10 AK47s, 10,000 rounds of 7.62mm bullets, and 10 F-1 Defensive Grenades. It''s a big order."

    At that moment, Victor checked his points; he currently had 2028 points. 10 AKs would be 1500 points, bullets were dirt cheap, practically given away ¨C 100 bullets for 1 point, which totaled 100 points, and the hand grenades were 200 points. That left him with 228 points to spare; in a couple of days, he could take out some unlucky criminals, and his points would be up again.

    Mexico and Colombia were ces where danger and opportunity coexisted.

    It was just perfect for Mr. Gao ¨C you could never kill off all the drug traffickers.

    When Casare heard these numbers, his whole body trembled, muttering to himself as if calcting; despite the shipment seeming small, it was enough to wage a small-scale intense war.

    Brother Hao managed to keep the Flying Tigers at bay with just 2 AKs, and that old, decrepit ck Star pistol; now they called in the "Special Task Force" and didn''t dare to look up.

    With 10 AKs, 10,000 rounds, and grenades at your disposal.

    Who are you nning to attack?

    Many Mexican police stations don''t even have standard-issue handguns.

    "What''s the pricing?"

    "Standard rate for AKs, 800 US Dors, bullets are 5 for a dor, and grenades are 30 each. There could be a slight discount if taking everything."

    Casare pulled out his fingers, obviously not great at math.

    But he knew that with this deal, he could make at least $600. The flesh on his plump face quivered, "Getting rich, getting rich."

    "Get to know more people in the Second District, they''re the core of their organizations and are also our potential customers. We''re going to sell big, and they have the money to afford it."

    "I understand."

    Earning a dime wasn''t easy, the police even had to please the inmates to a certain extent.

    "Oh, by the way, did you hear about that Fremont Holder thing Best was talking about in the bathhouse? It''s simply too inspiring."

    "Buddy, in Mexico, anyone who bes a boss is an inspiration, but that doesn''t make it the right path. You never know when you could end up dead, your head kissing your ass, right?"

    They chatted as they entered the prison, and the guards, seeing them return so early, even asked, "Casare, did the market women swindle all your money away?"

    And what about Victor?

    He didn''t dare mock them; after all, they were bold enough to take on the Drug Lord of the Third District, so why not him?

    Casare responded with a middle finger, a gesture universally understood.

    As they parted ways in the dormitory, Victor gave him an extra two boxes of Colt bullets, reminding him to be careful and to shoot first if something seemed off.

    Casare agreed, seeing how serious he was.

    Back in his room, Victor opened his diary, suddenly remembering the story about that man Best had mentioned.

    The legend of Fremont Holder.

    Indeed, quite legendary.

    ...

    Fremont Holder turned the tables on the bad guys; he, too, came from a tragic background, having decided to be a cop after drug traffickers killed his family.

    But Mexican Police wouldn''t dare mess with drug traffickers.

    He figured out his own way, stormed into a gang''s bar alone, and robbed $4000 worth of goods!

    As of 1987 standards, in Mexico, it cost about "1200 pesos" to kill a person. Not a member of any organization, of course, but some half-grown kid off the streets would do it.

    Of course, it''s 1989 now, maybe the price went up, maybe it went down.

    After all, society is in turmoil, welfare is cut, and everyone''s struggling to survive.

    But $4000 is enough to sell your soul.

    In this world, interestse first. Even your best friends, your closest brothers, will forget everything when there''s a conflict of interest. The human heart isplex; money can not only turn the mills of the gods but also grind them down.

    But Holder had bargain-priced morals, harboring hatred, his eyes closed and he could see his parents and siblings demanding justice, asking why he didn''t avenge them?

    He couldn''t sleep.

    He thought that would be his life, perhaps rotting on some street, with some mortuary guy picking up his corpse, and then the world forgetting about him.

    But he couldn''t ept that!

    He wanted revenge ¨C since they were drug traffickers, he would fight fire with fire!

    He had a flexible moral baseline.

    This world is all about who''s tougher, if you''re not, you''re not getting anywhere.

    If he couldn''t be remembered for a good life, then live notoriously.

    Even on the Day of the Dead, someone might think of you.

    He knew he needed allies, so he took a cab to the Condesa district. As soon as he entered the taxi, he took out his gun, and the cab driver immediately becamepliant.

    Looking at the neatly arranged houses around him, a trace of nostalgia flickered in his eyes. He once lived here.

    With a limp, he followed the house numbers until he found number 27. The dog in the yard already smelled the visitor, barking incessantly.

    A muscr man around 30 years old came out, silencing the dog with a shout, glimpsing the figure at the door, and instinctively tried to run back inside.

    "Ryan, don''t you recognize me?"

    Holder took a step forward. Mixed with the dim light in front of the yard, the moonlight revealed his face.

    The moment the muscleman saw him, his expression changed instantly. He hurried over, opened the door, "Holder! You''re still alive?!"

    ```

    "God doesn''t need my soul," Holder said with augh, his voice hoarse. "I''m not dead."

    "Come in quickly, don''t let that damned Song Wu see you." Ryan seemed to think of something and dragged him into the house.

    Song Wu was the neighbor who had killed his entire family.

    Just by hearing the name, it was clear that his father was Vietnamese and his mother Mexican, a hybrid.

    Ryan, on the other hand, was a friend he had grown up with, and their fathers were also close.

    "You''re still alive, that''s great!

    I thought you..." Ryan, seeing his childhood friend, was obviously excited, even big men teared up, teeth clenched, "I knew it was your house that caught fire, and I found it strange, I went to report it to the police, but the police never came to see, they just said it was a fire, if it weren''t for Song Wu drunkenly shouting in the street that he had killed you, I still wouldn''t know that he was the murderer!"

    "Later, my brother Arietta also went to report to the police, but they said Song Wu was talking nonsense while drunk, there''s no evidence that he''s the culprit."

    Seeing that there were still people running around for him, Holder was also moved, "Where is Arietta?"

    Ryan lowered his head, "Dead."

    Holder was shocked, "How could that be?"

    "He was hit by a cement mixer truck after school; the culprit went to jail, but I know it wasn''t an ident."

    Silence was the mournful song of powerlessness.

    Tears are the most fundamental weakness of the weak.

    "Song Wu!" Holder clenched his teeth, took a deep breath, and looked at Ryan, "Do you want revenge?"

    Ryan suddenly looked up.

    "I''m thinking of going solo and I need people. I know you served in the Mexican Army, and I want you to join."

    "You want to be a drug trafficker?!" Ryan''splexion soured.

    When Mexicans think of organization, they think of crime, and when they think of crime, it''s drug traffickers, after all, it''s close to a century-old history.

    "Ryan, we can''t change the world, we can''t change Mexico; what we can do is survive. Don''t you want revenge?"

    "Mexico does not believe in the weak; those without a voice are doomed to be unepted. I don''t want... to die in a gutter one day; when I close my eyes, all I think about is hatred, I need power!"

    "I believe you will help me."

    Ryan looked at him, mulled it over for a moment, and slowly nodded, "I trust you, you won''t let me down."

    Holder also looked at him, nodded earnestly, "I won''t, let''s first collect some interest, who else lives in his house here?"

    "His mother."

    "Kill her!"

    "Shaina is a good person," Ryan hesitated.

    "She''s a good person? Then she should be sent to see God, God will definitely be happy to see a good person!"

    Holder just wanted to collect some interest now, "Arietta was also a good person."

    Ryan clenched his fists.

    "Kill her!"

    Holder''s gaze was profound; he was just seeking a show of loyalty. He didn''t distrust Ryan, but over the years he had seen through everything; all feelings were bullshit, just like the women the slum boys desperately chased, you spend a little money and you can get on.

    Killing Song Wu''s mother would mean Ryan was truly on the same side as himself.

    Never be swayed by emotions.

    If something goes wrong in Mexico, you''re on a one-way street to death.

    ...

    Victor had breakfast in the cafeteria and took his keys to go to the cell.

    As he passed Stepan''s "single cell," he saw the other man enjoying special care with a woman feeding him fruit, mouth to mouth.

    "Bang bang bang~" Victor rapped the wall with his club, and inside, thefortable Stepan looked up, the curse about his mother just about to slip out stopped short.

    Dammit, how was this bastard not dead yet?

    Hadn''t the people of Sinaloa said they would take care of him?

    "Surprised to see me, Mr. Stepan?" Victor opened the cell door, walked in, saw the sliced cactus fruit, casually took a piece, and spat the seeds on his face, enraging the other man who wanted to rise.

    Victor pressed the club against his face, "Want another one?"

    Remembering the painful sensation of the club hitting his body, Stepan ached all over, but his status and prestige wouldn''t allow him to lose face, he toughed it out, "What good does it do to offend me?"

    Victor smiled, "I''m making you understand the rules. In my territory, if you''re a dragon, you have to coil up; if you''re a tiger, you have to lie down. What about the greeting gift you promised me? You haven''t topped it up, have you?"

    As he spoke, the club slid down, pointing at his treasure.

    "Here, I''ll give it!" Frightened, he hastily agreed, this was not a ce to get hurt.

    Getting up from the bed, he walked over to the safe, yes, there was a safe, took out a stack of US dors, and handed it to him.

    This stack looked to be around 2,300 or so.

    "Wouldn''t it have been better to pay up sooner?"

    Victor didn''t shy away, taking whatever amount was given, and patted his shoulder, "Have fun slowly."

    Before leaving, he even closed the door behind him.

    Victor had only taken a couple of steps inside the district when he heard an unexpectedly deep voice.

    "Aren''t you afraid of offending him?"

    Turning his head, he saw a gaunt middle-aged man sitting disheveled inside a cell, looking up with an eagle-like sharp gaze.

    Victor blinked.

    Immediately noticing the glowing points.

    "1,078,000!"

    "The Sicilian Falcon!!"

    ...

 Chapter 13: 13: Almost Blown to Death!

    Units, Tens, Hundreds, Thousands, Tens of thousands, My Lords...

    Victor''s eyes were glued to the seven-digit points total; he really wanted to kill the disheveled middle-aged man in front of him!

    But reason told him, buddy, calm down, you''d be riddled with bullets.

    Perhaps he could think of a way to "bomb" teau Prisonter...

    Of course, that was if he had a bomber.

    Just like the Cali Cartel wanted to bomb Pablo, but their n went bankrupt because theycked a bomber.

    Stepan''s 70,000 points were nothingpared to him.

    But who couldpare to Sicilian Falcon?

    Those not familiar with the history of drug trafficking in Mexico might not know about this person, because he wasn''t Mexican, but Cuban, born in Matanzas, Cuba in 1945. He joined the military and intelligence agencies in Miami, USA, ying the role of a double agent.

    Later, he moved to Mexico, where he established a drug trafficking business in Tijuana State, with awork spreading through the United States, Europe, and even Asia. Known for his cold-bloodedness, he was dubbed "Drug Baron" and was said to enjoy killing his enemies with his own hands.

    Equally talked about were his romantic affairs; he had rumors with several actresses and was said to have more than 20 sons. His little fanboy, theter legend, Joaquin Guzman, also learned from his "lustful" ways.

    But the guy was too arrogant; he was bound for misfortune.

    In 1975, he was arrested in his mansion in the Pedriguei colony of Mexico City, but escaped from jail a yearter. His method was digging a tunnel, whichter was sessfully emted by others, even being referenced in Hong Kong movies.

    This fully demonstrates one point.

    The soil of Mexico is very suited for digging holes.

    Falcon, seeing that the other party didn''t answer his questions, showed clear annoyance on his face and was about to scold the disrespectful young police officer when he heard the other say, "What are you talking about?"

    Victor leaned against the door of his cell with a smile, "That''s just a mad dog locked in a jail. The most important thing abouting out to the world is to understand, if it''s not your territory, don''t fucking act tough. I live by one rule, if someone is polite to me, I''m polite back. If they don''t respect me..."

    His smile faded; the whites under his eyes were in to see, "Here, I am the police, he is the prisoner! I''ll let him understand that killing him is as easy as killing a dog."

    Falcon was amused by his words, "It''s been a long time since anyone has spoken to me this way."

    "You''ve been locked up for 13 years, things have changed, old geezer. Still trying to act tough with me? If you''re so capable, try digging another tunnel and get out, let''s see who dies first, you or me, who the fuck are you kidding?"

    With Falcon''s status, if he got out, he''d certainly be killed. He started his empire in Tijuana; you think Benjamin and Ramon, the two brothers, would let him retire peacefully?

    He himself understood that the world no longer belonged to him; even though he was once one of the most powerful people, in the end, it''s always the new waves that push out the old. His treatment in jail said it all.

    Without anyone sending him money outside, his life in the Mexican Prison was worse than a dog''s.

    It seems... he''s got no background anymore.

    Victor looked at him with malice, contemting whether to bribe the Warden to move him out. A couple of shotster, and those millions of points would be enough for him to swagger around for a while.

    Falcon was about to spew out profanities, but on seeing that look in Victor''s eyes, he swallowed them back down and sat on the bed with a dark face.

    "Behave, and don''t fucking cause trouble for yourself."

    Victor tapped the jail bars with his baton and continued walking deeper in.

    Actually, years ago, Falcon might have been a good big leg to lean on, but now... he''s just dry bones in a tomb.

    For someone with no value to exploit, death is the only wee.

    Besides drug traffickers, the Third District also housed government officials. When the Guadjara Cartel fell, many unlucky ones were also imprisoned here, some of whom were even Victor''s superiors.

    Finally, in the cell marked "A11," Victor found his target. The thin, withered face wore a barely detectable cold indifference, and his heavy gaze seemed to prate your inner defenses.

    The sinister expression instinctively gave one an unsettling feeling, reminding us who in this world can truly predict what''s in his heart?

    Miguel ¨¢ngel F¨¦lix Gardo!

    A man born in a poor family in a small mountain vige in Sinaloa, Mexico, once a state police officer and the personal bodyguard of a governor at age 17. Due to low wages, he joined the "Lion of Sinaloa," Aviles, in the 70s, offering his connections to protect the drug trafficking organization.

    In 1978, when Aviles died during a drug raid, rumors had it that Gardo betrayed his boss. Regardless, he became the new leader. Unlike his predecessor who only looked after a small turf, Gardo had bigger ambitions and understood the concept of expanding into major cities.

    He moved the organization to the secondrgest city, Guadjara; from there, a super drug trafficking organization was born, spanning the 1980s, monopolizing the US market with annual profits of 8 billion US Dors.

    He invented the "za System" that brought all drug traffickers together.

    What is the za System, you ask?

    It''s where drug traffickers buy permits from the police of various regions to operate drug businesses, and anyone wishing to do business in that area must get the approval of the za boss.

    This effectively entangled officials with the drug trade.

    The protection umbre continued to expand.

    In 1981, with Reagan in office increasing the crackdown on drug smuggling, he closed the dangerous routes, the Caribbean Sea pathways, used by Colombian drug traffickers. Gardo contacted the two major Colombian drug trafficking organizations, Medellin and Cali, through an intermediary and they hit it off immediately.

    The Colombians airdropped cocaine to Mexico, and Gardo would transport it bynd to different warehouses across the United States within a week. During its peak, the California, USA, Guard Corps also yed a part in the transportation line.

    In the 1985 Camarena incident, he sold out his technician Quintero and business connection Tang Neito, passing through the ordeal by paying extra protection money. However, what brought his downfall was at the end of the 80s when, during a routine inspection, the Drug Enforcement Administration found drugs worth over 7 billion US Dors in a warehouse in Hilma, California, USA.

    ```

    Ironically, the safest thing in this warehouse was a lock worth 6 US dors.

    This was thergest single drug bust in the world, a record that still stands.

    The 7 billion US dors of drugs were the property of the Cali Cartel, and Gardo, responsible for the shipment, had topensate. Otherwise, do you think half of the stock would be so easy to take?

    Colombians certainly won''t pursue legal proceedings with you.

    His protector, the Minister of Defense, immediately abandoned Gardo. In an instant, he became a stray dog, which proves a point.

    If gloves get dirty, just change them, but if power bes dirty, then it''s genuinely dirty.

    This is also one of the reasons why Victor couldn''t bear to take off his "police uniform."

    Politics is indeed the most significant "nominal" power in the world. Maybe a drug lord can bribe the police to kill a congressman, but if I became president, I could dere that I''m pursuing greater interests.

    After fighting for so long, Mexican drug traffickers still don''t understand the principle of "having a justified cause." They simply resort to violence to solve problems.

    As a newly emerged power, the Third District paid special attention to his detention. Apart from the necessary surveince cameras, even his door was locked with two locks, and his bed was covered in US dors, a quirk of his.

    Sitting at the head of the bed watching TV, perhaps aware of his current situation, Gardo''splexion wasn''t looking good.

    Victor stood at the door and nced at the monitor, not conversing with Gardo. What''s your status now,pared to his?

    He was ustomed to entering and exiting the residences of high officials, meeting governors, and mayors.

    Would you now approach a mere jail guard and say, "I want to cling to your coattails"?

    They certainly wouldn''t give you the time of day.

    It seems that I need to "create" an opportunity.

    Victor took a deep look at him and turned to leave. Hearing the sound of footsteps, Gardo turned his head, only to see a retreating figure.

    Walking back to his office, he was about to unlock the door when he suddenly remembered he hadn''t patrolled the armory. Just as he took two steps back, a huge explosion, apanied by a shockwave, sent him flying out. He rolled on the ground twice and leaned against the wall, gasping heavily for air.

    A raging fire erupted in the office, and the iron door was sted off, lying twisted to one side. The noise was deafening; in an instant, rms rang throughout the Third District, and then the entire prison.

    A bomb!

    Fuck your mother!

    Someone wanted to blow me up.

    Screaming colleagues rushed out, some with fire extinguishers, others escaping in a sorry state, the entire floor was in chaos.

    ...

    The fire was quickly extinguished.

    Victor sat on the steps of the green space downstairs, smoking a cigarette, hands slightly trembling.

    Let''s be honest, who the hell isn''t scared?

    His ears were still buzzing.

    "Victor."

    Casare ran over anxiously, holding his shoulder and giving him a thorough look-over, "How are you feeling? Need to go to the hospital?"

    This was the God of Wealth; if he just died like that, where would he go to make his fortune?

    "Someone wants to kill me."

    Victor took a deep breath, pinching his cigarette between his thumb and index finger, slightly tilting his head back as he exhaled smoke, "Can''t go to the hospital."

    He looked around cautiously, lowering his voice, "And there''s definitely a mole in the district, otherwise how could such a bomb have been brought in?"

    "Who do you suspect?" Casare asked softly, equally nervous.

    Victor''s gaze swept over his colleagues and suddenly caught Anna ncing at him from the corner of her eye. When she saw him looking, she conspicuously turned away, hugging a colleague and offeringfort.

    That bitch is suspicious.

    Victor was a person of small tolerance for offenses; if you wronged him, letting it go was out of the question. Anna definitely knew something!

    He nodded slightly, and Casare followed his gaze, "Anna?"

    "You know her?"

    "I know all the women from the psychology intervention department. I''ve wanted to get with them for a long time."

    Victor nearlyughed out loud at that, covering his chest and coughing twice.

    "I''ve checked the files of every one of them. This Anna has a brother, a college student. But I heard he''s also a delinquent."

    "Get Best to dig deep into this. I want to know who wants me dead!"

    ¡­

    ```

 Chapter 14: 14: First-class Actor. (Please follow and read!!)

    Victor had a moral cleanliness obsession.

    He felt ufortable if those who offended him didn''t die "cleanly."

    But even if he was nervous inside, he kept a carefree appearance¡ªif you wanted to act the part of the big brother, you had to look the part. However, bringing a bomb into the prison showed a serious determination to kill him.

    The Warden Webster had also arrived, apanied by Cona Vsquez, their brows furrowed as they looked at the smoking building, conversing.

    "What do you think they''re talking about?"

    Casare nced over, "Maybe they''re figuring out how to embezzle some of the repair funds."

    "I guess, they''re wondering why the bomb didn''t kill me, the bastard."

    Casare was taken aback, just then Victor continued, "Here theye."

    Upon hearing this, the former looked towards the two superiors and saw them hurriedly approaching. Cona Vsquez''s face contorted as if he were constipated when he saw Victor.

    While Webster''s eyes seemed to flicker then immediately showed concern, "Victor, how are you? Are you injured?"

    "No, just really frightened." Victor managed a smile and gestured towards his destroyed office, "If I hadn''t suddenly had something to do, I''d already be meeting my father right now."

    Webster''s eyelids twitched, "Don''t worry, I will definitely get to the bottom of this and give you an exnation. Do you want to take a few days off? I can give you a two-day leave."

    A leave?

    You really hope I die, don''t you!

    Victor appeared very resistant, "Sir, I still have work, and I can still work. I cannot hide just because I''m scared. This is retaliation against me, and I will never give in. God is protecting me, and also protecting Mexico!"

    His voice grew louder, and nearly everyone heard, "Mexican Police will not be intimidated by fear! Justice will prevail!"

    Casare could almost sketch out the characters with his toes at the side.

    What''s the difference between saying this in public in Mexico and taking a public dump?

    But Victor truly was of "Hollywood" extra caliber, his facial expressions so solemn as if he were a martyr on his way to the scaffold.

    His words were beautiful; it''d be a shame not to run for office.

    Webster squinted his eyes, his temper ring. It became clear to him that this seemingly honest and obedient Victor was no good either.

    The death of Haggis was already full of doubts.

    But how could this bastard, who should have died long ago, keep thriving like a weed, leaving Webster anything butfortable?

    However, after spending so much time in the cesspool of politics, he had long mastered the art of speaking to different audiences with ease. He patted Victor''s shoulder, giving somepliments, and publicly dered an intention to follow up on the matter.

    Casare''s scalp itched just watching.

    He couldn''t learn to spout such tant lies.

    There''s a saying, second-rate actors perform on a stage, while first-rate actors are in politics¡ªespecially in ces like Mexico, where you can never tell which politician has been bought by a drug lord because their TV performances are all identical.

    They appear righteous but are actually hypocrites.

    But what could you do? If you wanted to live longer, you had to learn to lie.

    Webster left, clearly unhappy.

    "Check who else is in his family," Victor said, watching the boss''s retreating figure and speaking to Casare.

    "What are you nning to do?"

    "Are you crazy? That''s a government official."

    "Seeing him so pitiful, we really should pay his family a visit."

    A visit?

    Casare always felt like you were out to kill his whole family.

    "Rx, I haven''t gone mad enough to lose my mind," Victor stretched out his hand, signaling for a pull up, "I just suddenly really want to see what his despair feels like?"

    Casare tensed up.

    Damn it, I knew it, there''s no one normal in Mexico!

    ...

    Boom!

    The sky over Mexico City flickered with lightning.

    The downpour began abruptly, drenching pedestrians by the roadside who scattered like wild dogs in a panic.

    Magdalena Misuka District.

    At the entrance of Ramon Lopez Brde University.

    A grey Toyota was parked by the curbside, its wipers old and squeaky, leaving greasy traces on the ss.

    Inside sat two chain-smokers, puffing away one cigarette after another, filling the car with smoke.

    Best was flipping through a yboy magazine that hade from the United States, a coveted item. Its pages bore several unidentifiable white spots, evidently weathered by constant handling.

    This was truly a valuablemodity.

    A favorite among the lower echelons of Mexican gangsters and one of the reasons they yearned for the United States.

    It was said that over there, women''s busts were huge.

    Like cows.

    As the bell for the end of ss rang, Best, who had been lying in the driver''s seat, tossed the magazine aside, nced at his watch, and with a cigarette in his mouth, straightened his seat and erged his eyes to look outside, although the ss was a bit foggy.

    "Damn, finally, ss is over. Do students now have so much pressure during school hours? Studying is truly tiring, might as well join a gang instead."

    "Studying has a future," said the person beside him.

    "Like being decent folks like us? Or end up working odd jobs aftering out."

    Best''s academic performance had always been poor and he even seemed to resent studying, a typical believer in its uselessness and couldn''t be bothered to argue.

    "Is it that one, Duke?" Suddenly, he noticed someone who looked simr, pointing at a student a little over 1.7 meters tall, with hair dyed red and green. He took out a photo andpared it.

    Best was an experienced hand; he had prepared after receiving a call from Casare. He bribed a teacher inside the school, spending 100 pesos to get a photo, or else how could he recognize the target?

    "Looks like it. I''ll drive over and shout."

    Best quickly released the handbrake and moved sluggishly towards him, nning to get closer, but the target was alert. He turned his head, sensed something amiss, and bolted.

    "Duke, go after him!"

    No man could outrun a car; with a press on the elerator, they pulled up beside him, and Duke leaned out of the window, grabbed the person''s cor, and forcefully yanked him in.

    Covering the target''s mouth, they pulled forcefully into the car with extremely rough movements. The target struggled vehemently, even reaching out to grab the steering wheel.

    Best, infuriated, backhanded him with a punch, knocking him out cold.

    "Duke, hold him down for me!" He gestured impatiently with his hand. "Call Casare and tell him the target is caught.."

    Duke pulled out a Motor DynaTAC 8000X from the back seat, the bulky cellphone used by the older generation, dialed the number, and after two rings, someone on the other end answered, "Hello!"

    "The job is done."

    "Good, bring him to the abandoned warehouse ten kilometers northwest of the prison, Best knows the ce," the voice said before hanging up.

    Duke turned to look at Best, who could hear everything clear as day due to the phone''s poor sound instion.

    "Why pick that ce."

    "What''s up?"

    "Nothing. That ce, before, forty-some Asians trying to smuggle into the United States died there, may Buddha bless us!"

    Mexicans also have their superstitions.

    "You''ve stopped believing in God?"

    "My God has already been killed by drug traffickers, and the only faith in death is abandonment. Maybe it won''t be long before I be a devout MSL."

    "But right now, what I believe in most is cash. Once I get rich, I''ll go to the Vatican and build a temple."

    ...

 Chapter 15: 15: When we handle affairs, we need to be reasonable.

    Anna had just finished her "business" and came back to take a shower. She frowned at the sight of her bruised reflection in the mirror, taking a deep breath.

    Drug lords have a taste for the more exotic pleasures.

    In the United States, certain things would have to be censored, you know. Even Kennedy, when he was shot, his brains didn''t receive this sort of treatment.

    In ces like Latin America, the only way for a woman to get ahead is to get "fucked over." Do you think there are many people like the world''s number one female drug trafficker, the Colombian "ck Widow" nco?

    There''s only one woman who has managed to establish herself in the crime world dominated by men and is respectfully called the "Godmother" by numerous drug lords.

    Just talking about one thing she did is enough to instill fear; she personally killed her three husbands. Just on this point alone, many women can''t even begin topare.

    If you''re not ruthless, how can you expect to stand firm?

    Why is there no feminism in ces like Mexico and India?

    Because they really do hit women.

    Most women end up like Anna, the pretty ones kept by wealthy men, descending into tools for drug lords to vent, the ugly ones, standing on the street corner for 20 pesos a pop.

    In a dangerous social environment, women, like money, are merely tools for transactions.

    Anna had just finished her shower when she noticed a male jail guard peering through the door.

    "What are you looking at?" She assumed he was another lecherous one, wrapped in a towel, leaning against the wall. She casually picked up a cigarette from the table and put it in her mouth, "If you want to look, pay up."

    "There''s a phone call for you in the duty room," the jail guard said while gazing at Anna''s leg and swallowing hard but also knowing this woman was out of his league¡ªand most importantly, too expensive for his sry even just to get a touch at the door.

    Anna took a drag of her cigarette, pulled the towel up a bit, and pushed past the guard. She was pragmatic: why bother talking to you if you don''t have money?

    She walked to the duty room and picked up the desk phone receiver, casually sitting down on the chair and propping her legs on the table. The jail guard who followed her in couldn''t help but sweep his eyes over her a few times.

    "Who is this!"

    Suddenly, Anna sat up straight, frowning.

    "You don''t need to worry about who I am. If you don''t want your brother to die,e to the warehouse outside the prison. Don''t think about bringing anyone..." The voice on the other end of the phone was obviously disguised, and they hung up without waiting for a response.

    Anna''s face darkened, and she mmed the receiver back onto the phone base with force.

    "Do you need help?" The jail guard leaned in, taking a bold chance to ask.

    But she dismissed him outright, picking up the phone again to dial a number. As soon as it connected, she said anxiously, "My brother has been kidnapped."

    So, you expect me not to call anyone?

    You think I''m a fucking idiot?

    If I don''t call anyone, wouldn''t I be walking into a ughter?

    Anna had entered the world at an early age and had seen too much to not call for backup when she had it. Why join a gang if you can''t rely on them?

    As for whether it would cost her brother''s life?

    Well, she had to ensure her own survival first.

    ...

    Bang!

    A loud noise echoed in the sky.

    Standing by the warehouse, Victor smoked calmly, watching the distant "thunder." A beam of high light shone through the ss, casting more shadows on his cool face.

    "They''re here!" Casare rushed out with an umbre in hand.

    Best, stepping out of the passenger seat, dragged a man from the back of the car and into the warehouse.

    "Boss."

    Best voluntarily pointed at Duke, "This is my best buddy, and the guy I brought to help."

    On the way there, it was clear he''d briefed Duke, who rather awkwardly called out to Victor as the boss.

    "We''re all brothers here, no need for such formalities," Victor said, smiling, his jowls quivering. He nced at the man tied up hands behind and stuffed with something in his mouth... Was that a sock?

    "Toss him in the crate."

    Duke nodded, hoisting the man and stuffing him into arge wooden crate beside them. He then put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, "Behave, or I''ll sell you off to Africa to be a gay prostitute."

    Watching the crate lid slowly close, the man''s eyes filled with despair.

    Duke dusted off his hands as he walked out, then heard Victor saying, "I''ve already said what I had to over the phone. Someone''s out to kill me, and that cuts off our cash flow. I''m a reasonable man; whoever tries to kill me, I kill them!"

    He talked while pulling out a suitcase from the corner and sticking a cigarette in his mouth.

    "Open it."

    Duke reacted quickly, unzipping it to reveal four Uzi submachine guns lying quietly inside, with more than a dozen magazines alongside, all filled with 9¡Á19mm bullets. Based on a 20-round cartridge, there were at least 200 bullets here.

    "Someone doesn''t want us to have a good life," Victor stamped out the cigarette butt under his foot, spreading his hands, "What do you think we should do?"

    "Then we take them out," Best said.

    "They want us dead, so I want their entire family dead. Each person grabs a gun, and if the person whoes in isn''t a woman, then fucking spray them for me," Victor said, picking up an Uzi and pulling the bolt, "In this life, it''s all about who''s the most ruthless. Today, even if Jesus himself shows up, I''m gonna have to put a few bullets in his head."

    Seeing his orders given, Best and the others promptly filled their pockets with magazines and hid at four predetermined points.

    About fifteen minutester, two Chevrolets drove up from the distance, their passengers making no attempt to hide their tracks, evidently ustomed to swaggering about.

    Parked outside the warehouse.

    Six or seven people got out of the cars.

    "You just sit tight. I want to see who''s got the nerve to mess with our Juarez crew," said the leader, a burly man dressed in dark green camouge fatigues, speaking to Anna inside the car.

    "Be careful, Anman."

    The man pulled a pistol from his waist; his underlings drew their weapons, too. The bigpany was different¡ªalmost everyone was armed.

    An Astra 357 police revolver¡ªby its name, you could tell it was the exclusive property of the police department. The Spanish Astra Company manufactured it for the Mexican Preventive Police Department. But ironically enough, the police never used it; the drug traffickers got their hands on it first.

    Apanied by his men, Anman entered the warehouse. Noticing how dark it was inside, his brow furrowed, sensing that something was off. Just as he was about to warn his men, "Something''s not right..."

    Victor, who was hiding on the second floor''s cross bridge, stood up and, brandishing a Woods submachine gun, opened fire. It was as if that was the signal, and Duke and the others attacked from both sides.

    It was like mowing down wheat.

    In an instant, four or five men were downed.

    Together, the three men had 80 bullets. To take down six or seven from the high ground... did they think they were Ultraman?

    Inside the car, hearing the gunshots, Anna''s face turned pale, she frantically shuffled into the driver''s seat and fumbled with the gear shift. But she''d never learned to drive¡ªlearning how to cost money, and the little she earned she was loath to spend on driving lessons.

    And now...

    The car spun in ce like a top.

    When Duke emerged with his Uzi, he thought the others were trying to escape. He swapped magazines and sprayed bullets, shattering the car''s rear windshield and scattering ss everywhere, scaring Anna into letting go of the steering wheel and covering her head as she screamed loudly.

    As it turned out, in the face of fear, most girls only knew how to scream.

    Best came out too, signaling Duke with a nce, and the two slowly moved around in a pincer formation¡ªa quality ofbat, evident in both the cop and the veteran soldier.

    Seeing Anna trembling inside, Best yanked the car door open and dragged her out by her hair.

    The woman screamed and struggled, but she couldn''t stir the slightest bit of sympathy from him.

    After his entire family had perished and he found himself stuck in the slums, Best had realized something: Mexico was a ruthless ce. He had been bullied in the past and hadn''t dared to fight back because he needed to survive, but now that it was his turn to dish it out, why should he show mercy?

    He mmed her onto the ground with force and Anna started crying softly.

    "Buddy, you gotta be a gentleman when dealing withdies. It''s all about being reasonable," Duke said.

    Hearing a familiar voice, Anna abruptly looked up, her tears retracting in fear, "Victor."

    "Good evening, Anna. I''m sorry to invite you like this, but I just need to know who put the bomb in my office," Victor said.

    "I don''t know, it wasn''t me, please let me go, Victor," Anna pleaded, extending her hands to cling to Victor''s leg, only to be pulled back by Best grabbing her hair.

    Upon hearing her denial, Victor wasn''t surprised at all. Without applying some pressure, how would she talk?

    He smiled, stuffed a chocte into his mouth, and nonchntly tapped the tip of his nose with his forefinger, "You''re making it hard for me."

    No sooner had he spoken than he stomped on Anna''s face, grinding his foot against it as he red, "You fucking bitch, I gave you a chance and you blew it. Alright, bring out her brother."

    Casare acknowledged the order and rushed back into the warehouse, dragging her brother out with him.

    When thetter saw Anna, hope for life sparked in his eyes, and he made a mournful sound from his throat.

    "All your brother does is deal drugs at his age!"

    "There''s no future in being a drug trafficker!"

    "Let him have a taste first," Victor ordered.

    Best retrieved a firefighter''s axe from the trunk of his car, a handy thing he had "picked up" from the street, pinned down Anna''s brother''s hand, raised the axe, and brought it down!

    "Ah!"

    Amidst the agonizing screams and cries, Best lifted his foot and the brother writhed in pain on the ground.

    Victor crouched down, yanked Anna''s hair back, "My patience is limited. Tell me, who was it?"

    Anna shook her head, just crying.

    Victorughed. It had been a while since he''d met such a tough nut, "Take off two more fingers!"

    "No..." Anna hastily cried, but Best, with a vicious smile, chopped off another of her brother''s fingers. He used so much force that a finger even flew in front of her. Anna hugged the severed digit and cried out loud as if she''d lost her mind.

    "I''ve already taken off four, there are six left. But I can''t promise I won''t chop your brother''s head off next time," Victor said, his tone growing darker.

    Finally, Anna''s psychological defenses copsed.

    She cried as if her heart was breaking.

    But in this line of work, one had to understand what it meant to die an untimely death.

    And look how fiercely she was crying now, but when it came to how she usually treated others...

    "It was Stepan nquart! You hit him, he wants Victor dead, wants him blown up¡ªthat''s the only way he''d be satisfied!"

    ...

 Chapter 16: 16: Make Money Without Being Aggressive? What, Are You Going to Beg?

    Stepan nquart?

    Using a bomb is certainly in keeping with the Medellin style.

    He looked at Anna, just staring at her, and shook his head in disappointment, "It seems that in your eyes, I am still too kind."

    He raised his hand and, with a forceful flick, Best raised his axe.

    Watching her brother about to lose two fingers again, Anna screamed, "No, no, I''ll talk, I''ll talk!"

    "It was the Warden, he told me to blow you up and then pin it on Stepan."

    Webster Ashburn!

    It all made sense now.

    No wonder that guy blinked when he saw he hadn''t been blown up, and, moreover, this guy and I are mortal enemies, my predecessor father was killed by him, hiring gangs to take my life.

    My survival is more like a torment to him.

    But with an explosion taking ce in the prison, is Webster not afraid of being held ountable?

    If something happens in the prison, can he really dismiss his involvement?

    Or does he n to use this incident for some shady deals?

    Don''t think Victor is just all fat, you have to use your brain to get by in society; sure, fighting and killing are fine, but you have to be smarter than that. He looked at Anna, who was crouching on the ground, her shoulders trembling with fear and sobbing.

    "Let me go, please," she begged.

    "Don''t be silly, my word is my bond..." Victor squatted down, his hands on her shoulders, and as Anna looked at him with tear-stained, frightened eyes, he wiped the shoe print off her face with his thumb, whispering, "Don''t cry, your makeup is running."

    Anna assisted the drug lords of the prison in trafficking drugs, and her brother was a minor gang leader on the outside ¨C none of them were decent folks.

    Pop, pop, pop.

    Victor, holding the Colt, fired several shots into her abdomen, stood up looking at Anna whoy twitching on the ground with bulging eyes, raised his hand and fired another shot into her forehead.

    Then he turned and said indifferently, "Send him to meet Jesus, I hope he can cleanse the drug trafficker!"

    In your next life, don''t be a drug trafficker!

    Best nodded, raised the axe, and with the blunt side, struck Anna''s brother''s head several times until he was dead, beyond any doubt.

    Duke saw Victor with a cigarette in his mouth and hurriedly pulled out a lighter to light it for him.

    Thetterughed and patted him on the shoulder, "Take those two cars for organizational use; sell the pistols inside to someone. You guys can split the money."

    "Boss Victor, aren''t we going to use them ourselves?"

    "Out and about, using police pistols? How low end is that? With us, we use rifles; what era are you in, still ying with such outdated stuff?"

    But actually, the Astra 357 police revolver is also a product of the 80s.

    Yet, with those AKs in sight, he couldn''t care less for the other stuff.

    He turned his head and said, "Best, if anyone touches our business, send them to talk to Jesus. If Jesus agrees, then I agree."

    Goodness, if people at the Vatican heard that...

    They would protest!

    But how many divisions does the Pope''s mother have?

    Victor got into the car brought by Best''s people, Casare ignited the engine, and Victor, taking the front passenger seat, rolled down the window, "I have only one request, to secure our business foothold in Mexico."

    "I understand," Best nodded.

    Casare pressed the elerator and shot out, kicking upyers of dust in the desert.

    Best watched the car disappear into the distance before he came back to his senses, "Let''s go."

    "What about these bodies?" Duke asked.

    "The police wille to collect them tomorrow."

    ...

    The car drove through the wilderness, and Duke couldn''t help but nce at Best, swallowing a few times.

    "What? Is there something on my face?" Best turned and asked with a smile.

    The other quickly shook his head, focusing on the road ahead, "It''s just that I''ve noticed you''ve be..."

    He didn''t know how to describe it, frowning and stammering.

    "Cruel? Vicious? Or utterly inhumane?" Best retorted.

    Duke didn''t express it directly, "It''s just that you''ve changed a lot since west met."

    Best''s gaze drifted to the Morning Star in the distance, "When my father died, I followed my mother who was not very mobile. She told me that my father was a good man, that he defended justice, so I followed him and became a cop. But as I grew up, I realized many things. Having ideals is right, but when my mother was in the hospital, I couldn''t even spare a penny.

    I realized how important money was when I couldn''t do anything and had nothing."

    "When the fire killed my entire family and I barely survived, I didn''t feel lucky; I felt anger, helplessness."

    "This world is cruel; we are like wandering beasts. If you don''t eat others, you will starve to death; you will be eaten by those higher on the food chain. Being vicious is just for survival."

    "When you get more, you won''t care whether the means are cruel or not. We have to learn to adapt to this society, that''s just how Mexico is. I can''t escape this ce, and neither can you. We can''t change it."

    Duke opened his mouth but ultimately agreed.

    He had actually seen even bloodier scenes than today''s, but he just couldn''t understand why a police officer, who originally loved his job and was full of justice, could be like this?

    Be smooth and sinister.

    Maybe...

    Being a cop in Mexico means you have to be more cunning than drug traffickers.

    "Don''t think too much, let''s go have some fun. Tonight, I''ll make sure you have enough fun," Bestughed as he patted Duke on the back of his head.

    With a forced smile, Duke replied, "Then tonight I will have to find 3!"

    "You''re in heat every day, you''re nothing but a stud hound!"

    Duke was actually proud, "That''s what being a man is all about ¨C live for sex, die for sex, strive for sex all your life."

    This sophistry took Best by surprise, but then heughed out loud, praising him as a talented man.

    The elerator was floored, indeed, having motivation made all the difference.

    ...

    Because the office was bombed, even the nearby ones were unlucky, and the Warden''s office had walls sted through. Luckily, at that time Kona Bsk was not there, otherwise, he would have definitely been offline.

    On the ground floor, in a temporary office, Victor found him. After knocking on the door, the person inside, who was writing something, looked up when he heard the knock, and his expression visibly dropped when he saw Victor.

    "What is it?"

    "Sir, where is my new office?"

    "You''re now assigned to the surveince room. From now on, you''re responsible only for that area. I''ll assign someone else to patrol."

    Was this a power grab?

    Victor raised an eyebrow, about to speak when Kona Bsk gestured with his hand, "These are the Warden''s orders. He thinks you''ve been dealing with too many things recently and wants you to rx a bit."

    "If you don''t want it, you can go talk to him. I''m just passing along the message."

    After thinking it over, Victor saluted, "Thank you for your concern, sir. I assure you I will work well in the surveince room."

    "Just don''t cause any trouble for me." The other man waved his hand dismissively, and just then, the telephone on the desk rang. He picked it up with a frown. Two steps out the door, Victor heard him raise his voice a half-tone.

    "What! Anna is dead?"

    Perhaps realizing he had raised his voice too much, he looked outside, catching Victor''s gaze, and swiftly came up to close the door, continuing his call in privacy.

    See, even though Mexicans are ruthless, there are still good people to "collect the bodies". Just one phone call and the "next of kin" are informed.

    Being relegated to monitor surveince, Victor was not upset; in fact, he had already started nning some benefits for himself.

    You see, before the invention of surveince, human instincts were fully unleashed. With the advent of surveince, civilization emerged.

    If the surveince were turned off, does that mean there would be time and opportunity to "do as one pleases"?

    It''s not impossible, but it would need careful nning.

    Strong people neverin about their circumstances; they look for ways to survive within the environment.

    The surveince room was on the second floor. When he walked in, there was a Jail Guard dozing off. Hearing footsteps, the guard looked up, saw Victor, and immediately stood up, "Deputy Warden."

    "It''s fine, it''s fine, take a rest if you''re tired. I''ll be working here from now on."

    Upon hearing this, the Jail Guard''s face darkened ¨C working in the same office as the boss meant no cking off.

    Victor ignored the guard''s expression and plopped down in front of the surveince screens. There were about forty screens, facing corridors, toilets, and other ces, including the interiors of many cells. These were people who hadn''t paid for privacy.

    You don''t want surveince watching over you, after all, many drug lords have activities at night. Who would want a live broadcast of their deeds?

    So they would pay money to have the surveince turned off, but it''s not permanently off. If you want to see, you can still see.

    "Where is Gardo''s surveince?" he asked, turning his head.

    The guard was flustered, pressed a button, and the Godfather appeared on the screen. But at this time, he was... sharpening something?

    Victor leaned in to see. It looked like a toothbrush?

    Toothbrushes in prison could be very versatile - for instance, sharpened and thrust into a neck, certain death. But was Gardo so bored?

    This seemed more like a vulnerable person looking for a way to protect himself.

    In Mexico, there are two ces where the mortality rate for drug lords is the highest. One is their ownpounds, where most are killed, and the other is in prison ¨C enemies killing, Protection Umbre silencing, and so on.

    Later, Hector of the Mexican Drug Cartel Beltran Leyva brothers, the second eldest, died in prison, dered externally to have sumbed to a sudden heart attack.

    Such a convenient excuse.

    Interesting, it seems he knows someone wants to kill him. He is seeking to save his own life.

    Even a sick tiger is an eyesore to some.

    ...

 Chapter 17: 17: New Era!

    Abandoned warehouse.

    A police cordon had been set up, with quite a few officers standing around.

    A Mercedes-Benz was parked outside the cordon, from which Kona Bsk stepped out with a grave expression. He immediately spotted Anna lying on the ground and a male corpse not far from her.

    "Samboerne." He lifted the cordon tape, noticed a inclothes officer standing by Anna''s body, and patted him on the shoulder.

    Anyone who could show up in inclothes at a crime scene had to have a certain level of clout.

    "You''re here."

    Samboerne looked solemn, pointing to the bodies on the ground, "These are your people, right?"

    Kona Bsk looked at the dire state of the bodies, pursed his lips, and nodded.

    "The abdomen took four shots, the head three. We''ve also identified the other corpse, Torsten Shipley, Anna''s brother, died from a skull fracture caused by a blunt force strike to the head, and he was tortured before his death. He still had ropes tied around him."

    "Did she offend anyone recently?"

    This was clearly targeted at her.

    Kona Bsk thought for a moment. What kind of enemies could a bitch in prison have?

    While he was pondering, a roaring sound caught his attention. He turned his head and saw a dozen motorcycles zooming in, brazenly "surrounding" the police by the warehouse.

    This behavior frightened the officers to the point that none dared to move.

    Shooting police officers in broad daylight happened all too often, depending entirely on the drug trafficker''s mood.

    "From Juarez, a few of theirs died at the warehouse door." Samboerne whispered to Kona Bsk by his side, obviously recognizing the leader, putting his hands on his hips and calling out, "Walker, what are you doing here?"

    To stand like that against a drug lord in Mexico, one has to be involved in drug trafficking themselves or have a powerful background behind them. But think about it, even Camarena, backed by the DEA, was tortured to death, so it''s clear howplex Samboerne really is.

    The leading criminal looked anything but friendly, with bushy eyebrows, tightly closed thin lips, and a cruel gaze that was chilling to the bone. Even the police around him didn''t dare look at him.

    "Is there anywhere in Mexico we dare not go?" Walker barked, tearing through the cordon and walking into the scene with his entourage, he nced down at Anna and flicked his teeth with his tongue, then ordered the henchmen behind him, "Go inside and check."

    "We''ve taken over here," Samboerne said, frowning.

    Walker turned to look at him, "Are you serious?"

    Immediately grabbing his throat, he pulled out a pistol and pressed it to his forehead, "Do you think I wouldn''t dare shoot? Your cheap stepfather has already been killed. Do you still think it''s 1978?"

    Samboerne''s mother was a top prostitute in the red-light district, who met a man andter became his third wife when Samboerne was only five years old.

    That man was Pedro Aviles.

    Although he''s dead, his influence still lingers. Within Mexico''s 1.96 million square kilometers, leaders or high-level members of hundreds of drug trafficking organizations had once worked under him. This bit of residual goodwill was enough to let Samboerne live "safely."

    The premise is, you have to keep to yourself.

    Don''t think the drug lords really fear you. What residual power could a dead old man still hold? It''s just the remnants of "mob loyalty."

    It''s somewhat ironic that the drug traffickers, who disrupt social order, are sometimes the ones who uphold "rules" the most. When Colombia''s Escobar was cornered and taken down by the Cali Cartel, DEA, and government forces, the Cali Cartel didn''t trouble his wife and children.

    Instead, they allowed them to sign a deration forbidding further involvement in drug trafficking, then arranged for them to leave the country and didn''t touch his assets.

    It was to give Escobar dignity, and also a message to other organization heads, that it''s fine for us to fight and kill each other, even to kill each other''s family during the conflict, but if "I" die, don''t trouble my remaining family.

    However, low-level drug traffickers wiping out each other''s families happens quite frequently.

    This "unwritten rule" was well maintained until before the Millennium, until the rise of "Los Zetas" and the "Jalisco New Generation," and then everything changed.

    The youngsters have no respect for the warrior code!

    Seeing that Walker meant business, Kona Bsk hurried to intervene, "Calm down, let''s handle this matter first."

    Walker nced at him, then back at Samboerne, pushed him away, and pointed at him, "Don''t interfere with us. Give him some money, let these cops go have their afternoon tea."

    One of the henchmen took out a stack of US dors and tossed it on the ground. It was embarrassing for a senior police officer to be treated so publicly, and even though Samboerne usually loved money, he felt humiliated!

    Without even ncing at the US dors on the ground, he left with a dark expression, not even saying goodbye to Kona Bsk.

    Watching his retreating figure, Kona shook his head slightly. What kind of dignity can you expect as a police officer in Mexico?

    If he didn''t have the guts to fight with Walker there and then, Kona Bsk would have respected him as a brave man if he had drawn his gun and fought for his life.

    He nned to keep his distance from Samboerne. With that attitude, it was only a matter of time before he met a violent end. Too foolish!

    But fools are the one thing this world is never short on.

    In December 2017, Juan Rosales, a Mexican social media influencer with a million followers known for his pranks, was shot dead in a bar. The reason? He insulted a drug trafficking organization''s leader on social media.

    Insulting a drug lord in Mexico, isn''t that just like opening a soap factory in the United States?

    Kona Bsk looked down at Anna, shook his head, and drove away as well.

    Walker led his men into the warehouse and what he saw was densely packed bullet holes, on average more than a dozen on each person.

    "Boss, found the casings," a subordinate handed him a shell. Walker took a look¡ªit was a standard 9¡Á19mm bullet, toomon to be definitive, as many firearms could use it.

    "First, take the bodies back for a check. Then we''ll know what weapons were used. Look around for any strangers who''ve been here recently. I refuse to believe that turning Mexico City upside down won''t flush them out!"

    Walker mmed the bullet casing onto the ground with force.

    ¡­

    Outside teau Prison.

    Dragan looked at his watch and tapped his foot impatiently on the car roof. He needed a fix, let out a yawn, and nudged his underling with an elbow, "Cisse, got any powder?"

    "Boss, you''re not nning on using it here, are you?"

    "What''s there to be afraid of? It''s just a prison. Stop the chatter and hand it over."

    The underling was reluctant¡ªthis stuff was expensive, even at an internal price. As he hesitated, he nced at the entrance and noticed a portly figure dragging a suitcase out, "Boss, your cousin is out."

    Dragan looked up and saw the familiar chubby face and called out to him.

    Casare, spotting Dragan, adjusted the ck backpack on his shoulders and walked over with his rolling suitcase, "Waited long?"

    Dragan sniffled, "Not at all, not at all. Get in."

    The underling next to him opened the car door obligingly, shing a smile at Casare¡ªhe knew well enough the importance of the man they were dealing with.

    Unused to being served by others, Casare felt awkward as he got into the car. Dragan immediately asked, "Where''s the stuff?"

    "What''s the hurry?"

    Despite his words, Casare still opened his suitcase, revealing neatly packed parts of AK47s, "Here are parts for 5 AK47s, 500 rounds of 7.62mm bullets, 10 F-1 Defensive Grenades..."

    "Didn''t you say on the phone¡ª10 rifles and 10,000 rounds?" Dragan asked, anxious.

    "Do I look like someone who can carry that much? An AK weighs 4.3 kg, and that doesn''t even include the ammo. Do you think I''m Superman or Batman?" Casare retorted, annoyed, as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, "The address is here. Go and get the rest from a guy named Holder; he''ll give them to you."

    "Good, good," Dragan said, moving towards the suitcase. But Casare blocked him with a hand, "Money first. $1,000 for each AK, $1 for 5 bullets, $40 for a grenade."

    "So that''s..."

    Casare frowned, struggling with the math, and under the baffled looks of Dragan and others, he pulled out a calctor, "$12,400 in total. We take cash only, no checks."

    "Why the price hike? Weren''t AK47s $800 each?"

    "The Soviets got defeated in Afghanistan, and the price went up when we sourced directly from the factories. We have to make some profit, too. Don''t worry, I wouldn''t cheat you."

    Dragan looked at him doubtfully.

    "I''ll hand over the money once I''ve got the goods," Dragan suggested.

    But Casare was just shaking his head, "No, that''s not how it works."

    Dragan, with furrowed brows, proposed paying separately for this deal and the rest, but was refused again since the other location had no financial staff, and it left him livid.

    "You think I would run? You know where my home is. We in the arms business value trust; it isn''t a one-time deal. You''ve tested the goods; you know their quality. If you pay, you take them. No payment, I''ll sell to someone else."

    "In Mexico, arms are more in demand than virtue."

    With a stern look from Dragan, Casare remained unfazed. Exasperated, Dragan motioned to his underling, "Pay up!"

    "Don''t cheat me; I know where you live."

    The threat was heavy with implication¡ªfamily betraying each other was all toomon. Take Guzman for instance; he had four cousins who formed the notorious Beltr¨¢n-Leyva Cartel and then became sworn enemies.

    Those four had joined Guzman in the cannabis business at the age of fifteen, sticking with him into middle age, yet disagreements about interests led to conflict.

    It didn''t matter who you were.

    Over $10,000 and Dragan was fully capable of eradicating Casare''s entire family.

    With money in hand, Casare was unfazed by the threat, counted it in front of Dragan, and said with a smile, "If you have customers needing weapons, remember to contact me. I can give you a referral fee. Oh, and we''re called ''New Hope''."

    Best had set up thepany as per the boss''s orders.

    Main business: Trading in pork, beef, andmb.

    ¡­

 Chapter 18: 18: Organizing the Plan!

    "New Hope Company?"

    Dragan watched Casare''s retreating figure, turned to his underling, and asked, "Have you ever heard of this organization?"

    Thetter was also at a loss.

    They would never have guessed that it was actually just a newly developed small group.

    However, who knows how many gangs there are in Mexico. You could collect protection fees with just three or five people and a machete.

    Countless gangs are established and dissolved every day.

    But to be able to deal in arms, it seems this new generation of Mexicans must be capable.

    He certainly wouldn''t expect it to be just a few nobodies.

    Dragan looked deeply at his "cousin" and thought if this gang didn''t do well in the future, he might switch sides.

    "Let''s go, we''ll pick up the goods, and sweep through two streets tonight!"

    Instead of returning to the prison with the money, Casare drove to a small vige called "Bergedes," about ten kilometers from teau Prison, located in a seldom-traveled suburban area.

    This ce was originally a ntation, but it was affected by the "Camarena" incident and was directly destroyed by the military. The able-bodied had gone out to "start their own businesses," leaving only the elderly behind.

    As for the children...

    Have you ever heard of the Mexican child daredevil squads?

    Many drug trafficking organizations traffic children, stuffing goods inside their bodies by any means, and then transport them to welfare institutions in the United States.

    The drug trafficking organizations have connections with these welfare institutions.

    As for those children...

    Maybe their organs were trafficked, maybe they escaped the ordeal and ended up as vagrants, who knows?

    In 2014, FBI agents investigating an illegal body trading case discovered 10 tons of human remains at the Biological Resource Center (BRC) in Arizona!

    It is said to be closely rted to the "human smuggling" between the US and Mexico.

    Children, living in this kind of country, is a pain.

    But such ces are perfect for Victor. Mexico City is too chaotic, and too far from the prison, with too many eyes all around, and if you encounter those who don''t y by the rules, they''ll double-cross you directly.

    Will the young people who left the vige evere back?

    Mexicans don''t have the tradition of "celebrating Qingming."

    Renting a room with a yard at the entrance to the vige from the Vige Head for 60 pesos was a piece of cake.

    When Casare parked in front of the door, he didn''t even bother to take the keys out of the ignition. There aren''t many car thieves here, but in an emergency, you could just get in the car and flee.

    Thump, thump-thump, thump, thump!

    He knocked on the door rhythmically, and after a while, a crack appeared in the wooden door. Victor opened the door to let him in when he saw it was Casare.

    "How did it go? Was the deal smooth?"

    "Smooth as silk," Casare handed over the money, "I raised the price of the goods, saying that the shipping cost went up, so the selling price rose. Dragan wasn''t happy, but there was nothing he could do. Here''s the total, 12,400 US dors, count it."

    "What''s there to count between us?" Victor nonchntly stuffed the money into his pocket. Casare really fell for this kind of treatment, it made him feel respected at the very least.

    "You keep track of how much you sell, and I''ll pay out your share once a month."

    Casare nodded, "No rush on that."

    The two entered the house, which had three rooms and the air was still permeated with the smell of mold.

    "What''s the use of renting this ce? It''s pretty run-down."

    Victor took out a cigarette and handed one to him, "When you''re in the grey business, you have to understand the importance of leaving yourself a way out. This is just one of our bases. You and Holder should rent a few more on the outskirts of Mexico City. We''ll make the arms deals at locations we choose."

    "I don''t trust the moral bottom line of Mexican drug traffickers at all."

    If one gets hit on their own turf, it would just mean I, Mr. Gao, have no future and deserve not to prosper.

    Casare, agreeing deeply with his statement, nodded in approval. There was too much backstabbing in Mexico, creating a severeck of security.

    Why is the "Godfather" Gardo so famous?

    He tied the beasts together and taught them to sit civilized at a table for meals. Ironically, at that time, Mexico''s domestic security index was the highest it had been in forty years.

    Because only the Gulf Cartel and the Guadjara Cartel had their people under the pacification of their bosses, resulting in a kind of "peaceful coexistence."

    But the moment the Godfather entered the prison, the Capital of Sinaloa, Culiac¨¢n, saw 117 shootings, with the number of people involved reaching into the thousands.

    The beasts were released, and the rules became meaningless.

    "How''s the thing I asked you to look into?"

    "I really couldn''t find anything about Webster''s wife; he''s too cautious, but he has 3 mistresses. One of them is a female Jail Guard in the prison responsible for female inmates. They had a boy together¡ªhe''s in boarding school, in high school. And I''ve heard that this woman Jail Guard has evidence of Webster taking bribes. That''s what I heard from others."

    This guy really had a knack for gathering intelligence.

    "Are you nning to get back at him?" Casare asked.

    "Do you have a way to get hold of that evidence?"

    Victor was a bit curious, seeing his proactive attitude.

    "I know a female drug trafficker in the women''s prison. She''s pretty ruthless, and works with the Casero family on the outside. After getting to know her a few times, I found out she has a son, and she hopes he can study abroad."

    "Do you mean to say we should send her son abroad?" Victor thought he was joking. Don''t you know how expensive it is to live abroad?

    With our current ie, you''re kidding yourself.

    Casare spoke in a lower voice, "Mexico is only a few kilometers from the Guatemn border; that counts as abroad, right?"

    Fuck!

    Are you ying word games here?

    Victor looked at him strangely, "You''ve changed quickly. You used to think I was cruel."

    Casare fell silent for a while, thenughed, "With the first 600 US dors I earned, I bought my mother a new sewing machine. She was very happy. I took them out for a big meal, and although it only cost me 30 dors, seeing their smiles made me realize what I should want."

    He had already tasted the sweetness of money.

    Just like a shark that smells blood, would it ever let go?

    Upon hearing this, Victor nodded, thought for a moment, and said, "Wait until after the Day of the Dead, and I will send your mother and siblings to the United States, where I will take care of their living expenses and education costs."

    It''s too dangerous in Mexico.

    Casare was taken aback and hurriedly said, "I can pay¡­"

    "You''re my brother, your mother is my mother, and your siblings are my siblings. Don''t fight me over this bit of money," Victor said, cing his hands on his shoulders.

    Those words almost moved Casare. Maybe it''s because Mexicans tend to be very selfish due to longstanding social conditions; everyone likes to take the lion''s share in business.

    Just like the drug trafficking organizations¡ªbillions in turnover, but those at the bottom like gunmen, traffickers, and growers barely get a fraction. Isn''t that why Los Zetas broke away from the Gulf Cartel over an uneven distribution of profits?

    Victor''s notebook even outlined the development path for his own career, starting with the gray industry to do business in Mexico, while not meddling with neighboring United States, Guatem, and Salvador. He didn''t need that many employees.

    Once he had enough people, he nned to open a pany."

    He intended to create a "Caring Sponsorship Union" within this pany," allocating a certain percentage of monthly revenue as a fund to provide life assistance to the employees who joined thepany.

    For example, sponsoring their children''s education, aiding the elderly in retirement, and if employees were willing, they could also donate voluntarily. This money would be used to improve employees'' lives.

    He even thought about buying insurance for employees, allowing them to enjoy the treatment of a legal "job."

    When the timees, with a little media promotion, the pany" would be known as a charity organization.

    The Mexican Police never said one couldn''t open businesses.

    This was the path many Mexican drug lords had tried, but it didn''t pan out ideally¡ªthe overhead was just too high. Los Zetas ended up with a force of 120,000, and just paying their sries would be a headache.

    If you get them insured, they would resist arrest on your behalf; give them a gold coin and, oh snap, tomorrow you''ve be a warlord.

    But after all, this was just a fantasy.

    The leader has to consider the feelings of the partners.

    Setting up a few welfare institutions was already the best social expenditure.

    Of course, this was all predicated on making money; if there''s no profit, who the hell would do it?

    "Work hard. Your dream of immigrating to the United States is not unattainable," Victor said, dangling a carrot before him. Wait until your arms dealing is out in the open then you won''t want to immigrate to the States.

    Getting back to business, Victor thought for a moment, "Then promise her that, but such a person would likely need to see some immediate benefits. Send $1,000 to her son, andter have him write a letter to send into the prison. If that inmate finds evidence from the Jail Guard, I''ll give an additional $2,000 and send her son abroad for his studies."

    "However, Webster will likely question her, and she might just end up turning you in," Victor said.

    "She''s a very tight-lipped person."

    Victor squinted his eyes and took a drag of his cigarette, and nobody knew what he was thinking.

 Chapter 19: 19: Ill count to three, cover your head and crouch down!

    Mexico City. Chimalhuac¨¢n.

    In a warehouse, a rock heavy metal song filled the air, intensely captivating, though no star''s name attached to it was known.

    "Money, money, money, Spend it like it''s fun, Take me to the dance floor I wanna go¡­"

    Holder, who walked in from the entrance, frowned and pointed at the young man fiddling with the speakers, "Andrea, turn that idiot off."

    The other party, clearly a music enthusiast, just kept gyrating and ignored himpletely.

    Pop!

    Ryan raised his pistol and fired, knocking the speaker to the ground. However, the speaker was well-built and kept on singing.

    Andrea jumped in fright, iling his hands in protest before he could speak, only to receive a punch from Ryan. Stumbling and crashing to the ground, Ryan followed, mounting him, grabbing his neck, his facial muscles trembling, "Bastard, do you think this is a kindergarten or a bar?"

    Shoving the gun into his mouth with his left hand, Ryan red into his eyes, "Did your mother ever tell you, you got to show some respect when you''re out in the world?"

    "You believe I won''t blow your damn head off right now?"

    Andrea hastily raised his hands, now truly scared.

    Ryan, with a grim face, stood up and kicked him, "Go stand over there, everyone get over here, and move it!"

    The onlookers, who had been enjoying the show, promptly got in line.

    There were 13 of them in total, all local "kids" from Chimalhuac¨¢n, most having mixed around for a few years, some even with blood on their hands.

    There''s really only one way out in Mexico.

    Children from wealthy families join their family''s trade¡ªdrug trafficking.

    Children without money join someone else''s family trade¡ªdrug trafficking.

    It''s all a damn criminal affair. How many famous Mexican schrs can you name?

    Ryan, dressed in coffee-coloredbat pants, with a Makarov pistol at his waist and hands on his hips, his expression stern, "I don''t care which gang you were with before, or under which drug lord you served, but now you''re part of the new generation of Mexicans."

    "Anyone who doesn''t want to stay, speak up now. But if I find out anyone betrays us, I''ll bury him myself!"

    Ryan''s under-eye re was fierce as it swept over them. His imposing figure felt very oppressive, "Anyone backing out?"

    After asking two or three times, the 13 looked at each other but none stepped forward.

    "Good," Ryan nodded, satisfied, and gave Holder a nod.

    Holder pulled an envelope, bulging full from his inner pocket, and tossed it onto a nearby table, spilling some notes. The sight quickly caught their attention.

    "Six hundred pesos each. We''re not like other organizations. We pay punctually on the first of every month. Anyone joining in the middle or end of the month gets a month''s sry, paid together the following month." Holder rasped, "Two hundred pesos for fieldwork, an extra five hundred for injuries, and a straight five hundred US dors for death."

    The 13 neers instantly forgot about Ryan and started whispering among themselves.

    The benefits...

    Were indeed too good to pass up.

    These 13 screw-ups, not ying pivotal roles in their previous gangs, didn''t make much. Ever seen ackey get rich?

    The Gulf Group offered farmworkers in the agriculture sector protection from threats by rival drug traffickers, and each earned six pesos, roughly three US dors in the 80s, which was considered a decent ie.

    Ordinary transporters in drug trafficking got paid per trip, varying with the danger level of the cargo, but if you got caught by cops while transporting, you were done for, and so was your family.

    The highest earnings belonged to the gunmen, whose job was violent actions like turf wars and kidnapping rival leaders. In 2019, an American blogger managed to contact a drug trafficker online, who showed him around the inside and introduced him to a gunman. Wrapped up like a mummy for the camera, the gunman revealed a sry of around 18,500 pesos.

    But with intion soaring and the exchange rate at 17:1, that was equivalent to 1500 US dors. Even by US standards, that wasn''t a low ie.

    So, 600 pesos in the 80s was a fantastic benefit.

    "Boss!" Andrea, always sprightly, raised his hand, his eyes shining, "Can I call my brothers over?"

    "Yeah, right, I''ve got a brother too, he''s 11 this year, and he''s as tall as I am," someone chimed in from the side.

    Some even considered dragging their retired old fathers into this.

    "Quiet!" Ryan shouted, silencing everyone. They stopped talking, but their eyes couldn''t help wandering to the side, "One by one to take the money, Andrea, you first."

    Grinning, Andrea bowed at the table, "Boss."

    Holder counted out six hundred-peso notes and handed them over. Andrea took them, counted on the spot¡ªMexicans were that direct¡ªand was about to leave when Holder called out to him, pulling a gun out from a box underfoot and tossing it in front of him.

    "This is yours."

    A genuine Makarov pistol from the Izhevsk Mechanical nt.

    "They issue weapons too?" Andrea looked up, blinking.

    "We''re an organization that uses force, not a daycare center. Would you rather we hand out pacifiers instead of guns?"

    Ryan waved his hand impatiently beside him, "This is an organization benefit. Everyone who joins the new generation of Mexicans gets a pistol. I will choose four small leaders from among you. When the timees, in addition to pistols, you will also be equipped with submachine guns and grenades."

    It seemed that the organization was richer and more generous than he had imagined.

    Isn''t that what you hope for when you''re out in this world, to meet a "generous" boss?

    However, equipping everyone with a gun was indeed a bit terrifying. Weren''t they afraid people would sell them?

    Andrea, who had received a gun, smiled even more happily, jokingly gesturing to his colleagues. Ryan went up and gave him a kick, "Don''t point the gun at your own people. If you do this again next time, I''ll break your fingers!"

    Scared, Andrea quickly shrank back, returning to the line and fiddling with his weapon.

    Once everyone had received their sries, Holder gave Ryan a nod of acknowledgment. Thetter stepped forward and spoke up, "From now on, you need toe here every day and train with me. If anyone iste or doesn''t show up without a good reason, don''t say I''m heartless."

    "Now everyone take your weapons and follow me." Ryan led them to therge courtyard inside, while Holder sat in a chair with a cigarette in his hand, not saying a word.

    But he didn''t know how to train people and had to let Ryan, who had a military background, take responsibility. He was only responsible for overall coordination.

    And making money!

    Earn money like crazy, then update the equipment like hell.

    Recently, an old colleague did contact him, with a batch of goods that tempted him.

    ...

    Aside from causing some ripples in teau Prison, Anna''s death drew only a few words of regret from those who knew her and was otherwise quiet.

    In Mexico, it would have been strange if no one died. Even its president could win a peace prize.

    Victor stayed in the monitor room quietly for two or three days, going to work and getting off work on time every day. In the monitors, Gardo looked as solitary as an injured wild wolf, shrinking into a corner.

    He didn''t even call for a woman.

    Indeed, those who are to achieve great things are either extremelyscivious or have a terrifying self-discipline.

    Victor made himself a cup of Nescafe instant coffee and stood by the window, which afforded a view of Third District across the way, airing out. Groups here and clumps there were visible, and he could even see a police officer distributing cigarettes to the inmates.

    He even saw a burly man with a face full of tattoos grab a jail guard''s hat and toss it away, setting offughter among those nearby.

    Victor blew on his coffee, seemingly entertained by the scene. Looking up, he saw that in one corner several people seemed to be fighting, then a jail guard stepped in to break it up...

    Did he get hit?

    That figure looked very familiar.

    The jail guard turned around and blew his whistle, and Victor saw clearly¡ªit was indeed Casare.

    The two groups grewrger, eventually involving dozens of people. The rm went off at that moment as well.

    Victor''s face had been downcast ever since Casare was hit. He gently ced the coffee on the windowsill, "Too bitter, needs sugar."

    "I''ll be right back", he told the jail guard who hade over to watch themotion, picked up his hat from the table, and walked out of the office.

    He was the type of person who stands up for his own, unable to stand by and watch this happen.

    The wild dogs locked in the cell always needed a fewshes to remind them who was in charge here.

    Casare held his face, the punch from the other side not a light one, making him a bit dizzy. His colleagues hurried to help him away from the fray.

    Thankfully, due to the "Football Shooting" incident, the prison had carried out a crackdown, searching for and confiscating guns; otherwise, bullets might be flying right now.

    After the rm sounded, the emergency team quickly arrived and took control of the scene, but the Mexican drug traffickers were bold, and this time maybe they got really riled up, dragging the police into the fight.

    The emergency team didn''t dare to shoot. Even when Haggis was alive, he didn''t have the guts. Many involved in the fight had powerful backers. If anyone was identally injured, there would be hell to pay.

    "Since when do police wait for the inmates to finish fighting before stepping in?"

    Casare heard the voice and turned his head to see Victor, holding his face, his voice changed, "Victor."

    "If you won''t listen, I''ll take you down hard!"

    Victor drew his pistol and fired several shots into the air. The two fighting groups immediately stopped and turned to look at him.

    But the next second, they were at each other''s throats again.

    Victorughed gleefully, "In my life, I''ve always liked the defiant ones."

    He picked out an unlucky one, charged up, grabbed him under his armpit, and threw him back, firing three shots at his legs.

    "I''ll count to three. Cover your heads, squat down!"

    He aimed his gun at the brawling crowd.

    ...

 Chapter 20: 20: Doing Millions of Business with Just a Few Bucks?

    "Ah! Ahh!!!"

    The fighting convict covered his leg and screamed miserably, the sudden addition of this "fierce man" clearly putting immense pressure on both groups.

    They red at each other fiercely, each seemingly eager to devour the other.

    Victor blinked and recognized their affiliations, one group was called Blood Oath, they had long been involved in human smuggling near Mexico, transporting refugees to the United States.

    Their strength was mediocre on a national level, but this group was known for ying dirty; many foreign tourists mysteriously disappeared, rumored to be their doing, and Mexico''s crimeb believed they were heavily linked to organ trafficking in Southeast Asia.

    The other group was the Texas Syndicate (TS7), an international organization primarilyposed of Mexican immigrant members, either serving time in U.S. prisons or on the outside.

    This gang formed to protect Mexican immigrants from being killed by other Californian gangs, including the Aryan Brotherhood and the Mexican Mafia.

    The dirty business of these two groups was soplicated that even Judge Bao would be busy for three days.

    "Officer, is it illegal for us to fight?" said one with long hair, a snake tattoo on his arm, and a cigarette tucked in his mouth, "What? Do we need to apply for permission?"

    Flicking cigarette ash with a snap, he directly flicked it onto Victor, who pretended to be flustered, "Sorry, sorry," he hastened to say and then kicked a nearby emergency squad member in the stomach, causing him to kneel in pain.

    Then, pointing arrogantly at Victor, he said, "You damn cop, you wanna meddle, who the fuck do you think you are?"

    The members of other gangs watched the spectacle with glee.

    "Let me tell you about this prison..."

    Pop!

    Before he could finish, a bullet struck his head; at such close range, there was no saving him, and he copsed on the spot.

    An immediate silence fell over the crowd.

    "Send someone who talks civilized, has manners, and has brushed their teeth over here," Victor said, his gun pointing at them, "I''m a very reasonable man. If any of you has a question, step forward and speak to me directly."

    The people from Blood Oath and the Texas Syndicate exchanged nces nervously and pursed their lips.

    Perhaps not wanting to look weak in front of their brothers, someone from Blood Oath stepped forward, swallowed, and said, "Boss, don''t think just because you''ve got a gun we''re scared of you; you''ve got at most twelve bullets, but we''ve got so many people here."

    "I know."

    Victor smiled, "I just need to take out a few of the overly bold ones."

    Criminal organizations around the world are all the same; they bully the weak and fear the strong!

    Why do Mexican drug traffickers dare to bully cops and even kill at will? It''s a political issue; corruption is at the highest level, but if you switch to a tougher government, which Mafia group would dare to jump around like that?

    Wasn''t the American Mafia godfather Al Capone impressive?

    Nicknamed the King of Chicago!

    The spokesman for the Thompson submachine gun.

    The Underground Emperor.

    But isn''t it easy for the U.S. Government to handle you if they want to? The FBI can''t touch you, but the IRS can, investigating your tax evasion, and by evening, a tank will be knocking on your door.

    "I''ll say it again, hands on your head and squat down!"

    Seeing that the cop meant business, members of Blood Oath and the Texas Syndicate reluctantlyplied, but there were some who stealthily eyed him, as if memorizing his face to take him outter.

    "Casare, who hit you?"

    All the jail guards then looked over; even the thick-skinned Casare seemed a bit uneasy, pointing at one muscr man whose face turned green.

    Victor walked over and kicked him in the face. The man was furious, tried to swing a punch but was met with a gun to his face, "Fuck, the whole prison knows Casare is my brother, my responsibility, and you piece of shit, attacking him is disrespecting me."

    "Put down your gun, let''s have a one-on-one fight," the stubborn man said, obviously not conceding and still looking at the gun cautiously, clearly fearful, but trying to save face.

    "A one-on-one fight? What era do you think this is? I have a gun and you''re talking about fighting fair, you must have been brain-damaged in the womb," Victor said as he delivered a blow to the man''s eye socket, a frail spot that would likely split from such a strike.

    Writhing in pain, the man crouched on the ground clutching his face.

    Victor, still seemingly unsatisfied, proceeded to kick him hard twice more.

    "Stop, Victor!"

    A voice full of immense anger resounded as Webster pushed through the gathering officers and entered. Seeing the corpse and the convulsing convict, his face turned dark, his expressions twitching.

    "What the hell are you doing!"

    "Who gave you permission to fire a gun inside the prison?"

    He bombarded Victor with questions, but before Victor could speak, Casare interjected, "Boss, it was them who attacked the officers first."

    Webster: "Does that mean you can kill people?"

    "Then arrest me," Victor challenged, extending his hands, which visibly shocked Webster. Victor gestured for Casare to keep quiet and unzipped his police uniform, "We are police officers, they are convicts. If they cause trouble, we hit back!"

    "Who empowered them to strike officers in prison? Thew or Jesus?"

    "Boss, I, Victor, can''t stand by and watch them hit my brother and colleagues. It''s an insult to me. If you can''t handle it, leave it to me, I''ll take care of it. Being a police officer is also about dignity," he all but shouted at Webster toward the end.

    Casare saw Victor''s hands move behind his back and instantly understood, responding, "Yes, sir, there''s always trouble every time we go out for recreation, but you just don''t care. We suffer for it, our job is very hard, always getting beaten up. I might as well be a drug trafficker."

    Those words struck a chord with his colleagues around him.

    Many of them had had enough, and even though drug traffickers would give them bribes in teau Prison, the frequent beatings and cursing, indifferent even if Webster was killed, left them feeling very insecure about their jobs as police officers.

    The expressions of the jail guards watching became veryplex.

    Victor saw all this; he was deliberately stoking emotions in front of Webster. An ipetent superior was very unpopr, and there had long been grumblings about him in the prison.

    Thest ser match not only resulted in injuries for Victor, but also the deaths of three police officers.

    Yet in the end, there wasn''t even anypensation.

    Victor''s goal was simple: to find a "partner" in the prison. In his eyes, Webster was destined to die. It was either him or himself¡ªthere was no possibility of coexistence between the two.

    He knew he could choose to be reassigned elsewhere, but the "power" within teau Prison wasn''t something he could just give up on a whim; it mighte in handy at any time.

    The reason he dared to confront Webster directly without backing down was that, perhaps Webster had the power to shuffle him around the prison, but he certainly had no power to dismiss him.

    To fire a Sergeant would require upper-level approval. Did you think government employees could just be dismissed on a whim? Of course, Webster could also ask his superiors to deal with Victor, this "nuisance," but if he couldn''t even control the prison''s internal affairs, what would his superiors think?

    Victor wanted to use this opportunity to "rise in rank."

    Do you want to get promoted and wealthy, and you tell me you''re not going to fight for it? Do you think it just falls from the sky?

    Daydreaming!

    It''s like many people buying $2 incense sticks, then taking a stack of scratch-off lottery tickets to the Temple of the God of Wealth doorstep to pray for wealth.

    Stop kidding yourself, do you really think the director will settle a multimillion-dor affair with a bucket of oil?

    Whoever makes you rich is a dumbass.

    "You guys are great," Webster pointed at the two, so angry his nostrils red.

    "I''m just protecting my colleagues, sir! I will not allow them to lose their dignity while defending justice."

    His words were emphatic!

    Onlookers felt a surge of passion.

    But the inside reality¡ªall fucking business.

    Webster, grinding his teeth, pointed at the two men and turned to leave with a vicious look in his eyes.

    "Put all these people in one cell, and from now on, give them only one bowl of rice a day for seven days. Let''s see if they end up fighting over food," Victor ordered the rapid response team.

    The already leaderless squad hesitated briefly, then snapped to attention and saluted, "Yes, sir."

    Holding down a bunch of gang members who had been fighting, those who were disobedient were met directly with batons. Clearly, they hadn''t yet cooled down from the earlier altercation. Other jail guards escorted the convicts back from recreation, but many of them gave Victor strange looks as they returned.

    "Victor, giving those criminals just one bowl of rice a day, won''t that lead to people getting killed?" Casare said, "Let''s not blow this out of proportion."

    "Do you think today''s events are minor? Maybe by tonight my head will be on the hit list of those gangsters," Victor said casually, not showing any fear.

    You should be more concerned when you make it onto the U.S. wanted list.

    "Wouldn''t it be better if someone died? Then you find some media outlets to spread the word about the chaos in teau Prison, about Webster''s ipetence, and portray him as a corrupt cop who abuses prisoners. I don''t believe anyone would back him then."

    Public opinion can be a killer!

    Make use of the media wisely, enjoy an hical life.

    "Then you get some prostitutes to tell the tabloids he likes ying exciting games. No matter whether it''s true or not, once such stories get out, they be truth."

    Casare felt Victor was dark to the core, even his saliva probably tainted with malice. If it really went ording to his n, Webster''s name would certainly resound throughout Mexico City.

    "You saw the prison''s rapid response team, didn''t you?"

    Casare nodded.

    "Find a way to build a good rtionship with them. I will find a way to give you a promotion so you can lead them."

    "You have a way?"

    "Sure, bribe the superiors!"

    "What if they don''t take it?"

    Victor stopped in his tracks, looked at him, and after a moment''s thought, "Then have Holder find someone to follow their family members. They either take the money, or their whole family dies. Let them choose."

    "Do you have the money now?" Casare always liked to probe.

    This question was annoying for him.

    "Then strive to find more buyers this month, if all else fails, advertise in the newspapers."

    "You''ve got goods?"

    "The Soviet Union''s ammo could fill the entire Pacific Ocean, what I need now are buyers! Buyers! Buyers!"

    ...

 Chapter 21: 21: The Right Path Is the Hardest!

    "Be careful not to bump the screen."

    Casare unscrewed the dormitory door, directing two jail guards as they ced a television into Victor''s room.

    Now that he was finally making money, he ought to treat himself to something, or what else was the point of earning money? It''s all for fucking enjoyment.

    He had even scheduled the instation of an air conditioner.

    Originally, he thought about living outside, but then he considered that he now had too many enemies, and the likelihood of being shot in a sneak attack had risen to 150% because, as expected, following the "leaking of information" incident a few days ago, Victor was offered a bounty of 2000 Pesos by the Blood Oath.

    You never knew if you''d run into a woman on the street, try to hit on her, and end up riddled with bullets.

    Never underestimate a drug lord''s desire for revenge.

    What''s the saying?

    In the United States, the Mafia kills witnesses so they can''t testify in court. In Mexico, drug traffickers kill the whole courtroom.

    Victor knew well that only those who live in fear and respect live longer.

    After the jail guards had set up the television, Casare personally escorted them out, and when leaving, he even pulled out two 50-Peso notes and stuffed them into their uniform pockets.

    "Buddy, no need, no need," the jail guards declined politely.

    "Happy Sunday in advance to you guys. Take it, have a drink tonight," Casare said, patting their shoulders.

    The two jail guards didn''t refuse any longer¡ªwho wouldn''t be happy to see money?

    After closing the door, Casare saw Victor flipping through TV channels and joked, "Hey Victor, you need to subscribe to adult programs at the television station."

    "I''m just looking at the news," Victor responded, his chin tilting slightly.

    Casare saw a blonde, blue-eyed female reporter on the TV; she was pretty attractive, and she had a nice figure, "She looks good, but seems a bit old; you can see her breasts sagging."

    "The older they are, the better the vor, buddy."

    The two of themughed.

    "Violence eruptedst night in the Tepito District behind me. A group of unidentified gunmen wielding AK-47s stormed into a bar and opened fire indiscriminately, resulting in 116 deaths and 78 injuries..." The female reporter looked quite solemn, and a ck-and-white video appeared in the corner of the TV, showing the previous night at 11 PM, with two cars stopping in front of the bar.

    Then you see a dozen people get out, heads covered in ck hoods, firing guns at the entrance, a man and woman biting each other suddenly falling to the ground, as the extremely vicious group stormed in...

    "Obviously, these criminals had extraordinarily fierce firepower. Officer Samboerne, what has the police discovered so far?"

    The camera zoomed out to reveal a man with a badge on his chest, looking very serious. Upon hearing the reporter''s question, he looked into the camera, "The police are tracking the killers, and we''ve discovered some clues, but it''s not convenient to disclose them to the public."

    "Where did these people get their weapons from? Does it imply a very serious arms trafficking market in Mexico City?" the reporter pressed.

    Faced with the reporter''s persistent questioning, all Samboerne could do was respond with a stony-faced ''noment''.

    "Do you think it was your cousin''s gang?" Victor asked Casare, turning his head.

    "Does it look like it? Do you want me to call and ask him?"

    "Of course not. What the customers do with our weapons is none of our business. We''re just the suppliers. If you sell condoms, do you ask the customers which eye they put it in?"

    Victor picked up his teacup, saw the water had gotten a bit cold, opened the window, and poured it out, then continued, "Don''t you think this is a great advertisement?"

    Drug lords always have much more informed sources than the police.

    What you smuggle through customs, the cops are the third to know. The first is the one involved, and the second is the drug lords.

    This is basically a live advertisement. The drug lords will definitely inquire where these goods came from. Buying from the American ck Market is too risky, and the supply can''t meet Mexico''s entire demand.

    Victor''s eyes were already seeing "$" "$".

    As for the bar victims who were killed?

    Mom said that kids who aren''t home by eleven or twelve at night aren''t good kids. But then, the whole country will probably hold a moment of silence since the death toll is so high. This is a rather serious violent incident, even for Mexico.

    I at most will pray a few more times for you at night.

    Do you want me to send flowers? Are they free?

    Just as Victor was nning to profit from this incident, his brick phone on the table rang. He had bought it before getting into the arms trade; he had to have a contact number, right?

    It''s low to use andline as a bigshot.

    Casare answered, and heard Best''s excited voice.

    "Hehehe, I''ve got in touch with Holder, struck a good deal."

    ...

    The Chimalhuac¨¢n slums sprawl across Mexico City.

    The chaos within was endless!

    A strange womanes in, next day she''s missing two cup sizes¡ªof course, she''s also dead.

    Nearly 1.9 million people live below the poverty line, the kind that go hungry after a meal, so naturally, security isn''t high.

    Roar~ Roar~

    A series of roars echoed through the Iparda neighborhood as residents looked up to see an old Le Mans Company-made Moto Guzzi 850 with a pure silver body¡ªa real sight to behold.

    Though it was an antique from 1976, 13 years old by now, the poverty around here was so severe that few even owned bicycles, let alone motorcycles. Middle-aged men stared with indescribable envy while young kids bare-assed chased after it.

    "Isn''t that Andrea?" someone with sharp eyes said to his neighbor.

    "Are you sure? How could he afford a motorcycle?"

    "I heard he''s into drug trafficking..."

    Before he could finish, the neighbor grabbed his arm. In the slums, you don''t talk about drug traffickers; they have better ears than dogs.

    Andrea reveled in the envious stares, pulling up in front of his house. A woman inside, hearing themotion, came out, leading a half-grown girl, with a baby strapped to her back, her face weary. At the sight of him, she was taken aback.

    "Hi, mom!"

    He opened his arms and hugged her. The woman seemed a bit resistant, frowning at the motorcycle, "Where did you steal this one from?"

    "I bought it, I''m making money," Andrea said with a smile, openly admitting, "I''ve found a new boss. He''s generous. I earn 600 pesos a month, and I want to send Catherine to school."

    He had always believed in the importance of education because he had seen how awyer with a briefcase could make more money than a thousand men with AK47s.

    "You got mixed up with a gang again? How many times have I told you not to get involved in these criminal activities? Do you want me to pick up your corpse tomorrow?" The woman looked at Andrea, very angry, her eyes brimming with tears.

    Many parents in the slums might have histories with gangs, but they definitely don''t want their children involved because they know better than anyone how ugly and dark it can be.

    Andrea''s father worked for a gang and ended up dead.

    "But working for them makes money."

    Andrea forced a smile, looking at the increasingly emaciated faces of his loved ones, "I''ve not been educated, and the factory doesn''t want me. If I don''t kill or set fires, what, I should just die?"

    "The boss pays me, I work for him. I want to make money. I want to take you out of this slum. While I''m young, I want to earn more. Mom, the hardest road to take in this world is the straight road. Am I wrong?"

    In a filthy world, those who hold onto their integrity are either saints or dead men.

    If he couldn''t resist it, he could only sink to their level.

    Celia, listening to her son''s words, didn''t know how to argue. She hadn''t been educated, was raped by a drug trafficker at 18, married at 19. She only knew how exhausting it was to raise a child.

    But with no contraception and abortion too expensive at the hospitals, sometimes giving birth was out of desperate necessity.

    "Catherine, your brother got you your favorite candy," Andrea said as he reached into the motorcycle for a bag and shook it at the little girl with a smile.

    The girl''s eyes lit up; she took the bag and even stuck her head inside it, eagerly unwrapping a candy and putting it in her mouth. She then generously offered one to Celia and her brother.

    "Go on, eat, sweetheart~"

    Celia patted her on the head and looked at Andrea, "Come inside. We better push the motorcycle in or it''ll get stolen."

    Andrea nodded. He knew how rough the neighborhood was, but as a young man, he couldn''t resist showing off. Isn''t the fundamental reason to earn money to show off?

    But in Chimalhuac¨¢n, even a pile of shit would be fought over.

    While the family was eating, four members of the gang that controlled their district, the Mexican beheading gang, stormed in and dragged Andrea out the door.

    Andrea wanted to draw his gun and resist, but it was too close, and he was viciously pinned to the ground, his head pressed down.

    "Looks like you''ve found yourself a decent gang," said a man with a hooked nose, toying with his Makarov, exhaling a breath of air.

    "Let me go, Marcelo! I''ve left the gang; I did what you asked!"

    The other manughed coldly, "In Mexico, there''s no leaving, only death!"

    Local gangs, to keep people loyal, forbade switching sides; many drug trafficking organizations would even kidnap family members of their recruits to force them to work for them.

    So, the loyalty was generally very low.

    Catherine was terrified by the intruders but covered her mouth, not daring to cry out. Celia tried to intervene and was knocked to the ground, forced to watch helplessly as her son was dragged away.

    Andrea didn''t want to die and shouted vigorously, "Go to Elvisto Street, find Holder to save me!"

    He was thrown into the trunk of a car. Before the men drove off, they cast a cold nce at Celia and left with long strides.

    Once they were gone, Celia rushed madly toward Elvisto Street, but after asking many people in the district, no one knew the ce. Eventually, she found a local restaurant where Holder''s people happened to pick up their food, and word reached his ears.

    A member of his own crew being kidnapped by a previous pany" was no small matter.

    If he didn''t look after him, Andrea was as good as dead, possibly to be beheaded and left on the street as a warning to those who thought about "defecting."

    But for his own people, Holder wasn''t one to let go easily!

    He was in the game to stand up for his crew!

    ...

 Chapter 22: 22: God bless, kill them!

    Chimalhuac¨¢n, warehouse.

    Ryan ced a box on the table with both hands, and next to it were neatly arranged dozens of magazines. Under the curious gazes of a dozen pairs of eyes, he pried it open to reveal the grenades lying silently inside.

    "Everyonee up and take two grenades, four magazines. Sergio, Maximo, Alfredo, and Juan, you switch to Uzi submachine guns,"

    Ryan was always straightforward with his tasks, pointing to four people who had recently performed well and handing them the Uzi submachine guns.

    Shooting is just like fucking; you just need to know how to disengage the safety and pull the trigger. It''s not like it requires any education. Do you need a college graduate to shoot a gun?

    A 14-year-old kid and a 40-year-old middle-aged man can fire bullets just as deadly.

    "Tonight we''re going to attack the base camp of the Mexican beheading gang, the Sakaburanka Japanese Cuisine, and an arcade," Ryan had dug to the bottom of it.

    Information is cheap; you just get someone to ask around.

    Ryan looked at the gunmen below, all of them were spirited, even flushed with excitement¡ªa ssic case of an adrenaline high.

    They had been through firefights before, but taking guns to seize territory was a rare encounter.

    Perhaps, the emergence of Mexico''s new generation will make the struggle for territory among ordinary gangs even more brutal and bloody.

    Let those penny-pinching talkers see if you don''t have enough guns under yourmand, just wait to get beaten.

    Holder stood with his arms crossed to the side and watched, "It''s about time to take them out for a spin."

    "Yeah, they''ve trained for a few days and have seen blood before," Ryan nodded.

    Holder ced a briefcase on the table, turned it upside down and out spilled stacks of Peso bills floating in the air, deeply stimting the gunmen''s nerves.

    "This is for you, a total of 6000 Pesos. Once you take down Iparda district, the money is yours to split. Field expenses are on top,"

    Holder was truly generous.

    He believed in one thing: "Money drives action."

    Most importantly, Holder''s ambitions were growing by the day.

    He needed more territory.

    Only then would his organization of Mexico''s new generation be on a more lucrative path!

    "Rest assured, this money won''t get lost. As soon as you break through, it''ll be paid out immediately,"

    The excitement was palpable; even the regr army would get a couple of ps now, and if Jesus showed up without offering a drink, did he really think he could leave?

    Ryan stepped forward, pressing down their restlessness, stirring them up further.

    "Young people are easy to incite." Ryan looked at the young gunmen and sighed. Every profession had an age limit. To be honest, if you''re over 40 in a crime organization, you either climb up the ranks or you retire clean.

    Business people of any kind prefer 18-year-olds because they don''t care about the consequences¡ªtypical of someone who feeds only himself without worrying about anyone else. Those even younger, if you talk to them the wrong way, they''re truly willing to stab you with a knife.

    "Tonight, we''ll nt our g high!" Holder responded.

    "Let me get you something good." Holder went back to the office and came out with a violin case.

    "What''s this?"

    "I bought it from Best."

    Ryan was already curious about what was inside. As he peeked through a crack and saw what was inside, his eyes widened instantly.

    "Fuck!" he blurted out a curse.

    "May God bless us to kill those bastards tonight, Amen," Holder prayed with open eyes.

    Jesus would have found this scene rather chaotic.

    ...

    Mexico is livelier at night than during the day.

    If you really don''t believe it, go to Mexico for a visit. If you see a group of three or five people standing around talking, just walk up and tap one of them on the shoulder. In Spanish, say, "Vete a mierda!"

    Remember, you must speak Spanish, the officialnguage of Mexico. If you speak English, some of them haven''t had an education and might not understand you.

    After that, you''ll know what it feels like to be shot full of holes.

    In the evening, as the sun sets, the prostitutes start their shift.

    Everywhere there were scantily d girls and tattooed gang members patrolling around to see if anyone was disturbing the peace.

    The new generation of gunmen from Mexico rode in two sedans, the spoils of war they had snatched after killing Anna, heading toward the Iparda district.

    The straight-line distance was about 7 kilometers, but it took them about 30 minutes to get there by car after a lot of driving around.

    A Japanese cuisine restaurant, outfitted with luxury lightness and transparent ss, allowed visibility inside where people were seated. There were few customers¡ªwhat poor person would eat Japanese food?

    The poor went to eat at the army hot pot ces, after all, it''s a big hodgepodge.

    Inside sat more than a dozen characters who looked like they shouldn''t be messed with, with several openly snorting powder. Money and gunsy on the table.

    The cars drove past, and Ryan, sitting in the passenger seat, leaned out, pulled the pin from a grenade and rolled it through the open door.

    Boom!

    All the surrounding ss was shattered into pieces, and pedestrians on the sidewalk screamed, covering their ears, while experienced vendors crawled quickly to the ground and left the area in a prone, low position.

    Holder, wearing a hood, pushed open the car door, got out with his men, stood at the entrance, and sprayed the interior with his Uzi. Click¡ªthe gun ran out of bullets and jammed. The gunmen following him rushed in with their handguns.

    Holder, after reloading his magazine, walked into the Japanese restaurant, where those dozen or so people from before nowy on the ground. He took out some photos from his pocket,pared them and then said to his guy, "Not a single one, kill them all."

    The gunmen nodded and executed any who were still breathing with a direct shot to the head.

    Time to delete the ount and start over.

    "Let''s go, to the arcade!"

    The fight here was easy, one grenade solved everything, but the arcade was not so simple. The space inside wasrge, and if a grenade was thrown inside without killing everyone, only the unlucky yers would get blown away.

    What does this illustrate?

    ying games can lead to idents.

    Members of the Mexican beheading gang were countering with the help of machines because the entrance was very narrow, and they didn''t dare charge in.

    If their reinforcements arrived, they would truly be fucked.

    "Juan, open that thing up!" Ryan yelled at a gunman nearby, who gestured an OK, squatted down, opened the small violin case, and revealed an RPG-7 rocketuncher inside.

    The other gunmen were stunned.

    We''re a gang fight, not counter-terrorism by the regr army, right?

    Even if they''d never used it, they''d seen it before, often on TV. American soldiers had to yell, "R~P~G!" before firing, as if the damn projectile wouldn''t explode if they didn''t shout.

    Ryan had never used this thing before, but saw there was an instruction manual underneath. He picked it up, "Fuck, isn''t there one in Spanish?"

    "Boss, it looks like you just shove the projectile into the front hole, there''s a drawing here." Juan pointed to a small human figure drawn in the instructions.

    "Hurry up and load it for me."

    Juan took out a rocket and shoved it into the front hole following the drawings, while Ryan pressed down with his thumb, cocking the hammer and pushing out the safety catch to the left.

    The Soviets are pretty meticulous.

    The illustrations were clear.

    That''s for people who can''t read.

    "Don''t stand behind me! Move!" Ryan pushed Juan aside, took a deep breath, took advantage of a gap and rushed out, pulled the trigger without aiming, and shot into the arcade.

    This was truly divine.

    Standing and firing an RPG into a room, it was like having all buffs active.

    Even the Russians didn''t do this often.

    Whizz~~

    The rocket, trailing fins, surged toward its target.

    Someone shouted.

    "R~P~G!!!"

    ...

 Chapter 23: 23: Celebrities

    ```

    When in doubt, use an RPG!

    After one shot, I could even feel the entire arcade shaking violently; a hole was sted through the wall, turning it into a dangerous building.

    The violent demolition partner.

    "Charge in!"

    Ryan carefully set down theuncher¡ªthis thing was for sale, and even a scratch could decrease its value.

    I like employees who take care ofpany property.

    Juan, brandishing a submachine gun, rushed in, shouting something unintelligible in his excitement. The arcade was filled with dust¡ªgetting in his eyes, it stung fiercely, forcing him to stop and rub his eyes. Suddenly, he was mmed by a massive force.

    A member of the Mexican beheading gang, his hair soaked with blood mixed with dust and eyes red with rage, was strangling Juan with both hands.

    Caught off guard for a moment, Juan quickly recovered. Used to fighting dirty on the streets, he thrust his right knee upward with all his force.

    He struck directly at the man''s vulnerable spot.

    Feeling the grip on his neck loosen, Juan turned the tables, grabbed the attacker''s head, and punched him in the eye, causing the man to howl in pain.

    The gunmen who followed him in pinned the attacker to the ground, smashing his face against the floor.

    Limping over, Holder crouched down, grabbed the man''s hair to examine his face, and pulled out a photo topare. "Marcelo Martinez?"

    Number three in the Mexican beheading gang, nicknamed "Hound."

    A vicious and cunning man.

    But these types of descriptions apply to almost every Mexican drug trafficker; anyone less than vicious is already underground, serving as fertilizer.

    "Where is Andrea?" Ryan asked in a stern voice.

    Marcelo was clearly tough, his entire face distorted from the pull on his hair and his eyes swollen like buns. Hearing the question, he let out a deep, dryugh from his throat, "I know who you are."

    "Trying to save him? I''ve already buried him alive!"

    Ryan, his face concealed by a hood, giving no hint of emotion, stared coldly and punched Marcelo directly in the teeth with such force that they broke off.

    Marcelo clutched his mouth in pain.

    "Knock his teeth out; I really hate tough guys!" Ryan said to Juan, who nodded, took the butt of his gun, and smashed it against Marcelo''s mouth.

    A row of teeth came loose.

    The excruciating pain caused Marcelo to twitch uncontrobly. Juan ordered some men to hold him down, raised the gunstock, and seeing the fear finally emerge in the man''s eyes, struck him hard.

    How many true tough guys are there in the world?

    If there were, they''d use their bones as screwdrivers.

    Marcelo tried to hold out, but after the second blow, he couldn''t take it anymore and confessed immediately.

    "Andrea is in the bathroom inside..."

    Ryan nodded at Juan, who led two gunmen into the bathroom. Soon, they dragged out Andrea, beaten to the point of being nearly unrecognizable.

    "Kill him!"

    One of the gunmen pulled out a dagger, grinned menacingly, and pressed Marcelo''s head down. Realizing he was about to die, Marcelo struggled intensely, but it was in vain. He was stabbed through the neck, his eyes'' light fading instantly.

    He fell to the ground, convulsing with violence.

    Ryan and his men scanned the arcade several times, finding the other leaders of the Mexican beheading gang. Their luck was worse; the RPG st tore them apart.

    Did you think everyone was Schwarzenegger? That they could escape an RPG in time?

    Even if you were Iron Man, you''d still get a hole punched through you.

    The Iparda district is now quiet.

    The people have all fled.

    As Ryan and his team left, he heard a whistle and ran over to Holder.

    Holder turned his head, "Tough job, all clean?"

    "They''re all dead, I''ve made sure of it," said Ryan.

    "Cut off their heads and throw them in the middle of the street. From now on, the new generation of Mexico will call the shots here!"

    Even Holder felt a surge of excitement, taking over the Iparda district signified that the organization had entered the "sustainable development" phase; they would be the reigning Emperor Emeritus here.

    If the police wanted to search, the new generation of Mexico would have the right to enforce localw and order.

    "Increase the gunmen to 30. We can start implementing the n we talked about before, find a warehouse to turn into a vocational school. Recruit students aged 19, no sry before graduation, but provide food and amodation."

    This damn capitalist dog. But he''s a man of conscience; he didn''t invent something called "regted training." Think about it, if you n to join a gang, you have to pay to learn here for two days, with three years of unpaid internship...

    See if your followers won''t work you to death.

    "How long to study?"

    "Three weeks should be enough for them to learn how to shoot and fire RPGs."

    How long does cannon fodder need to be trained?

    A vocational school, to learn non-essential things like math and English?

    ```

    "There''s one more thing, very important."

    Holder turned his head, looking at them, and Ryan quickly leaned in, "Just say we''ve got a batch of Soviet weapons."

    He was nning to be a second-tier dealer!

    "Got it," Ryan nodded in understanding.

    "I remember the Mexican beheading gang still has quite a few rtives around here? I''m leaving this to you, Victor doesn''t like it when things are dragged out till the next day."

    "I''ll make them shut up forever," Ryan said fiercely.

    ...

    The sun rose as usual.

    Sitting in the restaurant having his meal, Victor held a newspaper, a hobby of his.

    In an edition of the Chimalhuac¨¢n Times, he noticed an article about the Iparda district, apanied by a blurred picture that still distinctly showed a figure with an Uzi submachine gun, exuding a bandit''s aura.

    It seemed like this was the buyer Best had found?

    Gangs will be gangs, none too elegant.

    There was also a tabloid journalist on that street at the time.

    But the shot wasn''t good enough, the angle off.

    "Victor."

    Casare trotted over, sweating slightly from theck of exercise, an odor detectable on him.

    He was visibly excited, speaking in a hushed tone, "We''ve got business. Someone contacted Best this morning wanting to buy from us, arge quantity. They want 100 AK47s and 100,000 rounds of ammunition, they even specifically asked for 10 RPGs and 20 grenades."

    On hearing this, Victor couldn''t help but look up, "Who wants that many guns? Are they nning to form a rebellion?"

    All those weapons could wage a small war.

    Even the small guerri groups in Afghanistan fighting the Soviet Union didn''t have that many weapons, and Victor''s first reaction was disbelief.

    But then again, this was the magical world of Latin America, what''s impossible?

    One saying sums up this ce: Mines are everywhere, wealth is procured through the barrel of a gun.

    Arms dealing is sensitive in nature. The sound of that RPG echoed over two kilometers yesterday, and there could be spies for the big drug traffickers all over the district.

    Perhaps the drug lords hadn''t slept at allst night, eager to find out exactly what had happened.

    "Which organization?"

    Casare nced around mysteriously, "Sinaloa."

    "Pff, cough, cough, cough..."

    Victor choked, his face turning red, "Palma?"

    Casare nodded excitedly, "They say they''re at war with Tijuana, their enemy torched two of their ntations. Palma is furious and wants retaliation. It''s a matter of life and death on both sides now."

    Oh?

    Fighting for turf?

    Arms dealers love to profit from disorder.

    Sinaloa is a massive enterprise, making more in a year than some of the Fortune 500. Otherwise, why do you think Guzm¨¢n could rise straight to the ranks of the world''s richest after Palma died?

    "They''ve sent someone, wanting to meet us on I Parda Street."

    So urgent?

    Seems like the situation is serious.

    Victor was cunning, "Let''s not hurry, let''s eat first, Cavanis help Casare with his food."

    A jail guard sitting not too far responded.

    Seeing Victor soposed, Casare, although antsily anxious inside, managed to calm down.

    Boss Gao was, of course, thinking about jacking up the prices.

    If not now, when else to raise the selling price?

    You wait for people to be cremated before selling coffins, you wait for guests to leave before pouring drinks.

    As for offending the other party?

    Fuck that!

    Is your dad named Jesus?

    Even Jesus would have to pay!

    "Do we know who''sing?"

    "Joaqu¨ªn Guzm¨¢n Loera!"

    ...

 Chapter 24: 24: Earning One Cent Less Feels as Painful as Killing Me!

    Those who understand Mexican history couldn''t possibly be unaware of Joaqu¨ªn Guzm¨¢n Loera.

    Born in 1957 in the state of Sinaloa, the cradle of drug lords in Mexico, an agricultural stronghold, the traditional crops became unprofitable due to the free market and cheap US agricultural products, prompting many farmers to start growing DM or YP.

    Guzman''s father was one such farmer, fond of drink and women, a trait that might have been inherited through DNA, as evidenced by hister formalization of four marriages and countless mistresses.

    Guzman dropped out of school in the third grade, frequently beaten by his father. As the saying goes, the children of the poor must take on family responsibilities early, and at 15, he pooled money with a few cousins to contract farming ventures, taking on the role of breadwinner. These same cousinster fell out with him and split from the Sinaloa Group to form the Beltr¨¢n-Leyva Cartel.

    They managed a ntation for a while,

    but soon discovered that middlemen were making all the profit.

    Hence, his first entrepreneurial endeavor was dered a failure.

    He then joined the ranks of Pedro''s operation, one of the first-generation drug lords in Sinaloa, working under one of Pedro''s lieutenants, Palma, tasked with transporting goods to the US-Mexico border to be handed over to cross-border smugglers. Due to his short stature of around 1.6 meters, he was nicknamed "Shorty".

    But you wouldn''t dare call him that to his face, or he would make you understand what it meant to prefer death over life.

    Cool-headed, ruthless, and with a good business sense, he quickly stood out and became an invaluable aide to Palma, When the boss Pedro was killed in thete ''70s, Gardo took over and became the decision-maker.

    Guzman even served as a driver for Godfather Gardo.

    It was well known that being a driver for the boss could lead to a prosperous future, and soon his talents were recognized. Gardo put him in charge of logistics, often running to Colombia and Honduras, thereby expanding his connections significantly.

    After the Guadjara Cartel fell apart, Gardo''s lieutenants convened to divvy up territories, and the Sinaloa Group reestablished itself as independent. By then, the capable "Shorty" began to earn his reputation as a "tunnel-digging maniac."

    He built tunnels at the border, ferrying goods into the United States around the clock.

    The Colombians'' wares would reach designated warehouses in the United States within a week through his operations, a logistics phenomenon that could put some courierpanies to shame.

    Of course, as things stood, Guzman was quietly amassing a fortune and was not yet famous, mainly because he kept a low profile and hadn''t yet made the United States'' most-wanted list.

    Ten o''clock in the morning.

    Victor and Casare arrived at the agreed-upon district, where they could clearly feel an increase in unfamiliar faces on the streets.

    In a neighborhood caf¨¦, Victor met this legendary figure.

    He blinked subconsciously.

    "6,750,000!"

    Guzman was still the number two man at the moment, so his points hadn''t exceeded expectations, but Victor had discovered something remarkable in his recent focus.

    The killing of Palma!

    Victor looked at him deeply, brimming with ambition. Indeed, a real man could not contentedly remain subordinate forever.

    "Wee, Mr. Guzman."

    The other man sat upright, sparing his words and smiles. When he saw the extended hand as if he hadn''t seen it, you could tell he was a very proud man.

    "I''vee here to purchase a batch of goods."

    Seeing him not giving face like this, Best and the others clearly frowned, stepping forward. Victor blocked them with his hand, squeezing his palm, smiling, "I know, you want guns, we have them! 1300 US dors each, bullets 5 for 1 US dor, RPGs 3000 US dors each, with shells at 600 US dors apiece."

    "However, the international situation isn''t great now, with the Middle East in turmoil. There''s not much left in my hands, I can give a maximum of 30 guns, 100,000 bullets, and 2 RPGs, with the rest to be delivered within a month."

    They raided a gang and made a fortune.

    Gained over 6000 more points, bringing the total to 9781 points.

    From this, you can tell that whatever the Beheading Gang presents themselves as, they''re nothing but lowlife scum, not fit for the public eye.

    But just 100 AKs would be worth 15,000 points.

    Where to find some unlucky souls to shoot?

    Guzman had a nasty temper. At the words, his brow furrowed, "Are you joking with me? 1300 US dors? I can buy an M4 on the US ck market!"

    "American prostitutes don''t taste the same as Soviet ones, Mr. Guzman. Shooting a gun is like doing X, you''ve been pressing her for a long time, you ought to find another target for your finger. AK47 has many customers, the whole world needs theirfort, and exports are always a bit pricier."

    "$1,300 is just a tip you give to the FBI in the United States, but of course, if you really think the price is too high, then I can rmend other goods to you, but you''ll have to wait a long time, you know, the whole world is at war."

    Guzman felt that the initiative was all in the other party''s hands, which made him very ufortable. He didn''t like this feeling, but Sinaloa had indeed suffered heavy losses in the recent battles with Tijuana and desperately needed weapons to stabilize their territory.

    If the house was robbed, everyone would die.

    Of course, he wasn''t here specifically to seek the other party out. Would he be ufortable digging holes at the border for a deal worth hundreds of thousands of US dors?

    Guzman was called by the boss, Palma, to see the Protection Umbre, hoping someone could mediate in the middle.

    Hearing that someone was selling arms here, he came by the way.

    He didn''t like this bastard named Victor, didn''t know why, from the first nce he just felt very annoyed inside, maybe... because the other party was taller than him?

    Guzman nodded to a guy beside him, and thetter ced a box on the table, opened it, and inside, cocaine was revealed, a stack of packages piled up.

    "There are 60 packs here, in exchange for your weapons."

    "I''m sorry, we ept US dors, British pounds, Mexican pesos, French francs, but we just don''t take drugs. Can I deposit them in the bank? What kind of joke is this, we are a legitimatepany," Victor said with a wave of his hand and a smile, but this gesture aggravated Guzman, who drew his gun and pointed it at the other''s head, "In Mexico, no one can refuse Sinaloa!"

    Seeing him draw his gun, Best and Duke each raised their weapons, confronting the drug traffickers on the other side.

    Victor was still sitting with his legs crossed, lifted his head to look at him, and pointed to his own head, "Shoot here, don''t hit my chest, I just changed into this suit."

    "But, Guzman, if I end up lying here today, you''ll join me in death. Let''s see if your lousy pistol has more bullets or if my submachine gun has fiercer firepower."

    "You''re acting like the boss on my turf? Didn''t your mother teach you anything!"

    Victor kicked the table forcefully, exuding a powerful aura.

    He didn''t say he was a cop because for drug traffickers, this identity would be even more stimting.

    Guzman squinted his eyes, and the henchmen behind him all watched the boss; they didn''t want to die here. The other side was right, once the submachine gun unleashed a volley, they''d all be lying here.

    Beacon-sized beads of sweat seeped from the temples of Best and Casare, their hands gripping the guns were a bit nervous.

    Guzman truly lived up to being called: thest slippery veteran drug lord.

    If it were the "Z3" Cascano from the Millennium era, he might have already been in a direct confrontation by now.

    That guy established Los Zetas.

    Guzman suddenly rxed his grip on the gun, ced it on the table, and squeezed out a smile on his face, "You''re impressive, Victor, I admire people like you. You''re right, drugs can''t be deposited in a bank, so let''s deal with cash."

    The guy yed cowardly when he sensed something was wrong, but Victor knew that this guy must already hate him enough to grind his teeth.

    Mexican drug lords are ustomed to solving problems with violence, facing difficulties with one word: "Barge". It was rare for someone like him to voluntarily y the coward.

    No wonder the Yankster put up a $15 million bounty on him.

    The subsequent transaction went smoothly; they were given cash, loaded the goods into the car, and left directly.

    This was the first encounter between Victor and Guzman, and it was not friendly at all.

    Casare, with lingering fears, said, "Victor, they are Sinaloa, they are brutal, doing this..."

    "The most brutal violence organizations in the world are always national governments, but aren''t we still offending them for the sake of money? The constitution is their tool for collecting wealth, and the army is their violent means to maintain power and riches, just like the United States."

    "Are you afraid of its weapons? Or its power?"

    Even the smallest drug trafficking group in Mexico wouldn''t yield to you just because you''re awesome; at worst, they''d fight you. If you don''t kill me, I''ll join your enemy and go after you.

    Pablo even directly funded the rebels because the Colombian government was giving him trouble.

    "What I fear has never been death, but someone encroaching on my interests, earning one point less is as ufortable as killing me!"

    ...

 Chapter 25: 25: Do the Wrong Thing and Get Hit!!

    ```

    "Bang!"

    Guzman mmed the car door shut with a grim expression on his face.

    "Get me everything on this bastard, even if I have to know how many lovers his mother has!"

    He rolled down the window and said to his trusted lieutenant.

    "Boss, do you want someone to just take him out?" the trusted flunky asked.

    "Not yet, let''s figure out his connections first," Guzman replied.

    Being petty, those who offended Guzman didn''t end up with good oues. At 12, he ran his own ntation, but there was a thug who liked to bully them, always trying to snatch something from him.

    So, one night, he and his cousin broke into the guy''s house, personally ughtered him, and wiped out his mother and her children as well.

    This incident was recorded in the collective memoir of the four Beltran Leyva brothers, where they referred to this cousin as: bastard!

    From a young age, he showed extraordinary fierceness, brutality, and venomous tendencies.

    As he grew older, his temperament mellowed slightly; he knew to check the background of his adversaries first. It wasn''t that they couldn''t afford to offend someone, but rather to be fully prepared for any bacsh.

    Victor wasn''t the least bit anxious about having upset a "big drug trafficker."

    Even the Pope had to pay for weapons; otherwise, they''d shave your head and send you to India to be a monk.

    He didn''t mind the stench on US dor bills at all, counting them one by one. Despite his disdain for the Yanks, Franklin''s face actually looked "quite pretty" on them.

    The total was 67,000 US dors.

    Money, this thing, even if it had a pile of shit printed on it, people would still call it "art." Tattoo an eye in the middle of a forehead, and you''d be branded a weirdo.

    Victor flicked through ten of the bills and handed them to Best, "Lucky I have you two, have fun, and I''ll pick up the bill tonight."

    1,000 US dors!

    Truly freaking generous.

    They could take over the entire brothel block with that.

    Victor was just generous like that; one must learn to share. After all, he would need them to risk their lives for him in the future, he ought to give them some incentives.

    "Oh yeah, the end of the month is the day after tomorrow. I''ll have Casare calcte the ounts, and your bonus will be sent on the 1st," Victor called out to Best before he left.

    At the mention of moneying his way, a smile spread across Best''s face.

    "No need for any statements, it won''t make a difference if I look at them or not."

    Victor waved his hand, with the smoke from his cigarette harsh in his eyes, making them blur a bit. He waved his hand again, "We''re in this business to keep things clear-cut. What I promised you, I''ll deliver."

    It''s one thing if the ounts are small in a month, but what if you start earning millions or even tens of millions a month? Then see if they won''t start grumbling in their hearts?

    Never test human nature with money; you''ll find it''s "worthless."

    ¡­

    "Victor, I think you should get yourself some bodyguards," Casare said, looking at his boss through the rearview mirror, making a suggestion, "As our business gets better, we''ll have more and more enemies."

    His meaning was crystal clear.

    Boss, be careful not to get whacked. We''re all counting on you to make our fortune.

    Victor heard him and felt it made sense. Mexico was teeming with assassins, with his temper not taking any slight thing lying down. Today he could be shouldering an RPG and sting his enemies; tomorrow, they could do the same to him.

    Victor nodded in agreement.

    Many influential people had bodyguards, even a small police precinct captain, as long as he had money, would hire bodyguards because Mexico was really dangerous.

    "Let Best handle this. He''s in the middle, he must know someone familiar."

    The reason why Los Zetaster became so brazen was that most of them came from Special Forces, with their leader Razcano even poaching from the Guatemn Special Forces.

    Suddenly, they became a peculiar quasi-military organization.

    Many military enthusiasts do not acknowledge Guatemnmandos, butpared to the gunmen of regr drug trafficking organizations, they were the ace of spades against a bunch of wild cards, with formidablebat strength. That made other trafficking groups start to recruit professional mercenaries as well.

    One could also say that it was Los Zetas who escted the cruelty of the Mexican drug wars to an unprecedented level.

    However, at that time, the leader of the Gulf Group, Cardenas, was also a dumbass. If you give them the right to kidnap and kill, that''s fine, but you also give them the opportunity to smuggle, oh-oh, once they get the hang of it, they go into business for themselves.

    "Got any other good ideas? Feel free to speak up."

    "I need to request some funds, I want to treat the people in the Second District to a meal."

    ```

    "Is this to cozy up to the colleagues for easier operations?"

    Victor had no reason to refuse, but he was thinking bigger, "I think we should expand the scope and invite all the jail guards from every district to join the revelry."

    "That will require a lot of money," Casare said, surprised.

    With over 700 jail guards at teau Prison, even without luxury items like sea cucumber and shark''s fin, it would still cost a pretty penny.

    "We should let our colleagues see that we''re flush with cash, buddy. Nobody wants to deal with the poor; if you have enough money, even the President of the United States can be your friend."

    He was desperately short of points; quite a few old-timers in the Third District had been locked up for so long that many news media couldn''t be bothered to report on them anymore. Such people should be dragged out for a humane destruction!

    I''ll never share the sky with the wicked.

    That''s just the way society is, without money you have no friends, but if you''re wealthy, plenty of people will suck up to you, so if you have money, don''t hide it.

    Money isn''t dirty.

    Even if it were, someone would still want it.

    "So what''s the reason? The warden might not approve," Casare said.

    "If we don''t get approval, we just give up? Just make up any reason; say it''s your grandmother''s 100th birthday."

    Casare was troubled, "But my grandmother is already dead."

    "She can still be alive."

    Casare''s face immediately froze, but since the boss had spoken, he had no choice but to go along with it, even though the excuse was crappy. He might as well say his grandfather was remarrying.

    ...

    Mexicans both love and fear the night.

    After a hard day''s work, you can finally go for a drink at night, or even find a woman to pour your heart out to, but the fear is of gang conflicts causing unnecessary casualties.

    But men, unless they''re dead, they''re lechorous.

    You can see elderly men by the roadside asking prostitutes for prices, and if theye to an agreement, they''d both head down an alleyway.

    Maduro Pedestrian Street.

    A bustlingmercial district in Mexico City, with only seven kilometers length, houses over 20 KTVs and 30 bars, a veritable paradise on earth.

    Song Wu staggered out, drunk as a skunk, with a few of his minions and a dozen girls, his hands roving improperly all over.

    He had a mixed-blood face, darker skin, not very tall, but robust. One of his minions drove the car to the front of the KTV. As Song Wu was about to get into the car with a woman, he was blinded by a high beam shining in his eyes.

    "Motherfucker..."

    Just as Song Wu was cursing, he heard screams nearby, then felt a violent collision. Despite the car acting as a barrier, he was still thrown several meters away.

    He felt pain all over, but his first thought was to kill the bastard driving the car!

    It was a white van; the doors opened, and four masked men carrying submachine guns jumped out. Amidst the screams of onlookers, they sprayed the inside of the car.

    The driver was blown to heaven.

    Song Wu sobered up instantly, realizing someone was trying to take him out. He got up and ran, but one of the gunmen noticed his figure and shot a burst at Song Wu''s feet, hitting him and he fell to the ground.

    These men worked in perfect harmony. Seeing him fall, two of them covered Song Wu''s head with a sack, while the other two stood on the hood of an abandoned car, shooting at his minions who were hiding nearby.

    "Retreat!"

    The two dragged Song Wu into the van, and one of them yelled as he sat in the passenger seat.

    Before leaving, one of the gunmen on the roof took a grenade from his pocket, tossed it into the sedan, and with a "boom," the van sped off.

    The intense explosion sent mes engulfing the car, and those who hadn''t managed to escape crawled up from the ground, looking around bewildered and terrified, some crying out in search of friends.

    The rules of the Mexican game: Once you''ve killed the target, you can''t kill us anymore, yo.

    So, in a shootout, run if you can; if you can''t, hit the deck. Usually, no one aims to kill bystanders on the ground deliberately; that''s simply a waste of bullets.

    They''re criminals, not anti-social psychopaths.

    By the time the gang responsible for watching the area extinguished the fire, the car was stripped down,pletely burned to a cinder. Song Wu''s minions finally came out, calling for their boss a few times, but when there was no response, they panicked.

    And when the local gang leader heard the news, he couldn''t help but raise an eyebrow.

    The local Juarez gang lieutenant, known as the "Vietnamese Tiger," Song Wu, was kidnapped in broad daylight?

    There''s a drama worth watching.

    ...

 Chapter 26: 26: Suspension and Investigation (Please follow and read more!)

    Suburbs of Mexico City.

    This ce is deste, even drug traffickers can''t be bothered toe here at night.

    The plots on TV are all bullshit, as if drug deals in this kind of remote wilderness wouldn''t get busted.

    It''s more conspicuous this way, goddamn!

    This is Mexico, where people trade in glittering KTVs; why the helle here?

    Under the moonlight, you can see a small house, covered in cobwebs, looking like it''s been abandoned for quite some time.

    "Woof!"

    The deep growling of the dog made Song Wu tense all over, his scalp tingling. His head was covered, his vision obscured, but his body was tightly bound, which was the most terrifying part.

    Suddenly, the hood was loosened, and as it was removed, the abrupt light forced his pupils to adjust defensively. It took a good while before he adapted. As he just lifted his head, he saw a ferocious dog staring at him, drool hanging from its mouth, its sharp teeth gleaming.

    "Grr Woof!" The dog growled and lunged forward, straining against the grip of someone holding it back.

    Song Wu swallowed hard, trying to stay as calm as possible, his fierce gaze sweeping over those present, searching for any familiar faces. He did indeed spot one.

    "Ryan! What are you doing!"

    "Do you still remember me?"

    Ryan didn''t speak, but Holder, who stood by, spoke first, staring at his "long-awaited" nemesis, his breath quickening.

    Countless nights, he curled up on the wooden bed in the slums, enduring the cold winds that could freeze to death, suffering the humiliation of beatings, all he wanted was to survive, to take revenge!

    Song Wu looked at him, confusion shing in his eyes.

    After all, Holder had changed too much, his face scarred by burns, his aurapletely altered.

    "Heh, seems like you''ve forgotten."

    Holder, limping, slowly walked towards Song Wu, "You didn''t expect that the fire didn''t kill me, did you?"

    Song Wu''s look of initial bewilderment turned to wide-eyed recognition, "You are Holder!"

    "See, you do remember me."

    Holder said with a grin, yanking Song Wu''s hair and pulling it back. As he leaned close to Song Wu''s ear amidst his frightened gaze, he whispered, "I''vee for you!"

    Gurgle~

    Song Wu''s adam''s apple bobbed, the alcohol in his system instantly evaporating. He looked at Holder trying to exin, "I didn''t start the fire, I never intended to burn you alive."

    Exnations always sound so feeble!

    "Don''t worry, you can confess to God, he will forgive you."

    Upon hearing these words, Juan released his grip on the dog and, to Song Wu''s horror, the Bordeaux Mastiff pounced on him.

    "Ah!!!"

    The Mastiff bit into his thigh, shaking its head vigorously.

    Song Wu struggled with all his might, knocking over the chair he''d been tied to, as the dog mped onto his face, growling amidst his agonized screams.

    Even Juan felt nauseous.

    "Inject him with adrenaline, I want to watch him die from the bites," Holder clearly didn''t want to let him off easy, having even bought this "torture drug" especially.

    "Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!"

    Song Wu screamed in pain, rolling on the ground, being bitten by the dog was no light matter, it was almost as forceful as a girlfriend''s pinch.

    "Don''t worry, I won''t let you walk that path alone," Ryan spoke up. "I''ll send your three mistresses and eight kids to meet you. Oh, and your mother Shaina¡ªthat was me¡ªI tied her to the toilet... and then..."

    Holder narrated his murderous acts like a devil, his expression a bit manic.

    Don''t preach about magnanimity, nor think others are extreme.

    It''s just repressed madness waiting to be unleashed.

    Preaching goodness? May lightning strike!

    Song Wu''s screamssted all night long, each time he was about to pass out, he would be injected with adrenaline.

    By dawn, it''s not urate to say he was reduced to a skeleton¡ªthat''s too dramatic¡ªbut he was nearly left without a patch of good flesh.

    The Mastiff, having had its fill,y next to him sleeping.

    Holder stood in front of Song Wu who was barely breathing, not even having the strength to speak. He took a knife and ended him.

    "Cut off his head, throw it in the trash can."

    Stepping out of the cabin, at the doorstep, the sun rose slowly.

    "That sunrise is truly beautiful," Ryan said, stepping up beside him and handing him a cigarette, marveling at the red dawn spread across the sky.

    "Yes, it''s dawn."

    In Holder''s gaze, reflecting in his memories, he looked up to the sky, where it seemed his family of four stood. His parents were young back then, his home was still there, those times were warm.

    But...

    Having grown up, it''s all gone.

    Mexico has no room for tenderness.

    Two burly men stood at the door, leaning against the door frame, their gazes fixed on the rising sun. The remaining glow of the sun shone on the two men, casting their shadows along with the light.

    ...

    Song Wu''s head was found in a trash can.

    The sanitation worker who found it felt like someone who had taken drugs and then discovered that the prostitute they picked was actually a man.

    Completelycking any decency, not caring at all about the sanitation worker''s feelings!

    People from Juarez came to take the head away and sealed off the cabin.

    But the culprits had fled, what could be done?

    However, folks from Juarez certainly would not let this slide. A wave of panic swept through Mexico City; this was already the second attack targeting Juarez this month.

    They had reason to suspect it was the work of one of the bigger organizations.

    Still, these matters didn''t hinder the new generation in Mexico much; business was booming, making two deals, although only with small yers, selling less than 20,000 US dors'' worth.

    But it was a good start.

    If the arms trade wasn''t so sensitive, Victor might have considered asking how much it cost to advertise on TV.

    You know, Mexico touts "strict gun control." That''s right, there''s only one ce in the entire country where you can buy guns, even police have to make their purchases there.

    Drug traffickers use guns smuggled from the ck market.

    Drugs can soften one''s will and destroy the body, but if arms be rampant, that could shake the very foundations of rule.

    Believe it or not, advertise today and anti-terrorist squads show up tomorrow, not just the sweep but also the Yanks joining in. They certainly don''t want their close neighbor to fall into civil strife.

    "Victor~"

    "Good morning, Victor~"

    After the "yard standoff" incident, Victor''s reputation had almost done a 180¡ã turnaround within the prison. Many were more inclined to chat with him, effectively making him popr.

    Victor greeted them all with a friendly nod and a smile.

    These people wouldter be "helpers" in his career.

    "Hey, Victor." A female police officer in uniform¡ªand wearing ck tights¡ªstood at the entrance of the monitoring room and waved as she saw him.

    "Good morning, Ardama, is there something you need from me?"

    This was Anna''s recement, now the head of the Psychological Intervention Department, also known as the boss, devastatingly beautiful.

    You could deny the humanity of drug lords, but you couldn''t deny their taste.

    Could the service provided for the big boss be anything less?

    She was also the new secretary to Warden Webster.

    "The warden asked me to pass you these documents, from the Federal Preventive Police Department Bureau of Prison Administration," she handed over the documents, and Victor felt something was amiss as soon as he heard the name.

    Ardama continued, "Due to your enforcement causing the death of one criminal and serious injury to another, the Federal Preventive Police Department has issued a suspension order, with the Affairs Division to follow up with an investigation before further disposition."

    This is...

    Are they starting to go after me with official power?

    So, it''s basically administrative leave?

    There were already jail guards standing at the office corridor entrance looking this way.

    Victor opened the document in hand, which was indeed as she said,plete with a seal at the bottom. He nodded, pocketed the letter, and thanked Ardama with all the grace of a gentleman.

    "From now on, you are not allowed into the office premises."

    "No problem."

    Victor smiled, took a couple of steps away, then turned back, "Ardama? I''ll still be getting my sry, right?"

    Ardama was taken aback¡ªdo you still care about that?

    "Of... of course."

    "That''s good because my sry has to support my family."

    Victor tore the document in half and tossed it into a trash can, his mood not as rxed as his expression seemed to suggest.

    Now it was a suspension, but by tomorrow there would surely be news saying, "After review, Victor has been found guilty of serious dereliction of duty, dismissed from his post, and handed over for prosecution by the Disciplinary Inspection Department."

    If Warden Webster didn''t fear being too direct, he might as well have given him the suspension notice himself.

    And then, like a fish on the chopping board, he would be at the mercy of others.

    Sure enough, when ites to a career in the civil service, they execute you with more finesse than drug lords.

    He sought out Casare in the Second District, who was on duty. When he heard about the suspension, his eyebrows furrowed, but he patted his chest and said directly, "Boss, you can''t lose your police status. Don''t worry, I''ll handle this."

    As per the n, thepany was to provide Victor with financial and other forms of support, facilitating his ascent and serving as the group''s protection umbre.

    If they didn''t employ some tactics, did they really think they could be easily bullied?

    Boss, don''t take the job too seriously; it can be deadly.

    ...

 Chapter 27: 27: Dashachun, what are you doing!

    Mexico City, Column Base za.

    This should be the safest ce in Mexico.

    All the municipal institutions are around here, with military police patrolling everywhere, you can even see tanks.

    Before 1985, it wasn''t like this at all, it''s all because Pablo made everyone anxious, hepletely baffled all the drug traffickers in the world.

    Dumbass, what are you doing!

    The attack on the Supreme Court had such a bad impact that the Mexican Government was afraid someone would imitate it and raised the security level.

    The Federal Preventive Police department''s courtyard is also included, where you can see a lot of peopleing in and out. In a small building on the northwest corner, there lies the Prison Administration Bureau. It looks a bit mottled from the outside, but it''s indeed a department full of benefits.

    Carlos Alejandro pushed a stack of US dors into his briefcase from a drawer, almost a hundred thousand, zipped it up, straightened his attire in the mirror, nodded contentedly, and walked out of the office.

    This is just the time to get off work, and the colleagues he encountered all greeted him very cautiously, "Director."

    Alejandro would respond warmly.

    Getting into the car, seeing the cake and Barbie doll on the passenger seat, a gentle smile appeared on his face. Today was his daughter''s 8th birthday, he had turned down evening engagements just to celebrate it with her.

    Home was approximately six kilometers away from work, also afort zone. Compared to the slums, the environment here was like heaven and hell.

    The extreme gap between the rich and the poor was also a point of social conflict.

    After parking the car and carrying the gifts, he pushed open the external corridor door, took out the keys and opened the door, only to see unfinished tea on the coffee table, cigarettes in the ashtray, and toys on the floor. Alejandro tossed the keys on the sofa and called out, "Julia, Lucina~"

    But nobody answered him, and he immediately sensed something was off. He drew his weapon from the waist holster, alert as he walked toward the dining room.

    ording to the Mexican Survival Guide, in case of something amiss, use an RPG. Oh, sorry, that''s the Soviet Union guide.

    Alejandro pushed open the dining room door and instantly saw his wife and daughter tied to chairs. Just as he was about to rush over, a gun was pressed against the back of his head, and a man took his weapon, a deep voice said into his ear, "Don''t panic, sir, no shouting. I''m very timid, and if you scare me, maybe you''ll have to go into the Lord''s arms earlier than expected."

    "Don''t shoot, the valuables in the house are in the safe upstairs, the code is 978478. There''s 200,000 dors in there, take it all, I just hope you''ll spare our lives," Alejandro said calmly.

    He thought it was a robbery.

    Such home invasion robberies happened frequently, with chances like rape cases in India.

    The man behind him threateningly said, "You don''t want your head blown up, do you!"

    The statement sank Alejandro''s heart, and his mind was instantly flooded with many thoughts. Which deputy director had sent this person to kill him?

    A ce for every carrot, many had their eyes on the position of director.

    Just as Alejandro was thinking of how to deal with the situation, the man behind pushed him, sending him crashing into the dining table. Ignoring the pain, he quickly turned to see two men.

    The leader, with a crew cut hair and aggressive eyes like a beast, had a face with scars that was somewhat intimidating, a smile on his lips, "Let me introduce myself, Nuriel Best."

    "Someone asked me to have a chat with you, don''t worry, it''s just a simple talk."

    Duke passed over a bulky mobile phone, and Alejandro nced at it, thetter gesturing for him to answer with his eyes.

    Alejandro took a deep breath, his hands trembling, but he tried to steady himself as much as possible. To have reached this position, what scenarios had he not seen?

    Although still afraid, he understood, the more afraid you are, the quicker you die.

    "Hello~"

    A calm greeting came from the other side of the mobile phone, "Good evening, Officer Alejandro. I''m sorry to disturb you at this time. My friends haven''t hurt you, have they? If they have, I apologize on their behalf."

    "But on another note, I haven''t offended you, have I? Since you suspended me, I''ve had no food. Am I supposed to eat at your house? Do you know that by smashing my livelihood, I can''t sleep at night due to anxiety, damn it, losing hair all night long."

    The voice suddenly grew louder, startling Alejandro.

    "Who is this?"

    "Didn''t I say? Well, my name is Victor Carlos Vieri, Sergeant at teau Prison Third District, sir! Do you remember now?"

    He remembered; he had even thought that the name Vieri had an Italian style at the time. It was a suspension report from teau Prison, and since Webster often sent him gifts, he had signed it to give face.

    Damn it!

    He didn''t expect such a mess toe forth.

    "Sir, I only want to be a police officer, that''s my dream. You wouldn''t be so unreasonable, would you?"

    Alejandro, of course, hurriedly followed up, "No, no, in a moment, no, I''ll have someone lift the suspension report right away."

    Vic on the other side seemed satisfied, "Thank you, sir. Oh yes, by the way, how much do I need to stuff for the position of warden?"

    This abrupt question left Alejandropletely baffled, stuttering without knowing how to answer.

    "Hahaha, I''m just kidding, boss. Have a great night,"

    Alejandro looked up at Best, "Done..."

    The other took the brick phone, handed it to Duke, and, noticing the girl''s costume, put away his gun. He took out a stic-wrapped stack of US dors from his chest pocket and threw it on the dining table, "Don''t worry, your work won''t be for nothing. Here''s ten thousand dors. You''d better not meddle in the affairs between us and Webster going forward."

    "You wouldn''t want this to be your daughter''sst birthday."

    Best straightened his clothes for him and offered some advice, "Sir, when you''re out and about, remember to wear a bulletproof vest."

    After saying that, he patted his face, smiled, and walked away with Duke.

    Alejandro watched them leave and felt the energy supporting him dete, his legs going weak. He hurried over to untie his wife and daughter, holding them and whisperingfort.

    Most people in Mexico still know that the wise are the mighty.

    And those who don''t listen?

    Hehehe...

    Guzman once ordered his men to fire a few shots at the presidential candidates during an election rally.

    Arrogance is also abel Mexicans wear.

    ...

    Prison dormitory.

    Casare saw Victor hang up the phone and looked at him expectantly, "How did it go? Did he agree?"

    "No one can say ''no'' under the muzzle of a gun."

    "Send him ten thousand dors every month. Once he''s taken my money, it won''t be so easy for him to back out," Victor said, tapping his cigarette gently on the armrest, eyes narrowed.

    "Does that mean we can talk to him about an external assignment?" Casare whispered.

    Victor revealed part of his future ns to him, having a great interest in being appointed the director of a certain district.

    The Mexico Police Department often recruits "Police Auxiliary Staff" forck of personnel; the possibilities there are vast.

    Local finances won''t support this because they are skimming off the top;

    But if you have your own money, you can muster a team.

    Around the millennium, quite a few drug trafficking organizations did just that: they''d put someone in the seat of a director and then, under the guise of officialdom, absorb some drug traffickers into their ranks tounder their money. Why?

    To leverage that title.

    They could join forces with the military police to fight drugs!

    Against rivals, it''s "justice;" for their own turf, it''s being the "mole."

    Believe it or not, the brains of Mexican drug lords are pretty sharp.

    They know the art of ruling by proxy.

    Victor saw Best as a glove; a criminal organization that he would gradually pass power to, bing afortable puppet master himself.

    How could a police officer collude with criminals, you may ask!

    Those "Police Auxiliary Staff" are his real team, who will help him fight "evil," gain achievements, and then use the reputation earned to enter politics!

    His ambitions are huge.

    What future could a gang leader have?

    Do you know who the biggest thugs in the world are?

    "Alejandro is just in charge of the prison; he has that authority, but the most important thing is that I have no achievements. I need achievements to add another notch to my shoulder straps,"

    Victor appeared very calm, but Casare was anxious.

    "Achievements?" His eyebrows raised upon hearing this, as if realizing something, his expression suddenly twisted.

    "Victor, what do you think of my cousin Dragan?"

    Victor raised his head to look at him, not knowing at first what he meant, but as their gazes met, he got it in an instant.

    This guy.

    Wants to sell his own cousin!!

    ...

 Chapter 28: 28: Cousin? Not mine.

    His cousin had done something major.

    In the Tepito District, a significant shooting incident had urred, which the police had now ssified as a "terrorist attack," with a reward of 200,000 pesos.

    The gunmen all wore hoods, making them unidentifiable on security cameras, but Casare knew them well; in Mexico, those who used AK47s were from Dragan''s group.

    If they could be caught...

    Even if he had to share some of the credit, he could at least get promoted to Chief Inspector if not to Commissioner.

    That rank wasn''t enough to be the chief of police in a big city, but it was perfect for the three ces he had selected, which were poor, chaotic, and remote. He had just gotten a hold of a lead.

    To be honest, Victor was very tempted.

    After all, it wasn''t his own cousin.

    Casare was willing to provide the information, which Victor weed, but he gave a polite word of caution, adding, "Are you sure your mother won''t me you?"

    As long as you can deal with your family, feel free to sell out your cousins!

    One of the reasons Guzman fell out with the Beltran Leyva brothers was that the Mexican Military Police had arrested Alfredo, the fourth brother in Culiac¨¢n, who was responsible for the moneyundering. There were rumors that it was Guzman who had betrayed him.

    Arturo, the oldest brother, was furious and wanted to confront his cousin. Just then, a son of Guzman''s was released on appeal, and Arturo believed that Guzman had traded his younger brother for his son''s freedom.

    As a result, the cousins, who had been close for decades, had a falling out.

    Upon hearing Victor''s words, Casare appeared to be in turmoil, his features almost crumpled together.

    "Rx, we''re not there yet. What we need now is to build up capital. Without money and connections, being sent out would just be a dead end. You have to eat one bite at a time, and you have to be down-to-earth," Victor advised.

    Down-to-earth?

    Then might as well go get a job.

    It was because he didn''t want to y by the rules that Casare had looked for shortcuts, and he had already tasted the sweetness of sess. But hearing Victor''s words, he still hesitated before nodding in agreement.

    "Alright, you rest up, you''ve been working hardtely." Victor stood up, tossed his cigarette butt into a nt at the doorway, opened the door, and left for his own dormitory across the way.

    Casare sat on the bed, poured himself a ss of red wine, having recently received his sry with a bonus of 5,000 US dors, an amount equivalent to his wages for the past three years.

    What would you choose to do the moment you get your hands on arge sum of money?

    A revenge spending spree?

    He bought the suit he had been eyeing, new clothes for his siblings, and a new sewing machine for his mother. Of course, most importantly, that day he found himself two Colombian women...

    This led him to have an almost worshipful "faith" in Victor.

    Aren''t his problems my problems too?

    A cousin?

    His aunt could just have another one.

    Casare emptied his wine ss in one gulp, as if making a firm decision.

    ...

    The next day.

    Webster arrived at work in a good mood, only to find on his desk a notice: "Notice of the Reinstatement of Victor Carlos Vieri from Suspension Pending Investigation."

    He had a bad feeling about this and called Ardama over with the document in hand, asking, "What is this? When did it arrive?"

    "It came early this morning. Someone from the Prison Administration Bureau dropped it off and left. Even if I had tried to stop them, it wouldn''t have been any use," Ardama said, looking troubled.

    Webster''s face darkened as he made a phone call, hisplexion visibly falling as the conversation went on, and after hanging up, he cursed, "Damn it!"

    Knock knock knock~

    The sound of knocking came from the door, and there stood Victor, smiling, "Chief, who upset you this early in the morning?"

    Webster looked at him, and thetter fearlessly met his gaze.

    It was as if a more virile and robust challenger had entered the wolf pack.

    "You''re doing fine, Victor. I thought you were going to be punished."

    "Are you disappointed, Chief?" Victor approached the desk unabashedly, picked up a cigarette from it, and held it to his nose, "Treasurer, a product from the United Kingdom, nice choice."

    He began to smoke right there in the office.

    Ardama felt the atmosphere was off and realized that Victor must have deep connections to have his suspension overturned. With two "immortals" shing, was it not best for him to steer clear of potential trouble?

    Bang!

    Webster, finding it hard to swallow his pride, mmed his hand on the desk and pointed at him, "Victor, who said you could smoke here?"

    The two men had all but torn up any semnce of civility during theirst encounter in the yard.

    Victor nced at Webster, then looked down at his cigarette, a Treasurer worth 2 US Dors, took two puffs, threw it on the ground, and stamped on it forcefully with his shoe. He then smiled at his opponent, pulled out another cigarette, tilted his head, and calmly lit it again.

    He blew a cloud of smoke directly into Webster''s face.

    "You''re going too far. Can''t you distinguish between superior and subordinate?!!"

    "Too far? Boss, say that again?" Victor grabbed Webster''s tie and pulled him close, ring at him, while pointing a cigarette at him with his right hand, "I''m giving you face by calling you ''boss.'' Don''t think you''re anything special."

    He whispered threateningly in the other''s ear, "You don''t think I''m unaware that you belong to the Gulf Cartel, do you?"

    Webster''s eyes suddenly widened.

    Sitting in their positions, only a few knew his identity; after all, he was meant to be a pawn, not something to broadcast loudly. The Mexican authorities needed to preserve their dignity.

    "How many people in prison do you think want you dead? If I shout in the district, do you believe that what they''ll be tossing next time during yard time is your life?"

    As a drug trafficking group that once contested the Guadjara Cartel, the two were practically mortal enemies, often fighting over territories. The three major groups based in Tijuana, Juarez, and Sinaloa had no love for those from the Gulf.

    Yet it was the people from these three groups who made up at least one-third of the poption in the Second District.

    If the word gets out that the Warden is with the Gulf, do you think teau Prison will riot?

    It''s not like riots haven''t happened before.

    Restlessness is ingrained in the bones of Mexican drug traffickers.

    Webster understood the stakes involved; he was so choked up by this remark that he didn''t even know what to say in rebuttal.

    Coborating with drug traffickers was, of course, no problem¡ªwho didn''t? Just look at how in recent decades, no Secretary of the Mexican Department of Defense left office without issues.

    Either they fled to the United States to be captured, or they stood trial domestically.

    Webster''s fear was exactly as Victor described, the fear of being killed.

    High-level drug traffickers wouldn''t hesitate to kill even a Cardinal.

    "Don''t stir trouble for no reason in the future. It''s better for us to maintain mutual peace, or else, we both go down!" Victor pushed him forcefully, and Webster fell back into his chair, his face ashen.

    Killing him would be easy, but that would lead to someone being parachuted in to take over as Warden, and it was impossible to know what the neer would be like. It was better to keep Webster for now while trying to rise in rank during this time, with the best oue being to be Deputy Warden.

    By then, if Webster died, he would be the natural sessor.

    A deputy is always a spare tire.

    Just like when Kennedy died, his deputy, Lyndon Baines Johnson, took the oath of office on the ne.

    Victor was no fool; he wouldn''t be someone else''s gunman.

    Violence was just a means to umte wealth and climb the ranks.

    Career progression is different from doing business. In business, at worst, you earn less, but with careers, one wrong step leads to many more.

    In this industry, killings don''t spill blood.

    Ardama watched him walk away, then turned to see the Warden with a conflicted expression, furrowed brows, looking heavily preupied.

    What exactly had they just talked about?

    She was curious about this, but she soon shook her head, dismissing her curiosity.

    It''s not good to be too curious in life¡ªit can lead to an early grave.

    "Ardama."

    "I''m here." She quickly responded.

    Webster, furrowing his brows, seemed to want to say something but eventually just gestured, "You may leave."

    His tone was indescribably weary.

    He had underestimated Victor. If he had known, he would have listened to Haggis and just had someone kill him.

    Have someone kill him?

    The idea crossed his mind, suddenly apanied by hesitation.

    If Victor didn''t die, could ite back to haunt him?

    Long ustomed to theforts of the Warden''s position, with delicacies every day, living in a mansion, embracing mistresses, Webster had long forgotten his vicious nature.

    Had it been his younger self.

    He would have done the job himself, gun in hand.

    It just goes to show, the longer you sit in a position, the more you forget where you came from.

    ...

 Chapter 29: 29: The True Mexican.

    Iparda district. A factory covering an area of about 400 square meters.

    The sign hanging at the entrance had a semnce of legitimacy: "Mexican New Generation Hope Technical School."

    It was October and fall had arrived, yet Ryan was still wearing short sleeves, shouting through a megaphone at the twenty-odd skinny adolescents sprawled on the ground, "Hold it up! Hold it up! What the hell are you doing? Fucking the ground?"

    While speaking, he stepped on the buttocks of a kid next to him, and thetter copsed to the ground, both arms shaking.

    "If you want to make money, you must endure hardship. Even whores have to wear out the sheets every day, and you don''t have what it takes for that. You can only suffer more. Let me tell you, if you don''t pass in 3 weeks, you all can fuck off."

    This technical school was just a front, as Holder and his guys advertised it around the district with megaphones, offering room and board, and promising job cement for those with good grades, with a minimum monthly wage of 600 Pesos.

    With that kind of deal, I would even kill for it!

    Many parents sent their children here, and at first nce, it seemed rather shady.

    But it''s also said that there are so many poor people in Mexico, and families there typically have lots of kids; ordinary families simply can''t afford to raise them all.

    Having a ce to eat for free, who gives a damn?

    On the first day, over 100 showed up, but Ryan picked out thirty of them, including 8 girls, with an average age of 18.

    Don''t underestimate women...

    Perhaps it''s the perceived deficiencies of their gender that cause them to be "looked down upon" in many industries, but it''s precisely this advantage that allows them easier ess to targets and a higher likelihood ofpleting missions.

    And when women get vicious, even "Jesus would fast."

    Not to mention the Colombian "ck Widow" nco, who was dealing drugs while Pablo was still peddling electronics. Later, when he could no longer make ends meet, he sought her out and asked the big sister to bring him into the business.

    Who would have thought, nco was Pablo''s leader, and she even invented the motorcycle assassination technique, where two people work as a team, one drives while the other sits behind to shoot the target, a methodmonly seen in film and television dramas.

    Besides her, there''s also the "Pacific Queen" Sandra, the new queen of Los Zetas, udia Ochoa Felix... and many more.

    Why are firearms known as the great equalizers?

    Because they transcend the chasms of gender, ability, money, and power.

    Bang bang bang~

    The squad leader of the gunmen, Sergio and Juan, pushed in two tricycles frothing with steamy aroma. The trainees, who had been starving and growling on the ground, couldn''t help but lift their heads and stare.

    Mexican wraps, chicken and corn red and white soup, torti chips.

    Just the cost of food per day would be about 30 US Dors.

    Well, 30 US Dors to feed 30 people...

    The capitalists are getting goosebumps.

    Ryan nced at his watch, stood with his hands behind his back, and nodded, "Get up, everyone get in line."

    A few days of training had yielded some results; there was no raucous behavior anymore, and basic discipline was established. What can you train in 3 weeks?

    Better than African "militiamen," anyway.

    "Ryan!" Holder walked out of a room in the factory and gestured to him. When Ryan came over, he asked, "Have you collected the rent? Go buy some goods from Best."

    Rent is the euphemism for protection money.

    Now that the Iparda district was in their control, of course they had to collect protection fees. Wasn''t Holder providing them with help? Wasn''t that abor ie?

    Luckily, this wasn''t the United States; you''d even have to pay taxes for robbing a bank.

    All the gunmen of "Mexican New Generation" were under Ryan''s control; 50 percent was kept for organizational expenses, and the rest was used to purchase weapons.

    "Collected it, a total of 87,475 Pesos. I''ll buy some bullets this afternoon," Ryan said.

    This one street alone brought in over 40,000 US Dors in protection fees, not including other charges such as heat allowances, winter subsidies, and all other sundry items.

    You think gangs do charity work?

    Without money, who the fuck would fight to the death?

    The Popes of the Middle Ages even sold "Indulgences," what would Jesus eat and drink without money? How would priests find their altar boys?

    In 1989, just from protection fees, you could bring in 400,000 US Dors a year. No wonder many illiterate mobsters got rich.

    But precisely because they were illiterate, theycked reverence. Read too much? Then you remember your ce.

    Holder!

    The fucker hadn''t even finished elementary school.

    "Boss."

    Someone rushed in through the door, face fierce, and with a bulky waistband, "The cops are here."

    The cops? What for? Distributing flyers?

    Holder''s brow twitched, and he saw seventeen or eighteen policemen walking through the door, dressed in their uniforms, led by a Subinspector.

    Holder, who had been involved in the police force, understood the significance of this rank; it was already considered a high-level police officer, many levels above Victor.

    "Police patrol! Mexican Preventive Police Department Violent Crime Investigation Division, Danilo Sanborn," the leading Deputy Police Commissioner lifted his badge.

    "What''s the matter, Officer?" Holder limped forward, Ryan and his goons in tow, to meet him.

    Sanborn scrutinized him, "I''ve received information that you''re trafficking arms here, and that it''s highly rted to the Tepito district shooting incident. I need to conduct a search."

    ```

    ???

    Holder thought he had heard wrong and said with augh, "Officer, are you joking? This is a technical school. Ryan, bring over 2000 Pesos for the officers'' afternoon tea."

    "Bang!"

    But who would have known that Samboerne would raise the gun in his hand and fire a shot at the ceiling.

    Instantly, the entire factory fell silent, followed by the gunmen of "Mexico''s Next Generation" going berserk. The police dared to swagger into their territory?

    If they got kicked around by their peers, that was down to their ownck of strength, but to be scared off by the police? What''s the point of being in the game then? Might as well go home and sell corn.

    Juan and the others all drew their weapons, and the tension escted as Samboerne and his police backup instantly tensed up, facing off against them.

    "So the technical school has guns too?" Samboerne asked with a frown.

    Holder looked at him, frowning, "Sir, what''s a technical school for if not to learn to shoot? This is the Iparda district, my territory. You want to make trouble here with that antique in your hand? Are you fucking high?"

    "Watch your mouth, I have the authority to question you!"

    "Sorry, I won''t cooperate. Show the police what firepower looks like," Holder said to Ryan.

    Thetter pulled out a box from under the table next to him. From it, he took an AK47, clicked a magazine into ce, pulled back the bolt with a reverse grip, and then sprayed a burst at the ceiling.

    "Sir, you don''t even have the firepower I have, and you''re trying to control me? Is your medical insurance enough to cover it, huh? A few hundred bucks a month, why are you so serious?"

    "I''m charging you with illegal possession of a weapon now!" Samboerne''s eyes lit up when he saw the AK47; it was identical to the weapon used in the Tepito district shooting. Soviet weapons were rare in Mexico, and this absolutely involved the man in front of him.

    He said to the officers beside him, "Cuff him!"

    "You want to arrest me? Where''s your evidence? Tell him what this is," Holder pointed to the police officers next to Samboerne, Ryan''s gun barrel quickly shifting towards him.

    The officer swallowed hard, visibly nervous.

    They were already reluctant to deal with the Tepito district shooting. Those guys had more firepower than the entire police force. Why should they confront them? Were they looking for death?

    But the new boss was determined to make a name for himself, got some "informant" from who knows where, iming that there were people here selling arms, and so he brought his crew over.

    Pure idiocy!

    Did you really think they wouldn''t resist?

    "So tell me! What is this?" Ryan asked loudly, frightening the officer, who nced at Samboerne''s grim face, "Fire...fire stick."

    "Did you hear that, sir? This is a fire stick, not an AK47. You''ve got the wrong ce. Next time if you have the guts, don''t bring cops, bring the army,e in a tank."

    Holder walked over unapologetically, patted Samboerne on the face, "Are you out of your mind? This is Mexico, not America. Deputy Police Commissioner? Pfft," he spat on Samboerne''s badge.

    That was thest straw for him, and he pped Holder across the face.

    Seeing this, Ryan quickly kicked Samboerne to the ground, smashed his head with the butt of his gun, while Juan and the others began shooting at the police. One unfortunate soul got hit in the shoulder, crying out, while the rest hurriedly fled.

    The police in Mexico were just that disgraceful.

    The bigger drug lords even had them watching the doors, like theter "Sky King" Armando, who had the police guard his mansion.

    Pitifulbat ability, very pitiful...

    Samboerne, his face covered in blood, wasn''t satisfied with the beating he received. He raised the gun to pull the trigger, but Holder pushed down the cover, "Don''t kill him here."

    After all, he was a high-ranking police officer.

    Not some lowly punk.

    Even Guzman had to be sneaky when killing cops.

    "Throw him out."

    Holder heard Samboerne mumbling something as hey on the ground. as he crouched down to listen closely, "I will definitely catch you guys."

    Jesus, what a madman!

    Is it worth all this...?

    Samboerne''s head lolled to the side as he passed out.

    He remembered his childhood.

    Back in the fifth grade, the tutor asked him and his cousin what they wanted to be when they grew up.

    Cousin: "I want to be a bandit, make lots of money."

    Samboerne: "I want to be a cop, the most righteous cop in Mexico."

    Back then, the tutor gave him a candy. He still remembered¡ªit was very sweet. As he grew up, doors opened for his career advancement, but everywhere he went, he was seen as rigid, aging, and his colleagues couldn''t wait for him to leave.

    He had felt the istion, the loneliness, the helpless resignation before.

    But he still remembered¡ªthe candy was very sweet.

    He also remembered the tutor telling him that this path would be dangerous, brutal. But at that time, as he ate the candy, he said with a smile,

    "Teacher, darkness will eventually yield to light! Just like Miguel Hidalgo, a true Mexican can never be defeated!"

    But this path, it is very difficult.

    ...

    ```

 Chapter 30: 30: Cousin, I really want to make progress.

    teau Prison entrance.

    Underneath an ice cream truck.

    Ryan looked at the chocte ice cream in his hand with aplex expression, "Do you like this kind?"

    "How is it? The taste is fantastic, right?" Best licked his ice cream and smiled at Casare beside him, "This is what I wanted most when I was a kid. To get it, I used to pick through trash with my brother and sister. Three of us would share one ice cream."

    He might just be fulfilling a dream from his childhood now.

    Ryan nodded, thenplimented before handing over the briefcase, "This is all for bullets. I''lle pick them up."

    Best took it, feeling its weight, and joked, "This is quite heavy, don''t you want the gun?"

    "No need for the gun, just the bullets. Though today, a Deputy Police Commissioner came; they seem to be investigating the origin of the AK47s," Ryan recounted the day''s events.

    "What did you say that Deputy Police Commissioner''s name was?"

    "Danilo Sanborn."

    At once, Best felt a headacheing on, rubbing his forehead, "That mad dog."

    "What? You know him?"

    "He has some background, the stepson of Pedro Aviles, son of a big drug trafficker. He''s so poor he had to rent a room, and even his girlfriend thought he was so broke she left him," Casare revealed more of his secrets.

    "People give him money, and he won''t take it, but he''s very persistent in catching criminals. I''ve seen him before when I was at the Mexico Police Department, during my internship. Almost every day he would bring in a drug trafficker, but he''s also clever, rarely touching the big drug trafficker''s people, or else he would''ve been dead by now."

    "Later, the director got annoyed with him and wrote him an assessment report to promote him."

    Ryan found it hard to believe. Could there be such a person in Mexico?

    "He''s like a dog. Once he''s onto you, you''re going to pay the price," Best frowned.

    "So we take him out?" Ryan said sinisterly.

    "Wait, let me think," suddenly, Casare shouted.

    Casare always wanted to make a name for himself using his status as Deputy Police Commissioner, "Isn''t he investigating the Tepito district shooting? Let''s catch the shooter first."

    "You really know who the shooter is?" Ryan nced at him.

    "I''m a police officer. Of course, I know about criminal activities," Casare said it nonchntly, set on making it seem like his aunt came back to life.

    Such people are truly ruthless.

    Tsk, tsk, tsk~

    After finishing their ice cream, they went their separate ways.

    Now, Casare was quite stylish, entering and exiting the prison without even needing to report. The guards at the door would help open it for him and even ask him how he was doing with a bit of ttery.

    Because he was Victor''s man!

    In the past, seeing Victor meant you''d run if you could.

    But not anymore. In the prison, he was known as the "God of Wealth". If you were in need of money and came to him, even if he couldn''t fulfill your "outrageous demands", he would still give you some token appearance fee.

    The best way to get through to both heaven and earth was with money.

    It''s too exhausting trying to grind through time.

    Best, carrying the briefcase, went up to the new office on the second floor. He knocked, waited for someone inside to respond, then pushed the door open, "Boss Victor, the money has arrived."

    Victor was holding a copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude".

    You have to have some literary culture, right? It''s uncivilized to be cursing like ''fucking this and fucking that'' in conversation.

    In so-called high society, of course you have to be rich first, then you have to know how to pretend. No matter how lowly you are, you need to act passionately and refinedly, though inside everyone is hypocritical.

    "Exchange all of it for bullets for him. We keep half of the money and the rest we distribute to the heads of each prison zone, including the Deputy Warden," Victor instructed Casare.

    The remaining half was more than 24,000 US dors, averaging nearly 4,000 US dors per person.

    At once, Casare began to feel the pinch, as he was somewhat greedy, "Boss, that''s too much?"

    "Feeling reluctant to part with the money?" Victor asked, turning to him with a smile.

    Casare nodded, "Giving a little less is also fine."

    Best nodded along at the side.

    "When everything''s been given, what''s a little more? The paths we walk in the civil service aren''t like those in the underworld; we must make as many friends as possible," Victor stood up, pulled out a cigarette, stuffed it into Casare''s mouth, and lit it for him before continuing.

    "The way money''s being collected now is too chaotic, Webster doesn''t understand the meaning of unity at all. He just keeps stuffing the money from the drug lords into his pockets; do you think the people below him don''t have opinions about this?"

    "If you eat the lion''s share, you need to let others have their cut. If you don''t give everyone the opportunity to make money, how will they respect you? How are you going to get promoted?"

    Casare felt this made a lot of sense, but still hesitantly raised a concern, "But we can''t always be the ones shelling out the money."

    "Once I get the badge of a Police Commissioner, I''ll be able to pull Webster down. We operate a bit, and I''ll act as the Warden for a while. By then, every criminal in the First Prison Zone will pay 300 Pesos per month, each one in the Second District 500 Pesos, and each one in the Third District 20,000. After all, they have the money; how much do you think we''ll make in a month?"

    Victor touched his police insignia, "That money, we''ll distribute throughout the prison ording to rank¡ªwho really runs the prison if we get to that point?"

    Casare''s scalp tingled at this grand n.

    He had no idea how much money they would be bringing in each month with such a "sry" system, but if it really was implemented, even if a Warden really was parachuted in from above, he would be rendered powerless by Victor.

    Interests were intertwined.

    "Isn''t this ying a bit too big?"

    "What, you scared? I remember a line from a TV show I watched: either we don''t be corrupt, or if we are, we go for the big money, and stop pussyfooting around like we used to. Those who are in with us can stay; those who aren''t, well, just let them get the hell out of here. Besides, we''re not taking dirty money; this is a sanitation fee.

    We mop their floors and wash their cells while they''re locked up; if they don''t pay a little for that, does it even make sense?"

    This was called a legal method.

    Money¡ªcould it even be illegal? It alles from Mexican banks anyway.

    "But promotions still have to be based on achievements, right?" Victor patted Casare''s shoulder and asked.

    Was this a reminder to himself?

    Casare furrowed his brow, then suddenly rxed, "Boss, I think when faced with justice and family, I should choose the former. When can we arrest Dragan?"

    Damn it!

    Indeed, "justice."

    Casare had been a little carried away by Victor''s "grand blueprint"¡ªit''s all about achievements, isn''t it?

    I''ll sell out my cousin for you.

    "Did your aunt agree?"

    "She''ll have another one," Casare said confidently and then ryed the conversation he had at the prison gate with Ryan to Victor, "I had someone follow Dragan; he won''t escape."

    "I can help your aunt," Best interjected from the side.

    "Well done, and you''re right, we can''t keep all the credit for ourselves. Think about it, who should we share a piece of this cake with?"

    "What do you think about Alejandro?" Casare thought for a moment and proposed a name. "But it seems like we just offended him, not sure if the Director of the Prison Administration Bureau holds grudges."

    "He''s petty? This piece of cake is enough to broaden his views. Go find a few more likable folks in the prison. When we go to arrest Dragan, they can get involved, earn some merits, and everyone can get promoted together."

    Victor felt this choice was not bad. If he could get a piece and y it right, maybe he could jump even higher up the ranks. That way, he''d have someone to lean on, and Mexico''s new generation would have a better protection umbre.

    Dragging people down into such schemes¡ªwhen the benefits were enough, they would jump in themselves.

    Human greed never stops.

    Casare nodded eagerly, already having a few people in mind who were typically nice to him; it was time to help them out.

    As for Dragan?

    Sorry about that!!

    You''ll be inconvenienced a bit, stepping out a few decades early. When the timees, I''ll definitely take good care of my aunt, don''t worry, you won''t be upset.

    Your cousin, more than anything, just wants to climb higher.

    "You arrange to have dinner with your cousin, then you can anonymously tip off Sanborn," Victor suddenly spoke up nonchntly from the side, his words light butden with the filth of scheming!

    ...

 Chapter 31: 31: When it comes to business, interest comes first!

    Alejandro walked into his office tiredly, tossing his briefcase onto the sofa.

    He had been feeling mentally exhausted recently, because ever since that incident, his wife and daughter had been suffering from nightmares frequently, and he loathed that Sergeant named Victor Carlos Vieri!

    He had thought about finding someone to help, but who did he know that was tough enough for that?

    In Mexico, being a policeman is the lowest of the low. Drug traffickers might deign to give you a little spending money every month, but if they don''t give you face, and you can''t tell who''s really in charge, you might not see the sun rise tomorrow.

    In just 1987 alone, Mexico lost over 700 police officers, and about 17 police stations were overtly attacked by drug traffickers.

    In peaceful areas, in countries where government institutions have a strong deterrent effect, drug traffickers are like rats when they see a cat.

    In Mexico...

    Police are even worse than a dog kept by a drug trafficker.

    Most importantly, after the Camarena case in 1985, the upper echelons of the police force were almost entirelyted in one sweep.

    The United States was scared half to death. "Brother, you''re trafficking drugs within the government itself."

    This further tarnished the image of the Mexican police.

    Walking down the street without getting a rock thrown at you was already considered not bad.

    Alejandro shook his head, put some ck tea into his cup, and was about to get up to pour some water when he heard a knock at the door. He looked up to see two unfamiliar men standing at the entrance.

    "Who are you looking for?"

    "We''re looking for you." The leading man took off his gloves and extended his hand, "Good morning, Director Alejandro, my name is Victor Carlos Vieri."

    ng.

    Alejandro''s teacup fell to the ground, shattering ss everywhere and water rolling to his feet, scalding him so he jumped. He grabbed a broom nearby to sweep up the ss shards.

    His hand was held down by someone, and arge face leaned over, smiling, "Leave this to me."

    "Leave it to Casare, Director. Aren''t you going to invite me to sit down?"

    Alejandro looked at him, the corner of his eye twitching slightly. How could he forget that name? What did he wanting here?

    He lifted his chin slightly, "Please, take a seat."

    Alejandro pulled out a paper from the desk to press against the burn on his hand, "That matter was not my doing."

    "I know. It''s all a misunderstanding. I also owe you an apology. As soon as I got suspended, I vented a little to some friends. They''re good people and wanted to defend me. I hope your wife and daughter weren''t too frightened?"

    Friends?

    Your friends... they''re really wild.

    Not hesitating to go to someone''s home with guns to demand an exnation.

    Victor pulled out an envelope from his pocket, about two fingers thick, and ced it in front of him, "This is their way of apologizing. I''ve lectured them. How could they use knives and guns against a high-ranking officer like you? They need to talk it out. They realized their mistake, and this ispensation for your emotional distress they''ve asked me to bring to you."

    Alejandro, seasoned by experience, could tell just by looking how much money was inside. Even though the other man''s words were nonsense, it still brought him some relief.

    Alejandro understood that Victor was giving him a way out, and he took it readily, "It''s okay, it''s okay. I understand, but please, try to be more amiable in the future."

    "Of course, we are all educated," said Victor.

    Casare was sweeping the floor and paused at hearing this.

    Education?

    Neither of the two men could scrape together a respectable blood pressure reading.

    "I came here, firstly to apologize, and secondly, because I have some good news I''d like to discuss with you." Victor coughed to clear his throat. Alejandro immediately understood and stood by the door, calling a colleague to pour two sses of water.

    "My friends have discovered the culprit behind the Tepito District shooting. They believe such a person has a very strong antisocial personality and should be brought to justice, so they came to me. I can catch these people, but the help provided to me is very limited. I wanted to ask you, Director Alejandro, are you interested?"

    "Perhaps you can use this achievement to be promoted to Inspector General and transfer out of this position, no?"

    The Prison Administration Bureau is just a second-tier unit, with the highest rank being Inspector Jefe (Senior Inspector), which is actually a sort of exile.

    "Sir, you don''t want to retire here, do you? You''re only 45 years old, far from retirement age. Want to take a gamble?"

    Alejandro''s first thought was that this guy was trying to scam him.

    Who wouldn''t take advantage of an opportunity for themselves rather than offer it to someone else?

    "Of course, I don''t ask for much. Just help me and Casare''s ranks rise. I want to be the Deputy Warden of teau Prison, and him to be the Warden of the Second District. That shouldn''t be too hard for you, right?" Victor said, pointing to the two of them.

    Alejandro furrowed his brow; if nothing unexpected happened, he would end his career as a Senior Inspector. It wasn''t so easy to climb the ranks above, but now he hesitated at the sweet fruit delivered to his lips, saying bluntly, "Why do youe to me?"

    Of course, it''s because I know where you live, dummy.

    But he definitely couldn''t say that outright.

    Victor sat up straight and smiled, "Of course, it''s because I think you''re different from the other police officers; you have a strong sense of justice."

    Compliments should highlight what othersck.

    It''s like picking someone up off the street; you can''t just say their woman is beautiful, that''s too general; you''ve got topliment her big butt, that will leave asting impression.

    "Sir, you don''t need to do anything at all. Leave everything to us. I''ll even arrange the journalists and give you a full feature. This credit will surely be attributed to you."

    Alejandro thought carefully for a moment and was indeed tempted, "Deal! As soon as I''m promoted to Inspector General, the first thing I do will be to appoint you as Deputy Warden, even if you want to get rid of Webster, I''ll help you."

    "Pleasure doing business!"

    With a snap of his fingers, Victor handed over a gift box with Casare''s help, "This is a small gift for our first meeting."

    Alejandro opened the gift box to find a handgun, about 5 centimeters long, made of amber, and his eyes were immediately drawn to it.

    Mexicans have a strong passion for jade.

    "This is too valuable."

    "Our friendship is more valuable than anything else, Alejandro."

    Giving gifts always works, no matter the country.

    The Director, having received the gift, even invited them to stay for lunch¡ªin the canteen, of course¡ªbut he brought out his prized red wine.

    When they left the Prison Administration Bureau, Victor was flushed, supported by Casare.

    A few hundred meters out, Victor looked back and let go of Casare''s hand, pulling out a cigarette and putting it in his mouth.

    "You''re not drunk!"

    "At the dinner table, you''ve got to act. How else can you get the boss drunk first?" Victor patted the dazed Casare on the shoulder and smiled.

    The young cop suddenly felt he wasn''t savvy enough. Was this another aspect to human rtions?

    Getting into the car, Victor exhaled a ring of smoke, "Is everything arranged?"

    "I''ve got six from the emergency squad, all close to me. With Samboerne in the hospital, I also had someone deliver an anonymous letter of usation. Tomorrow at eight, I''ve arranged to meet Dragan at the market outside the prison, told him to bring the weapons for a free maintenance."

    "What about the reporter?"

    "That''s arranged too. I got a tabloid journalist; I told him to sit in the market from 7 in the morning until noon. I''ll give him 200 pesos; he agreed."

    "Should we get Best to find some gang members toe by?" Casare suddenly asked.

    Victor''s eyelid twitched, "Why would the police involve gangs in their business?" ncing at Casare, who was driving, he continued,

    Those people aren''t fit for the public eye.

    What future can a cop have if they''re always dealing with gangs?

    Might as well resign.

    Only very low-level officers fraternize with gangs.

    ...

 Chapter 32: 32: Cousin, You Betrayed Me!!

    1989, October 29.

    Sunny.

    Not a good day to go out.

    Dragan had been living it uptely; he brought weapons to the gang, led an attack on an enemy gang''s "Gold-digger''s Den", and even made it on TV. Though it was a wanted poster offering a reward, the fame-seeking Dragan was quite inted by this.

    Unfortunately...

    All the surveince showed were figures wearing hoods.

    Initially, he was nning to take his boys for a massage, but Casare called to tell him to get his guns serviced.

    And he emphasized, "For free!"

    Those two words didn''t seem to match with Mexico at all, and Dragan couldn''t help asking, "You''re not fooling me, are you?"

    "How could I? We''re cousins, and even if I were to deceive others, would I deceive you? We''ve got some new gun oil from the Soviet Union that supposedly improves barrel heat tolerance. You''re a big buyer, so you get to use it for free in advance."

    Dragan figured his cousin wouldn''t con him, reported to his boss, and took his guns and two of his boys to the appointment.

    The marketce.

    It was quite deserted in the daytime.

    In a stone house, Victor was scanning the surroundings through the ss. Lately, he had developed a skill; if he squinted without blinking, it was like a scan that could directly reveal names, even if someone was hiding in a room.

    And if their Crime Value was over 10,000, their name would be highlighted boldly.

    It seemed that he still hadn''t fully figured out the ''Golden Finger''.

    It was far from being as simple as he had understood.

    "There are real masters hidden in this marketce!" Victor had seen at least 10 bolded names, and his first thought was whether he should knock them all out at once.

    "What did you say?"

    Alejandro, standing behind him, heard his mutterings and quickly asked.

    "It''s nothing, just rx. Once we handle this, you just need to strike a pose when you go out," Victor said, trying to sound nonchnt.

    Today''s banquet definitely had to end with the death of Lord Pei!

    "They''re here." A police officer observing whispered, and Victor quickly looked out to see a grey Volvo drive into the marketce and stop on the road. Three men got out, wearing sunsses, with tattoos visible on their rolled-up sleeves.

    They sauntered to a spot under an umbre and nonchntly sat down across from Casare.

    "Boss, a bottle of Tequ."

    Dragan bared his teeth, his gold tooth gleaming brightly, "Cousin, how''s businesstely?"

    "Just getting by, living from hand to mouth, not much to make. Isn''t it tough to be a cop these days?"

    This made Dragan burst intoughter, "Cousin, I''ve told you, who wants to be a cop? Only losers be cops. The money you make in a day won''t cover a hospital bill. If you ask me, just quit. How about you let me in on your arms trade? Just give me a cut of the profits."

    Like hell.

    With a temper like Victor''s, if you tried topete with him in the arms trade, he''d blow you up so you wouldn''t even have a chance to be reborn!

    Casare gave a smile, raising his tone slightly, "By the way, how old is your aunt this year?"

    "Seems like she''s 36, why?" Dragan asked, puzzled.

    "Nothing, she can still have kids."

    "???"

    Just as Dragan was confused about what that meant, he suddenly saw a figure jump out from behind the Volvo, with a bandage tied around his face and a gun in his hand, "Hands up! Police! Dragan, you''re under arrest!"

    It was none other than Samboerne.

    That guy was truly desperate; while he was recuperating in the hospital, someone delivered him a letter which made him request a discharge immediately after reading it.

    It read simply, "The main suspect in the Tepito District shooting case, Dragan, is at the marketce outside teau Prison." It also contained a photo of him.

    He climaxed in his mind instantly, thinking this was intelligence provided by his informant. He had intended to call his colleagues, but they simply ignored him, either iming a stomachache or an itchy backside.

    Samboerne had no choice but to go it "solo."

    And indeed, he caught sight of Dragan, his heart pounding with excitement.

    "Casare! You betrayed me?!" Dragan suddenly seemed to have an epiphany, looking at his own cousin, furiously drawing his gun to shoot him, only to hear two bangs. Samboerne fired his gun, and Dragan copsed to the ground with bulging eyes.

    In the meantime, Casare agilely rolled next to the car, clutching his head.

    Samboerne and the other two goons were stunned, when several people burst out from the stone house with submachine guns, opening fire on anyone still standing!

    A total of nearly 200 bullets flew, breaking the parasol and riddling the Volvo with bullet holes.

    "Police! Don''t move!"

    Victor nudged Alejandro, who snapped back to reality, his face flushed and emotions running high, he charged out, shouting loudly.

    But after that burst of gunfire, besides Casare, who was hiding beside the car, who else was left alive?

    Inside the stone house, Victor watched as those boldfaced names were moving. Now, hearing the gunfire, they fled in panic.

    These guys were damn cunning.

    One senses something''s wrong, and they immediately make a run for it.

    He had hoped to clean up at the end and earn some points. Now that dream was down the drain.

    Victor only came out after the shootout ended.

    Bullets don''t have eyes; if he went out and caught a stray bullet, that would truly be game over.

    Alejandro was busy searching the vehicles, and when he found a neat row of AK47s in the trunk, he couldn''t help but get excited. And Casare had wanted to find a reporter, but damn it, that bastard had run off at the sound of gunfire.

    Tabloid journalists have no sense of sacrifice. How can they uncover big news?

    But that was just a minor detail. He immediately called six TV stations and newspapers¡ªit would still be in time when they arrived.

    Casare looked down at Dragan''s body lying on the ground, eyes wide with fury; he would''ve never thought his cousin could betray him.

    Casare sighed, squatting down to close his eyes gently, his expression sorrowful.

    This was his dear cousin, after all.

    "Dragan, rest assured, I''ll find a few more men for Auntie. You''ll have more younger brothers."

    Luckily, there were no ghosts around, or hearing this, they would have leapt up to fight him to the death.

    Samboerne was shot too; he had been hit by Dragan''s men during their counter-attack.

    Coughing up blood, he didn''t die instantly. His eyes lost focus, and he seemed to see himself as a child, taking a piece of candy handed to him by his teacher.

    The teacher patted his head, "Your choice will be dangerous, Samboerne. You might die."

    "Teacher, there should also be sweet moments, just like this candy. I will definitely protect Mexico! It belongs to the light!"

    Samboerne murmured, "Light..."

    Then his head tilted, and he died.

    Victor stood by his side. He had heard of Samboerne and understood how much ridicule a drug lord''s son had faced to be a righteous policeman.

    The mockery from rtives in childhood.

    The jeers from colleagues in adulthood.

    But he stood firm in his convictions.

    A respectable "Mexican!"

    "Ah Men, may Buddha be with you."

    For the first time, Victor prayed sincerely for someone.

    ...

 Chapter 33: 33: We Are the Police, Can We Be Afraid of Prisoners?

    "There has been progress in the major shooting case that urred in the Tepito District the other day, the leader, Zuvich Dgan, nicknamed ''Desert Ant,'' has been killed by the police! He was a member of the ''Barbaric Samurai'' gang, and the police are now issuing warrants for the rest of the gang members."

    From the television, the female reporter''s voice came through.

    In the dining hall, quite a few jail guards looked up and whispered to each other.

    Casare paused when he heard the broadcast, but continued to pick at his sausage and pig''s trotters rice.

    Victor propped his elbows on the table, lit a cigarette, took a drag, then passed it to Casare, who puffed out his cheeks and said, "Take a hit."

    The other man didn''t take it, so Victor stood up and stuffed the cigarette into his mouth.

    "I know you''re in a bad mood, but he was asking for it. You can''t me anyone else.

    "When you''re out, first, you have to keep a low profile. He was asking for death, brandishing a few AK47s and killing people at will."

    You should at least spend some money and get some heavy weapons from me.

    Buy an armored vehicle, and you wouldn''t be gunned down like this.

    Victor held up two fingers, nced at Best sitting next to them, listening, "Second, either don''t do it, or don''t regret it once you''ve done it. How about I give you an extra 2000 US dors this month? Does your conscience still hurt?"

    Casare muttered, "That was my cousin..."

    "3000 US dors."

    Casare took a deep breath and finished off his pig''s trotters rice, "Feeling much better now."

    How much can a conscience be worth?

    Add a little money, and that''s it.

    Moreover, this is destroying kinship for justice!

    Isn''t it natural for the police to catch criminals?

    "Boss Victor, the Warden wants to see you," a jail guard whispered as he approached.

    Victor looked up to see, at the far end of the dining hall in a ce that resembled a VIP area, Webster was sitting next to a floor-to-ceiling window, not looking very pleased, his eyes met Victor''s as they looked at each other.

    "Looks like his mother just died from his expression," Victor cursed, but still raised his hand and waved at him, threw the napkin he was using to wipe his mouth on the table, and walked toward the VIP area.

    Casare hurriedly followed.

    Best took out 5 US dors from his pocket and stuffed it into the pocket of the jail guard, smiled, and patted him on the shoulder, lighting up thetter''s eyes.

    Who would have thought you could get money just for delivering a message.

    If the prison had a democracy, he''d definitely vote for Victor as the boss.

    "Sir, what instructions do you have?" Victor said with a fake smile, impolitely pulling out a chair and sitting down, giving no face to the man at all.

    Before Webster could get angry, his confidant, the Warden of the First Prison Zone, Sebastiao, got furious and pointed at Victor, "Victor, who let you sit down? You have no respect."

    Victor, legs crossed, lifted his head to look at him, suddenly grabbed the ashtray from the table and smashed it toward Sebastiao''s head. The man was caught off guard and stumbled, nearly losing his footing, but Victor grabbed him by the neck and pushed his head onto the table, pounding it in fury, "Fuck you!"

    Themotion immediately alerted all the jail guards outside, who looked in unison.

    Webster was dazed by the scene but quickly grabbed Victor, "Enough, Victor, are you trying to kill him?"

    Victor flipped his bangs and dropped the ashtray on the floor.

    Sebastiao, bloodied, had already passed out andy convulsing on the floor.

    "Write him a sick leave note, work injury, get the Warden to stamp it."

    The first part was directed at Casare, and the second at Webster, who waspletely subdued by Victor''s presence and, despite his face turning awful, had to keep his anger to himself since he was at a disadvantage.

    "I''m a very reasonable person. If he''s not polite to me, I''m not polite to him. People should respect each other!"

    Webster called in two jail guards from outside to take Sebastiao to the infirmary and threw a file in front of Victor, "It seems you''re even more resourceful than I thought, bing an ''Oficial'' outright. You''ve got skills."

    "Thanks for thepliment, sir!"

    Upon seeing the official promotion document and appointment letter, Victor flipped through them and passed them to Casare, "From now on, you''re three stripes, ''Senior Police Sergeant''."

    Casare''s face lit up with joy.

    It diluted the sorrow for his cousin.

    "From now on, I''m in charge of the Second District, the Emergency Squad, and the Third District. Any objections?"

    Victor tossed the appointment letter on the table, crossed his arms and looked at Webster.

    That almost made Websterugh with anger.

    Who is the Warden, you or me?

    But before he could finish, Victor already stood up, "Give the Warden some money, eat well, live long."

    Casare obediently left behind 1000 US dors.

    Standing between the "VIP area" and the general area, Victor raised his hand and gave a pat, naturally drawing everyone''s attention to him.

    He stood on top of a table.

    "Starting from today, I serve as the Deputy Warden of teau Prison, with Second District, Third District, and the emergency response teams all under mymand. From now on, in addition to your sry, each person in the prison zones will receive an extra 200 Pesos per month, and the emergency response teams will get an additional 400!"

    There was a moment of silence in the crowd.

    Casare gave a jail guard a meaningful nce, and thetter immediately cheered, "Long live Chief Victor!"

    This instantly ignited the enthusiasm of everyone present.

    The jail guards raised their hands and shouted wildly.

    Handing out... handing out money!

    Starting with this kind of move?

    Webster looked at him as if he were looking at a madman. Are you using your own money to subsidize your colleagues?

    Has your head been smashed by a door?

    "Chief, why don''t we in the First Prison Zone get this!" a jail guard shouted loudly, as it was a matter rted to his own interests.

    Mexicans are usually quite proactive in voicing their needs.

    See, when Los Zetas felt they were not earning enough, they just rebelled outright, letting you know in no uncertain terms that they think your pay is too low!

    Direct enough?

    "Because the First Prison Zone is not my responsibility. You can go talk to the Warden," Victor replied, turning and pointing at the person. Webster''s face turned green.

    You expect me to shell out money for my colleagues?

    Do you think I run a printing press?

    I''m struggling to support a mistress with my own embezzlements.

    The colleagues from the First Prison Zone looked at him with red eyes.

    Now he''s got a real headache.

    As the crowd cheered, Victor left, and the jail guards automatically lined up on both sides.

    See...

    When youe out to work, no matter what you do, whether you are an official, a thief, a murderer, or upholding justice, you damn well need money!

    Mexican police really earn just a few dozen US dors a month. Toiling away, truly risking their lives, and then suddenly someone gives you a raise, wouldn''t you be happy?

    Here, you can''t live on integrity. Only when you''re well-fed can you talk about ideals.

    Now, to speak frankly, if someone dared to mess with them, this bunch would rush in faster than anyone else.

    Victor''s face showed a smile; he seemed to be enjoying the adoration.

    "Boss, didn''t you say we should keep a low profile?"

    "That''s just on asion. Normally, if you got the goods and don''t show it, you''re asking for trouble!"

    The news about handing out money spread like wildfire through the entire prison. Among the more than a thousand jail guards, some were happy, some discontent, and some even ran to ask Webster, causing him a whole mess of trouble.

    Deputy Warden''s office.

    This was much better.

    There was a bookshelf, air conditioning, a refrigerator, and even a separatepartment with a bed inside.

    "Boss Victor..." Casare frowned, "We''re going to incur over 150,000 US dors in expenses every month for no reason. We can''t afford to keep this many people."

    The Grand Steward had started to y the poor mouth.

    Victor, holding a nail clipper, was filing his nails. "Do you still remember what I told youst time?"

    "You mean collecting sanitation fees from the inmates? I''m afraid they won''t be willing to pay."

    "Won''t pay?"

    Victor smiled and put the file back in the pen holder basket. "Then we''ll flip them. This is police territory. They all have a minimum sentence of 25 years. By the time they get out, they won''t even be able to walk, so why should we fear them? Let the jail guards put on hoods, so they won''t be recognized."

    "Either don''tmit a crime, or if you do and end up in our hands, I don''t care what gang it is, I''m the boss here, thenes the Mexican Government!"

    "Don''t be like Webster, who can''t even manage a prison properly. Tonight, lead a raid on the Second District to search for contraband. From now on, they can only die if I allow it. If they mess around, beat the hell out of them for me."

    "How much money do we have left?"

    "110,000 US dors..." Casare quickly replied.

    "First, hand out the money to the emergency response teams, then to the Second District. For the rest, if it''s not enough, tell them they''ll get it within ten days."

    A horse needs to be fed if you want it to run!

 Chapter 34: 34: My Rules Are The Rules!

    Casare belched as he walked out of Chief Inspector Victor''s office, clutching a cardboard box and heading toward the emergency squad on the fourth floor.

    Brothers who''ve been in the mmer know that if you''re not honest inside, you''ll have to "hang it up," but if the criminals in Mexico aren''t honest, there can be riots.

    So quite a few young and strong jail guards were organized to form an emergency squad, tasked with suppressing any sudden dangers.

    The team had about 170 members, and they''d carry out different contingency ns ording to the rms, with varying numbers of participants for each n.

    "Good day, Commander!" A jail guard with a Polic¨ªa Tercero (Police Junior Sergeant) patch came out of a room carrying a washbasin. Upon seeing Casare, he rushed to salute him.

    Boss Casare''s status was different now.

    "Is Harrison around? Go call him over."

    This guy was close to him and was one of the six who had helped to kill Dragan.

    The jail guard acknowledged and ran toward the captain''s office in his slippers. In no time, a nimble Sergeant followed him out.

    Casare patted his shoulder, seeing his tense appearance, "Everyone assemble, time to hand out money!"

    At a nce at the box on the ground, Harrison couldn''t help swallowing hard at the sight of the green Pesos inside. He took a whistle out of his pocket and blew it.

    Suddenly, the sound of scrambling footsteps rose, and members of the emergency squad in short sleeves ran out, whispering to each other in confusion.

    "Colleagues, I''ve been entrusted by Chief Inspector Victor toe here and give you your pay."

    Casare''s opening statement instantly ignited the crowd.

    "We''re really getting paid!"

    "Chief Inspector Victor is serious? I thought it was a joke!"

    "We''re getting paid today?"

    That was the effect he wanted.

    If you don''t hand out money, they''ll think you''re just "drawing" pies in the sky.

    Just like how the government says every year that they will improve the welfare of the police, but look... even after the Minister of Police is arrested, nothing happens.

    Those on top just don''t have the "heart" to look down.

    Mexican Police can endure; they don''t march and protest like the Yanks, shouting for their welfare. But they''re also quite vtile, watching their earnings shrink and going straight to drug trafficking.

    Their moral bottom line is quite flexible.

    Casare saw that at least half of the emergency squad in front of him had tattoos. Who says police forces need political vetting? Does Mexico need that thing?

    Go out with a gun and fire at random; you might hit the wrong person, but you''re bound to hit a drug trafficker.

    "Line up for your money. Anyone who doesn''t follow orders will forfeit this month''s extra allowance," Casare yelled, then added, "Right, this is an allowance, overtime pay!"

    Upon hearing him, the jail guards quickly formed a line. Harrison brought a table into the corridor, and Casare personally handed out money to each person.

    Those who received the money saluted him "genuinely," definitely not just for the sake of the money.

    After over 40 minutes, everyone had been paid, and Casare tossed the empty box aside nonchntly. Watching the excited jail guards, he felt a twinge of sadness.

    Really, Mexican police are like "model workers."

    "Later, take everyone to the Second District, everyone wear masks, Chief Inspector Victor wants to raid the Second District for contraband tonight!"

    Having received his pay as well, Harrison got an additional 600 Pesos for being the captain. Could a clerk or a directorpare to that?

    With money in hand, now they''d be willing to go head-to-head with drug lords, weapons in hand.

    Money is most valuable in the poorest ces.

    "Yes!"

    Harrison stood to attention and replied loudly.

    ...

    Powerful floodlights above thepound made the yard exceptionally bright.

    Dressed in a ck raincoat, Victor carried a baton under his arm, a gun on his waist, with Casare and other officials standing behind him.

    In front, 170 emergency squad members stood with masks on, weapons in hand.

    "Search the district for all kinds of contraband, including cigarettes, magazines, and guns and ammunition. If you encounter resistance, I authorize you to kill them. Understood?"

    "S¨ª, ?Se?or!" (Yes, Commander!)

    All 170 stood at attention and responded.

    See, with money, the morale BUFF is added.

    "Move out,"manded Victor, and the 170 personnel were divided into dozens of groups, darting toward the cells.

    "Boss, even the cigarettes need to be confiscated?" Casare asked quietly.

    "If they want to smoke in the future, they either behave or buy from us. Anything brought in privately is smuggled. Do you understand?"

    "I''ll sell them for 1 US Dor apiece, not expensive, right?"

    No worries, the Second District houses many gang and drug trafficking leaders anyway; they''ve got the means. If worsees to worst, just have someone from outside bring in the money.

    Could I even say their money is "smuggled"?

    Even if someone doesn''t like him (Webster) and reports him to Alejandro, right now, they are partners.

    If you''re out of money...

    Let me tell you, in prison, you won''t have an easy time either!

    Casare nced at Best, and the two exchanged a look, mutually seeing three words in each other''s eyes: "ck-hearted".

    A cigarette for one US dor...

    Excluding the female prisoners, the men alone probably smoke at least ten thousand a day.

    That''s another hefty ie.

    Victor had it all figured out, though. When the time came, he would continue to increase the jail guards'' ie. As long as they made more money, the cost for outside drug traffickers to bribe them would rise, and he himself would be safer.

    After the emergency squad took action, Victor and his group arrived at Cell Block One.

    They were met with shouting.

    "Damn it! Dog police! Don''t you know we''re trying to sleep? What are you doinging in here? Get out!"

    A prisoner who was short and scrawny but had a fierce look, with "MS-13" tattoos visible, led a crowd of heckling inmates.

    There are roughly twenty people in one cell, and it appeared very cramped.

    They certainly didn''t have the private apartments like the big bosses in the Third District.

    Tap tap tap~

    The sound of boots on the floor drew the attention of everyone in the cell, and as Victor stood at the entrance, he scanned the room and slowly walked over. The sound of his footsteps seemed to pound in their chests, suffocating and oppressive.

    "You got a problem?" Victor looked down on him, his gaze pausing on the arm, "MS-13? A United States gang? Ha!"

    No sooner had he made that scoffing sound than the rubber truncheon in his hand smashed down on the man''s head. It was solid inside.

    If anyone thinks that''s not painful, they''re wee to buy one and try for themselves.

    One blow, and the man was on the ground, clutching his head, blood oozing from between his fingers; it was a pitiful sight.

    The other prisoners, seeing their leader beaten, rose up in righteous indignation.

    "Emergency squad, ready to fire!" Casare shouted from behind.

    The group of jail guards immediately unlocked their safeties, facing the prisoners.

    One of them was even holding a Winchester Defender 1300 shotgun!

    The emergency squad''s weapons were quite decent.

    They just didn''t have many.

    But there''s always some hard-headed fool, perhaps too used to being brash.

    "I don''t believe you have the guts to fire. If you kill me, I''ll have people kill your entire family!" roared a big guy who looked like "Kiko", cursing as he charged forward.

    Bang!

    Do you know what it looks like when someone is shot at close range with a shotgun?

    It''s not like the movies where they fly backward; that''s too exaggerated.

    But it certainly counts as a terrible way to die, with the chest to stomach area turning into a bloody mess, without even a scream.

    The shooting jail guard''s hands were shaking.

    He was ecstatic!

    In prison, they were always looked down upon by inmates, but this time they finally got to hold their heads high.

    And with hoods on, who would know it was them?

    This gunshot significantly intimidated the prisoners. They looked at each other, hoping someone else would step out, but once they knew the cops would really shoot, it was a different story.

    "From now on, in prison, my rules are the rules. If I say 1+1 equals 3, it has to equal 3, even if Einstein himselfes and says it''s 3!"

    Victor, looking at the prisoners in front of him, had a gleam in his eye.

    Because...

    The prisoner that the jail guard had just shot dead had given him an additional 6000 points!

    He really wanted... to clear out The Second Prison.

    But that thought was fleeting, immediately extinguished, knowing that if they all died, he wouldn''t survive another day.

    However, now that he had power, he could perhaps bring out a few of those old timers from The Third Prison to kill, right?

    He still needed to climb higher.

    He truly wanted to kill all the drug traffickers in the country!

    "Take this guy out to the yard and hang him up. If he''s not dead by morning, send him to the infirmary."

    Victor nced at the prisoner lying on the floor, stepped on his wrist, and the man screamed in agony.

    "MS-13?"

    "I need to remind you that in teau Prison, God should be worshiping me!"

    ...

 Chapter 35: 35: Nickname: The Butcher! (Added more!)

    Dormitory building.

    Many people heard themotion and stood at the windows, pointing and discussing.

    Webster held a cigarette in his hand, his brows furrowed as he looked at the Second District. His face, already deeply lined with age, now looked even more worried.

    "Let them make trouble, once they be unbearable to others, naturally someone will take care of them."

    After mumbling to himself, he violently pulled the curtains shut.

    This "new official''s first fire" burned all through the night.

    More than ten people were hung up on the yground, all troublemakers, now beaten beyond recognition, not even their mothers could tell who was who if they came looking.

    Kennedy could still recognize his own skull.

    On the ground, to the left was a pile of cigarettes and magazines, and to the right were the confiscated weapons and drugs.

    There were quite a few good items.

    Victor even found a .38-caliber special police revolver produced by the Miroku Corporation.

    "Boss."

    Casare came over excitedly, "I''ve counted. This time we confiscated a total of 43 handguns, 326 bullets, and various other contraband items."

    This prison under Webster''s management was like a sieve.

    43 weapons?

    Nurhachi himself only started his army with thirteen sets of armor.

    "Idiots!"

    Victor threw the handgun on the ground, it was uncertain whom he was cursing, "Tell the Jail Guards from now on, if anyone helps a prisoner smuggle items, they better not get caught by me, or else, I''ll throw them out."

    Casare nodded hurriedly.

    "What about these weapons and drugs?"

    "Give the weapons to Best to sell. Damn it, we found them ourselves, so of course we take care of them ourselves."

    In the Mexican arms market, you could bring a weapon from World War II, and they''d still want it, sooner orter reaching the point where every one of the 128 million people has a gun.

    Sooner orter we will counter-attack America!

    "Destroy the drugs somewhere."

    "What about the drug addicts?"

    Victor was still quite humane, "Hang them up so they don''t run around. If they don''t make it through, have the prison doctor issue a notice of idental death."

    "Today, punish all the prisoners in the Second District by not letting them eat. They''re in prison to be reformed, not to enjoy themselves."

    "Yes, sir!"

    The fire causedplete turmoil in teau Prison; the main prison zones were separated only by chain-link fences. When the "minor offenders" from the First Prison Zone came out for activities in the morning, they saw a row of people hanging in the adjacent area.

    Many prisoners were also tied up by the emergency teams and dragged onto the yground as if to make a public example.

    Many of these people knew each other, and even among the mass of bruised faces, some found their own older brothers.

    Noises from themotion, curses, and incitements rose and fell. Even the Jail Guards in the First Prison Zone didn''t dare step forward to interfere.

    As the crowd grew, they began picking up stones from the ground and hurling them at the Jail Guards, and the situation grew increasingly dire.

    Webster, who had justin down not long ago, was trembling slightly at the sight; there were nearly 700 people in the First Prison Zone!

    "Release them!"

    "Damn mongrels, let them go!"

    The chain-link fence was shaking violently, and the prisoners in the Second District, hearing themotion, became excited. With enough people, they weren''t afraid of the police.

    "Look what you''ve done, now what do we do?!"

    Webster''s face was ashen as he turned to Victor with reproach.

    Victor''s expression was cold, "I haven''t had breakfast, and I''m in a very bad mood. Since the prisoners choose to arm themselves for a riot, we have the right to choose armed suppression!"

    This made Webster''s eyelids twitch.

    "What are you going to do?"

    Victor, with a rubber baton in hand, looked at the prisoners from the First Prison Zone nearby who looked like zombies, and gave a wave of his hand.

    "?? todos listos!! (Everyone, get ready!)" Casare shouted at the top of his lungs.

    The emergency squad''s jail guards all raised their weapons, causing an uproar from the opposite side.

    "Fire!!"

    In Webster''s horrified gaze, the prisoner at the very front screamed in pain after being shot, proving.

    Bullets are more lethal than words.

    The group of prisoners who had been crowded together suddenly scattered, panicking and causing incidents of overcrowding and stampeding.

    "Do you know what you''re doing, Victor? This is a ughter, stop it, everyone stop!" Webster''s face flushed with agitation, his spittle nearly spraying Victor''s face.

    "Sir, I just want to tell you that in Mexico, the way to deal with criminals is through violence. Only if you are more brutal than them will they shrink away like sheep!"

    As for whether the situation would get too out of hand and then someone outside would take a potshot?

    There were too many who wanted him dead; what were a few more?

    As long as he was in this skin, he could even openly replenish the emergency squad members, and maintain justice with his fists, right?

    As long as I have enough men, I won''t be the one to die.

    Power lies in the hands of those with the strongest fists.

    Why was Pablo so arrogant? Because he was strong enough, having formed a warlord strength capable of subverting a regime.

    He had a private army of more than 40,000 men, equipped with armed helicopters, warships, submarines, tanks, armored vehicles, and even missiles.

    In Africa, he could have swept through almost unchallenged.

    By then, the Colombian Government was on the brink of copse, its forces less advanced than Escobar''s private army.

    He even publicly offered bounties for police heads, $1,000 US Dors per head.

    There were rumors of criminals from neighboring countries going there to "make some extra money."

    Compared to him, the current Mexican drug trafficking organizations were still "gentle." At most, they would dismember and break bones, but developing a military capability that was a threat to Government Forces would have to wait for "Los Zetas" and the "Jalisco New Generation."

    The current government still had "skills" in terms of armed forces.

    If Victor were in Colombia now, would he dare to make such a fuss? Perhaps he''d already be cheering for Pablo.

    But no matter what, if this "farce" gets out, his name, Victor, would really be notorious far and wide.

    He wasn''t the first cop to fight back against the drug traffickers, but he was definitely the first to take them head-on like this.

    "You butcher!" Webster shouted furiously.

    "Thank you, that''s a nice nickname. I think you should go and take care of those sheep''s feelings now and tell them to keep in line. In this prison, I can kill them easily if I want to!"

    "Make sure they don''t spoil my mood."

    Having said this, Victor left with an unconcerned back turned to him.

    "I will definitely make aint to the warden about you."

    The only response he got was a middle finger.

    Do you know what kind of person gets promoted and makes money?

    The brash!

    Smart people pride themselves on being cautious and looking ahead, quietly waiting for the so-called right opportunity, only to grow old andment that they were born at the wrong time.

    The strong neverin about their circumstances.

    After all, it''s only one life; how could they kill me twice?

    Victor''s thoughts were always so bold; in Mexico, having no family meant having no burdens or leverage.

    ...

 Chapter 36: 36: Revenge!

    "Riot at teau Prison! 17 inmates and 3 jail guards dead"

    "Mexico''s security department head confirms: teau Prison riot has resulted in 21 deaths, 17 injuries, 7 missing."

    Thud!

    "Bunch of bullshit."

    Victor threw the newspaper onto the table with a curse, turned to Best beside him, and said, "These tabloids just love to spew nonsense. They can''t even get the numbers straight, and they even talk about missing people. Do these idiots think they''ve been eaten by me or what?"

    However, these Mexican tabloids had surprisingly sensitive news channels.

    Jingle jingle jingle~

    The telephone on the desk rang, as if rushing him to his fate. Victor, who was about to take a drink, had no choice but to put down his cup and answer the call, "Hello?"

    It was Alejandro calling.

    "Victor, is your work going smoothly?"

    "Very smoothly, Chief!"

    On the other end, Alejandro grunted, "I''ve heard that the prison has been rife with trouble recently. Webster hase to me to vent. He says that you don''t treat the inmates like humans, that you are extremely harsh, and he thinks you have a mental issue."

    Victorughed upon hearing this, leaned back into his leather chair, and said, "Chief, you must know what kind of person I am. If the people in prison don''t behave, I have to discipline them. Some have poor health and die from illness on their own, and I''ve got the doctor''s records right here."

    "That old codger Webster, I think his brain must have short-circuited. Don''t worry, I will go and ask himter if he''s been having it too easy recently."

    Victor spoke very calmly, as if he were the Warden himself.

    Alejandro rubbed his nose bridge in resignation, "Victor, the higher-ups will be meeting with me in a few days, and I hope you don''t cause any trouble at this time."

    "You can rest assured; your promotion benefits me too, doesn''t it?"

    I am the man even more concerned about your future than your father.

    Once he climbed up the ranks, Victor nned to covet the Director''s position. In the prison, he could only strut around on this little patch ofnd. To put it bluntly, power did not extend outward.

    What was the use of being a big shot cornered in a nook?

    Inside the prison, one managed these inmates, but the external, real power of the Director managed tens of thousands of people. Could theypare?

    The difference between a horse groom and a ranch manager.

    Victor mmed the receiver down emphatically, narrowed his eyes, and looked at Best, "That old bastard is really getting on my nerves! I didn''t pick a fight with him, and now he''s telling on me."

    "Shall we teach him a lesson? Knock him off early so you can move up faster," Best said bluntly.

    Victor thought carefully. Keeping the old turtle around was bothersome, and he was about to agree when there came a knock at the door.

    Casare entered, looking somber, "Boss, there''s been trouble."

    ...

    The prison yard.

    A crowd of jail guards surrounded the area, murmuring quietly, apanied by harrowing cries.

    "Make way, make way! What''s all this crowding about? Chief Inspector Victor is here." Casare shouted, and the watching jail guards automatically made a path.

    Victor frowned and saw two women''s bodies tied up, their faces twisted, wounds covered in blood, even their eyeballs gouged out. One of the women, who was slightly older, had her fingers chopped off.

    And the younger woman''s mouth was half-open, her tongue gone!

    Naked, her skin was marred with burns from some unidentifiable liquid.

    It was clear she had suffered considerable torture before death.

    "A van came by this morning and dumped the bodies at the prison gates, these two are Franz''s wife and mother," Casare pointed to a Police Corporal kneeling at his side, who looked very young, pale as a ghost,pletely deted.

    "He and his wife had been married less than a month."

    "This is retaliation," Best said, looking at Victor, "definitely aimed at us."

    "Boss, if we don''t handle this well, I''m afraid..." Casare stood beside him and whispered softly, Victor''s eyes swept over the jail guards who were looking on, their eyes dodging.

    They had friends and families.

    The method was too cruel.

    Honestly, they were afraid.

    The methods of Mexican drug traffickers were such; if they kill you, they start with your entire family.

    In January 1981, the new mayor of Ensenada, Baja California, took office, and his first task was to dere a drug ban; 8 hourster, his body was found by the coast, shot multiple times, and during his funeral, the local criminal organization, Tequ, raided the site, leaving 17 people dead.

    In February of the same year, the Director of Security in Morelia, capital of Michoac¨¢n, Jacobo Junior, vanished with his wife and daughter while at an amusement park.

    Seven hourster, their body parts were discovered in the amusement park''s restrooms.

    He had been a member of a Drug Enforcement Organization.

    Mexican drug traffickers used very "conspicuous" methods to agitate the nerves ofw enforcement, as if constantly "warning" them to stay calm in Mexico and not to mess with their business.

    Victor looked at the jail guards surrounding him, "I have nothing to say, I just know, you kill, you pay with your life!"

    "Call the emergency squad to the auditorium, I have something to tell them."

    Casare nodded, hurrying off to summon them.

    Victor nced at the corpses on the ground, turned around with a dark expression, and Best could feel the rage building up inside him.

    When he reached the auditorium, the emergency squad had already arrived, all standing quietly. Victor mounted the tform, above him hung the emblem of Mexico, and he banged his hands heavily on the table, "Those bastard mutts have pissed me off, I''m not happy, so let''s all go down together!"

    "The best way to deal with criminals is always to shut them up for good."

    "1000 Pesos per person, 500 for the dead! Who''s willing to do it?"

    Victor nned to use the "bounty" method to throw Mexico City into chaos directly!

    You like chaos, huh?

    So let''s see, damn it, who''s more ruthless!

    If you retreat one step, Mexican traffickers will brazenly blow up thest bit of territory you have.

    "Tell those bastards, they want my life, right? Come and take it!"

    "I''ll count to three; those unwilling can leave."

    "One!"

    The emergency squad''s jail guards looked at each other; many faces showed hesitation.

    "Two!"

    A short person in the front row scrammed straight away, setting off a domino effect, with others following him out.

    Instantly, more than half were gone.

    "Three!"

    By the time the numbers were finally called out, fewer than 40 people remained.

    You couldn''t demand that everyone be fearless; the first emotion humans naturally learn, is fear.

    "Good,ter you will go to Casare to get weapons, and tomorrowe to me with your ears open. The better you perform, the higher the chance I''ll promote you to be the Warden!"

    Those who stayed were the brave ones; talking to them about dedication or revenge was pointless. After all, it wasn''t their families who were dying, you needed to talk to them about interests.

    There would always be those who were willing to take risks.

    Mexicans were the most realistic.

    By 1993, when the government bankrupted the entire country because of the Food Act, there were even people willing to do it for 500 Pesos. Oh right, back then, the exchange rate was about 1 US Dor to 17 Pesos.

    "Dismissed!"

    After everyone had followed Casare to receive their weapons, the auditorium was suddenly empty.

    Do we have a way to find out who did it?

    Best rubbed his brow, shaking his head, "I don''t know, but I can ask around."

    "Find them!"

    "I want Jesus to enlighten them!!"

    ...

    The nights in Mexico got a bit cooler.

    It was almost winter...

    Even the dogs in heat had moved their activities into cars.

    In a secluded spot on Calle Cmar, a ck Santana was rocking back and forth, so much so that one could even hear faint, heavy breathing.

    Obviously...

    Something indecent was happening.

    A motorcycle rode up slowly with two men on board, stopping when they passed the Santana.

    The car window rolled down to reveal a man bare-chested, who cursed at the two, "What are you looking at? Haven''t you seen people fuck? Go watch your mom and dad!"

    The woman wrapped in a nket next to him alsoughed.

    The man sitting behind on the motorcycle raised his hand, holding a grenade. With a subtle flick of his thumb, he pulled the pin and threw it into the car amid the horrified gazes of the two inside.

    The motorcycle sped away.

    Boom!

    The roof of the car was blown away.

    The car was engulfed in roaring mes in an instant.

    The two inside met their end without so much as a scream.

    This wasn''t an isted incident.

    In the span of one hour after dark, there were over 20 explosions in the northern districts of Mexico!

    The police station''s phones were ringing off the hook.

    But in the middle of the night, which cop would dare toe out? It was taken for granted as a gang vendetta.

    In Mexico''s nights, even Jesus would need to wear a bulletproof vest.

    ...

    Los Insurgentes Bar.

    Located in the Pnco District, this area is rtively affluent and known as a gambling den. Many foreign tourists also enjoying here, so the ce is bustling at night.

    Victor, apanied by Best, Casare, and three jail guards in in clothes, entered and immediately spotted an adult performance on the central stage.

    Beneath the stage, men were reveling and women were screaming.

    Quite a decadent scene.

    Casare had always been lecherous, his gaze lingered for several moments, his Adam''s apple bobbing, but he understood they were here on serious business.

    "Are you sure the person we''re looking for is here?" Casare asked.

    "Wilbert loves to drink. If he''s not here, there are only two ces he could be: a bar or a mortuary."

    Best moved past a drunk and continued addressing the group, "The most important thing is that he''s bisexual. He''s into men and women, so it''s best to stay away from him."

    "He''s got more information than me, he''s got more contacts. Some gangs like to ask him for intelligence. Apparently, he has a list with the addresses of all the friends and rtives of the government''s higher-ups."

    When they arrived at booth number 203, Best stood at the ss entrance, nced inside, and immediately saw Wilbert surrounded by people left and right. He stationed two jail guards at the door and then pushed his way in.

    The sudden intrusion startled Wilbert who was in the midst of revelry. After recognizing the neers, his eyes lit up, focusing on Victor, "Hey! Best, long time no see, I thought you were killed."

    "My life is surely longer than yours." Best nced at Casare and then said to Wilbert, "I need to ask you something."

    "Not today, I have to sing with my darlings," Wilbert said as he kissed the women on either side of him.

    "I know your rules."

    Best pulled out some US Dors from his pocket and handed them to him. Wilbert''s eyes gleamed at the sight of money, but he didn''t reach out; he sized up Best, "Looks like you''ve been doing well for yourselftely."

    "That''s none of your concern. Isn''t it money you look at when doing business, not the background?"

    "What do you want to know?"

    "Who was behind the body dumped at teau Prison this morning."

    At this question, Wilbert looked at him in surprise, then as if realizing something, his gaze fixed on Victor.

    "I know who you are!"

    "Wilbert!" Best suddenly interrupted, warning him, "You better not say it out loud, it''s against the rules."

    Wilbertughed, "Fine! I''m a man of principles. For 10,000 US Dors, I guarantee I won''t say your name and I''ll tell you who the killer is."

    "10,000 US Dors!? Are you stuffed with dog shit in your mouth? How dare you?" Casare cursed.

    Ignoring him, Wilbert kept his eyes on Victor, "I think you''ll meet my demands, right? Otherwise, if I shout, it might be hard for you to leave this ce."

    Victor looked at him andughed.

    "Are you threatening me?"

    "Not really, it''s just a condition... Ahhhhh!!!!!"

    Before Wilbert could finish his sentence, Victor grabbed a bottle from the table and smashed it on his head.

    "Damn it! 10,000 US Dors? You ask for my money, I''ll take your life!"

    ...

 Chapter 37: 37: Is a 37mm Caliber Considered a Cannon?

    The sudden turn of events terrified the girls.

    Panicking, they tried to run outside, but Casare had blocked the door, so they could only shiver and huddle to one side.

    In Mexico, being a prostitute wasn''t safe; one could be embroiled in vendettas at any time.

    Earning a bit of money was truly not easy.

    Victor drove a shard of ss directly into Wilbert''s thigh, "I''ll ask one more time, who did it!!"

    "Olivier, it was Olivier!" Wilbert screamed in terror, his expression filled with horror.

    Dammit, who justes up and starts a fight?

    Don''t I just want some money?

    If you want a free ride, just say it outright, would I disagree?

    "Which Olivier?" Best frowned and asked.

    "Tezcatlipoca''s lot, he''s out for revenge because you guys killed his only brother!"

    Best nodded slowly at Victor, "I think I know where they are."

    "So this guy is useless now, right?"

    Wilbert was scared to death by that remark; he raised his hands, shouting in fear, "Don''t kill me, I''m useful, I can provide you with information."

    "You''re too expensive, sir."

    Casare fired seven shots at him, finishing with a headshot.

    The most important thing was, if you offended Jesus, you could still pray, but if you offended Boss Victor, did you still expect to live?

    Everyone knew he was the most narrow-minded... scratch that, the most intolerant of evil!

    "Boss! Someone''sing!" the jail guard at the door shouted urgently as he opened it.

    "Let''s get out first."

    Victor took the Uzi submachine gun from Casare''s hand, and as soon as he stepped out of the private room, he saw four or five burly men rushing over. By their tattoos, it was clear they belonged to some gang.

    The men were clearly dumbfounded upon seeing their guns, and as Victor raised his weapon, they panicked, bumping open doors and hiding in the adjacent private rooms.

    Victor and his crew took the opportunity to rush out. At the entrance, one jail guard even pulled out a tear gas grenade and tossed it into the crowd of people still dancing.

    Serves you right for not sleeping at night!

    The thick smoke instantly filled the entire bar amid screams, confusion, and cries.

    The group got into a red Mazda parked at the door and sped away.

    By the time the gang members in charge of watching the ce came out, sniveling and teary-eyed, they could only rage impotently on the spot.

    ...

    "Who is Olivier?" Victor, sitting in the passenger seat, pinched the handle above his head and turned to ask Best, who was behind him.

    "His old man was an avocado tycoon in Michoac¨¢n, but due to global warming, agricultural products grew slowly, and he felt he couldn''t get rich, so he turned to the Gulf, doing supply chain business for them. However, during one shipment, he was shot and killed by the Drug Enforcement Administration, and that''s when Olivier took over his dad''s job."

    "But he was ambitious and split from the Gulf to go solo. However, his business didn''tst long before he was beaten back by the Michoac¨¢n Family Cartel, and finally, he came to Mexico City."

    Casare looked puzzled from the side, "How do you know all these details?"

    "Because he acts brazenly without abiding by any rules, casually killing entire families."

    "Does he have significant firepower?" Victor asked the question he was very keen to know.

    "He has nearly a hundred gunmen under him, including but not limited to assault rifles - he''s got an unusual amount of firepower for Mexico City."

    That made things clear.

    Indeed, while the neighbor hoards grain, I hoard guns; their grain silo is right next door, and the louder the caliber, the louder the voice.

    "Got RPGs?"

    "Haven''t heard of any..."

    "What about heavy machine guns?"

    Best shook his head while chuckling, "Boss Victor, that kind of hardware is way beyond ordinary gangsters."

    "Then what''s the big deal? Do drug traffickers have realbat power? What good does it do to be able to fight? When you''re out doing business, it''s all about firepower; this kind of cancer should be eradicated!"

    Victor lit a cigarette for himself, "Go get two pickup trucks to warehouse number one; I''ll show you what real firepower is."

    Casare, afraid he''d take it too far, said, "Boss Victor, we jail guards don''t have the authority to enforce thew; if this gets too big, it won''t end well."

    The downside of being a jail guard is not being able to officially wield power.

    "Without a uniform, who would know who it is? I have one rule when I do things: whoever jumps out, I''ll squash them down. Some avocado seller dares to defecate on my head; not even Jesus could save him, I say!"

    Seeing his resolve, Casare stopped trying to persuade him.

    Best called Duke to buy a used pickup truck, and by the time the group arrived at warehouse number one, which was situated in the "Bergedes" vige outside the prison, Duke was already standing outside in the cold.

    Victor knocked on the door, and it was opened from the inside by two blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigners who looked German.

    The main ethnic groups in Mexico are Indo-European mixed race and Indigenous people.

    Casare and Best, standing behind them, exchanged looks. When did Germans be part of the team?

    This was actually due to the fact that Victor''s total points had exceeded 10,000, and the originally "deep gray" "Character" category in the Golden Finger panel was highlighted.

    You could get a customized character from it.

    It includes gender, age, name, nationality, and so on.

    But the more features you add, the more points it will cost.

    For example: if you just need an "Ordinary Infantry," this cannon fodder level fighting personnel would cost about 2,000 points, but if you add something like "NATO Firearms Proficiency" on top of it, that would need an additional 2,000 points.

    If everyone''s got enough points, they''re all fucking Stallone?

    But the assignments are adjusted ording to rank.

    Currently, as a police superintendent and Deputy Warden, you can only get 20 men.

    This is just pushing yourself to climb up the ranks!

    Right now, the emergency squad''s jail guards just need to spend a little money, and it seems like they''re getting the better deal.

    Does this Golden Finger want me to be a cop or a warlord?

    He used 3,000 points to "conjure" two technicians with "basic welding" skills.

    One is called Yuri; The other, Kost.

    The most important thing is, they don''t look especially "dull-witted." You could strip them naked and still see hair where there should be hair.

    "Boss!" The two saw Victor and even had looks of joy on their faces.

    "The stuff?"

    Yuri pointed inside the building, "It''s all set up."

    "Come on, I''ll show you what real firepower is!" Victor told the two behind him as he led the way inside.

    Best and Casare nced at each other, both feeling like there was some malevolence in the boss''s smile. As they walked through the gate, their eyes bulged instantly.

    They saw a... cannon right next to the boss!

    "M3 cannon, United States made. What do you think? Weld it to a pickup truck, one shot to blow that bastard to hell. Are their guns bigger than my caliber?"

    The two were just staring in amazement.

    Isn''t this cheating!

    At most, others have some guns, and you''re bringing in a cannon?

    Isn''t that a bit of bullying?

    Moreover, this kind of bat pickup truck" was also refreshing their understanding of weapons. Can weapons really be used like this?

    Thebat pickup truck actually became famous globally in 1987.

    That year, armed conflict erupted between Libya and Chad. At the time, the Libyan military was well-equipped, whereas the Chadian military only had 400 civilian Toyota pickups. However, the Chadians outfitted the pickups with anti-tank missiles and, using their maneuverability in the vast desert, engaged in gueri warfare against the Libyan tank regiments.

    Incredibly, they managed to defeat the hitherto invincible Libyan forces.

    And actually, Mexican drug traffickers began using bat pickup trucks" in the early 90s. During the armed conflicts between Sinaloa and Tijuana, there were instances of machine guns mounted on pickup trucks, firing into crowds.

    This thing, cheap and reliable, was perfect for home, travel, and even essential for firefights.

    "Weld it on."

    Upon Victor''smand, Yuri and Kost got to work. Meanwhile, Duke''s eyes were shining. After Victor went inside, hemented to Best, "Boss, the big guy has quite the connections, huh? Even managed to bring in a cannon."

    "This is not good news," Best sighed.

    "What do you mean? Is there a problem?"

    "If we really start using cannons, how do you think those major drug trafficking organizations will react? They''ll definitely upgrade their own equipment. ces that are already rampant with drug trafficking will be even more brutal."

    Duke clearly understood the nature of drug lords. If they learned of this new "y," they would surely join in, potentially escting the conflicts between drug lords into full-blown "wars"!

    There''s an "arms race" among drug lords as well.

    In 2009, Los Zetas spent $60 million to purchase arms, and they were even auctioning worldwide.

    Are you braindead?

    Who would dare sell to you?

    Can''t you send a private fax?

    No! Can''t you write a letter?

    With a poption of over eight million, Papua New Guinea only spent $84 million on military expenses in 2017!

    Your drug trafficking organization is more vicious than a whole country.

    It''s only because the world''s top 500 doesn''t allow "illegal organizations" that Mexico isn''t the country with the most "enterprises" on the list.

    "But what''s that got to do with us?" Duke hesitated, "Boss, in Mexico, it''s better they die than us."

    You''re almost getting killed by others, and you''re still being a Virgin Mary?

    "I''m just expressing my dismay, idiot!" Best snapped irritably.

    "Come over here and give me a hand," Casare called from atop the pickup truck.

    "On my way!" Duke hurried over.

    The group was busy until the early morning; as long as it''s securely fixed, making sure the welding doesn''t flip them over with the first shot.

    When Victor was called out, he too felt the overpowering pressure looking at the bat pickup truck." A 37mm caliber simply couldn''t be called a "gun," right?

    Suddenly, an idea urred to him.

    If he had his own factory in the future, could he export these to Africa?

    Sell them cheap, and they should have a market, right?

    Can''t sell them to Mexican drug traffickers, though. If they blew him up, that would be a massive loss.

    But then he suddenly remembered a problem.

    "Which one of you knows how to fire a cannon?"

    ¡­

    <img data-y-imgId="10045259" data-y-path="/imgChapter/23506817501037701/26228101101623904/10045259/2c924ef6dbe429bd1be6a177af6fe1e27L0Yhv5rR8kjfzr.jpg">

 Chapter 38: 38: Ill Make Sure You Have More Bullet Holes than Me!

    Late at night.

    A pickup truck roared down the road, its bed covered with a rain tarp.

    Revenge never waits overnight!

    Gentlemen say revenge can wait ten years because gentlemenck the means for immediate revenge.

    You''re telling me to wait when I''ve got a cannon ready now?

    It was already toote to "maintain justice".

    Killing drug traffickers, do I need to wait for an auspicious day?

    As long as I have the firepower, I dere today the auspicious day!

    Sitting in the passenger seat, Duke scratched his head with an instruction manual he had no idea where he''d "picked up" from.

    Artillery is part of the technical troops, you think it''s as simple as bringing a condom?

    Following the pickup were two other cars, one of which was called for support.

    Victor handed a hood to the emergency response team leader Harrison in the back, "Put this on."

    "Boss Victor, do we need these even at night? After we fire that cannon, those damn mutts might not even see our faces."

    "Just to be safe. You wouldn''t want any bystanders to see your faces, would you?"

    "After three shots of artillery, charge in. I want to hang Olivier at the entrance of teau Prison!"

    Harrison nodded, covering his face with the hood and holding the Uzi submachine gun provided by Victor, wearing a tactical vest with grenades hanging on either side, and a Makarov at his waist.

    Plus four extra magazines.

    Without saying, no one would even know you''re a jail guard!

    Only Harrison''s eyes were visible, deep and forceful.

    "I remember you served before? In which unit?" Victor suddenly asked, seeing his gear. He remembered reading the jail guard''s file before, which mentioned his military service.

    Harrison paused, "GAFE!"

    Even Casare, who was driving, couldn''t help but raise his head to nce at him.

    Victor''s gaze became¡­ peculiar.

    The Mexican GAFE Special Forces were quite famous. In 1986, a special force was specifically created to fight drug traffickers ¡ª outstanding in battle and rich inmendations.

    But what really made them "famous" was something else.

    After Gulf Group spokesperson Abrego was arrested and Cardenas took over, to solidify his own power, he had Arturo Desena, then a 23-year-old from Tamaulipas State serving as a federal cop, create a Special Forces bodyguard unit.

    He recruited 30 Special Forces members, all from the Mexican GAFE Special Forces!

    Using his codename "Z" from his cop days, they were lined up starting from Z1. After Arturo Desena was killed while meeting his mistress, Z2 Gonzalez,cking a Special Forces background as he was an installed pawn, couldn''t reallymand respect.

    Z3 Razcano was the true leader among these Special Forces members.

    These menter became: Los Zetas!

    It was unexpected for Harrison to havee out of that unit.

    His importance in Victor''s eyes suddenly increased.

    Maybe, for future missions, he could be brought on board.

    What''s so great about being a jail guard? Following me, at the very least the sry won''t be too shabby.

    The other jail guards originally wanted to chat some more, but seeing the captain wasn''t in the mood, they also shut up.

    At 4:31 in the morning.

    They arrived at the designated spot.

    The residence of Olivier, provided by Best, was located on a private vi on Loro (Parrot) Street.

    It must be said that these drug traffickers make money fast. From the outside, it gave the jail guards, who had never seen such a scene, quite a shock.

    Duke and two jail guards jumped off the truck, quickly lifted the tarp, and pushed the prepared shells into the cannon. They didn''t even aim; such a big target doesn''t need to be precisely targeted.

    Duke pulled back the cannon''s breechblock.

    The shell fired with a pop, flying into the night, and the massive recoil cracked the truck''s windows. The shell vanished into the night, but two secondster, the explosion copsed half a corner of the vi.

    Duke shook his numb head and shouted down to the jail guards below, "Ammo!"

    Continue loading, continue firing!

    What nonsense is this drug lord, witness my righteous descent from the heavens!

    People inside must have been utterly dazed; there was no screaming. After three rounds were fired, half of the vi was gone, even the outdoor swimming pool was filled with rubble and turned into a pool of filth.

    Once the task waspleted, Duke climbed back into the truck. The pickup slowly drove off, while Harrison and the others got out of their vehicle. A total of eight jail guards charged into Olivier''s residence.

    Victor sat in the car, watching the time.

    Scattered gunshots resonated inside, but quickly fell silent. When the minute hand had moved three notches, he saw Harrison and his teame out, with two Jail Guards dragging along a man who had passed out, dressed in pajamas and his face covered in bloodstains.

    They hurriedly tossed him into the trunk; the Jail Guards got into the car, the engine roared twice, and they disappeared into the night, all in less than 10 minutes.

    Indeed, poverty resorts to stealth, while wealth cleanses with gunfire.

    "How did it go? Any resistance?"

    Harrison shook his head, "When we went in, we saw a few bodyguards crushed under the rubble. On the second floor, we found Olivier who had been stunned by the st. We killed all the others."

    "Well done," Victor praised.

    Mainly because Olivier couldn''t have imagined you''d seek revenge so swiftly and directly bombard him with artillery.

    I''m a drug trafficker, not a rebel.

    Small-time drug dealers are just too inexperienced.

    Even the "gentlemen" of the Cali Cartel in Colombia once thought about using bombers to kill Pablo. They didn''t because nobody would sell it to them, remember¡ªnot because they couldn''t afford it.

    Mexicans are naive; after the deed, they even called the cops for you.

    The police on the other end were baffled upon hearing the caller.

    "Are you sure you saw artillery?"

    "I''m positive! I saw it; the whole building blew up. You guys bettere quickly."

    "Are you sure it was a gang shootout?"

    The caller on the other end was irritated, "Of course, what else could it be? The police? Do you have that kind of firepower?"

    Pickup trucks and sedans parted ways at the outskirts of the city, each heading its own direction, one towards the vige while the other headed to the prison.

    The Jail Guard at the gate saw the boss returning and opened the gate without a question.

    The car stopped in the courtyard.

    Harrison and his colleagues dragged Olivier out of the trunk.

    "Give him some adrenaline, hang him up tonight. Don''t let him die; I want to execute him in front of all the Jail Guards and inmates tomorrow morning!"

    Public execution!

    "Boss, we''re Jail Guards, privately executing prisoners will put us behind bars!"

    Best and Casare panicked when they heard his n and quickly came up to dissuade him.

    "Aren''t we already in prison?"

    Victor spread his hands, "What''s the difference between Mexican Jail Guards and inmates? There are even drug traffickers outside saying that Jail Guards serve them in prison. I want to tell them not to fall into my hands, otherwise, I''ll y them. It''s sheer anarchy!"

    He tugged at his clothes, feeling slightly hot, and headed towards the dormitory building. After a couple of steps, he walked back to look at Casare, "Send Alejandro twenty thousand US Dors, he''ll fix things for us."

    Casare and Best exchanged nces.

    Though Mexico is messy, that usually refers to the disorganized Mexican factions. If a Jail Guard does something like this, gossip alone could finish you off outside.

    But looking at Victor...

    He doesn''t care in the slightest.

    He wasn''t concerned at all; he wanted to establish his reputation as an earnest anti-drug crusader right from the start of his career.

    He is a staunch prohibitionist!

    The drug lords are not humans to begin with; I''m just using methods not permitted byw to eradicate evil.

    This will greatly aid my future journey to higher ranks.

    Mexico has suffered long from drugs, and the inaction of the government has gradually been scorned by the people, which is why there was even a peasants'' revolt in 1994.

    It is despair that is spreading.

    Of course, the drug lords will not be scared away by Victor''s methods; they may even resort to more brutal means to maintain their interests.

    Then it''s a matter of who has the harsher methods.

    Jesus Himself has to sit down and vote for me.

    Drug lords?

    Aren''t they just people with more manpower and money than me?

    Then I''ll ensure they have more bullet holes than me too!

    Those in a defensive position have no right to negotiate.

    ...

 Chapter 39: 39: Please Respect the Law!

    Dawn was just breaking.

    The early-rising Jail Guards were met with a horrifying scene.

    A man in pajamas, his face covered in a beard, hung limply in mid-air, wrists bound behind his back, bearing an expression of death.

    The Jail Guards, unsure of the situation, pointed and questioned each other.

    "What''s going on? What time is it? Isn''t it time for a shift change?" Casare, with dark circles under his eyes, approached and demanded with a scowl to see the crowd around him.

    Many Jail Guards hurriedly walked away, while a fair number who were on good terms with him remained.

    "Warden Casare, who is that?" a Jail Guard sporting a Sergeant''s insignia offered a cigarette, his face eager to please.

    Casare hesitated, but knowing they would find out soon enough, he took the cigarette and muttered begrudgingly, "Olivier."

    Eager to ensure he understood, he added, "He did what Franz did yesterday."

    The Sergeant''s eyes widened in shock, but Casare didn''t want to talk more and walked away with his hands behind his back; watching his retreating figure, the Sergeant swallowed hard, shocked by the news.

    In less than half an hour, almost everyone knew the man hanging on the yground was Olivier, and had learned from someone in the know that Warden Victor had personally led a team to capture him.

    And that there had been an intense gunfight.

    Warden Victor, already quite popr within the prison, gained a massive wave of favor.

    "Did you have someone deliberately spread the word?" Best whispered to Casare.

    Thetter was gnawing on a chicken roll, "When you do something, it should be high-profile. Otherwise, who would know what you''ve done? Everything covertly done might as well not have been done at all. It''s called political prestige, do you understand?"

    Best admitted he was right but, as a naturally cautious person, he felt that not all the Jail Guards werepliant, and some miscreants were still in cahoots with drug traffickers outside.

    There''s no telling what unexpected problems might arise.

    Nine in the morning.

    Warden Victor appeared on the yground on time, and Casare had already arranged for 200 inmates and 100 Jail Guards to act as "spectators." teau Prison had too many people to bring them all out.

    If you were to seriously gather over 5,000 inmates and a riot broke out, that wouldn''t be aughing matter.

    Victor wasn''t foolish enough for that.

    He just picked out a few troublemakers typically to set an example.

    The inmates, schooled through experience, dared not whisper to each other now, but their eyes brimmed with anger, feeling their dignity was being insulted.

    Just as Warden Victor was about to go up and say a few words, he saw Casare hurry over, "Webster has called Pier Luigi here."

    The name sounded very familiar.

    After thinking for a moment, it seemed to be one of the two Deputy Directors of the Prison Administration Bureau.

    Alejandro had indicated that the Deputy Directors didn''t usually get along well with him but became more courteous after he was honored with a promotion, perhaps knowing he was about to transfer.

    A position was about to be vacant.

    Webster apanied a middle-aged man who looked very capable, his gaze cold and predatory, evidently not someone to be trifled with.

    "What are you doing, Victor?" Pier Luigi lifted his head to nce at the hanging Olivier, frowning, "Punishing prisoners privately is against regtions."

    "Ah sir, I''m illiterate, can''t understand regtions,"

    "But I know he''s a drug trafficker, and he tried to attack the prison yesterday to break out an inmate, but we caught him. I''m just teaching him a lesson."

    "An attack? In pajamas? Victor, are you joking?" Webster couldn''t help but interject.

    "Can''t shoot in pajamas? You go sit on sofas at a woman''s house with your ass bare; don''t think I''m unaware, officer!"

    His words almost caused the onlookers tough out loud.

    Webster''s face turned red, and Pier Luigi gestured with his hand for him to be quiet before stepping forward to confront Victor,ing close face to face, "I''ve heard about you, Victor. You''ve been doing welltely, but sometimes don''t take things too seriously. I know you follow Alejandro, but he''s about to transfer, so some things might change."

    Victorughed at this, turning to look at Webster, "So, you choose to side with him, right?" ncing at his watch, he added, "Officer, time''s up. If you feel like giving a speech, maybe you should head to a pub, where the strippers will apud you."

    Pier Luigi''s brow twitched, anger shing across his face, as he reached for Victor. But Victor countered with a punch,nding squarely on Pier Luigi''s left cheek, causing him to stagger.

    Victor followed up with a kick that knocked him to the ground, and, not yet appeased,nded a series of hooks on Pier Luigi, not holding back, swelling his eye like a rock.

    Grabbing Pier Luigi by the hair, Victor whispered harshly by his ear, "Sir! You have bad breath and your words are so bothersome. I can''t stand people who fuss and nag!"

    With force, he mmed Pier Luigi''s head onto a nearby table.

    Thud!

    Hey on the ground like a dead dog, his face covered in blood.

    All was silent.

    Webster''s eyes were wide in disbelief, astonished that Victor dared to assault a superior.

    Isn''t a deputy director still a director?

    "Have someone take him to the infirmary, put the medical expenses on my tab."

    Victor pulled out a chocte from his pocket, popped it into his mouth, and the sweetness instantly swept through his brain, significantly improving his mood.

    He looked at Webster, patted his face, "Warden, you''ve really pissed me off. Don''t bothering in tomorrow."

    Reverse firing!

    Of course, he knew what Webster meant; it was nothing more than seeing his own power grow and sensing that he would lose his say in teau Prison. He was too fond of that power to let go, wanting Pier Luigi to suppress him.

    Isn''t this what office politics are all about?

    Even you, a senior on the verge of retirement after thirty years, think you can boss around the neers.

    Victor wasn''t going to indulge him.

    If you''ve got the guts, shoot me.

    If you don''t, get the hell out of my sight.

    As for dismissing him?

    He was just in the news, freshly promoted; you''re going to dismiss him now? Wouldn''t that be pping your own face?

    As long as I''mwless, no one can nag in my ear.

    And even if I get dismissed, isn''t it just about slipping some money?

    However much you want,e and take it!

    Victor disregarded Webster and stood in front of the jail guards and prisoners, hands in pockets. "Gentlemen, I''ll say this only once. What happens outside, I don''t care. In teau Prison, prisoners are prisoners and guards are guards. If you think you''ve got the strength, feel free to provoke me."

    "And another thing!"

    Victor raised a finger, "Please respect thew."

    As he lowered that finger and lit a cigarette for himself, the rope tied around the suspended Olivier snapped, and he plummeted abruptly to the ground.

    Have you ever seen a watermelon smash on the ground?

    The blood mixing with brain matter sttered onto the faces of nearby prisoners, and even those with countless murders felt a chill in that moment.

    "Clean this up."

    As the jail guards, trembling, were about to herd the silent prisoners back to their cells, they saw Casare, puffing and panting, running over.

    "By the way, make sure the sanitation fee is paid in full today. Those who don''t pay won''t be allowed to use the toilet tomorrow. Gentlemen, for the sake of your anuses, please don''t forget."

    ...

    Back in his office, Victor received a call from Alejandro, who immediately asked if Pier Luigi had been looking for him.

    Victor did not bother to disguise the truth, "Yes, but I think you might need to visit him in the hospital."

    Alejandro asked, "What happened?"

    "His face had a little rendezvous with my fist."

    You could clearly sense the speechlessness on the other end.

    "You hit him?!"

    "He might end up taking my ce in the future, and by discrediting him, he''ll surely keep causing you trouble."

    "No, he''s not going to take your ce, Alejandro, I assure you."

    "I hope you can always be this confident."

    "You didn''t call me just to talk about this, did you?" Victor took a drag on his cigarette and let it swirl in his nostrils.

    There was silence on the line as if a decision had been made.

    "Do you have connections to military arms? I want a batch of weapons."

    "Cough, cough, cough..."

    Victor choked upon hearing this, "Alejandro, are you looking to go to war with someone?"

    Politicians can just hit each other with sewer pipes.

    Save the bullets.

    My main concern is you might not pay.

    That''s very important.

    ...

    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and

    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

 Chapter 40: 40: Read More, Speak Less!

    "If you''ve got connections in the arms trade, I think we could make a good profit together," Alejandro said.

    Getting into business?

    Victor was certainly interested.

    He leaned forward slightly, "Please borate."

    For him to use "please," the matter must be significant.

    "I''m being transferred as a senior assistant to the security department in Mexico, tasked with drug enforcement in Chihuahua State and coordinating with the military. Last night, an old ssmate whom I hadn''t contacted in a long time suddenly reached out to me. He hopes I can help him connect with the military to buy some weapons for him," Alejandro exined.

    On hearing this, Victor raised his eyebrows, "What does your ssmate do?"

    The Mexican Military has always been on the forefront of corruption. They sell their weapons to drug lords in exchange for cash, and these traffickers then use those weapons to kill civilians on arge scale. To some extent, the military is an aplice.

    But to tell the truth, the military budget of the Mexican Government is really trash.

    Can you believe that in 1989, the military budget was less than 1.5 billion US dors?

    The army doesn''t even have proper tanks, only armored vehicles.

    And the air force?

    US-made F-5E fighters.

    The navy has nearly 40,000 personnel and has set up two fleets with two Knox-ss frigates and escort ships made by Americans in the ''60s.

    Knox-ss? What kind of warship is that? Those were hastily built by the Americans towards the end of World War II with the intention of fighting the Japanese in the Pacific. However, by the time they were ready, Japan had surrendered, so these ships never saw action.

    By the ''80s, the Americans stopped using them and began to offload them in a fire sale.

    These ships, even the Seven Warlords of the World wouldn''t take a second nce at them; they prefer their own little boats.

    Military pay is generally the lowest across all industries. You might as well beg.

    You don''t pay, yet you expect these people to fight drug traffickers?

    It''s like putting a condom on your head¡ªit''s the wrong end you''re trying to cover.

    So in the brutal drug enforcement gunfights, you might even see Mexican soldiers wielding wooden sticks.

    The magical and abstract world of Latin America.

    "You might have heard his name; he''s Agur, a formermander at the Mexican Federal Security Directorate, now in charge of Juarez," Alejandro said.

    Fuck!

    Dude, your old ssmate is that kickass, and you''re struggling this bad?

    But on second thought, it makes sense. Drug lords usually prioritize "interests first." If you''re not useful to them, they couldn''t care less about old friendships.

    "So, you haven''t contacted the military?"

    Alejandro''s tone escted, "Of course, I have. I reached out to Brigade General Derek Alvarez of Chihuahua''s 18th Brigade. He told me that the unit''s weapon inventory is less than 25%, all sold off by a formermander!"

    "Even the armored vehicles got sold off," he added.

    Victor was dumbfounded by the level of corruption within the Mexican Army.

    Taking a deep breath, Alejandro continued, "Agur is a very proud man; he doesn''t like being rejected. I had no choice, which is why I''ming to you, buddy."

    "I do have some contacts, but what exactly do you need, boss?" Victor asked directly.

    All about benefits here, why bother with sentiment?

    In Mexico, if you talk about sentiment, you''re not far from death.

    "$30,000 in introduction fees, and rest assured, I''ll put in a good word for you," Alejandro stated.

    "No problem, I''ll have it sent to your ce," Victor agreed instantly. Money-rted issues are never big problems as long as they can be solved with money.

    After agreeing on a time, just as Victor was about to hang up, Alejandro on the other end called out again, "Wait, there''s one more thing."

    "The Day of the Dead is the day after tomorrow. Security tasks in Mexico City are quite burdensome, and the security department hopes you can dispatch some people starting tomorrow to take care of the safety of the small town of Miski," Alejandro requested.

    They''re pulling out the jail guards for patrol duty?

    Can it get any more ridiculous?

    Victor frowned; he knew that it was an order from the security department, and there was no use inining. "How many do you need?" he asked.

    "No specific requirement, but the more, the better. You know how some drunks like to cause trouble during the Day of the Dead. Your own safety is the most important," Alejandro advised.

    After hanging up, Victor rubbed his chin in thought.

    The Day of the Dead often brings trouble; it''s best to bring more people, ideally an armored vehicle so you won''t have to fear gunfights.

    But he looked at his points bnce: 10789 points.

    That wasn''t even enough to exchange for a wheel, let alone enough to trade for weapons with Juarez dealers.

    When ites to life and work, one must take big strides; even if it involves straining yourself, it doesn''t matter.

    We can just p a band-aid on the egg.

    Victor''s eyes shed with malice, it looked like he''d have to drag out one of Third District''s immortals for a sacrificial offering. He pressed the internal line phone, "Casare,e here for a moment."

    ...

    Night.

    The Sicilian Falcon slept soundly, curled up in a corner.

    Suddenly, he heard the noise of the cell door opening. Already a light sleeper, he woke up instantly, jerking his head up only to see three figures rushing towards him, one of them mping a hand firmly over his mouth.

    The Sicilian Falcon''s pupils dted as he kicked his feet violently, making muffled noises, attempting to resist. But his body was frail to begin with, and being in prison without money meant a poor diet.

    His nutrition couldn''t keep up.

    One of the attackers pulled out a thumb-thick rope and looped it around the Sicilian Falcon''s neck, squeezing it tightly.

    The Sicilian Falcon''s eyeballs seemed to pop out, his face turned red, cheekbones trembling, and he even smelled a stench of urine, as a wave of liquid spread out.

    A "huh huh" noise came from his throat, his hands iling, but soon his body stiffened and then hey limply on the floor.

    He was strangled to death!

    These three worked efficiently, hanging the rope on the bed and then cing the Sicilian Falcon''s head inside the loop, making it look like a hanging. Their technique was amateurish.

    After everything was done, the three men locked the cell door and left.

    They didn''t see the pair of eyes in the first cell, staring intently.

    ...

    The Sicilian Falcon was dead!

    This news shocked the Third District. Warden Kona Bsk swallowed hard at the sight of Falcon''s ghastly state before him.

    A prison doctor squatted beside, surveying the marks on the neck and the scene. "Warden, it appears he hanged himself."

    "Hanged?!"

    Kona Bsk felt it absurd, pointing at the rope casually hung on the bed andughed angrily, "You hang it up and try?"

    The prison doctor found himself in a difficult position.

    At that moment, a voice came from the door, "What happened here?"

    Kona Bsk turned and saw Victor at the doorway, whichplicated his expression. What was once a mere Deputy Warden had now be his boss.

    "Warden," the Jail Guards inside the cell called out. Kona Bsk reluctantly followed, "Deputy Warden."

    Victor gave him a nce.

    You don''t want to improve at all, do you?

    "The Sicilian Falcon hanged himself. The time of death was over 8 hours ago," the prison doctor said.

    Upon hearing this, Victor became furious, confronting Kona with a menacing air, "How is this under your watch? How could there be a suicide? Haven''t you been patrolling?"

    Kona waspletely taken aback by the barrage of questions.

    "You can''t do the job properly and you''re nowhere to be seen. Take a suspension for self-reflection. Casare will act as manager of the Third District," Victor stated sternly, frowning.

    Kona''s face went sour at once.

    But under Victor''s gaze, he could only begrudgingly ept it.

    "Process and cremate the body ording to procedure," Victor ordered.

    Before leaving, Victor red at Kona, while Casare patted his shoulder, speaking softly, "It''s okay, the Warden is just like that. I''ll speak to him. Once he calms down, you''lle back. I''ll manage things for you in the meantime."

    As Victor was about to leave the cell, he suddenly turned his head and saw Stepan nquart hurriedly shift his gaze to the book in his hands, sweat dripping from his temples.

    "Stepan," Victor suddenly called out.

    "Yes, here..." The other instinctively answered.

    "Read more books, pay good attention. The more you read, the less you''ll have time for idle thoughts."

    Stepan nquart met Victor''s gaze and turned pale, nodding frantically.

    Victor gave him onest profound look before leaving the cell.

    Standing at the door.

    He said to Casare, "Stepan doesn''t seem to be in good health. Do you think he might have a contagious disease?"

    Casare immediately got the hint.

    "Then I''ll move him to another cell for isted observation and management."

    "You take charge of the Third District. No more suicides," Victor instructed.

    "Understood," Casare replied.

    ...

 Chapter 41: 41: Sorry!

    10:00 a.m.

    50 emergency squad members boarded the troop transport, while Victor and Harrison got on a BTR-40 armored personnel carrier, which was painted with green letters that read: Prisi¨®n de meseta de M¨¦xico (Mexico Hignds Prison).

    With this thing, what bullets to fear?

    It had cost Victor over 50,000 points to exchange, and although it was equipment from 1950, it was born in 1944, so it just missed the cutoff point of World War II, hence the price was a bit reserved.

    Moreover, for fire power, a 14.5 mm machine gun was welded on it.

    Yuri and Kost worked on it all night.

    As for origin, if anyone asked, he could just push it off onto the former Warden. After all, who would care?

    The gates of the prison opened slowly, and the convoy drove out of the prison.

    The jail guards at the gate even saluted them.

    Victor frowned upon seeing there were still quite a few shady figures lurking around outside; he grumbled, "Chase these people away. The teau Prison isn''t some henhouse, what are they doing loitering at the entrance like that?"

    "I don''t care about other ces; even if they go to the Presidential Pce to take a dump, it''s none of my business. But on my turf, they need to follow the rules."

    Harrison, sitting in the passenger seat, also nced outside. Since the boss had spoken, he would act. He understood by now that by following Victor, at least he wouldn''t go hungry.

    And indeed, he truly stood up for his subordinates.

    Harrison responded ordingly.

    Miski Town, located southeast of Mexico City, has a nickname: "Ghost Vige." It''s often frequented by foreigners.

    ording to the Aztec calendar, every November 1st is the Day of the Dead, which usuallysts for about three days. ording to Mexican folk customs, the 1st is the Day of the Little Angels, and the 2nd is the Day of the Dead.

    It''s tomemorate the deceased.

    For instance, Pixar Animation Studioster released an animated film: Coco, which is about this festival.

    Miski Town is named after Misko, the Indian goddess who governs life and death, and has a history of over 900 years.

    In 1403, the town became the central ce of worship for the local indigenous people.

    Upon entering the town, one could see residents and tourists everywhere dressed up as spirits, not even knowing at a nce how many people there were.

    The sight overwhelmed Victor.

    Harrison had already arranged a n: groups of ten patrolled in five teams with the armored vehicle as the center, reporting any issues via walkie-talkie.

    Of course, in such arge town, it wasn''t just their group; there were also local police. He only hoped nothing would happen.

    During the day, the crowd was still manageable; the only thing was that quite a few tourists reported their wallets missing. Victor didn''t bother with such trivial matters, telling them to report it to the police station.

    However, the chances of recovery were about as likely as a Komodo dragon surviving unscathed in India.

    But as evening approached, after 7 p.m., the crowds suddenly swelled, and heads were everywhere.

    Victor, munching on a lunch box, found the taste resembling pig feed, and even a bit spoiled; he spat it out.

    "Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey, why is everything rotten?" Harrison spat out the chicken wrap from his mouth, frowning.

    Someone must have taken a kickback again, what else could it be?

    "Officer, officer..."

    As the jail guard next to him was grumbling, a tall man dressed in ck clothes and wearing skull makeup ran over in a panic, grabbing Harrison''s arm, "My daughter and my wife are missing."

    "Sir, please calm down a moment, take it slowly, when, and where?" Harrison hurried to console him.

    The man spoke fluent English, obviously a tourist, "We were just following the crowd in the parade, and then they saw a puppet they wanted to take a picture with, so I was taking a photo for them. But just after I finished, I felt someone pat my shoulder. There was no one there, and when I turned back around, the two of them were gone."

    The man, clearly educated, finished his exnation with a rtively calm demeanor despite being flustered.

    Harrison, looking to Victor, said in Spanish, "It must be that puppet; he must have run into human traffickers."

    Mexico is one of the most dangerous countries in the world, with an estimated ten thousand people disappearing each year, the majority being females.

    Mexico is also a major producer of organ smuggling and live trafficking.

    Where did these peoplee from?

    Isn''t it just by chance?

    Victor ced his hands on his hips, "Where''s the biggest gang around here?"

    Harrison had prepared an itinerary, "In the video arcade of Rodrigo Maciado, there''s a gang called: Futuro."

    "Get in the car, let''s take a look."

    As a police officer, isn''t it supposed to ensure the safety of the public?

    An armored vehicle led the way, followed by 20 jail guards, moving imposingly towards the arcade.

    "That''s the puppet! It''s him!"

    When they reached the entrance of the arcade, the man who had sounded the rm excitedly pointed at a puppet walking out from inside.

    The figure was carrying a bag, distributing candies to the children along the way.

    "Harrison, take 10 people with me, bring the submachine guns, the rest stay behind for backup."

    As Victor got out of the car, the puppet saw him too, and they made eye contact. Suddenly, the puppet approached, looked at him, and pulled out a candy from his pocket to offer him.

    Victor smiled and patted his shoulder, "I''ve not been kind to my teethtely, I''ve quit sugar," he said as he bypassed him, leading his team into the arcade.

    He had no interest in this type of small fry.

    With hands on his hips, Harrison entered the ticket booth with two jail guards, finding a sleazy-looking young man chewing gum, "What do you want, sir?"

    "Inspection!"

    Victor''s gaze swept over everyone. There weren''t many people here, as there was a big party happening outside. Who would be ying video games?

    He immediately noticed a man sitting in front of a gaming machine, wearing a tank top that revealed tattoos of a bat.

    Victor approached with his team and stood behind him; the man was ying Street Fighter, a game that had be a global sensation since its release in 1987.

    "Can we talk?" Victor said from behind him.

    But the man turned around to look, gave him a disdainful once-over, then spit out his chewing gum onto Victor''s shoe, and turned his head back.

    Victor looked down at the gum, smiling genteelly.

    Suddenly, he grabbed the arcade yer''s hair and smashed his head against the machine, shattering the thick ss and eliciting a scream from him.

    The gaming machine''s screen flickered a few times before going dark.

    Unsatisfied, Victor continued to bang the head against the machine.

    "Hey, what are you doing! Starting trouble?" the guy at the ticket booth shouted, and Harrison pped him right away, "Shut it, who asked for your opinion?"

    The guy was instantly enraged, ready to strike back, but a jail guard raised his gunstock and smashed it down, quickly subduing him.

    After pounding a dozen more times and his hands started to ache, Victor let go, the man convulsing and his face covered in blood.

    The shout from the youngster at the booth was quite loud, and a group of about a dozen people with clubs came running out of the arcade.

    Standing in the midst of the group was a middle-aged man, dressed in a suit and sses, who looked very refined. He frowned upon seeing his badly beaten subordinate, then raised his head to look at Victor.

    "Sir, the young man is ignorant. I apologize for him. Please, for my sake, let him go," he said.

    "For your sake?" Victor looked at him, nodded, and lifted his foot with gum on it, "Lick it clean."

    At his words, the man''s face turned dark, and the surrounding boys, even more emboldened, swung their clubs and charged at Victor.

    Victor quickly pulled back the charging handle of the submachine gun in his hand, pointing it at them.

    "Gentlemen, I''m here for a gunfight, a real man''s gunfight, and you call yourselves a gang?"

    "Come on!"

    Victor pulled the trigger, two sounds of ''da da.''

    Two of the guys nearby got shot, clutching their bellies as theyy on the ground.

    "Oh~"

    "Sorry, it went off, bastards!"

    <img data-y-imgId="10045904" data-y-path="/imgChapter/23506817501037701/26228101101623904/10045904/53f1f9d7abbd6e33cb8cb9d386d0fb54KFVcxNsl5DhtLFp.jpg">

    ...

 Chapter 42 Tal vez, me equivoquèŒ…!

    "I have to tell you, officer, you''d better stop right here..." The suave middle-aged man looked at his fallen underlings, his brow furrowed.

    Da da da!!!!

    In response to him was a hail of bullets; Victor emptied his magazine, hitting all six or seven underlings standing by his opponent, with one even getting riddled with bullets.

    When Victor aimed the gun at the middle-aged man, there came a click of the empty chamber.

    The man''s eyes twitched.

    "Sorry, I''m out of bullets..." Victor smiled and shrugged, then swung the Uzi submachine gun, striking its butt into the man''s face.

    The expensive-looking sses fell to the ground, and half of his face was a bloody mess.

    Victor crushed the sses underfoot and then stepped on the man''s face, looking down at him as thetter red back viciously, growling defiantly from his throat.

    "Tell me, where is she."

    But obviously, the man wasn''t cooperative, struggling fiercely, spewing threats through his teeth.

    Victor nced left and right, walked over to a nearby counter, spotted a bottle of whiskey, tore off the seal, and a rich scent of alcohol hit him.

    Under the middle-aged man''s horrified gaze, Victor poured the liquor all over him.

    "What are you going to do? Damn it, what are you doing!"

    Victor pulled out a lighter and tossed it toward him.

    The me...

    Instantly caught fire.

    "Aaaaah!!!"

    The middle-aged man screamed terribly, iling his arms while Harrison''s face twitched slightly at the sight.

    As the man fell to the ground, fire stiffened his arms, his entire body burned beyond recognition.

    "Gentlemen, I''m not a very patient man. Can any of you tell me where the woman you captured has gone!" He looked at the underlings on the ground clutching their wounds, yet still alive, and spread his hands.

    This brutal scene terrified them.

    Even the self-proimed "savage," "beastly" members of the Mexico gangs couldn''t help but fear.

    No, what they feared was bing the victims themselves.

    "Anyone?"

    A blood-soaked hand weakly raised, and Victor looked at a young man with a still childish face, but eyes filled with terror. He nodded and smiled, "OK, thank you very much."

    He clipped the magazine into ce and fired at the other fallen gang members.

    Trash, no use keeping them.

    The youth, seeing hispanions killed, his legs trembled.

    "Where?" Victor turned and looked at him.

    The young man raised his hand and pointed toward the inner room; Harrison charged in with his men and soon came out with a face full of joy.

    "Warden, we found six women and three children, all missing today, with their faces painted for Day of the Dead."

    Victor nodded, then suddenly turned to the young man, "Can you run fast?"

    What kind of question was that?

    The youth''s mind went nk, but he nodded anyway.

    "That''s good, remember to keep up with them." Victor raised his gun and shot him in the face.

    No need to bother the Mexican courts.

    Releasing people is a hassle.

    Better to send him off directly.

    ...

    "Lina."

    As Victor and his team brought out the captured women, a man anxiously waiting at the armored car called out joyfully and ran to embrace his wife and daughter, kissing their foreheads vigorously, his tears falling in the joy of reunion.

    He let go of his family, ran up to Victor, shaking, he grabbed his hand, thanking him endlessly.

    And the little girl called Lina also came running over, looked up at Victor, and handed him a candy, gesturing for him to take it.

    "I''m a police officer, it''s what I''m supposed to do," Victor crouched down and patted her head, "Stay with your dad from now on, got it?"

    Lina''s eyes seemed to speak, she nodded, kissed his face, and pointed at his badge.

    Victor smiled as he handed over his badge to her, then patted her head again, and after a few moreforting words, the family left, with Lina looking back every three steps.

    By this time, the local police of Miski Town had also arrivedte. Their gear looked inferior, and the man in charge, wearing a Senior Police Sergeant badge, also had a Smith & Wesson M1917 revolver at his waist.

    ```

    This is all equipment from 1917, production stopped in 1945.

    With this equipment, you still want to go gun-to-gun with drug traffickers?

    Even if you used it to scratch an itch, you''d find it unbearably awkward.

    However, the Sergeant First ss is quite imposing, his chest muscles straining against his uniform, arousing envy in women.

    The Sergeant First ss looked at Victor''s well-equipped team with envy in his eyes; he knew that prison colleagues wereing to help, but he hadn''t taken it seriously, who would have known their equipment was so sophisticated?

    You even brought out an armored vehicle!

    We''re all born of the same mother, so why the unequal treatment?

    He took a deep breath, ran up to Victor, and saluted, "Sir, I am Alfredo Rodriguez, Director of the Miski Town police."

    Victor sized him up and nodded slightly, pointing inside the arcade, "Have someone clean out the ce."

    The other party must have known about the arcade''s dirty secrets, but Victor couldn''t care less; he wasn''t the Mexico Secretary of National Defense now.

    Upon hearing this, Alfredo''s expression changed, and he charged into the arcade with his team, a smell in the air assaulting his cortex.

    "Ugh~"

    A colleague behind couldn''t help but lean over and begin to vomit, Alfredo''s throat rolled, but he swallowed it back down.

    "Director, what¡­ what do we do? They work for the Pedro Group," a Corporal said softly at his side.

    Alfredo frowned, finding himself in a predicament.

    Mexico had many groups, with a variety of names, but most evolved from a few well-known organizations, the result of "fragmentation".

    The Pedro Group was once a part of the Guadjara Cartel, a member of the "za" system, and after the organization dispersed, the Pedro Family struck out on their own, but they couldn''tpete with traditional organizations in drug trafficking.

    They had to find other ways.

    Like organ smuggling, human trafficking, and the like, they did anything that made money.

    And they did so tantly, with brutal methods.

    They were merciless in their dealings.

    "Director, I can''t do this, I resign."

    While Alfredo was still contemting, an officer behind him, unable to cope psychologically, started stripping off his uniform.

    He didn''t want to die!

    The Pedro Group would kill everyone, and the local police would certainly be implicated for not keeping a better watch on the arcade.

    Nobody wanted to die!

    Alfredo was thinking of escaping back to the countryside as well.

    ...

    The shootout at the arcade had obviously affected the town''s activities.

    The number of people had visibly decreased.

    Those still outside were either very brave or missing a few screws.

    The annual Day of the Dead...

    Everywhere was a mess.

    Without peace in society, there was no need for such a festival; not to mention that the Mexican drug lords would respect the tradition¡ªthey thrived on the unexpected.

    At 12 AM, time to wrap things up early.

    By the time the convoy returned to the prison, the outside was lit up with stronger security at the gate.

    "What happened?" Victor, fighting fatigue, asked Casare.

    "An hour ago, a group of people dumped three bodies at the entrance," Casare replied.

    Victor raised an eyebrow, sensing something ominous and asked Casare to take him to see; in the prison''s temporary morgue, he recognized the three familiar faces.

    It was the family of three he had just rescued.

    "The man was stabbed seven times, with fatal wounds to the chest and back, the woman''s head was severed with a single slice, and the girl..." The prison guard fell silent beside him.

    Victor looked at Lina''s pale face, her small hands folded over her chest as if they were holding something, he gently pried her hands open.

    tter~

    An emblem fell to the ground, the emblem of Mexico facing up.

    Victor picked up the emblem, held it in his hand, looked up, and exhaled, "Tal vez, me equivoqu¨¦." (Perhaps, I was wrong.)

    ...

    ```

 Chapter 43 She is beautiful, her eyes are like broken diamonds.

    "Victor..."

    Casare called out, noticing something off about his mood, nced at Harrison out of the corner of his eye, and continued softly, "There''s a piece of paper on the body."

    He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over.

    Victor snatched it away and saw that it was written in Spanish, "?Dios sabe, ?nos ofendes? ?Grupo Pedro! (Does God know, have you offended us?¡ªPedro Group!)"

    Great!

    So arrogant!

    Mexican crime syndicates always like to unt their names.

    I don''t know what these bastards are thinking; sometimes they even boldly announce it was them who bombed government buildings.

    Maybe, they just want to intimidate others.

    Victor handed the note to Harrison, "Find their people, I want to meet them."

    He said it inly, but everyone understood, he was furious!

    "Understood," Harrison nodded.

    After ncing at Lina one more time, Victor left.

    This country is too filthy, unable to amodate even a sliver of sunlight; it should just be obliterated by a nuclear bomb.

    Tears?

    They''re just a tool for the weak to vent.

    Find them, kill them!

    Fighting violence with violence is the best method.

    ...

    November 1st.

    Fiedler Pedro sat in a Ferrari F40, watching the parade celebrating Day of the Dead across the street, and couldn''t help but spit.

    He grew up in the United States and despised these "ignorant" festivals the most. He liked revelry and parties. As the eldest son of the Pedro family, he could afford it.

    He honked the horn forcefully.

    A push of the throttle and roar!

    He charged straight into the crowd. The sudden eleration left some unable to dodge in time, and they were sent flying, tumbling through the air before mming hard onto the ground.

    Screams erupted from the procession behind him.

    Yet, a sick smile spread across Fiedler Pedro''s face.

    He didn''t like Mexico; he hade back only because, after drag racing in the United States, he hit and killed a pregnant woman and a local police officer, and had no choice but to flee.

    It''s not the same in the United States; that''s prison time. He rushed back to Mexico toy low for a while.

    But the arrogance in his bones couldn''t be hidden, the DNA of a bastard is always that of a bastard. In Mexico, he couldn''t care less about killing people.

    His family had plenty of money and power; he could kill whoever he wanted!

    Seeing a red light ahead, Fiedler Pedro instead floored the gas pedal, elerating headlong when a dump truck came barreling towards him, hitting the rear of his car.

    The airbag of the Ferrari F40 deployed instantly, the car rolled on the ground, and then crashed into a nearby green belt.

    The ident happened in just 10 seconds. A sedan pulled up next to the Ferrari, and four men with hoods emerged. They pried the car door open with a hydraulic cutter, dragged out the unconscious Fiedler Pedro, and threw him into the trunk.

    One of them took out a pen and wrote on the car: "Victor Carlos Vieri, phone number..."

    After finishing, they tossed the pen carelessly, took the passenger seat, and drove away stylishly.

    The police, arriving at the news, saw the Ferrari F40 and realized trouble. The car was all too familiar. The deputy superintendent leading the team hurriedly called the Pedro family and ordered the scene to be secured.

    After about fifteen minutes, two cars arrived, and seven or eight burly men got out. The leader grabbed the deputy superintendent, "Where''s Fiedler?"

    The deputy superintendent, held in such a manner, didn''t even dare to retort, just stating he didn''t see anyone.

    "Boss, someone wrote a phone number here," one person noticed the number on the car.

    The leading man pushed the deputy superintendent away, walked over to the vehicle, and squinted at the series of names, feeling it was... eerily familiar.

    Whoever it is that offended the Pedro family, they won''t have a good ending!

    ```

    ...

    Whoosh~

    A bucket of water was dashed in Fiedler Pedro''s face.

    He slowly opened his eyes, and the pain that took over his cerebral cortex made him groan involuntarily. Then, he realized he was tied to a "metal bed," with four people standing in front of him.

    Three were wearing hoods, while one was smoking a cigarette, watching him.

    "Inject him with adrenaline."

    The man without a hood, Fiedler Pedro deduced, ordered, and someone with a syringe approached him.

    He struggled violently, "Who are you! I''m Fiedler, the eldest son of the Pedro family. Whatever you want, you can talk to me. I can give it to you, money, is one million US dors enough!"

    Seeing the persone closer, he panicked and increased the offer, "Five million US dors!"

    But Harrison paid no heed and injected the adrenaline into his bloodstream. Soon, Fiedler felt invigorated, or rather, his mind felt excited.

    The other two picked up buckets and doused him several times, drenching himpletely, and then they forcefully pushed the metal bed he was lying on!

    Fiedler Pedro saw darkness before him, screaming in panic and fear, "Hey, hey!"

    Cold air blew against his face from both sides.

    He knew where he was.

    The morgue''s freezer!

    He watched in horror as his body froze solid, but he could feel the pain, his brain was overly stimted, he even imagined he saw a woman.

    No one knew how long it had been before he was pulled out.

    Hey on the metal bed, shivering.

    Ice had formed on his skin.

    Victor stood before him, smoking a cigarette, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, "There was a girl, hmm, a very adorable girl. Her eyes were gorgeous, like shattered diamonds."

    "She could have grown up and seen this beautiful world. She could have gone to school, had knowledge and friends, gotten married, had kids, and a family."

    Victor exhaled, opened his eyes, "But no more, to hell with it, huh."

    He brought his cigarette close to Fiedler Pedro''s right eye, and pressed down hard. The eyeball... it seemed to have charred.

    There was an unpleasant smell.

    And... Fiedler''s scream.

    "You see, you can feel pain too," Victor released his grip, and the cigarette butt was stuck to it.

    He reached out, and Harrison behind him handed him a hammer. Victor struck forcefully at the other''s frozen right leg. Of course, it did not shatter, but it could be mushed!

    "Ah!! Aha... spare me, please let me go," Fiedler begged, with tears and snot mixed together.

    He had none of the dignity of a drug lord''s son.

    "She must have cried like this too," Victor lifted the hammer, continuing to strike, even Harrison, seasoned as he was, felt nauseated.

    Just then, a phone rang.

    A jail guard hurried over to hand it to him.

    Victor answered, and on the other end was what sounded like a wild boar roaring, "Victor! I know it''s you! Where is my son!"

    Fiedler Pedro heard his father''s voice through the phone, and instantly felt aggrieved, pleading tearfully, "Save me."

    "Mr. Vasili, your son is very happy,ughing. If you ever find the time, perhaps you should visit your mistress and have another child," Victor said.

    Vasili Pedro was shocked when he heard this, "Don''t touch him..."

    "Ah!!!"

    A hammer fell upon his hand, mincing flesh and bone, his agonized screams tore at Vasili''s heart.

    "Rest assured, I will break his limbs first, then kill him. Mr. Vasili, God has prayed to me that your sins must be judged!"

    Victor raised the hammer, and in Fiedler Pedro''s gaze of despair, he brought it down on his head.

    ...

    ```

 Chapter 44 Reward Offered

    Whoosh~

    Victor rubbed his hands under the tap, which was turned on full st.

    The water mixed with blood seeped into the drain.

    Casare handed a napkin to Victor, who wiped his hands while speaking, "Let''s send Mr. Vasili Pedro''s son to him, we must understand the love of a father."

    Harrison stood by, responding as he and two jail guards wrapped Fiedler Pedro''s body in a white cloth.

    You have to have standards in life!

    "Boss Victor, killing Fiedler means we''re essentially dering war on the Pedro family."

    Click.

    The delightful sound of a metal lighter echoed.

    Victor lit up his cigarette, tilting his head back, "Since when do criminals dare to dere war on the police? The only way for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."

    He wouldn''t dare say he was a good man.

    In Mexico... there really are no good men.

    Casare, looking at the determined Victor, hesitated in his tone, "What worries me isn''t the danger from outside."

    "When Fiedler just talked about giving money, I could feel the jail guards next to me were breathing rapidly, I know he was tempted, and I was too. In Mexico, nobody can say no to money!"

    That message was pretty clear.

    Boss, our own ranks... they''re not stable either.

    You never know when your own brothers might shoot you in the back.

    How many police have been killed by their ownrades in Mexico?

    After the millennium, when the Marine Corps went on drug raids, the first thing they did was disarm the local police.

    Who would have thought?

    Even official spokespersons have bluntly stated, "We have traitors in our ranks!"

    Don''t have too high an opinion of human nature, really, given $500,000, wouldn''t you be tempted?

    You might even feel a bit embarrassed to take too much.

    Listening to Casare''s words, Victor snuffed out the burning cigarette butt and tossed it aside casually, "No worries, don''t fret, I''ve made some contacts and got a group of people, all our own, loyalty''s not an issue."

    "You bring your family to teau Prison, as long as I''m here, no one can stir up any trouble."

    Casare was also somewhat worried about his family and nodded with a concerned expression.

    Victor nned to "shake things up" directly, and Mr. Sicilian Falcon''s "mysterious" death had scored Victor millions of points.

    Was he hiding pregnancy?

    ording to his authority as Deputy Warden, he could only recruit 20 people. Apart from Yuri and Kost, he nned to "go all in" with the rest.

    The only thing that could scare the Mexican drug traffickers was someone who could fight even harder than they could.

    When Los Zetas, representative of the new school, emerged, the old school like Tijuana, Juarez, Sinaloa, Gulf Cartel, and others were all cut off and left to fend for themselves!

    Agave Area.

    A rare vi area in the heart of Mexico City.

    High-ranking officials, celebrities, drug lord leaders, and many others lived here.

    Very magical, perhaps a fugitive on the United States Drug Enforcement Administration''s most-wanted list was living right next to a senior security official.

    There were also federal police patrols with sniffer dogs.

    Right at noontime, when they were about to change shifts.

    A white van sped through and the sleepy, yawning officers sprang to attention.

    But the anticipated ram didn''t happen; the van stopped not far from the booth, and then a body was thrown out, rolling on the ground a couple of times.

    The guard didn''t rush over ¨C what a joke, what if the other party had fired at him?

    After the van had left, they called the patrol team over.

    When a group of officers, bolstering each other''s courage, lifted the white cloth, they saw a face so mutted it could have used mosaic censorship, it was too gruesome to look at.

    The features were unrecognizable.

    The considerate "murderers" had hung a namete next to the body, which read: "Fiedler Pedro!"

    The police looked at each other.

    This was bad, a major incident!

    Inside the Pedro family mansion.

    Muffled sobs could be heard.

    In a family of more than a dozen members, who is truly sincere?

    Vasili Pedro, dressed in a ck suit, looked at his son''s corpse, lifted his head, and clearly saw his body trembling slightly.

    "My son is dead, I''ve already lost him, haven''t I?"

    Vasili Pedro leaned on the table with both hands, his back to the others, his shoulders suddenly heaving, his voice not clear whether he was crying orughing, "Don''t you all want to take the position of the decision-maker in the Pedro Family? Go ahead, whoever kills Victor will be the next decision-maker!"

    The family members behind him, regardless of gender, all had their eyes light up.

    After bowing slightly to Vasili Pedro, a group of people with their own ideas left.

    Only he and an elderly family member were left in the room.

    "Those useless ones won''t solve any problems. $500,000, I want a bounty on Victor''s life."

    The old family member nodded, his face full of furrows, "Do we need to bury Fiedler?"

    He looked down at Fiedler''s corpse.

    "Find a ce to burn it, a piece of trash that was beaten to death doesn''t deserve the family''s worship."

    Vasili was still young, he could still have children.

    A son could die, but the "glory" of the Pedro family could not be lost.

    In Mexico, you have to be ruthless. If you don''t take revenge, everyone will know you are weak. Then, they wille rushing up to swallow your territory, kill your family, and then viciously step on your skull.

    ...

    The Pedro Family offering a $500,000 bounty for a jail guard''s life?

    This must be the craziest newstely.

    In many bars, night markets, and red-light districts, there are people with gleaming eyes everywhere.

    Bribing amander of a security department would cost only about $350,000, the $500,000 would be enough for a family to flee to the United States and be so-called upper-ss people.

    And Victor''s background and recent deeds were turned inside out by people.

    Reforming the inmates in teau Prison?

    Killed the eldest son of the Pedro family for the lives of a few foreign tourists?

    Wow!

    This guy is simply too crazy.

    The police must be deaf, right?

    With a high bounty, there will be brave men. That very day, about 20 people attacked teau Prison.

    That night, someone tried to blow up teau Prison with explosives and cause a prison riot, so they could kill Victor amid the chaos.

    But they underestimated the defensive capabilities of teau Prison; they couldn''t even blow it open. Instead, they drew the rapid response team and intense gunfire broke out between the two sides.

    The attackers were so fierce they caused the rapid response team to suffer 3 deaths and 6 injuries.

    The incident was quite embarrassing for the officials.

    During a television speech, they severely warned against such behavior, considering it a provocation to the government.

    But does the Mexican Government have any face left?

    No one listens to such things, that''s $500,000!

    Privately, government departments sent people from the Security Department Discipline Inspection Division to inquire, but when they arrived at the prison, they couldn''t find Victor and Casare at all.

    ...

    The vige of "Bergedes".

    Best and Casare were stunned at the fully armed squad before them, swallowed hard, and looked at Victor next to them, "This... is this the help you found?"

    "Of course, allow me to introduce, this is Kennedy Heisenberg, a member of a... militia organization that I know," said Victor, pointing to a tall and burly man with a European look beside him.

    Militia?

    Casare''s eyes twitched.

    Your so-called militia carry M16 carbines, wear Colt M1911a1 pistols on their waists, don steel helmets equipped with PVS-14 night vision devices, and have LITE headsets; and in their tactical vests, you can see shbang grenades, hand grenades, and magazines.

    What kind of militia is this?

    United States forces stationed in Mexico?

    Of course, these were exchanged by Victor using points. He installed "Standard Weapon Proficiency," "Infiltration Assassination," "Close Combat," and "Extreme Survival" skills on each person, costing 10,000 points each, not including their equipment.

    Beyond these, Victor also exchanged for three HuNovelBinees and seven AT4 anti-tank rocketunchers. Had he not thought the target toorge, he even considered rolling out a Katyusha rocketuncher.

    He just didn''t believe that, under the caliber of weapons, drug traffickers could still cry for help!

    ...

 Chapter 45 I am very happy to inform...

    Criminal syndicates are huge; you simply can''t deal with that many people.

    "Then what should we do?"

    We can only take care of the troublemakers!

    "Take out Vasili Pedro!"

    The "Drug War" that Mexicounchedter adopted this approach, and Sinaloa has been half-dead since Guzman was arrested and extradited to the United States. The Los Zetas'' leader, Z3 Razcano, was also killed without any powerful figures emerging afterward.

    These will be many small organizations, then operate under the same names.

    The problems in Mexico are not just about drugs, but Victor currently doesn''t have the capability to change anything.

    What he can do, for now, is take out others to preserve himself.

    "Victor, you people can''t hide. How will you exin when the timees?" Casare, more thoughtful, asked a question.

    "My bodyguards."

    The security department won''t believe it," Casare said.

    "So what?"

    Victor spread his hands and smiled, "If they don''t have the ability to make people feel safe, can''t I hire my own? Don''t worry about the consequences, Casare, Mexico doesn''t need consequences; only the living can argue."

    At worst, draw up a few employment contracts.

    As for weapons...

    As long as you don''t aim your guns at corrupt officials, they won''t bother you.

    The rule of "strict gun control" does not apply to "those with guns."

    Mexico City is rtively "mild", ces like Tijuana, Juarez, where you can see drug traffickers carrying weapons everywhere, ready to shoot at the slightest disagreement.

    Godfather Gardo was right, "The beast has been unleashed!"

    "This operation is led by Kennedy Heisenberg, codename: Legend, operation target, to kill all members of the Pedro Family."

    Victor looked at the task force in front of him; their firepower could break through an entire Mexican battalion.

    "Gentlemen, let our enemies understand that there is no chance of winning a war against us!"

    "Yes, Commander!" Kennedy Heisenberg was as stiff as a German.

    Twelve people got into the HuNovelBinees, while six stayed behind to ensure Victor and the others'' safety.

    Taking advantage of the night, they sped towards the Agave Area.

    Within Mexico City, gangs or drug lords engaging in gunfights all know to stay away from the Agave Area.

    The elites naturally have the right to be exempt from the mes of war.

    So, when midnightes...

    The patrolling officers also begin to ck off.

    Only at the guard post is an officer sitting and dozing off.

    In the darkness, two figures sneaked into the guardhouse; not long after, a shlight shone from inside, blinking twice.

    Three Humvees charged in.

    Then thest one ducked into a dark alley on the side, ready as a powerful reserve in case of intense gunfire.

    Kennedy Heisenberg led the remaining two teams to quickly find the Pedro Family''s mansion following the pre-set route.

    He looked down at his watch and signaled his team to take out the AT4 anti-tank rocketunchers.

    Though it''s called an anti-tank weapon...

    But who says it can''t be used to blow up a building?

    ...

    Victor calmly ate histe-night snack.

    A chicken wrap and mashed potatoes.

    In Mexico, never order caviar; they''ll serve you a dish of mosquito eggs.

    Best and Casare had little appetite.

    The thought of the eighteen armed men made their hearts tremble; could Victor be a rebel?

    Look at their tiny guts.

    But the drug traffickers these days do have their "principles", even the notoriously ruthless Guzman had the slickness and rules of the old-school drug lords. They just made money, with arson as a side hobby.

    You don''t touch my cake, I won''t mess with you.

    But after the Millennium, those new drug trafficking groups stopped ying by the rules. Drug trafficking became their main business, arson a necessity,mitting all kinds of heinous crimes, and their equipment got more and more advanced.

    Can you imagine the "Jalisco New Generation" having radar trucks, missileunchers,mand vehicles, and uniforms of a fixed color?

    Isn''t that just warlordism?

    Later, even the old-school organizations turned militaristic.

    Their arsenal, even the Yanks would drool over it.

    For instance, after Guzman was extradited to the United States, his son Ovidio rose to power, but the guy was ipetent andcked his dad''s talent. He got arrested by the police twice.

    To save this boss, the Sinaloa Groupunched an assault on the military police, ambushing a battalion and resulting in the death of Colonel Commander Juan Jose Moreno Osua and four of his subordinates.

    They also shot down two attack helicopters of the Mexican Government and damaged a fighter jet of the Mexican Air Force. Theirbat effectiveness was off the charts.

    Compared to them, what''s so scary about Victor using a tactical squad?

    Panic over nothing.

    And the worst is yet toe.

    It''ll be truly hopeless when the drug traffickers get their hands on a nuke.

    Just as Victor swallowed thest bite of his chicken wrap, therge mobile phone on top of the ammo box rang. Casare ran over, picked it up, and handed it to him.

    After wiping the corner of his mouth, Victor finally answered the call. Before he could speak, he heard Alejandro''s anxious voice on the other side, "Where are you?"

    "Give me that!" A voice holding back rage came through, obviously snatching the phone from Alejandro, "Victor! I want you at the Prison Administration Bureau office within the hour!"

    He didn''t recognize the voice?

    "Who are you?"

    The person on the other side paused, about to reply, then heard Victor continue, "I don''t want to know who you are either, but let me tell you, I don''t like your tone, I fuck your fucking XXX!"

    "You idiot, let Alejandro take back the phone. If you speak one more word, I swear, I''ll blow your head off."

    Swallowing sounds came through the receiver. Intimidated by Victor''s threat, the man really wanted to speak but, remembering that he was dealing with an unscrupulous bastard, got too scared to make a peep.

    He could only silently hand the mobile back to Alejandro, who was watching the drama unfold.

    "Listen, pal, where are you now?" Alejandro took the phone and asked, "The Pedro Family is after your life."

    "Of course, I know, sir, but I''m quite a coward. If someone wants me dead, I get scared, and then... I can''t help but strike first."

    Alejandro sensed something was wrong, "Where exactly are you?"

    "Do you like fireworks, sir? I remember your window is near the Agave Area, right? Let me offer you a fireworks show. Please go to your window."

    Therge mobile''s soundproofing was poor, and they weren''t the only two hearing this - four or five people in the room all heard and ran to the window.

    But it was pitch ck outside.

    Just the asional gunshot, quitemon in Mexico.

    Alejandro frowned, thinking he had been fooled, "Where..."

    He hadn''t finished his sentence when a loud explosion roared, apanied by a ze soaring into the sky!

    The zing light whitened a corner of Mexico City.

    Alejandro and the others watched the scene, dumbfounded.

    Victor blew up the Agave Area?!

    "Sir!"

    Victor''s light chuckle came through the mobile phone.

    "People like me, we''re just not fond of being threatened, especially by criminals."

    "I''m happy to inform you now."

    "The Pedro Family is no more."

    ...

 Chapter 46 Good Night!

    The AT4 anti-tank rocketuncher is actually the export version of the M86 anti-tank rocketuncher.

    "AT4" literally refers to 84, meaning it has an 84mm caliber.

    Load it with a high-explosive anti-tank round¡­

    Really, even a Gundam would have to cry for mama.

    Kennedy Heisenberg ordered theunch of 4 rocketunchers, and in an instant, that morous mansion was sted into a dangerous wreck.

    After adjusting the monocr night vision device, he led his squad into the house.

    They just happened to see a woman running out.

    Her face was covered in blood!

    She was still wearing stockings, her eyes filled with panic.

    Sleeping only to have your house blown up, anybody would be scared.

    When she saw Kennedy Heisenberg and his men, her expression was clearly one of shock, but thetter raised his gun and nodded at her.

    Before she died, a thought shed through the woman''s mind: Was the Mexican Army attacking?!

    There''s no distinction between men and women in war, and are there any good womening out of a drug lord''s family?

    Just kill her and be done with it.

    Kennedy Heisenberg stepped over the woman''s body, half-squatted by the corner of the wall, stretched out his right arm downward, palm facing the ground, a tactical signal known as "split up and act."

    He himself led his team up the stairs; the explosion had damaged the steps somewhat. Rounding a corner, they encountered Vasili Pedro, still in his pajamas, along with two of his bodyguards.

    Upon locking eyes, both parties were stunned for just a fraction of a second. One of the bodyguards, panicking, raised his gun to kill him. In close quarters, the shorter gun has the greater advantage.

    But Kennedy Heisenberg was a tough one. He lunged forward, grabbing the man''s head and pinning the bodyguard''s wrist with his body, his fist pounding deadly into the bodyguard''s Adam''s apple¡ªa surely fatal strike! (Do not attempt lightly, may result in a long prison sentence).

    The remaining bodyguard was also taken out by his team.

    Vasili Pedro''s face darkened as he saw his bodyguards killed, his heart sank, and he immediately offered a deal, "Let me go, and I''ll give you 1 million US dors!"

    No small talk, just straight to paying off with money.

    He had encountered such encounters before, people cornering him and then naming their price; after all, assassins have no professional ethics.

    Kennedy Heisenberg grabbed Vasili''s hair, "Mr. Victor asked me to tell you, goodnight."

    Thwack!

    The dagger in his hand pierced the man''s neck. He pulled it out forcefully, wiped the dagger on Vasili Pedro''s face, whose features twisted in a tremble. With his hand clutching his neck, his lips twitching, he gasped and gurgled as if his breath was sputtering out.

    Thunk!

    Kennedy Heisenberg blew on the smokeing out of the pistol, "I still prefer firearms; they''re more gentlemanly."

    Vasili Pedro red, his eyes wide open in death.

    "Boss, the police are here!"

    "Let''s move!"

    ...

    "Was the fireworks show beautiful, gentlemen?"

    In the deep silence of the radio, Victor spoke with a smile.

    Alejandro''s breathing was somewhat rapid, "What did you do, Victor?"

    "There was too much trash; I helped you clean up a bit, no need to thank me, it''s my duty as a police officer. If there''s anything else, pleasee to my office tomorrow morning, superiors. Good night, sweet dreams."

    Victor hung up the phone, tossed it to Casare, and walked towards the outside, "We should head back too, I can''t get used to sleeping in a ce like this."

    The Pedro Family was attacked, and there was no need to wait until tomorrow; by tonight, everyone in Mexico City engaged in "gray area" businesses would hear of this.

    That sound of explosion...

    Those who didn''t know might think some oil depot had exploded.

    With the financier dead, the mission was of course automatically suspended; no one wants to do unpaid work, but the next two days would still be filled with a whirlwind of blood and violence.

    Gangs and drug lords busied themselves dividing up their businesses and territories.

    Victor was no longer important now.

    When he returned to the prison, he saw two unfamiliar HuNovelBinees; two jail guards emerged from the guardhouse, both wearing worried expressions.

    "Open the door," Casare, seated in the back, said as he pressed the window button.

    "Boss Casare!"

    The two jail guards'' faces lit up with joy upon seeing him.

    "What''s wrong? You all had such gloomy expressions just now. Are the prisoners causing trouble again?"

    "No, no, no, it''s Warden Webster, he suspended Captain Harrison, and he also scattered many from the emergency squad among the jail guards in the blocks."

    Upon hearing this, Casare looked at Victor, who was sitting in the passenger seat behind him.

    Thetter, legs crossed, right hand holding a cigarette, tapped it into the palm of his left hand, "Webster is still working thiste; that''s pretty dedicated. Drive in."

    "Open up, open up!" Casaremanded, pointing at the gate.

    The checkpoint jail guard hurriedly ran in to press the switch on the desk, eagerly watching as the car convoy entered, excitedly telling his colleague, "Now there''s going to be a good show to watch."

    The Humvee arrived at the office building. Getting out of the car, Victor whispered something into Casare''s ear, causing his right eyebrow to twitch dramatically. He nodded heavily and walked alone toward the prison.

    Victor, leading his men, rushed to the second floor and stood at the office door. He could hear the sounds of pleasure inside and smirked at hispanions, "It seems Mr. Webster is quite enjoying life."

    With that, he lifted his foot and kicked the door open.

    Inside, scandalous acts were taking ce!

    Webster was clearly frightened by the sudden intrusion; he hurriedly pushed away the woman and scrambled up from the table, quickly grabbing clothes from a nearby chair to cover himself.

    The woman was a female jail guard, someone Victor recognized. His eyes swept over her briefly before focusing back on Webster with a frown and a dark expression, "I thought you were just ipetent, but I didn''t expect you to be so corrupt. Lift your head and look at the national emblem behind you, Webster, what are you doing!"

    "You''re fooling around with women in the prison."

    Grinding his teeth, Victor charged forward. This scared Webster, who backed away a step, but then he stepped on the clothing that covered his lower body and fell to the floor, looking extremely awkward.

    Victor took a deep breath, looked down at him, and said, "I''m sorry to interrupt you, but I''m back today."

    He moved aside, nodding his chin toward the door, gesturing for Webster to leave. Webster made no sound; he didn''t even dare to speak.

    He didn''t dare to question why he was still alive!

    Wasn''t the Pedro Family after him?

    Shouldn''t he be dead?

    He dared not ask any of these questions; this man cast a shadow over him.

    Webster didn''t bother dressing; he ran out bare-bottomed. Suddenly, he heard Victor call out, "Hey, Mr. Webster."

    His body stiffened, and he turned his head.

    "Good night."

    ???

    Webster didn''t understand why he said that and took off running.

    Victor walked over to the window, and soon after, he saw Webster running out of the office building, heading for his sedan.

    Just as Webster was about to open the car door, a furious roar sounded, and a prisoner armed with a dagger rushed at him and stabbed him several times. Within moments, Webster was covered in blood and fell to the ground.

    Webster''s eyes grew heavy as he saw several jail guards rush forward to restrain him. He also saw, from the second-floor window, a figure smoking a cigarette, waving at him.

    "Good night," Victor said in a gentle tone, despite the coldness in his eyes.

    I couldn''t stand that bastard.

    On my turf, you dare mess with women!

    "Take this inmate to solitary, which block is he from?" Casare, just entering through the door, stepped forward, "He''s mine."

    "So careless, dock half a month''s sry."

    Victor was all about fairness in his dealings.

    "And another thing!"

    "Where''s the hygiene fee? Call up the prisoners who haven''t paid yet. No money, and still sleeping? I want to see money on my desk tomorrow."

    Casare stiffened all over.

    "Don''t worry, Boss Victor, I''ll personally collect the debts!"

    ¡­

 Chapter 47 I Want the Wardens Position!

    The next day.

    About 10 in the morning.

    Two official vehicles marked with "APM" drove into teau Prison.

    This was the abbreviation of the Prison Administration Bureau.

    "One, two, three!"

    On the outdoor exercise field, several squads of prisoners could be seen running under the lead of jail guards who would strike them with sticks when they showed signs of fatigue.

    This was real hitting!

    Alejandro and the others inside the car almost popped their eyes out when they saw this scene.

    When did Mexican prisons start doing exercises?

    As long as one fewer jail guard died each day, the KPI of the Prison Administration Bureau was met.

    The two cars pulled up in front of the office building where Casare, dressed in a police uniform, was waiting at the door.

    Alejandro and hispanions got out of the car, frowning, "Where''s Victor?"

    "Upstairs, waiting for the officers!"

    This caused everyone present to be somewhat displeased. You''re just a low-level police supervisor; even the lowest among us is an assistant from the Federal Security Department and is several ranks above you.

    But after exchanging nces, nobody was foolish enough to voice their discontent, only to follow Casare with suppressed irritation to the office.

    As they opened the door, they were stunned by the scene before them.

    Victor was on the groundying out banknotes, and as they entered, he was just tucking a peso note under the edge of the desk. He got up from the ground and raised his head, "Good morning, officers."

    "What are you doing?" Alejandro asked, frowning.

    Victor dusted off his hands, "It was toote toy down a new floor for the officers, but I''m quite enthusiastic, so I decided to pave a ''money-path'' for you all instead!"

    "Pleasee in and have a seat."

    Alejandro looked at his colleague from the security department. His colleague looked back at him, and Alejandro, despite himself, walked in; indeed, walking on the pesos felt quite different.

    As they walked into the office, they noticed Victor sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, and stacks of banknotes scary to behold were ced on the coffee table.

    "Help yourselves, officers. But I just have one thing to say ¨C I want to be the warden. Who''s in favor? Who''s opposed?"

    Alejandro and hispanions were bewildered.

    "What about Webster?" A middle-aged man wearing a suit with immactely groomed hair asked sternly.

    "Unfortunately, he was stabbed to death by prisoners yesterday."

    Dead!

    Are you kidding me?

    So sudden?

    The smart people present shifted their gaze toward Victor.

    "If he''s dead, don''t I, as the Deputy Warden, have the right to take over?"

    "You are knowingly breaking thew; you have no right to be warden. We don''t agree with this, and we will get to the bottom of it!" the middle-aged man said, rising and shouting angrily, "Let''s go!"

    With that, he prepared to leave with his two young colleagues.

    Victor''s smile instantly vanished, and as he watched the man walk around the coffee table, he suddenly stood up, picked up a baseball bat beside him, and struck the man''s head from behind.

    He flopped to the ground immediately.

    But that wasn''t enough; Victor continued to strike.

    The jail guard at the door nced over and closed it.

    The middle-aged man screamed and tried to block the blows with his hands.

    "Damn it! I give you face, and you don''t want it. Investigate me? How many lives do you have?!"

    Victor didn''t stop beating until the baseball bat broke, and Alejandro and the others from the different departments didn''t dare intervene. Even the young colleagues brought by the middle-aged man seemed at a loss.

    After the stick broke, Victor kicked the man a few more times, then turned around, slightly sweaty, to look at the people on the sofa who were too scared to utter a sound.

    "I''m very fair when ites to business. You want money, I''ll give it to you; I just want the Warden''s position. Name your price. If you can''t handle it, just bring him to collect the money. I refuse to believe that there''s anyone in Mexico who isn''t corrupt!"

    As Victor said this, he pulled open his bookshelf cab, which was neatly filled with Pesos.

    These were all ''sanitation fees.''

    Last night, Casare had collected money all night long. Those who didn''t pay? They had to tiptoe around the toilet next to the bowl. And if they fell in?

    Hehehe... they were in for a miserable time.

    Did you think that by bing a prisoner, you were going to be a boss?

    Did you think Victor was a good person?

    Once you''re in a Mexican Prison, you''re a criminal. To speak frankly, I don''t know about other ces, but in Mexico, if you kill everyone inside, not a single one is innocent.

    If Victor ever gets into power, the first thing he''s going to do is collect sanitation fees... Oops, my mistake, he''ll reinstate the death penalty!

    For crimes that aren''t afraid of death, it''s just ying house.

    In teau Prison, with its 5,000 inmates, they bring in almost 1.2 million Pesos a month in ''revenue'' for Victor.

    Indeed, power is the greatest wealth.

    Alejandro and the others saw the full cash and also knew who had swallowed hard. Victor looked towards the source of the sound with a smile. It was a young man who didn''t have the thick skin of old Fox yet; his face turned red under Victor''s gaze.

    "Casare, fetch some bags for our new friends," Victor instructed, and Casare, who had already prepared the bags, handed them over.

    "One minute, however much money you can grab is all yours!"

    He said, ncing at his watch, "Start!"

    The one who got the bag immediately rushed over began to frantically scoop up money.

    Victor didn''t mind at all.

    Money is only money when you spend it; otherwise, it''s just paper. It has value when it''s used, and without value, it''s just trash.

    "Boss, I''ve prepared your share. I had it sent to your house; there''s no need to scramble with the kids," Victor said, sitting next to Alejandro with a smile.

    Upon hearing this, the other party''s expression rxed slightly, hesitating, "You want to be the Warden? I haven''t been reassigned yet so I can still have a say, but you''ve hit someone from the Federal Security Department..."

    "They didn''t die; it was just a lesson."

    "That was a huge blow to their pride."

    "Pride? How much is that worth? Alejandro, everyone is selling themselves; it''s just the parts being sold that differ."

    Victorughed at this remark, lit a cigarette for himself, and with a flick, threw the lighter across the table, sending it skimming away, "It''s just a broken head, right? I''ll apologize to him."

    With that, he stood up, "I''m sorry!"

    He then kicked him, turned to Alejandro, shrugged, and said, "He takes it as my forgiveness."

    "I''m not that demanding. Webster is dead; whether I take his ce, I''ll be reasonable in my dealings."

    Violence?

    If reason doesn''t work, then use force.

    Alejandro, considering the face (money) involved, nodded, "I''ll do my best."

    "Appreciate it. Oh, and one more thing."

    Victor smiled a bit sheepishly, "Now that I''ve assumed such a significant role, I have a few rtives back home that I want to get into this ce."

    That was just giving an identity to people like Kennedy Heisenberg, so they could benefit from the state resources.

    It was a minor matter that normally wouldn''t need to be brought up to him.

    But eventually, when things get stirred up, it''s like giving him a heads-up.

    "Time''s up!" Casare said softly nearby.

    Victor nced at his watch and then at the men who even took off their suits to stuff money into them and were still dropping cash on their way out.

    He generously said, "Another minute."

    "I''ve always been generous to new friends!"

    ...

 Chapter 48 Not Even God Can Save Mexico!

    "Take care, boss."

    Victor personally saw Alejandro to his car and even took the initiative to open the door for him.

    He was that kind of "good guy"; as long as everyone showed each other respect, he was easy to talk to.

    When Alejandro got into the car, he lowered his voice and said, "You''ve been in the spotlight too muchtely. You should keep a low profile; those drug traffickers are always watching you."

    Victor looked at him and smiled, "The future relies on one''s own efforts, not on others'' charity. I have only one rule: If you''re not the hunter, you''re the prey, and barely surviving is no different from being dead!"

    "We must take control of our destinies, sir. Drug traffickers will never be legitimate. Power is needed everywhere, much like real estate. Location is paramount; the closer you are to the center, the more valuable your wealth and status. You shouldn''t be content with where you are; you should climb higher."

    Victor was very direct and candid, "I think we can be good political partners. What you need is aplishments, and what better way to earn the Americans'' appreciation than by killing drug traffickers?"

    In Mexico, if you lick the Americans'' ass enough, they can get you the position you want.

    Too far from heaven, too close to the United States.

    "If you need money, I can give it to you. Three years ¨C within three years, I''ll help you rise to the position of head of security," Victor gestured, speaking confidently.

    Alejandro was very tempted.

    "What do you want?"

    I''m so eager to advance, boss. My dream is actually very simple: when I offer my opinion, everyone should stand and apud."

    The game of politics isn''t just about having bullets.

    Victor surely can''t be like Pablo and take a tank to sweep government buildings, can he?

    Why did Los Zetas fall so quickly afterward?

    Sure, you can fight, but what good does that do?

    When you''re in the underworld, it''s about backing. Mexico relies on the United States, and let''s speak frankly, which country on this could ovee it?

    In front of it, can you match its violence?

    "I hope you will bring me only good news," Alejandro said.

    Victor extended his hand to shake his, "All you have to do is go home, close your eyes, and then wait for me to lift you into the Senate."

    "God bless." Alejandro nodded, patted the driver on the shoulder, and signaled him to drive.

    Watching the departing sedan, Victor put his hands in his pockets as the clouds overhead were pierced by sunlight, and he said to himself, "God can''t liberate Mexico."

    ...

    Three dayster, teau Prison.

    The cafeteria, which originally could amodate over a thousand people for meals, had been turned into a workshop!

    More than two hundred inmates sat in front of sewing machines, learning to make clothes from a female inmate.

    On the side, about twenty armed Jail Guards stood.

    This was Victor''s idea.

    Inmates should be put to work. What''s the point of lying around all day?

    Transforming three cafeterias into factories, thousands of inmates worked around the clock making clothes for an export garment factory, earning fifty cents per garment.

    Of course, this money went to the prison (Victor).

    But the big shots of The Third Prison had it slightly easier; after all, they had money. Just pay a little more each month, and Victor was very open-minded ¨C with money, everything was negotiable.

    "FxxK! Son of a bitch raised by a bitch, making me operate a sewing machine. I really want to punch that guy''s head in," a muscr man who looked fierce muttered incessantly.

    Sitting next to him was a middle-aged man with a parrot tattooed on his shoulder; the other man sewed swiftly and looked at the fabric the noisy man was making, "Winter, I think you better calm down. Remember, you''re now owing an additional twenty-dor fine."

    That''s right...

    If inmates spoiled the fabric, they had to pay for it.

    Ah!

    One of these days, Victor is going to be hanging from a streetmp.

    The inmate named Winter, anxiously scratching his head with his eyes darting around, saw a portly figure enter through the door.

    He quickly nudged his neighbor, "Hey, Fatty Tiger is here."

    The middle-aged inmate clearly wasn''t happy to be disturbed, but at that mention, he looked up and saw Casare standing on a table.

    Fatty Tiger was the nickname the inmates had given him.

    A very fat tiger with a smiling face.

    "Everyone stop." Casare shouted, and all the inmates ceased their work, finally able to rest for a moment.

    "As of today, new prison regtions are being enacted! There are ten of them; listen up."

    "First, respect the Jail Guards."

    "Second, no feeding poop to fellow cellmates!"

    "Third, prohibition on spraying pee on cellmates'' clothes."

    "Fourth, no stuffing uneaten leftovers inside one''s own XX."

    "Fifth, standing naked behind one''s cellmate is not allowed."

    ...

    "Tenth: Whatever Warden Victor says is correct!"

    Casare finished reading the sheet of paper in his hand, tucked it into his pocket, and let out a smile, the fat on his face quivering, "I''m delighted to inform you all."

    "We''ve just received a big order, so we''ve decided to cancel the current break time. Everybody will work overtime. Thank you, I''ve said my part."

    Overtime!

    Fuck!

    Even the prisoners couldn''t ept this.

    "FXXK! We''re here to do time, not work, you asshole." One of the prisoners couldn''t help standing up, trying to rally those around him. "Brothers, this is simply undignified. It''s oppression, an insult to human rights!"

    Casare looked at him, then at the restless prisoners below, suddenly pulled out a gun, and bang, bang, bang!

    He killed him on the spot.

    The prisonery on the ground, eyes wide open and body limp.

    The powerless prisoners could only remain silent.

    In the face of firearms, even if you''ve killed countless before, you dare not utter another word.

    "Does anyone else disagree with working overtime?" Casare asked with a smile.

    After waiting a few seconds with no opposition, he nodded in satisfaction and signaled the guards to drag the dead man away.

    As for how he died?

    Does it matter?

    With money paving the way, Victor had smoothly secured the position of Hignd Prison Warden. He was much more stringent than Webster had been.

    Basically, if you wanted to get by in teau Prison, you either obeyed or paid up.

    For the wealthy inmates, the tolerance could be slightly higher.

    After Casare left, those with a temper finally began to speak in hushed tones.

    "I just can''t stand it here anymore, I have to get out!" Winter said, looking at the dragged-away corpse, feeling terribly ufortable.

    "You''ll be shot to pieces."

    "I have connections. The Michoac¨¢n Family has already reached out to people on the outside; they''ll coordinate a rescue!"

    The middle-aged man sitting next to him raised an eyebrow, "Really? How so?"

    "Start a riot!"

    Winter gritted his teeth. "The Michoac¨¢n Family and a few other gangs willunch attacks on the outside, forcing the Mexican Government to either rece Victor or release us. Which do you think the government will choose?"

    Is there even a need to think about it?

    Given Mexico''s government''s track record, they''re very likely to rece Victor. If a "normal" official came in, life would definitely improve for the likes of us.

    No way they''d let us go.

    The United States Drug Enforcement Administration wouldn''t agree to that either.

    "How do you know?" the middle-aged man asked curiously.

    Winter''s eyes twitched as if recalling some unpleasant memory, subconsciously reaching for his buttocks. The middle-aged man saw the whole motion and instantly understood.

    Ah, life in prison is hard.

    He consciously skirted the topic. "The Michoac¨¢n Family is willing to stick their neck out for this?"

    Winter took a deep breath. "Victor killed Osir Cardenas''s own nephew; he can''t swallow that pride. I heard that the Gulf Group will also be part of this uprising."

    The middle-aged man''s eyes lit up, looking around. "What do we need to do?"

    "We start a riot inside the prison too!"

    "As long as it''s chaotic enough, the Mexican Government will have topromise!"

    "Only a few people are aware of this."

    If God can''t save Mexico, what chance does a jail guard have of turning things around?

    Eat shit!

    ...

 Chapter 49 They Are Young!

    Victor felt very insecure.

    As soon as he took the position of warden, he saw the number of Golden Finger exchanges go from the original 20 to 40, doubling!

    Meanwhile, his points had rocketed because he had killed a member of the Pedro Family, now standing at 971,000 points.

    He had earned quite a bit back from his previous expenditures.

    Indeed, the more capital you have, the more you earn.

    He selected 3 technicians to join Yuri and Kost, forming the "Prison Maintenance Department." The rest were all modeled after Kennedy Heisenberg''s temte.

    Thebat team swelled from 18 to 35 people, creating an enhanced toon.

    And Victor, who believed in the supremacy of "firepower," not only added an M240 machine gun to a Hummer, but also equipped them with two TPz-1 "Fox" armored personnel carriers produced by the German Thyssen Henschel Company.

    Each man was armed with an anti-tank rocketuncher.

    He blew nearly 300,000 points in one go.

    With money, you can be so audacious.

    He also applied to Alejandro for the establishment of a "Special Combat Team," registered under the name of the Prison Administration Bureau, codename: El Le¨®n de M¨¦xico (the Mexican Lion), abbreviated as EDM!

    As for the official reason...

    Of course, it''s to suppress prison riots.

    Isn''t that obvious?

    That''s the advantage of having official backing; even illegal armed forces can be "whitewashed" for you. If Victor had been a drug trafficker, hehehe, he would probably have been on the wanted list by now, and perhaps Special Forces would have been dispatched to decapitate him.

    But he was a police officer.

    Finally seeing the importance of being certified, right?

    Through EDM, Victor quickly gained control over all the prison sections, and he nned to select some emergency squad members as reserves.

    The slots for 35 people were not nearly enough. If there was a chance in the future... he couldmission someone to take a look in the Soviet Union, where life for the special forces was tough.

    In the office.

    Victor hummed a tune, feeling good, as the inmates had been very cooperativetely, earning him quite a bit of US dors.

    With a paring knife in hand, he was peeling an apple when the familiar voice of a female reporter came from the TV; he had developed a bit of a crush on her recently.

    The taste was intense.

    "ording to the Mexico Police Department, drug trafficking groups Michoac¨¢n Family, Legion Salvaje, and Alianza Demon¨ªaca are demanding that the Mexican Government release their members incarcerated at teau Prison,"

    "They also used Warden Victor Carlos Vieri of abuse of prisoners and demanded his dismissal and for him to be handed over to the Michoac¨¢n Family for handling!"

    "So far, the Mexican Government has not responded."

    Victor choked on his apple when he heard his own name, surprised that his first appearance on TV would be associated with such a "reputation." He squinted his eyes.

    He detected a scent in the air targeting him.

    Ding-a-ling~

    The phone on the desk rang.

    Victor picked it up, his expression visibly darkening at a discernible speed.

    Interesting...

    God has opened shop again.

    ...

    yton Cemetery, Mexico.

    This was thergest gathering ce for "retail" in Mexico City, where many unimed inmates who died in idents were buried.

    The lucky ones even got tombstones.

    Many of the poor lived off the cemetery, as the government departments needed a lot ofborers to dig graves, albeit for a paltry sry.

    A bare-bottomed child, his face caked with dirt, was digging through the mud when he suddenly heard footsteps and looked up with an earthworm in his mouth.

    Not far ahead, he saw four or five men in ck suits.

    Their presence was intimidating.

    He instinctively wanted to run; survival was something he had learned in Mexico, but the buzz-cut man leading them waved at him, calling him over.

    The child hesitated, then approached.

    If he hadn''t... he would have died!

    "Sir, do you know where the dead prisoners from teau Prison are ced?" The leader spoke in a soft and gentle voice, even addressing a child as sir, which felt oddly out of ce.

    The child timidly nodded, pointing not far away, "Over there."

    "Thank you, this is your reward." The man took out 10 US dors from his pocket and handed it to the boy, who, frightened, hastily waved his hands.

    "Take it, every bit of help needs to be rewarded."

    The man stuffed the money into the child''s hand, even patted his head, and walked towards the area the child pointed to. The child looked at the money in his hand and ran off at full speed.

    "Mr. Cardenas, the Mexican Government has rejected our demands!" A subordinate suddenly spoke up from behind.

    Osir Cardenas, walking in front, stopped in his tracks and with his head held high, "It seems like the gentlemen sitting in the offices have forgotten what we look like. Let''s remind them, and don''t forget this is Mexico, where the drug traffickers are in charge!"

    The subordinate hurriedly agreed and took out his phone to give the orders.

    Meanwhile, Mexico City started to stir.

    A bus was in transit, many of its passengers disabled, wearing yellow hats, smiling on their faces because they had gone out for fun today, excitedly waving their gs at theirpanions taking videos, shing the peace sign.

    "Erica, smile for me, I''ll take your picture," a young man with Down syndrome said while holding a camera toward the group leader.

    The young woman leading them, who tied her hair in braids, was quite young, barely in her early twenties, and small in stature, not bearing the typical tall frame of Mexican women, and also not conventionally beautiful, with freckles across her face. But she smiled upon hearing the call.

    Her eyes curved into crescents.

    She posed happily.

    Boom... Bang!!!

    Suddenly, a dump truck mmed into them from the side, and the driver, out of instinct, swerved, crashing into the greenery on the side.

    Erica, who hadn''t managed to keep her bnce, fell down, but she was still anxiously asking, "Is everyone okay? Tonyino? How are you!"

    Before she could finish, a pickup truck charged forward, and seven or eight masked armed militants jumped out, wielding Valmet M76 assault rifles, and opened fire on the bus!

    The bullets passed through the metal bus shell and through Erica''s body, blood sttered in the air.

    Screams, wails, and cries...

    The drug traffickers emptied two magazines into the bus, then, without leaving, started attacking bystanders indiscriminately.

    Inside the bus.

    Tonyino, the young man with Down syndromey on the ground, still holding the camera, which yed back the happyughter of everyone.

    "We went out to y!"

    "We like Erica!"

    "Yeah!"

    In the camera, their smiles lingered.

    They were so young.

    Mexico was in chaos.

    ...

    Bang!

    Vic hung up the phone, his whole body emanating intense rage.

    "Rebel against the tyrant! Rebel against the tyrant!"

    Suddenly, shouts erupted from downstairs.

    He ran to the window and saw thousands of prisoners running out from the "work" site, many of them carrying various "tools."

    They were beating the jail guards.

    Quite a few jail guards were actually pinned to the ground as their weapons were snatched away.

    "Warden, there''s been an incident!" Special Combat Team Captain Harrison ran in, his face also showing fear.

    "It''s time to fight, mate."

    "I order, no need for warnings, kill them all!"

    ...

    TPz-1 "Fox" armoured personnel carrier!

 Chapter 50 We bless Mexico!

    ```

    Hearing Victor''s order, Harrison''s mouth hung open immediately.

    "Warden, that''s...that''s too many people."

    Victor turned his head sharply, staring at him, "Even arge number of mongrels are still mongrels, they are incapable of creating any more value, what we have to do now is sweep this disobedient trash into the pile of garbage."

    "Those who have made mistakes must ept their punishment."

    Victor''s expression was very calm, even leisurely enough to take a cigarette from the desk and start smoking, "Even children know this."

    Harrison was under great pressure, even with Victor''s back to him, the back of his head seemed to have a pair of eyes staring at him as he swallowed hard.

    Shit!

    Better them dead than myself in trouble.

    Harrison picked up the walkie-talkie he carried with him and passed down Victor''s order.

    While the riot was happening below, there were already members of the Mexican Lion (EDM) on the surrounding high walls.

    Victor was rather "timid" since living in the prison for so long, after all, so he took certain precautions, for fear that some blind thief woulde sneaking over at night.

    Therefore, he had arranged a few "little toys" around the high walls.

    They set up Degtyaryov Shpagin SG-43 machine guns, and though they were antiquated, they were the pioneers of "trench warfare".

    The most important point was that these World War II relics were cheap, and it had only been a little over forty years since the war.

    As far as we know, no human has been able to withstand a 7.62mm caliber, right?

    The members of EDM who received the orders resolutely pulled the triggers!

    Have you ever seen...

    ...the harvesting of wheat?

    The rioting prisoners who were initially shouting fell to the ground in an instant, and the lieutenants who grabbed weapons retaliated by raising their guns, only to be shot until their bodies were riddled like sieves.

    A stray bullet prated a prisoner''s eyeball, exploding through the back of the skull with a "Pia!" and his brain matter sttered out like tofu pudding.

    Don''t think of drug traffickers as too vicious.

    Their viciousness is only aimed at the weaker ones!

    As long as there''s someone stronger than them, they are as meek asmbs.

    "Run! Run for it!"

    "Open the gate, let me out!"

    "I surrender! I surrender!"

    The drug traffickers cried...

    They yelled desperately with tears and snot streaming down their faces.

    Do they regret it?

    No, they''re just afraid of death.

    After the gunfire stopped, no one was standing below anymore, and even if there were screams, they were weak. The closed prison iron gates were then opened, and the TPz-1 "Fox" armored personnel carrier drove in.

    It rolled directly over the fallen drug lords.

    You could hear...

    ...the sound of bones being ground together under pressure.

    Content from m-vl|em|p,yr

    And then those Kennedy Heisenbergs, along with the members of EDM, began to roll call the surviving prisoners.

    Harrison stood by Victor, watching it all unfold, and even he felt a bit queasy.

    "Burn the dead and take them out, the newly vacant cells will be filled soon enough; I''ll contact Alejandro to bring in another group. The sewing machines can''t stop, and the prisoners have been eating too welltely. The rest will have one less meal a day, and work hours extended to 18. Only when they are idle do they harbor foolish thoughts."

    Victor looked at him, "I remember the prison cameras are all broken today, right?"

    Casare entered in the midst of this and shivered involuntarily when he heard this.

    Was this an attempt to destroy all evidence?

    Of course, you''d have to burn the bodies directly. So many dead, there hasn''t been such a horrific scene in the world in years, has there?

    Even though they are drug traffickers, even though they deserved to die, but...

    Don''t forget that many so-called human rights organizations will make a fuss.

    They will shout everywhere, "Aren''t the lives of criminals also human lives?"

    And then the situation will grow bigger and bigger, and the Mexican Government, being so weak and ineffective, won''t be able to clean up Victor''s mess.

    But if you dispose of the bodies and handle the aftermath properly, at worst they will say there was a prison riot, and all the prisoners not on the roster have run away.

    A shooting incident?

    Where?

    Even if there are jail guards or prisoners as so-called "eye-witnesses", without catching someone in the act, it''s very hard to prove it was me.

    Do they have my fingerprints on their bodies?

    Got the nerve to make them stand up and say who killed them?

    ```

    In Mexico, there''s always one rule to follow: If you didn''t see the crime, it isn''t a crime. And if you did...kill the witness.

    Casare heard this and responded swiftly, "Yes, all the surveince today has failed, and the storage system is damaged as well."

    "Then get someone to fix it."

    Victor walked towards the door, "I''ve received a call from the Prison Administration Bureau ordering us to dispatch our best troops to assist the Mexico City local military police in maintaining stability. By the time I return, I want this ce clean."

    "One more thing!"

    As he reached the door, he suddenly turned back, startling Casare.

    "Invite two priests toe and give them thest rites."

    Victor was still too kind.

    The prison gates opened.

    A TPz-1 "Fox" armored personnel carrier led the way, followed by a BTR-40 armored vehicle and four desert-colored HuNovelBinees.

    At the prison entrance, a red van was surrounded by several men standing on either side.

    In Mexico, such small groups were easily identified; they were either drug traffickers or car thieves.

    They watched, dumbstruck, as the armored vehicles emerged from the prison.

    Their minds filled with question marks.

    Had the Mexican Government really be this extravagant?

    Suddenly, they saw the cannon on the armored vehicle in front of them swivel towards them, a bad premonition immediately overwhelming them and making their scalps tingle.

    "?Corre!?Corre!?Corre! (Run! Run! Run!)"

    Clink~ Tatatatatatata...

    The Rh202 20mm autocannon mounted on the E-6 circr support on the roof fired away like diarrhea¡ªthe sound... was explosive!

    Bullets showered down on the van.

    ss shattered to the ground in an instant.

    The body of the van shuddered from the impacts until a stray bullet hit the fuel tank, and with a "boom," it was blown sky high.

    The armored vehicle crushed the pile of scrap metal beneath its tracks.

    Victor gripped the handle inside the car tightly with his left hand, still wearing a bulletproof vest, and held a walkie-talkie in his hand.

    "Guys, let Mexico City wee our grand arrival! Kill those drug-dealing bastards who are disrupting order!"

    "We''ve got three things to do, kill drug traffickers, kill drug traffickers, and still, damn it, kill drug traffickers!"

    "God bless the world, and we''ll protect Mexico!"

    ...

    Mexico City, at this moment, was inplete chaos that could be summed up with one phrase.

    Even God needed to wear a safety helmet on his bottom.

    The Mexican Government had sent out the Mexican Military Police to engage in street firefights with drug traffickers!

    The sounds of gunshots, screams, and cries were nonstop.

    Incredibly, the military police were being forced to retreat!

    In the Michels District, where the firefight was particrly intense, even a Santana 109 military light vehicle belonging to the military was burnt to a cinder on the roadside, with many uniformed policemen lying on the ground.

    The drug lords, with bandanas wrapped around their faces, stormed into a roadside diner.

    They mercilessly butchered the civilians seeking refuge inside.

    Those military policemen were nothing but rubbish!

    The drug traffickers brazenly stood on the tops of vehicles, spraying bullets all around, and one even dropped his trousers and shed his privates at the policemen hiding not far away.

    "Trash!" the drug lords yelled, flipping the middle finger.

    But these military policemen did not show the slightest bit of backbone.

    "Save me! Save me!" A shrill voice rang out, and two drug lords could be seen dragging a man out to their leader, who was shouting insistently.

    A woman rushed out from behind them, kneeled hastily on the ground, pleading desperately in ng.

    The leader tore the man''s arm open, saw the Sinaloa tattoo, and plunged a dagger into his neck.

    The woman let out a scream and madly ran towards him, but her head was blown off by a drug trafficker.

    "Chop off their heads," the leader ordered.

    The henchman nodded. Suddenly, he felt the ground beneath his feet tremble slightly. Puzzled, he looked up only to see the barrel of a gun protruding around a corner, followed by an armored vehicle crashing through the wall.

    The autocannon fired...

    Those bewildered drug traffickers didn''t even open their mouths before their upper bodies were blown apart!

    <img data-y-imgId="10047984" data-y-path="/imgChapter/23506817501037701/26228101101623904/10047984/7e697eb75cdaf45712e724db9e5d5e00Qu37IsYVKo8FJa0.jpg">

    Degtyaryov Shpagin SG-43 Machine Gun!

 Chapter 51 Taking the Blame! (Please Follow!)

    Theunchers on both sides of the TPz-1 armored vehicle spewed out smoke grenades.

    Taking advantage of this, all team members disembarked and automatically split up to search ording to theirbat teams.

    The well-trained DEM was unfamiliar to everyone.

    Including those military police.

    Many poked their heads out, and upon seeing the nearly 10-ton behemoth, they were all a bit puzzled, most notably because the back of the armored vehicle read: APM (Administraci¨®n Penitenciaria de M¨¦xico), the abbreviation for the Mexican Prison Administration Bureau.

    Damn!

    The guys watching the prisoners have armored vehicles?

    "Does your police department also have armored vehicles?" a Mexican Army officer with the rank of lieutenant asked the police superintendent, his eyes widening in amazement.

    The superintendent was equally baffled.

    We''re still using revolvers, and you''re equipped with armored vehicles?

    Are the officials in the security department that selfish?

    The TPz-1 armored vehicle was equipped with a shovel in front that could push aside any cars blocking the road, and there was a loudspeaker on the roof broadcasting in Spanish, "Lay down your weapons and surrender!"

    To the current drug traffickers, this armored vehicle was aplete downgrade in attack capability; unless they had heavy weapons, there was basically no chance of prating its armor.

    The entire street was more or less conquered with overwhelming force. Seeing the situation turn grim, the drug traffickers quickly lifted their hands to surrender and proficientlyy on the ground, where the DEM personnel dragged them by the hair onto the street.

    About a dozen drug traffickers remained, their headscarves violently torn off to reveal sleazy and befuddled faces beneath.

    They were terrified!

    Simrly, they waited for their judgment likembs.

    There was also an MG3 7.62mm machine gun on the armored vehicle. The machine gunner looked inside the vehicle, nodded, pointed the gun at the drug traffickers, and opened fire.

    Executed on the spot!

    One drug trafficker stood up and tried to run but was shot in the knee; hey on the ground wailing in pain and still trying to crawl forward, with blood all over the ground.

    Even animals seek to survive.

    The machine gunner gave him special attention,pletely shredding his buttocks.

    If crimees at no cost, then more and more people will be brazen.

    What Victor sought to do was make these people understand.

    If you do something wrong, you have to admit it, stand up straight when you''re beaten!

    Do you think this is the civilized world where a light "sorry" would suffice?

    In Mexico, losers only have one path¡ªdeath!

    "Advance! Move to the next block!"

    Victormanded the DEM towards the next engagement point; the tires rolled over the corpses of the drug traffickers, and they burst open like crushed stic bottles.

    Looking at the bodies strewn all over the ground, the military police exchanged nces.

    Ferocious... too ferocious.

    "Could Mexican prison guards really fight like this?" the army lieutenant blurted out.

    "Prison Administration Bureau?"

    "I know who he is, boss!"

    A police sergeant standing behind the superintendent suddenly shouted out. The volume was so loud it hurt the superintendent''s eardrums.

    "Who?"

    "It''s Victor! He is Victor Carlos Vieri, known as ''Tyrant'' Victor Carlos Vieri!" the police sergeant hurriedly exined.

    The name was all too familiar.

    Who didn''t know about the tough guy from teau Prison who dared to confront drug lords and superiors, even going so far as to hang drug lords who wronged him!

    "I heard the thing with the Pedro Family a few days ago was his doing, so tragic, the whole family was wiped out."

    In Mexico, there were hardly any secrets.

    If the head of the security department broke wind, the whole city would know the next day.

    "Where did he get the money to buy an armored vehicle?" the army lieutenant couldn''t help asking.

    That stumped the police; after a long hesitation and some mumbling, the superintendent managed to say, "Maybe... robbed from the drug traffickers."

    ¡­

    The TPz-1 armored vehicle was always the one to rely on for firepower.

    With its cover, the military policeunched a counterattack against the drug traffickers.

    In the face of overwhelming firepower, you''re nothing but a dog to them, worth no more than a couple of bullets.

    This riot by the drug traffickers, known as the "11.8 incident," didn''t start to calm down until after 7 p.m., when the main external military forces began to provide support to the city.

    The drug traffickers were outnumbered and had to run first.

    Although the Mexican military police are known to be the most corrupt, when the higher-ups tell you to show up for support, can you really refuse?

    After all, Mexico is still a country!

    It hadn''t yet descended into a battlefield of warlords.

    The chaos affected nearly seven blocks, enveloping around 300,000 people, with almost every road littered with corpses.

    Cries and screams were everywhere.

    Victor sat inside the armored vehicle and saw an elderly man kneeling on the ground, weeping until he was voiceless, with seven neat bodiesid out in front of him.

    The entire family except for him was dead.

    The traffickers had stormed into his house and shot randomly.

    Even Victor felt a twinge of heartache at the crying; had the country decayed so much that it wasn''t worth saving anymore?

    "Kill him! Kill him!"

    Just then, a mor drew his attention elsewhere; he saw a group of people indignantly surrounding a drug trafficker, who was being beaten until his face was swollen and bruised, with the surrounding police tightly guarding him.

    The trafficker climbed atop a vehicle, and looking down at the residents grimacing at him, he actually cracked a smile and yelled, "Long live the Michoac¨¢n Family!"

    Victor squinted.

    He took over from the driver, settled into the armored vehicle, hit the gas, and the 235 kilowatt engine sprang to life as he charged toward the trafficker, honking the horn ferociously.

    The residents quickly dispersed, and even the police fled the scene as they saw troubleing.

    Terror-stricken, the trafficker jumped from the roof of the car and ran desperately, looking back, but how could his two legs outrun four wheels? He was hit, the vehicle rolled over his legs with a gruesome scream, and then his head burst open.

    "Thrilling!"

    Victor exhaled; he just couldn''t stand others being more arrogant than him!

    "Boss, Director Alejandro is on the phone," one of the EDM members handed over the brick phone, and Victor took it, saying, "Hello."

    Alejandro''s voice sounded heavy on the other end.

    "Victor, I think you need to be prepared."

    "What do you mean?"

    "The security department believes you''re the main culprit behind this riot. Tomorrow, 12 officials will conduct an internal inquiry with you."

    Fuck!

    They want to question me?

    nning to dump all their shit on me?

    He didn''t need to think twice to know that they needed a scapegoat to apologize in front of the TV cameras, typical of politicians to pass the buck as quickly as possible.

    "500,000 pesos! Alejandro!"

    "This isn''t a problem money can solve, Victor!"

    "1 million pesos!"

    "Don''t tell me it can''t be solved. Everybody has a price tag. I''ll pay the money, you find the people. If I can''t walk out of that interrogation room tomorrow, the inmates at teau Prison are sure to riot, without a doubt!"

    He hung up the phone abruptly and tossed it onto the seat, rubbing his hands together¡ªa sign of anxiety.

    "Boss, should we..." Kennedy Heisenberg made a gesture of slitting a throat.

    "We''re police, not bandits!" Victor snapped back irritably.

    "Isn''t it all the same?"

    Victor paused, realizing that in Mexico there seemed to be little difference between thieves and police. If someone wanted to y clean politics against him, it was time to be a little rogue.

    After all, he had a pair of eyes that could see right through someone''s crime value.

    He didn''t believe all 12 officials were clean.

    When the time came to expose their dirty secrets, they''d see who really ends up embarrassed!

    ¡­

 Chapter 52 : 52: I Hate It Most When Others Pretend...

    The next day.

    Victor got out of the armored car, looking exhausted.

    He was just too "great," fearing the drug lords might continue causing trouble at night, so he stayed with EDM on Mexico City''s most bustling "Central Street."

    About...300 meters from the city hall.

    Basically, he didn''t trust the politicians'' integrity. If they wouldn''t give him an "interrogation" opportunity and just sent soldiers to arrest him, maybe Victor could take out those high-and-mighty big shots with one shot?

    He had been this way since he was young, trusting no one.

    "Boss, a call for you, from Mr. Alejandro," Kennedy Heisenberg emerged from the armored car, handing him the phone.

    Victor took a leak, shook off, wiped his hands on Kennedy''s body, then took the phone and said with a smile, "Good morning, Alejandro."

    See, he didn''t even call him Director anymore.

    "Where are you? Just got notified, the meeting''s been rescheduled to 8:05 AM."

    Victor nced at his watch, time had turned to 8 o''clock, and he instantly understood that those big shots were trying to show him who''s boss.

    "Have them push it to 8:30, wait for me to finish breakfast before Ie over."

    Alejandro knew something like this would happen, those idiots thought they could suppress his momentum?

    You''d need women to help you blow that up!

    "Victor, hard fighting with them won''t do you any good," Alejandro said, pinching his temples.

    "Sir, I''m quite straightforward when I speak. If they don''t like me, let theme shoot me dead. If they don''t have the guts, then please ask them to sit down and wait until I finish eating, then I''lle talk to them."

    With that, he hung up the phone.

    Alejandro cursed helplessly as the dial tone rang out in the brick phone, furrowing his brow. He knew Victor''s money wouldn''t be easy to earn. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his briefcase, got out of the car, and walked toward the city hall.

    Of course, Victor wasn''t really going to eat. They had just had a shoot-out the day before and were still under military control, so you couldn''t even see street vendors.

    He was just sitting in the car, waiting for the time to pass, smoking a cigarette.

    Man, you gotta jump. If you don''t, people will think you''re a pushover, a nice guy. Don''t believe that crap about how if you''re gold you''ll shine. With a rag thrown over you, you''ll never turn over in your life.

    Especially in a ce like Mexico, full of violence.

    Think you can crush Victor down?

    I''ll smash your asses to pieces!

    Victor dyed until 8:40 AM before heading to the city hall with 10 members of the EDM. He was "afraid" to go alone.

    Although there were guards at the entrance of the city hall, they didn''t step forward to question or ask the team toy down their weapons, which didn''t fit with the "Mexican national situation."

    Reaching the third floor and standing at the door, he could already hear the angry questioning from inside, a woman''s voice, "Alejandro! Where is Victor?"

    "This iswless, so arrogant! I''ve never seen a government employee like this."

    Victor pushed the door open forcefully and yelled, "Then let me show you."

    The room inside was quite spacious, and the 12 interrogators sat in a circle, with Alejandro standing in the middle being scolded, a sycophantic smile on his face.

    The interrogators were 8 men and 4 women. Victor took a quick nce.

    All damn scumbags surrounded by foul air.

    Victor straightened his clothes and walked over to Alejandro amidst everyone''s gaze, looking left and right and spreading his hands, "Ladies and gentlemen, where''s my seat?"

    The bureaucrats snapped back to reality.

    He saw a woman in her 40s, with vestiges of beauty, wearing tailored ck clothes and gold-rimmed sses, her chest pronounced.

    She sat on the left, with a dark face, "Victor, you arete..."

    That was the voice that had been scolding Alejandro just now.

    Victor interrupted her, "Late? The time you set or the time I set? I don''t ept the time you set."

    The interrogators were all shocked at such a direct challenge.

    "Victor! Do you realize what you''re saying? You''re a criminal now..."

    "Shut up!"

    Victor rushed forward, his expression ferocious, his hands mming hard on the table. "I''m out there fighting drug traffickers with guns, and you''re here bossing around. What right do you have to call me a criminal?"

    He grabbed the other party''s clothes, pulled hard to reveal a butterfly tattoo on the shoulder, and then sneered, "What''s this?"

    Without waiting for a response, he pped her face and chastised loudly, "What is this!"

    The force of the p was not light, knocking the woman to the ground, her half-face swelling up. Victor pointed at her and cursed, "You, a member of the Mexican Government, act like a whore. Who are you to talk about me? What right do you have to speak of me, or to judge Alejandro?"

    "Ptooey~" He spat a thick glob of phlegm on her.

    "If you''re dirty, roll aside and don''t block my view," Victor said as he lifted the woman''s chair, dragging it to the center, and sat down with a plop, crossing his legs and looking at the others with an aggressive gaze. "Sir, I have a herniated disc and standing is ufortable, taking a chair isn''t too much to ask, right?"

    The other female interrogators hurried to help her, her face streaked with tears.

    Don''t be fooled by her crying; Victor found her r¨¦sum¨¦ quite "impressive."

    A senior assistant in the security department.

    Lover of Sinaloa''s high-level boss Zambada!

    Also a socialite who mingles with senior officials of the security department.

    She often betrayed military and police drug enforcement information to Zambada, allowing the Sinaloa Group to escape crises multiple times.

    Such a person...

    You want to judge me?

    The fact that I haven''t blown you away is already a sign of my moral flexibility.

    In this lifetime, Victor has been upromising when ites to drug dealing.

    Victor''s "brutality index" skyrocketed in everyone''s mind; this guy definitely had some psychological abnormalities, or rather, was twisted.

    Bang, bang, bang!

    The sound of a hammer hitting the table could be heard.

    Centered was a middle-aged man who looked very dignified, with thick brows andrge eyes, hisplexion equally unpleasant. "Victor, I will record your insulting and assaulting a superior in the minutes of the meeting. This is not in your favor, and I hope you can adjust your attitude."

    "We''re here to understand the cause of an incident. We''ve received many anonymous letters iming you''ve abused prisoners in jail. Is there any truth to that?"

    "No," Victor said firmly.

    "Then how do you exin the allegations of prisoner abuse?"

    "You could call the user over and let me confront them."

    Rest assured, I won''t kill him!

    The middle-aged man nodded before suddenly looking up. "Yesterday, someone imed you killed a prisoner. What do you have to say about that?"

    Victor spread his hands. "nder. This isplete nder. If there is evidence, please arrest me."

    "Then how do you exin that teau Prison suddenly had over a thousand people missing?"

    Victor looked deeply at him; clearly, the security department had spies inside, but he remained calm. "They escaped, a riot happened yesterday, and they all ran off."

    Such tant lying put the interrogator in a difficult position.

    "It seems that your ability to manage the prison isn''t very good, Officer Victor," the middle-aged man said while looking at him.

    "Then you should go kill yourself, Commander, because you all can''t even control the Mexican drug traffickers."

    His words enraged the middle-aged man who mmed the table and stood up, "Watch your tone."

    Victor had already grown impatient and stood up from his chair. Alejandro flinched, thinking Victor was about to hit the man, and quickly pulled at him, whispering, "You can''t hit him, this is the Director of Drug Enforcement at the Security Department."

    Quite a high position.

    Victor shook off Alejandro and walked up to the middle-aged man, pressing his hands on the table and staring into his eyes as the man tried to hold his ground against him.

    He actually seemed like a pretty good bureaucrat.

    "Mr. Luciano, I must say I admire you," Victor suddenly said with a smile, reaching out to dust off the man''s clothes. "Sleeping at your mistress''s cest night and showing up for work today, didn''t snort it all yesterday, did you? Oh, and you better hide the money from Tijuana well, it''ll break your heart if it gets lost."

    Luciano''s eyes flickered, and his expression instantly soured, "What are you talking about?"

    "You know what I''m talking about."

    "You think you can mess with me, Victor?" He grabbed the other man''s cor and yanked him closer, snatching his meeting notes from the table and looking at the negative remarks about himself before smiling, "It seems you have some issues with me. Change it, write that Victor is brave and smart, with excellent qualities."

    "Impossible, you''re threatening and ndering a superior. I will¡ªah!!!"

    Victor swiftly drew a dagger and drove it through the man''s hand and into the table; blood immediately began seeping out.

    "I despise posturing the most! Sir!"

    ...

 Chapter 53 : 53: Strike it Rich!

    Luciano, this DEA Commander, was no good guy.

    In 1987, when the United States and Mexico jointlyunched a drug enforcement raid on Tijuana''s territory, he contacted the brothers Benjamin and Ramon, enabling them to escape and even sacrificing 17 Mexican drug enforcement police officers in the process.

    That''s right, the two brothers from Tijuana were the nephews of "Godfather" Gardo.

    They had once entrusted Luciano to assist their uncle in prison, so he had a good rtionship with the former Warden, Webster.

    That must be one of the reasons he disliked Victor.

    The rtionships in Mexico are incrediblyplex.

    "I''m asking you once more, sir, can you change it!"

    "Security! Security!!"

    Next to them, an interrogator yelled out loud, and someone rushed towards the outside.

    "Stop!"

    Victor shouted, and the members of the DEA quickly cocked their guns, scaring everyone witless.

    Even Alejandro got scared.

    "Victor... you need to calm down, you''re a police officer!"

    Victor turned his head and nodded with a smile, "Of course, I will not tarnish my reputation for a few scumbags who collude with drug traffickers."

    "I just want to say, you have no right to judge me from a moral high ground, sir, you make the Mexican police feel ashamed!"

    "Don''t think that I don''t know about your dirty dealings, Mr. Julian Bet!" Victor suddenly pointed at a sses-wearing interrogator, "You still remember what happened eleven years ago, right? If the United States Drug Enforcement Administration finds out it was you who took 500,000 US Dors from Pedro Aviles to let him go, do you think they won''t kill you?"

    The man with sses immediately changed color.

    "And you, Lady Reba, you bore Aviles a son; oh, a female security official having a child with a drug lord¡­"

    "You... that''s nonsense!"

    These bureaucrats were full of filth underneath their facades.

    But in Mexico, such things were all toomon.

    A country in Latin America, desperate.

    Victor looked at Luciano with a mocking nce, "Sir, I think you don''t want your dirtyundry aired in public, do you?"

    Luciano, with his face contorted in pain, had trembling lips.

    He wanted to pull out the dagger, butcked the courage to do so.

    Victor patted his face, "So, don''t mess with me, got it, sir?!"

    He too wished to finish off these 12 people with a ''tat-tat-tat.''

    But then...

    He would definitely be wanted, and justice had to be flexible.

    Report them?

    Forget about it, in Mexico even the decision-makers are into drug trafficking.

    In 2007, when the big drug trafficker Ye Zhenli was arrested, there were 200 million in cash at his ce, of which 150 million US Dors belonged to the then decision-maker in Mexico.

    He was caught by the Americans.

    The incident caused a huge uproar.

    Who was Ye Zhenli? He smuggled ephedrine to Mexico and was almost the sole supplier of drug materials for the entire country.

    If even the decision-maker was involved in such things, do you think there are any "good guys" left?

    Mexico is fundamentally rotten to the core.

    "I know you all have connections with the drug traffickers, and you''re wee to send them after me for revenge."

    Victor shed a gentlemanly smile, pocketed his hands, and walked away with his DEA team. Alejandro hesitated for a moment but followed suit.

    After he left, Luciano''s screams of pain grew even louder, and the other people around hurriedly ran out to seek help.

    "Kill him! You have to find a way to kill him!" Luciano''s face twitched as he said as quietly as possible to the others, "If he leaks what we''ve done, we''re definitely finished."

    "But who do you n to have kill him? He''s got people and weapons under hismand."

    "Then just transfer him out of Mexico City and throw him into the drug traffickers'' Base Camp! I refuse to believe he can still be as arrogant on someone else''s turf," Luciano said with resentment in his tone.

    "Thrown where?" another person asked.

    "The Tijuana turf!"

    Luciano had deeper ties with them.

    Everyone looked at each other, thinking the idea wasn''t bad, to credit him with an achievement and directly send him on an external assignment, where his police rank could allow him to be a Chief.

    But the average life span of a Chief of the Mexican Police was six months.

    People died faster than they could be reced.

    They didn''t believe he could survive!

    If Victor heard their n, he would definitely be ecstatic.

    "Victor, you''re too impulsive," Alejandro whispered, fearing he might get beaten up.

    "Sorry sir, I just can''t stand being interrogated by a few who''ve betrayed Mexico; it''s a provocation to my honor!"

    Alejandro heard this, and his eyes showed aplex expression, "Victor, there are very few police in Mexico who are as diligent and dedicated as you."

    "There will be others, the skies of Mexico can''t be dark forever." Victor thought of Samboerne, the first person he met who was full of justice.

    Too bad, he was too stubborn.

    "There are many things we can''t change."

    "We aren''t born destined to change something, but to fight against something. As a child, I fought against my parents'' arrangement of my life, as I grew up, I fought against the hardships life threw at me, now I fight against the destruction that drug traffickers cause to this world. As long as I''m not dead, the fight will never stop."

    Alejandro stopped walking, "But what if you find a mountain behind you that you just can''t fight against?"

    Victor turned his head, took a cigarette out of the other''s shirt pocket, and put it in his mouth, "Then just blow up the mountain, caliber can solve all problems. If that doesn''t work, then increase the caliber."

    As he spoke, he put his hand on Alejandro''s shoulder, "Buddy, all you have to do is keep climbing up, and what I have to do is provide for your needs. Money? You need not worry; safety, you need not worry either. I will have someone protect your family."

    "Don''t you want to solve Mexico''s problems? Perhaps a hundred years from now, you will be remembered in history like this: the greatest man in Mexico."

    Wee to ttery...

    No more using names, just directly ''buddy.''

    And honestly, Victor''s eloquence was impressive; Alejandro was getting a rush of blood to the head.

    But still being down-to-earth, he asked for specifics.

    "What are the benefits of doing this?"

    "Don''t you think a peaceful and tranquil Mexico would collect more taxes??"

    Alejandro got it immediately.

    Damn!

    To think your integrity was so high when, in reality, you also wanted to make money.

    But what you said was truly tempting.

    Isn''t taxing the most profitable business in the world?

    In truth, Victor also wanted to say that he was contributing to humanity, but that was too noble for him to utter. Making money while taking down drug lords was the most exhrating part.

    ...

    Victor declined Alejandro''s invitation to dinner.

    He still felt safer going back to prison.

    Sitting in the armored car, Victor opened his eyes wanting to check his points.

    He only nced at it, and even someone asposed as he was nearly fell off his seat.

    "10,789,000!"

    I''m rich!

 Chapter 54 "The Era of Los Zetas" Has Arrived Early!

    Viktor returned to the prison with a smile on his face.

    More than ten million...

    As long as his finances could keep up and he could afford the payroll, he would have enough to arm an entire reinforced battalion.

    The day when 155mm self-propelled howitzers would rain hell on the drug lords'' base camp wasing soon.

    Missiles scouring the ground, tanks leading the way, infantry sweeping the field!

    Was this about bing a warlord or a policeman?

    With just a handful of men, I was a true loyalist of Mexico!

    But once I had a reinforced division under mymand, brothers, it really became tough on me.

    Casare was directing the prisoners to pick out some human tissues from the crevices when he heard themotion. He quickly handed the water hose to the jail guard next to him and jogged over, "Boss, Best is back."

    The guy had been sent to Juarez to negotiate some business with Agur.

    "Where is he?"

    "In the office."

    Viktor valued the arms dealing business; he needed a lot of money. The people he converted also needed to be paid sries, and surely he couldn''t rely on just this small number of people forbat.

    You have to pay sries to recruit people, don''t you?

    If they die, you have to paypensation, don''t you?

    Even as a future Director, you''d need to build towers and forts and invest in real industries for your base, all of which cost money.

    Without money, you can''t do anything.

    In the prison discipline office, Viktor was taken aback when he saw Best with his arm in ster, "What happened?"

    Best stood up and called out to the boss. At his questioning, he smiled wryly and shook his head, "It''s nothing serious, just a broken arm."

    "A few days ago, Armando from Juarez beat to death Brigadier General Derek Alvarez from the Chihuahua State 18th Division."

    "The military and Juarez are at war, and this is just an ident where I broke my arm."

    Casare was dumbfounded.

    A Brigadier General shot dead in the street?!

    Was Juarez staging an uprising?

    Still too small, too small...

    In 2013, Mexican Navy Vice Admiral Carlos Miguel Szar was attacked by a missile, and I emphasize, "missile". His convoy was ambushed, andter while he knelt pleading for mercy, he was cruelly killed!

    Going further back.

    In 1987, Major General Cadres, the head of the Traxico City security forces in Oaxaca State, was attacked and killed by drug traffickers just one hour after taking office.

    All because he had talked about drug prohibition before his term began.

    Viktor frowned, "For what reason?"

    "One of Armando''s YC-43 nes crashed, but the cargo belonged to the Colombians. If it didn''t arrive at the U.S. border on schedule, he would have to pay a huge indemnity, yet at that moment, Chihuahua State suddenly imposed martialw, grounding all flights."

    "Armando approached Brigadier General Derek Alvarez, but it seems the two quarreled, and in the end, Armando killed him in the barracks!"

    Even the audacious Viktor raised an eyebrow upon hearing this.

    "What about Armando?" Casare asked from the side.

    "He ran."

    This was just too brazen!

    "Juarez is now in riots everywhere; the whole city has gone mad, but when I came back, I heard that negotiations for peace had already begun."

    The military negotiating with drug traffickers?

    Viktor wasn''t sure whether to spit out the bad taste in his mouth.

    The atmosphere in the office was a bit oppressive.

    "Forget it, we can''t control that; how did the negotiations go?" Viktor asked.

    Your position dictates the matters you discuss.

    You have to stay true to your role.

    "Juarez has already made peace with Tijuana, but Agur wants these goods. He asked me to check with you if you have them," Best said, pulling out a sheet of paper.

    Viktor took it and nced over, "That many?"

    Casare, curious, leaned over and saw the list: 60 RPG-7 rocketunchers, 10 Steyr Mannlicher SSG-69 rifles, 200 Heckler & Koch G41 automatic rifles, 40 M67 anti-infantry mines, 1000 F-1 hand grenades!

    You have to admit, drug traffickers know their stuff.

    That SSG-69 rifle, many people don''t know, is actually a sniper rifle. In the mid-1960s, the Austrian military needed a new type of sniper rifle. They requested Steyr Mannlicher create one capable of hitting a head target at 400 meters, a chest target at 600 meters, and achieving a hit rate of no less than 80% on a moving target at 800 meters.

    And that G41 automatic rifle is currently the standard issue in Germany!

    Plus, anti-infantry mines and grenades¡ª are they nning to go to war with the Mexican military?

    ```

    "I heard that Juarez is preparing to form a professional gunman squadron to face the current situation. When I was at Juarez headquarters, I saw quite a few American faces; they must be instructors or advisors they''ve hired."

    "Are these drug traffickers starting to go the route of formal militarization?"

    Best looked at Victor, "Maybe they''re feeling the pressure too."

    There has been no peace in Mexico Citytely, how could the Pedro Family not be involved?

    ording to rumors, they were ''sted'' away!

    Fearing that the government might use heavy weaponry to suppress them, drug traffickers, who have a very keen sense of the situation, grew more uneasy due to the disintegration of the Guadjara Cartel and Gardo''s imprisonment.

    But do you think they''d surrender without a fight?

    How could that be possible!

    They could only augment their ranks with more elite personnel¡­

    "The era of Los Zetas" has arrived ahead of schedule!

    The drug war will be even more brutal...

    "Boss, do we have this merchandise? I think Agur must have approached others too; he''sparing prices." Best was a bit anxious, as this was arge order, and he could earn quite a bit with a 5%mission.

    "We do. I''ll tell you the asking priceter. Contact him and tell him to pay 70% upfront. Remember that we only ept US dors now!"

    The Peso''s exchange rate had dropped again.

    Drug traffickers have a broad range of channels for guns; they transport drugs to the United States and then import firearms from the US. Theplexity of their equipment can rival the varied origins of India''s arsenal.

    Logistical support is troublesome until the Jalisco New Generation, led by El Mencho, began building efficient arms and ammunition factories in the mountains.

    So, if you don''t sell, they can get it from someone else.

    Upon hearing his boss''s words, Best''s face lit up with delight.

    Victor patted his shoulder and told him to rest well and that he was counting on him for business matters.

    "Don''t worry, boss. I won''t miss a single penny!"

    ...

    Three days shed by.

    No news came from Juarez, but Victor received a call from Alejandro.

    "What? I''ve been appointed as the Police Chief of Guadalupe Ind?" Victor was taken aback upon hearing the news from the other end of the phone.

    Alejandro spoke in a heavy tone, "The Police Chief of Guadalupe Ind was martyred the day before yesterday. Luciano and others in the security department nominated you to seed him, and the internal meeting has already passed it."

    The day before yesterday...

    That was the second day after offending Luciano and his kind.

    Alejandro didn''t believe there wasn''t a catch!

    "Those bastards want you dead! Can you even go to Guadalupe Ind? That ce is Tijuana''s territory, and there are over twenty drug trafficking organizations alone!"

    Alejandro couldn''t help cursing, "There are gangs and all that, too. With a poption of 80,000, at least 70,000 are bad seeds. Do you know how thest Police Chief died in the line of duty? He was gunned down while patrolling the streets."

    He was furious, but suddenly his brow furrowed, and he asked in a strange tone, "Victor, are youughing?"

    "Of course not, I''m mourning for my colleague! When is the inauguration?"

    "Within half a month. There''s no official document yet, but I learned about it through insiders. After you leave, I''ll also be reassigned."

    "Then who will be in charge of the Prison Administration Bureau?" That was what Victor cared about most.

    "It''s very likely going to be Pier Luigi, the one you beat up."

    This displeased Victor greatly.

    Alejandro lowered his voice, "Someone behind the scenes wants to protect him."

    "How is your rtionship with the other Deputy Director?"

    "It''s okay."

    "Ask him if he''s willing to take the Director role. I have someone arranged for the Hignd Prison Warden position; I''ll handle Pier Luigi!"

    Alejandro fell silent for a moment, "I''ll talk to him and get back to you soon."

    Once the call ended.

    Victor''s expression almost broke into augh, which he barely managed to suppress.

    Guadalupe Ind!

    70,000 criminals?

    Exaggerated, exaggerated.

    Once I, Chief Victor, take office, they''ll all have to be saints!

    I''m talking about the remaining 10,000.

    ...

    <img data-y-imgId="10048890" data-y-path="/imgChapter/23506817501037701/26228101101623904/10048890/b908b38e4daec8072c2930ff66b181c4Qys9j201sV058Co.jpg">

    The Steyr Mannlicher SSG 69 Rifle!

    ```

 Chapter 55 My Time is Coming!

    Canteen.

    Victor gnawed on the corn, ate it all up, tossed it aside casually, pulled out a piece of paper to wipe the corners of his mouth, then looked at the Casare in front of him, Sergeant Harrison of the emergency unit, and Kennedy Heisenberg from EDM. The three were called over and were still a bit confused.

    "I''ve been transferred to Guadalupe Ind as the Director."

    The three of them went quiet instantly.

    Victor looked at them, "Don''t you have anything to ask?"

    "Boss, where is Guadalupe Ind?" Casare scratched his head.

    "West of the Baja California Penins."

    Casare nodded, thumped his chest, "Wherever the boss goes, I go."

    The guy was also smart; he knew sticking with Victor was safer.

    Victor nodded slightly, his gaze shifting to Harrison sitting on the side, "I n to rmend you for the position of Warden at the teau Prison."

    "Me?"

    Harrison was genuinely stunned. He had thought that Victor might ask if he wanted to go with him, as Victor had shown appreciation for him several times.

    Honestly, Harrison was tempted.

    "This... I''m just a Sergeant."

    "In Mexico, that''s not a problem, Harrison. The only answer I need from you is whether you''re willing or not."

    Mexican ranks aren''t worth a damn; as long as it''s not too outrageous, you slip some money to the big shots, and they''ll be happy.

    Harrison wasn''t an idiot; he understood why Victor was willing to help him.

    But with the opportunity right in front of him, if he didn''t seize it, he might never encounter such a chance again in his life. Any hesitation would be a disrespect to the potential for wealth.

    "Boss, your word is mymand!" Harrison eagerly agreed.

    Casare nced at him.

    Victor had a cigarette dangling from his lips as Harrison quickly stood up to light it for him, "Boss, what do I need to do?"

    "Just keep the prison from chaos; collect the sanitation fees every month and hand them over to Casare. For everything else, I''ll make arrangements as needed."

    teau Prison was Victor''s "mine." If there were ever a shortage of points one day, he could just pull out a few to "tenderize" to death, and unless something unexpected happened, it would remain Mexico''s top choice for imprisoning felons for at least the next twenty years.

    That''s what they call sustainable development.

    Harrison nodded "obediently."

    Victor looked at Kennedy Heisenberg; after all, he was a character he had exchanged himself. He trusted him the most, "We''re going out tonight."

    The other didn''t ask why.

    Just nodded firmly.

    ...

    Carrisco Bar.

    The deputy director of the Prison Administration Bureau Pier Luigi was gyrating wildly on the dance floor.

    Two bodyguards sat not far off.

    And looking at the corner of his mouth, there were still some white powdery particles¡ªthat''s drugs, right?

    A senior official from Mexico clubbing and doing drugs?

    Moreover, it was clear he was high; his dance moves became very swaying.

    Just after a song ended, Pier Luigi felt a soft body press close to him. He took a closer look; it was a woman.

    The woman eximed in surprise, then quickly turned back to apologize.

    What woman wouldn''t look particrly beautiful under the "fresh meatmp" at this bar.

    And Pier Luigi was already tipsy, thinking the other person was so beautiful. He posed as what he thought was gentlemanly, and then smiling, asked, "May I have this dance with you?"

    The woman "shyly" smiled and rested her hand on his shoulder.

    What followed was simple, with the inebriated Pier Luigi taking the woman out to rent a room. Those two bodyguards nned to follow, but he had brushed them off.

    Just as he "finished the job" and was doing X with the woman, the room door suddenly got kicked open, scaring him... he shrank back in fear, frantically looking behind him, only to see a squad of fully armed people rushing in, with a leader he would never forget even if he turned to ashes.

    "Victor! What are you doing?"

    Pier Luigi shouted, grabbing the bedsheet.

    "I heard someone was raping a woman, I came to check it out. Deputy Director, I didn''t expect it to be you."

    Rape?

    Pier Luigi hurriedly exined, "No, definitely not, if you don''t believe me, ask her." He pulled at the woman beside him.

    The woman suddenly burst into tears, "He threatened me, said he was very powerful in Mexico City, if I didn''t serve him, he would kill my entire family, I had no choice..."

    Pier Luigi''s scalp went numb, and he said furiously, "Bitch, what the hell are you saying!"

    As he reached out to hit her.

    He was restrained by two EDM members.

    "You''re trying tomit violence in front of me? Pier Luigi, I didn''t know you were this kind of person!" Victor said with a dark face, then turned to Kennedy Heisenberg behind him, "Did you get that on tape?"

    The other person gave an OK sign.

    Then they turned off the camcorder. The woman who had been crying stopped suddenly when she saw the camera was off, and got up from the bed cheerfully, dressing in front of everyone, then took a stack of Pesos from Victor with a big smile.

    "Thank you, officer, feel free to call on me if you need." The woman took the money and left, not forgetting to blow a kiss and to stuff the drugs from the table into her bag before taking it with her¡ªit was all out in the open now.

    Pier Luigi realized in that moment and jumped up, pointing at him and cursing, "Bastard, you''re framing me!"

    "Sir, you''re too old for this. Don''t you know how dangerous this world is?"

    Victor smiled, pinching his face, "I''ll tell you, from the first time I saw your haughty face, I wanted to destroy you."

    "Don''t covet a ce that isn''t yours. Don''t you know one wrong step leads to another?"

    "And the official that I hate the most in my life is one that gets involved with drugs; you forgot to wipe the corner of your mouth."

    Victor''s smile vanished, "Stay away from drugs in your next life, be a good man!"

    With that, he walked out the door while Kennedy Heisenberg drew his Dagger and approached.

    Click.

    Victor leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. After a while, Kennedy came out, nodding at him. Blood dripped from the Dagger.

    At that moment, footsteps came from the staircase, and two EDM members ran over, handing him the bills they were clutching.

    Victor took a phone from Kennedy Heisenberg and called Alejandro: "Mr. Pier Luigi was murdered by a female drug trafficker, who I killed on the spot."

    Alejandro on the other end suddenly went silent, then spoke, "I understand."

    "I''ve already arranged everything; if nothing unexpected happens, another Deputy Director will take my ce. teau Prison is still yours."

    "Thank you, sir."

    ...

    There''s nothing Victor hated more than drugs, and scum like Pier Luigi would have been safe even if the "rape" was real, thanks to corruption.

    As for using drug X, that''s all toomon in Mexico.

    Only by destroying his physical body could his soul be reconstructed.

    Victor exhaled a ring of smoke.

    "?? mi tiempo se acerca! (My time ising!)"

    ...

 Chapter 56 Why did you have to provoke that person?! (Extra!)

    The order appointing Victor as the Director of the Guadalupe Ind Police Station came down swiftly.

    The efficiency of the Mexican bureaucracy was surprisingly fast at this time.

    Upon receiving his appointment, Victor immediately discovered that his Golden Finger staff of 40 had doubled to 80, it seemed that with any promotion, the number doubled.

    So, how many people would there be when serving as the head of security?

    The thought was exhrating.

    But 80 people were definitely not enough, Victor began recruiting directly from within the jail guards!

    Notices were stered all over teau Prison in conspicuous ces, and the broadcast looped the message of recruitment for the EDM reserve team.

    "A sry of 1,000 US dors per month for those selected? Plus 25 days of annual leave and a year-end bonus of 2,000 US dors?"

    "Compensation for on-duty injuries varies by rank."

    Many jail guards stood in front of the notices whispering to each other.

    "Families of the fallen will bepensated with the equivalent of six years'' sry!"

    Those who were good at math had already started calcting, "72,000 US dors!"

    Of course, that number is high!

    In theory, the Mexican Government surely has an effectivepensation system, but do you think those corrupt officials would pay up?

    They would rather stuff these "blood buns" into their own luxurious houses.

    Sooner orter, all these people would also be swept away!

    Corrupt bureaucrats are even more despicable than drug traffickers!

    Victor''s credibility within the prison wasn''t bad, at the very least the guards had received a fair share of sanitation fees, with ordinary jail guards earning an extra 200 Pesos each month.

    Hearing now about this opportunity, they went in droves to sign up.

    Casare was incredibly busy, but he didn''t know what the criteria were. Anyway, the boss nced over, seemingly relying entirely on "first impressions".

    Victor didn''t have high requirements for the jail guards. As long as they weren''t pawns imnted by some drug trafficker and didn''t have too close of an association with drug trafficking organizations.

    Minor theft or a tattooed buttocks¡ªnone of those were important.

    Mexico is just TMD without good people.

    If you travel to Mexico, just remember one thing: don''t waste your money on insurance because you might not getpensated by the insurancepany, life and death are predestined, and wealth is an illusion!

    The EDM reserve recruited 220 members among the jail guards, and even when told they had no formal positions, ssified as "Police Auxiliary Staff", they didn''t care.

    Why bother with paltry government rations when there''s money to be made?

    "Warden, how much is the sry for the official members of EDM?" asked a jail guard who had joined the reserve team, raising his hand curiously.

    Casare nced at Victor, who took a sip of water.

    Getting older, it''s time for some goji berries.

    "The sry for EDM is 2,500 US dors, with an end-of-year bonus of 5,000 US dors. If you have children at home, you can get an additional 500 US dors per child every year for nutritional expenses, and if your parents are hospitalized, we will reimburse 50% of the costs. If you sacrifice your life!"

    Victor''s gaze fell upon everyone below, their eyes shooting mes, "We will provide a one-timepensation of 150,000 US dors."

    150,000 dors!!!

    The reserve team members were suddenly abuzz.

    Victor remained calm because he would strictly control the number of official members. Although paying the members did incur living costs, who would thepensation for the deceased go to?

    Wouldn''t it just be Uncle Victor moving money from one hand to the other?

    "How can we join the official team?"

    "Assessment! EDM will implement ast ce elimination system. Every year, we will select members from the reserve team for promotion. What we practice here is promotion for the capable and demotion for the incapable!"

    "With me, you don''t have to worry about being reced. What you need to do is maintain social order, ensure civilian safety, and uphold police honor!"

    Victor raised his hand, "Those drug lords who oppose us, good luck to them!"

    The reserve team members cheered!

    They were happy, but even happier were the prisoners in the jail.

    Wooo wooo wooo...

    "The Butcher" was finally leaving!

    In thest few days, inmates operated the sewing machines at remarkably high speeds, and their mood at work also improved.

    ¡­

    Guadalupe Ind!

    Located west of the Baja California Penins in Mexico.

    About 400 kilometers southwest of Ensenada city, in the Pacific Ocean, it is a true ind at sea.

    This ce is basically a "ce Beyond the Law," due to its special geographic location, the Mexican Military Police would need tond on the ind first if they wanted to carry out any drug raids, right?

    Once the drug traffickers control the ports, they''re basically done for.

    Because of its proximity to the United States, it has given rise to a lot of criminal activities; Tijuana even has a transport line here.

    At this moment, in the City Hall of Guadalupe Ind.

    The white walls were riddled with bullet holes, and the colors of burning were evident, with bodies everywhere, those of uniformed guards and in-clothed civilians.

    Kneeling at the door were more than a dozen government workers, both men and women, shaking with fear, awaiting what they called "judgment."

    Surrounding them and holding guns were numerous drug traffickers, who watched them like wolves.

    "Don''t, don''t kill me! I''ll leave Guadalupe Ind right now," cried a middle-aged man, his voice loud with tears.

    Tap tap tap~

    A pair of boots came into the middle-aged man''s view, and a mockingugh sounded in his ears, "I''m sorry, Mr. Mayor, but your request is denied. Do you have anyst words you would like me to pass on?"

    "Money! I''ll give you lots of money," the middle-aged man continued to cry out.

    "Once we kill you, your money will be ours," the drug lord raised his gun to the man''s temple and pulled the trigger, biu~

    The bullet went straight through his skull.

    He wouldn''t have felt much pain, as it directly destroyed the brain nerves.

    "Kill them all!"

    No sooner had the drug lord finished speaking than the kneeling workers screamed and tried to run, but were shot down one by one.

    The air outside City Hall was steeped in the stench of fresh blood.

    A trafficker took a spray can to the white wall at the entrance and wrote in Spanish, "Guadalupe Ind, we are the order!"

    Below it, he drew a skull with a dagger thrust through it, looking very cruel.

    "?Piratas! (Pirates!)"

    Another trafficker held a video camera towards their leader, who was arrogantly flipping the bird, "We do not wee any governmental agencies to Guadalupe Ind. We will defend the cleanliness of our ind!"

    "Especially Victor Carlos Vieri!"

    "If he does not heed our warning, we will take righteous measures and toss him into the sea to feed Jaws, you hear me? Bastard!"

    ...

    "Did you hear that? Bastard!"

    The taunts of the drug trafficker came from the TV set.

    The office was eerily silent, so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.

    Casare and the others nced at Victor who was sitting down, noticing his calm face, but suddenly heughed.

    This is bad...

    Victorughed!

    Who on earth would you provoke if not him?

    "It seems that the people of Guadalupe Ind are very weing of us." Victor pressed his cigarette butt into the ashtray, pointing at the drug trafficker on the TV, "I like his mouth."

    "Today we finish the handover, and tomorrow we should probably go have a meeting with them!"

    ¡­

 Chapter 57 Night Attack on Guadalupe Island

    December 7, 1989, 1 a.m.

    The gates of teau Prison opened.

    Leading the way were 2 TPz-1 armored vehicles, nked by 4 modified American Hummers with open tops, each fitted with 6 machine guns. These included the M2 "Browning" 12.7 mm heavy machine guns and M249 5.56 mm machine guns, installed in all four directions on the vehicles, creating a 360-degree firing arc with no dead angles.

    Following them were 6 troop carriers and, at the rear, two "Storm" armored personnel carriers produced by Alves Limited Company, each with four "Stargazer" surface-to-air missiles on standby at either side.

    They could effectively engage airborne targets!

    Moreover, the vehicles were topped with 90mm cannon turrets, ready to st away any demon or beast with a single shot!

    The sides of the vehicles also featured NBC protection systems and add-on armor - standard rocketunchers couldn''t prate them. Thinking of flipping them over with an explosion?

    Buddy, these beasts weigh 12.7 tons! Continue your saga on m|v-l''e-NovelBin

    Six pairs of tires.

    You might kick the bucket, but they probably won''t flip over.

    Victor sat inside, safe and sound¡ªdefinitely safer than in a convertible, without the worry of eating hot pot and singing songs, only to turn around and find your skull missing.

    "Boss, Kennedy and his men have arrived at Ensenada City, asking whether to proceed with the n?" Casare, sitting beside him, pinched a brick phone and asked.

    Victor was very cunning and sly!

    As the main force moved out, he had already dispatched 40 EDM members piecemeal to Ensenada City. Yuri and Kost, forming the "Repair Team," were already there waiting with the new equipment.

    Their n was tounch a night attack on Guadalupe Ind!

    Victor''s role was to confuse the enemy.

    "Proceed as nned!"

    Casare nodded and ryed the boss''s orders down the line.

    "Understood!" came the deep voice of Kennedy Heisenberg from the other side.

    ...

    On the outskirts of Dan Senada City, in a quiet seaside fishing vige known as Campbellstone.

    It was eerily silent.

    The darkness was so thick you could not see your own hand, with only the waves at the shore making any sound.

    Kennedy Heisenberg, wearing night vision goggles, looked solemnly at the 40 EDM members standing in front of him, "Gentlemen, we may die today! Mexico will remember us! Viva Mr. Victor!"

    "Move out!"

    With a wave of his hand, Kennedy Heisenberg ushered the EDM members to board two helicopters orderly. One was the Mi-8, nicknamed "Hippopotamus," which could carry 34 people.

    The other was a medium-sized, multi-purpose helicopter with three engines developed by France''s National Aerospace Industry Company, nicknamed "Super Ho," the SA.321Ja!

    Victor had points to spend, of course.

    The Mi-8 cost him 4 million points. It came with its own weapon system, with rocket podunchers on each side, each pod housing 16 rockets of 57 mm each, for a total of 128 rockets. This was by all means a proper armed helicopter now.

    It could target airnes above and tanks below. Settle it even, military court!

    The SA.321Ja, on the other hand, cost 3 million points and carried no weapons; it was purely for transportation.

    Add to that the new equipment for the EDM members, and 10 million was hardly enough!

    The price of an Mi-8 ranged between 4.5 to 6.5 million US Dors, a considerable fluctuation, simr to when Indiater acquired an aircraft carrier for only 1 US Dor. Are they selling the hardware? No, it''s the apanying facilities.

    So, 4 million points was quite a "bargain."

    Once outside Mexico City, Victor hadpletely let loose.

    A criminal organization wanted to cause chaos on Guadalupe Ind?

    That would be like urinating on my turf, wouldn''t it?

    And most importantly, you dare to insult me? That''s quite fine; I appreciate it, but I don''t like your unruliness.

    The folks in the "Repair Department" had been given two skills, "Mechanical Fundamentals" and "Advanced Aircraft Maintenance," especially thetter, which was an advanced skill costing quite a few points.

    Kennedy Heisenberg and a fewrades were given "Armed Helicopter Piloting."

    Time, 2:21 a.m.!

    The night grew thicker.

    Two helicopters took off one after another, heading toward Guadalupe Ind under the cover of darkness. The vigers, who had long heard themotion, stared wide-eyed from their windows.

    "So cool!" eximed a boy in tattered clothes, turning his head to look at his sister beside him, "Brother''s going to fly a ne someday!"

    The younger sister, her eyes also shining, nodded vigorously at his words, "Brother is the best, I believe in you."

    Listening to their conversation, their parents exchanged a nce and sighed simultaneously.

    With just the four walls of a home, theycked the means to afford their education.

    ...

    The helicopters'' low flight stirred upyers of waves in the sea below.

    Campbellstone was about 350 kilometers from Guadalupe Ind in a straight line.

    By 3:07 AM, the ind was in sight.

    At this hour, even a thief should be asleep.

    The two helicopters separated in the air. The Mi-8 headed toward a ce marked on the map as "Tierra del pecado" (The Land of Sin). ording to intelligence, this was where many of the ind''s drug traffickers lived.

    Casinos, brothels, the ck Market ¨C all were here, spanning a vast area and forming a peculiar "tourist spot."

    A drunken strong man stumbled out of a casino nearby and stood in a corner, fiercely urinating. Age was catching up, making it somewhat difficult to pee.

    His face turned red as he struggled to finish, his hands wet, when suddenly his ears pricked up. He looked around nkly, only to see an unidentified object flying by not far away.

    A UFO?

    Such tales were popr in the ''80s, especially being next to the United States, where they were often hyped.

    But... something seemed off.

    The strong man rubbed his eyes and then widened them in shock, for the sound grew louder¡ªit was a helicopter!

    Whoosh~ whoosh~ whoosh~

    Trails of noise apanied by the tail fins of rockets, as the 57mm rocketunchers on both sides began strafing the ground.

    A shell exploded right beside the strong man, sending his two-hundred-plus pound frame flying!

    The shockwave flung him up like a feather, and hisst thought was, "Where did this helicoptere from? Are the Americans attacking?"

    The Mi-8 was indiscriminately strafing the area.

    No one living here was poor; they were all damned criminals.

    The 57mm rockets caused people below to scream in agony. However, these drug traffickers were veterans; despite their surprise at armed helicopters appearing in the dead of night¡ª

    They still grabbed their weapons to retaliate.

    "Quick, shoot!"

    "Where''s the rocketuncher, go get the rocketuncher!"

    Chaos reigned everywhere.

    You expect them to act like a regr army?

    If so, Mexico would have undergone a regime change already.

    Bullets whizzed by the helicopter''s ss and many struck the underbelly, ringing crisply.

    Only a fool would entangle with them.

    The Mi-8 circled the area, guerri-style, with a bunch of people earnestly chasing it until all the rockets were fired. Then, the armed helicopter wobbled away.

    The Land of Sin was engulfed in mes, with drug traffickers screaming everywhere.

    Some were ame, running about.

    After a few steps, they''d copse on the ground, convulsing.

    This proved one thing: if you don''t go home at 2 AM, you''re asking for trouble!

    Staying out in the middle of the night meant you were in for a bombardment.

    ...

 Chapter 58 Firepower Suppression!

    The SA.321Ja helicopter hadnded at the entrance of the Guadalupe Ind Police Station.

    This ce...

    Was literally growing weeds!

    The walls were mottled with brown and ck, the ground cracked open, and even the national emblem hanging outside was loose and swaying in the wind. You could even see a mummified corpse hanging from the top of the police station.

    There were scorch marks on it!

    In Mexico, death was the main theme!

    Kennedy Heisenberg directed the EDM members to establish defenses, setting up two Browning M2HB .50 inch machine guns on top of the building and a couple meters behind the rooftop, there were also two Type 71 100mm mortars.

    Multiple firing positions were also set up at several windows of the police station.

    Everything was done in a busy but orderly fashion.

    Victor had nothing but a plethora of weapons!

    Explosions from Tierra del pecado (Land of Sin) rose into the sky nearby, illuminating half the ind with fire, waking many inders from their sleep.

    Of course, the drug traffickers wouldn''t just sit back, they pursued the Mi-8 and their group grew gradually during the chase, it seemed that the ind''s criminal gangs were quite "harmonious"?

    But...

    They looked more like ragtag militias.

    Their weapons were a mixed bag, from NATO, Southeast Asia, Africa...

    "Get in the truck, pursue them!"

    A leadermanded his underlings to get into the pickup trucks.

    One truck actually squeezed 10 people on board, though that was still far from the ultimate Indian motorcycle.

    At this time, thebat level of the ordinary Mexican drug trafficker might not evenpare to the Somalis. Although the Niger folks were not the best fighters, they had battlefield experience.

    It wasn''t until President Calderon dered the war on drugs in 2006 that Mexican drug traffickers gradually became more formal in all respects.

    The Mi-8 seemed to be intentionally baiting them into the range of the police station.

    "Set firing data! Azimuth 27-00, elevation 06-80!¡ªFire!"

    Upon hearing themander''s order, two EDM members with mortar shells dropped the shells into the mortar, ducked their heads, and heard a faint "pop" as the shell, like it had a spring installed on its bottom, flew out!

    In the dead of night, the darkness was so thick.

    You couldn''t even notice two mortar shells descending from above.

    One of themnded cleanly in the back of a pickup truck, stunning a drug trafficker on the head as seven or eight pairs of eyes looked on.

    "?Dios m¨ªo!" (My God).

    Boom!

    The truck was sted in two, and a tire spun in the air before crashing down.

    The other shellnded in a more remote area, but the effective killing radius of the mortar was around 17.8 meters, wiping out a row of drug traffickers nearby like an unstoppable force.

    "Enemy attack! Find cover! Find cov¡ª" a drug trafficker in a ck mask was jolted, shouting to those around him; he couldn''t even finish his sentence before a burst of machine gun bullets rained down from above, instantly blowing his head apart!

    The Browning M2HB was known as the "widowmaker"; just a graze would be fatal!

    Otherwise, it wouldn''t have stayed active from World War II right through to the Millennium, and even the U.S. Military used it in the Gulf War.

    Everyone who had been hit by it had nothing but good things to say¡ªsafe, painless, quick death.

    The previously departed Mi-8 circled back around, with its 12.7mm machine gun mounted on the nose, unleashing a barrage of fire at the scrambling drug traffickers below.

    A regr army would disintegrate under such a sudden attack, let alone drug traffickers.

    Quite a few people panicked and ran backwards, hoping to escape the battlefield. But there were those whose heads heated up, grabbing an SMAW-D83mm rocketuncher produced by the Yanks and taking a shot at the Mi-8!

    This weapon was mainly used for destroying field fortifications, urban barriers, and armored vehicles. It wasn''t that it couldn''t hit aerial targets¡ªas long as it explodes, it works.

    On the ck market in the United States, this weapon would set you back $7000, with an export price of $4450. With a bit of grit, an ordinary person could afford it.

    "Rocketuncher!" eximed the co-pilot observer of the Mi-8, raising his voice.

    The pilot''s brows twitched, "Brace yourselves!"

    All the people in the cabin hurriedly fastened their seatbelts and gripped the handrails.

    The pilot yanked hard on the control stick, taking the Mi-8 into a 90-degree nose up maneuver to dodge. The unsecured ammunition in the cabin fell down.

    Rocket-propelled grenades whisked past the fusge¡­

    Watching from a distance, Kennedy Heisenberg broke out in a cold sweat; if that helicopter were to be shot down, he could already imagine his boss''s expression.

    "Fire suppression, the rest take aim and pick off the drug traffickers with the heavy weapons."

    The crew of the Mi-8 were also terrified and didn''t dare to show off; they waggled their tails and hurried away.

    The Mexican drug traffickers were "clever," quick to flee when they saw they had no advantage.

    If not now, then when?

    The battlested for nearly an hour, with drug traffickers leaving behind about 90 bodies before retreating.

    "Report to Mr. Victor, we''ve taken control of the Guadalupe Ind Police Station, the drug traffickers have been routed by our forces, and we cannd on the ind at any time!"

    ¡­

    Victor, who received the message, was still on the way.

    There was nearly 1000 kilometers from Mexico to Ensenada City''s port, a journey of over ten hours by car.

    Fortunately, no bold thieves dared to attack the convoy on the road.

    Nonsense¡­

    With the convoy''s setup, you''d need missiles, and a heavy dose at that, otherwise there''d be no chance of destroying it.

    They reached the designated destination at 3 p.m. the next day.

    Victor had no ns to meet the "high officials" of Dan Senada City and waste time.

    At the port, Best had already scheduled a civilian cargo ship¡ªnot apany from within Mexico, but a Norwegian maritime cargopany, all to prevent leaks of information.

    The civilian ship wasrge enough to fit the convoy.

    "No, no, no! You said you were loading agricultural by-products, right?" The captain, a Norwegian, shook his head vigorously to stop the convoy from boarding.

    "These are Mexico''s unique agricultural by-products." Casare, running out of patience, patted the armored vehicle and red, "I''ll give you an extra 500 US dors, all for you, you don''t even have to turn it in to yourpany."

    The captain wanted to speak, but Casare''s threatening look made it clear, "Or I can have an armored vehicle crush you, buddy. Pick ane."

    Did Mexicans have to be so brutal?

    The captain swallowed hard, feeling like the other party might do as they said, and shrank back, "So... cash then?"

    Without saying much more, Casare simply took out the money and handed it over, "If you cause any more trouble for me, I''m throwing you into the sea to feed the fish!"

    Actually, the sudden appearance of the convoy also frightened the port''s security personnel, but they weren''t foolish enough to rush up and start a fight; they quickly made calls to their superiors.

    Yet many bureaucrats were in cahoots with the drug lords. The battle that had taken ce in the early hours of the morning had already been reported from Guadalupe Ind, leaving nearly all the onlookers in shock.

    Helicopters?

    Mortars?

    And heavy machine guns?

    Are you the police? Or the army?

    If Victor actually managed tond, perhaps Guadalupe Ind would indeed be subdued, which would not suit the interests shared between them and the drug lords. Consequently, some of them directly dispatched the military to intercept the convoy.

    But by the time they arrived, they could onlyment their helplessness.

    They had no ships...

    Amidst the grieving cries of the corrupt officials, a 5th-size assault boat sprinted from the port toward the civilian ship.

    Brazenly disyed on it was the name of the Tijuana Group.

    "They struck! They''ve made their move!" the corrupt officials shouted excitedly.

    ¡­

    "Negotiate?" Victor frowned, puzzled, "You mean the drug trafficker wants to negotiate?"

    ...

 Chapter 59 Long Live!

    Find adventures at m_v l|e-NovelBin

    This wouldn''t be happening if it was Victor''s ship, they would have just crashed into it!

    Negotiation?

    What''s there to negotiate with a drug trafficker.

    But the captain refused to agree, even clinging to Casare''s legs, crying and wailing.

    After all, he was a policeman, required to protect the "legal property" of "legitimate citizens".

    Plus, Victor wanted to hear what they had to say, too.

    Four drug traffickers climbed up thedder along the side of the ship, and as soon as they reached the deck, they were held down. Startled, they began to struggle and resist.

    "Don''t panic, we''re just checking for contraband," Casare said with a smile, standing in front of them.

    Hiss...

    An officer pulled down a drug trafficker''s pants, revealing a Mickey Mouse logo.

    "Hey, buddy, cover that up before Disney''s legal team sues," Casare joked as he shouted.

    "I just wanted to check if he was hiding a bomb up his ass," the officer said seriously, groping the other man''s buttocks and remarking how round they were.

    The trafficker was so angry he almost got up to fight back; if it weren''t for the dozens of guns trained on him, he swore he would have done it.

    "Casare, this is very unfriendly!" The leading man was very thin and tried to break free with all his might, but the grip of the officers only tightened. "Let me go, you fat pig, I''m here to negotiate on behalf of Tijuana!"

    That he knew his name was not at all surprising. It would be a dereliction of duty for a drug trafficking operation not to know.

    "I have nothing to negotiate with a drug lord," Victor said with a cigarette in his mouth as he came out of the cabin, "How can justice possibly pander to evil?"

    The man struggled to lift his head andughed, "Victor, you call yourself justice? How many people have you killed in Mexico City..."

    "Hold on."

    Suddenly, Victor extended his hand, "Sorry, before you go on about my glorious deeds, could I get another cigarette? Thanks."

    He smiled and then lit a new cigarette with the spent butt, "Please continue, oh and let me reiterate, those weren''t people, they were drug traffickers, they were mongrels!"

    "Got it?"

    The man felt deeply insulted; even agents of the United States Drug Enforcement Administration would not dare to speak to a high-ranking member of a drug trafficking cartel in this way.

    His gaze was sinister, with an implied threat, "You should understand, Baja California State belongs to Tijuana, opposing us will not end well for you. I came here with good intentions; there''s a check for two million US Dors in the box. All you have to do is ensure our safe passage to Guadalupe Ind, and you can even get a share of the profits every year."

    "I know youe from a poor family, Victor, and this country is also very poor. But you should realize that as long as you don''t oppose us, you could have more money than you could ever spend. Don''t you want to wake up every day in a mansion to find seven or eight women lying around you? Now¡­ all you have to do is nod, and all this could be yours!"

    The man shouted insistently, trying to seduce him, "What good is it being a filthy cop with just a few hundred bucks a month!"

    Victor couldn''t help butugh out loud; this clearly angered the other party, "Isn''t that I''m saying? I''ll tell you, even the Governor of Baja California State is one of ours. I just have to bribe your superior; you''re not getting this, are you going to take him down too?"

    "Why not!"

    Victor retorted, spreading his hands and looking around at the other officers, "Guys, wee from the slums of Mexico, a ce riddled with drugs, filled with blood and violence. The children there are raggedy andck hope for tomorrow. But even if I am punished by God, I will prove to all Mexicans that Mexico has its pride!"

    "I will fight the drug traffickers to the end!"

    "Long live the great nation of Mexico, long live the great cause of drug enforcement!"

    The officers raised their weapons, cheering for Victor''s name.

    It must be said, he had the ability to incite people''s hearts.

    "Kill the others, hang a rope around his neck, make a few cuts on his arms to bleed, then throw him into the water and drag him along. I want to see if the sharks will eat him!"

    "You can''t kill me, my brother-inw is Eduardo Areno Felix from the Tijuana Cartel!" the man shouted strenuously.

    Victor looked at him, "I''m sorry, I can''t notify him to save you. If needed, next time I''ll make sure to have hime meet you."

    "Kill them."

    The Felix who was also one of the Tijuana Ramon brothers, the second eldest, nicknamed: "Doctor".

    At Victor''smand, several drug traffickers who heard it became agitated, one of them forcefully shoving the jail guard, trying to rush towards Victor, but was knocked down to the ground by a punch from an approaching EDM member.

    He pulled out a dagger and stabbed it through his neck.

    The Norwegian captain and several sailors in the distance couldn''t help shivering.

    The drug trafficker struggled on the deck like a dead fish, his entire eyes beginning to turn white, blood gushing from the wound, dying in a particrly gruesome way.

    The traffickers on the assault boats below realized something was amiss above, fired a shot into the sky, intending to inquire about what had happened, only to hear someone on the deck shouting in desperation, "The traffickers have opened fire, return fire! Return fire!"

    "????"

    Before the traffickers on the speedboats could react, bullets nted towards them¡ªthe weapons of the EDM reserves were also of excellent quality.

    They were equipped with Ultimax machine guns manufactured by the Singapore Chartered Industries, each weighing less than 10 pounds, with good controbility and recoil, and the points were affordable, requiring only 670 points.

    Each squad of ten people was equipped with 22 of them.

    Shooting downwards with machine guns, especially over the sea surface, such an unscrupulous method of attack, instantly turned the water red with blood.

    "They''re shooting! They''re shooting!"

    Officials at the dock quickly grabbed binocrs and saw the scene of the traffickers being gunned down, cursing Victor nonstop, and when they finally saw that man being tied with ropes and thrown off the ship, they shouted in anger, "Idiot! I''m going to file aint against him; he''s murdering citizens of Baja California State!"

    No one around paid any attention to him.

    They were shocked by what they had witnessed.

    Indeed, they had heard of the name Victor Carlos Vieri, but could not imagine he would be so "bold!"

    This was the Tijuana Cartel!

    Those who offended him did not care if you were young or old, men or women; they would kill you all.

    There was once a day when the number of people he killed filled the local morgue!

    He had also sessively murdered four mayors subordinate to Baja California State, utterly brazen.

    Here, you either coborated with him, or you died.

    As for those like Victor who resisted.

    They likely faced no good end.

    Of course, Victor wasn''t aware of the thoughts of those "cowards" ashore. He looked down at the man being dragged below.

    "Boss, the sharks areing!" Casare, with keen eyes, pointed to the distance and said.

    This area was a gathering ce for great white sharks...

    Victor, following the direction pointed by Casare, indeed saw sharks with their dorsal fins showing, attracted by the smell of blood.

    "What do you think, will the sharks get high if they eat the drug traffickers?"

    Casare: "????"

    What kind of question is that?

    "Probably not."

    Victor nodded thoughtfully, "That''s good; the great whites around Guadalupe Ind need not worry about food then."

    Casare''s scalp went numb at once, and he couldn''t help but ask.

    "Boss, do you worship... Satan?"

    ...

 Chapter 60 Victors Firepower Theory!

    The civilian cargo ship wasn''t slow either.

    But by the time Guadalupe Ind came into view, the sky had also turned a grim gray.

    And at the dock, intensebat was unfolding.

    An Mi-8 armed helicopter was bombarding the dock back and forth, embodying Victor''s principle: No need for infrastructure if there are still drug traffickers left to kill!

    The drug traffickers, already traumatized by helicopters, were wailing for their fathers and mothers, with quite a few even jumping off the dock, only to vanish with a ssh into the waves.

    This is the Pacific Ocean, big brother, not your neighborhood swimming pool.

    Kennedy Heisenberg led 20 EDM members off the civilian ship, boarded the seized assault boats, and sped towards the dock.

    The machine gun mounted at the bow began to sweep fire.

    This was about seizing the initiative with an opening salvo.

    It might not kill anyone, but it could surely scare the daylights out of them.

    In actual modern warfare, it generally takes around 10,000 bullets to eliminate an enemy; sometimes your barrage can look ferocious, but the unlucky ones are often the passersby next door. And if it''s the African Niggers with theirissez-faire shooting skills, that number would have to be even higher.

    "Run! Victor is storming the ind!"

    A drug trafficker lieutenant stamped his feet furiously, screaming at the top of his lungs to the horde of drug traffickers swarming around, "Don''t run, nobody runs!"

    But the drug traffickers, already void of energy and spirit, didn''t care who you were.

    Within less than fifteen minutes of resistance, the gunfire gradually ceased.

    The Mi-8 continued to circle above the dock.

    "Pull the ship over!"

    The Norwegian captain had a bitter face, wishing he could p himself for taking this job. For the foreseeable future, the sea route to Tijuana was no longer an option, and he was certain to be hated by the drug traffickers as well.

    Thud~

    A dull sound was emitted as the ship docked, causing the boat to sway and making those prone to seasickness feel a bit queasy. As the cargo hold opened, TPz-1 armored vehicles charged out first.

    The convoy didn''t linger long at the dock and headed straight for the police station.

    The sudden appearance of the convoy led many residents to stand on their balconies and watch. The word ''Polic¨ªa'' emzoned on the vehicles reminded everyone that a new armed force had officially intervened!

    Some were ted, while others were hesitant.

    Yet this time, the show of force appeared to be substantial.

    "Mommy, are those the police?" In a residential building by the roadside, a little boy standing on a chair peered eagerly outside. He looked at the woman beside him and whispered, "I recognize the word on their vehicles."

    "The teacher said Polic¨ªa are the ones who fight the bad guys, right?"

    "So does that mean you won''t have to pay protection money when you set up your stall anymore?"

    "Why haven''t I seen the police on Guadalupe Ind before?"

    "Can they bring Daddy back?"

    A barrage of questions left the woman with no answers, only wiping away her tears.

    Even if the drug traffickers "controlled" their core territories, they were still criminal organizations, not phnthropists, and on small inds hanging off the Pacific Ocean like Guadalupe Ind, they were even more brazen.

    All men were forced to serve the drug traffickers!

    Carrying, offloading, smuggling for them!

    If you disagreed, you were shark food.

    Many heads of families met their deaths during this time.

    In other words: Guadalupe Ind had long suffered under the drug traffickers!

    Although this new police force seemed to be well-armed with good morale, who knew if they could truly maintain order on the ind?

    Public confidence in Victor wasn''t high.

    "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

    "Butcher! Get out of our hometown!"

    "We don''t need police, we have our own order!"

    As the woman was still dabbing her tears, in front of the convoy emerged a group of hundreds, men and women, many elderly and even leaning on canes. They were holding banners: Guadalupe Ind belongs to the real people!

    They were filled with rage, vigorously hurling stones at the convoy.

    They all seemed like warriors set on protecting their homnd.

    But this too was one of the drug traffickers'' tactics.

    In truth, these people were also part of the drug trafficking group, key yers in their youth, but now they were generally older and ording to a basic point of view, even if you''re a criminal, you should be "forgiven" as you age.

    The reason they carried stones and not guns was because this way, they appeared as "civilians!"

    This made for a bold headline in public opinion.

    Drug traffickers had used such methods to kill off numerous government departments. Explore more at m,v l''e-NovelBin

    Evil people like to disgust others with benevolence tainted with filth.

    From the speakers of the TPz-1 armored vehicle came a crackling noise, "Any act of assaulting enforcement officers is illegal, and my department is resolutelymitted to maintaining the public order and stability of Guadalupe Ind..."

    But this type of dispersal announcement clearly had no deterrent effect on these old drug traffickers, and someone even smashed the loudspeaker with a stone.

    "Since persuasion is useless, let the caliber do the talking! Fire!"

    Old drug lord?

    And a fucking drug lord at that!

    Do you really think Uncle Victor is all that kind-hearted?

    The luxury you once enjoyed, it''s time to pay it back!

    The officers inside the TPz-1 armored vehicle heard Victor''smand and without hesitation, they opened the weapons systems and loaded the ammunition.

    Shoot!

    Ratatatatata...

    The group of old traffickers, with an average age of 65+, were swept away like targets, shot dead on the spot!

    These old drug traffickers cried for their fathers and mothers as they dropped their gs and ran, but with their advanced age, they were not spry enough, turning to run only meant getting shot in the back of the head.

    "The police have opened fire!"

    The residents of the nearby buildings were astir, having heard about the conflict at the police station entrance, but they had not witnessed it firsthand.

    But this time it was a shooting at drug traffickers in a residential area.

    It was as if...

    Modern people know about dinosaurs and understand that they are formidable, but don''t really know what makes them so. Then one day it appears, wreaking havoc, and that''s the kind of d¨¦j¨¤ vu this was.

    "Advance!"

    The convoy continued moving forward, while the drug traffickers who weren''t killed were howling.

    "Pablo, save me! Give me a hand."

    "Santos..."

    The armored vehicle''s tires rolled right over them, and screams were non-stop.

    Parents in the nearby residential area hurried to cover their children''s eyes to prevent them from seeing such a gruesome scene.

    "Mom, you don''t need to cover my eyes, I''ve grown up," the little boy pried his mother''s hand away and strained to look outside.

    In his eyes...

    The reflected image looked like this.

    An imposing armored vehicle running over traffickers, those who once strutted around arrogantly now screaming in pain, those who once bullied inders now begging for mercy, in agony...

    "Violence as a means of maintaining order?" the little boy murmured to himself, his eyes glistening.

    "Victor''s theory on violent governance" began to take root.

    The streets were stained with blood...

    Speakers on the armored vehicle started broadcasting a message.

    "?Narcotraficantes, han salido a recoger sus cad¨¢veres!"

    "Drug traffickers,e out and collect your dead!"

    ...

    "Bastard!"

    "Mutts!"

    "Beasts!"

    On a two-story building a distance away, beyond the reach of the armored vehicle''s guns, a number of drug lords had gathered.

    Every notable figure on Guadalupe Ind was there.

    Seeing the scene unfolding in the distance, they cursed vehemently.

    "What now? That damned Victor is taking it to the end with us!"

    "Call for reinforcements, storm the police station again. I refuse to believe we can''t finish him off!"

    Most drug lords, having never received a formal education, were quick to anger.

    "I think we can take another approach."

    A man with sses and dressed in a suit, who seemed very cultured, suddenly raised his hand.

    "Alberto, do you have a n?"

    "Yes, you''ve studied in the United States, you must have some ideas, let''s hear them."

    Alberto pushed his sses up the bridge of his nose.

    "We could ask the merchants not to provide them with food and supplies. Many of the ind''s resources are under our control. We just have to oust him. It won''t be long before he will either cooperate with us or surrender."

    The drug lords'' eyes lit up.

    "That''s a good idea."

    "Alright, then let''s do it. Spread the word, anyone who sells supplies to those cops will have their entire family killed!"

    ...

 Chapter 61 Public Opinion Propaganda!

    This was essentially a trail of "ughter" all the way to the Guadalupe Ind Police Station.

    You could see pits and ditches everywhere, as well as the bodies of drug traffickers that hadn''t been collected in time.

    There were even limbs and severed arms hanging on the sandbag bunkers.

    Kennedy Heisenberg had set up a ''warning zone,'' 200 meters from the police station, sporting a blue sign that read: "Military Jurisdiction," all riddled with bullet holes.

    The nearby high-rise buildings had long been abandoned.

    Mexicans all knew that living with the police station meant you were bound for heaven unless you were exceptionally tough.

    So the vacated buildings had all been turned into fire support positions.

    Once the machine guns were mounted on the rooftops, on this street that was not even six or seven meters wide, no matter how many came, they were all getting mowed down.

    The convoy entered the police station, and the officers got off the troop carriers, moving the supplies into the storage.

    Casare and the others clustered around Victor as he walked into the station.

    The banner hanging in the main hall read: "All cops should go to hell!" Next to it was a logo.

    It was a familiar "face," a skull with a dagger stabbed into it, the same organization that had cursed Victor in the video: ?Piratas! (Pirates!)

    The inner facilities were all severely damaged; not a single ss pane was intact, with blood and gunpowder mixed on the walls. If it weren''t for the national emblem outside, you could mistake it for a recycling center.

    "Boss, when we were cleaning up the battlefield yesterday, we found a prisoner. We were about to finish him off, but we recognized him... he looked very familiar," said Kennedy Heisenberg, waving for the officer to kick the person over.

    Victor was somewhat curious.

    His principle was to not ept any drug trafficker prisoners, but Kennedy Heisenberg must have had a reason to keep this one specifically.

    They saw in the neighboring room, a drug trafficker beaten like a dead dog being dragged out by his hair, his face bruised and swollen, and thrown on the ground.

    Victor looked over twice, and hey, wouldn''t you know it, wasn''t this the Piratas (Pirate) leader who had cursed him in the video?

    His memory was simply good, nothing petty about it.

    Victor pinched his face, and the fear in the other''s eyes was spreading.

    "You liked to talk, didn''t you? But I really hate people who talk too much, and moreover, I want to know whether stabbing this dagger into the skull results in death or not."

    Victor, smiling, said to Kennedy, "Take him down and try it, then hang him outside the warning zone."

    He swore he was not acting out of spite.

    Hearing his terrible fate, the drug trafficker''s legs went weak with fear, not at all like the defiant figure on the video.

    Kennedy waved his hand, and two officers dragged him away.

    Victor''s face showed relief, with a smile that was much more nonchnt, "If I remember correctly, doesn''t Guadalupe Ind have a TV station?"

    "Yes, it''s currently controlled by Reclusos en confinamiento (Confined Prisoners). They even demand through their TV programs that no one provide us with assistance, otherwise they''ll kill the person''s entire family, right?"

    Victor''s brow lifted, "Take some men and take back this TV station. How can we allow such a propaganda tool to be in the hands of drug traffickers? Do it now. Those bastards surely won''t expect us to act so swiftly. Tonight, I want to deliver a TV address."

    Propaganda was very important.

    You see, after the Millennium, many drug trafficking organizations started to promote their "ideologies" through TV stations, news media, and short videos.

    Why El Mencho could lead the Jalisco New Generation to prominence among many drug trafficking organizations was partly because he was quite adept at using media. Capturing rival gang members, he would first interrogate them, and then kill them under the guise of "justice," iming in the media that he was upholding righteousness!

    Even the drug traffickers were ying this game.

    It''s with this tactic that Jalisco New Generation gradually flourished.

    This vital institution was something Victor had to take over upon taking his position. He wanted to spread the "Victor Quotations" throughout the entire ind.

    Kennedy Heisenberg nodded, picked thirty EDM members, loaded up on ammunition, and hopped on the Mi-8 helicopter, nning a surprise airborne assault.

    Watching the helicopter fly away and seeing the busy officers below, Victor suddenly called out, "Casare."

    "Boss?"

    "Finally, no one can control me anymore, I was suffocating in Mexico City!"

    Casare, seeing Victor''s almost distorted tone, hesitated, "Do you want me to contact a psychologist for you?"

    "Does he also traffic drugs?"

    Casare''s mind also shed with ''??''

    ...

    How many pairs of eyes were fixed on the police station?

    No sooner had the Mi-8 lifted off than many began to panic.

    "Quick! Follow it and see where it''s going!"

    "Make a call! Shoot it down!"

    Not even on their mothers'' wedding night would these drug traffickers be this nervous.

    The Guadalupe Ind TV station, situated near the beach on the northwest corner, about 20 meters tall, was considered a "standout" on the small ind.

    The Mi-8 hovered over the rooftop, and Kennedy led his team to rappel down, splitting the 30 men into three groups for the operation.

    Kennedy had just led his team bursting down the stairs.

    Tap tap tap...

    A burst of bullets swept across, and Kennedy, acting on reflex, forcefully threw himself against a wall, the bullets grazing past his scalp.

    "Hand Grenade!" he yelled.

    One of the team members behind him pulled the pin on an F-1 hand grenade and tossed it backhandedly down the stairs, hearing it roll twice.

    Boom!!

    A cloud of smoke rose up, apanied by screams.

    Kennedy charged down, spraying bullets at the fallen drug traffickers on the floor.

    He was kind-hearted, not wanting them to suffer too much, he sent them on their way early.

    In such narrow spaces for CQB, close-rangebat was fierce, and they were specifically equipped with the "Trench Broom" Winchester Model 1897 pump-action shotgun, an old but deadly weapon¡ªwhether you felt the pain or not, if you got hit, you were meat paste.

    If you were quick with your hands, you could even use it as a "suppressive weapon."

    The squad infiltrated the TV station, and as they maneuvered past a small door, Kennedy, leading with the shotgun, suddenly encountered a figure rushing out from around the corner.

    It was a woman with short hair in white clothes!

    Good-looking, too!

    She had a pistol in her hands, but Kennedy''s shotgun was already pointing right at her face, and he pulled the trigger instinctively.

    Beng!

    No matter how good-looking, half her head was blown off.

    Kennedy, feeling the blood on the top of his hood, fired another round at the still convulsing body on the ground.

    Silicone spurted out.

    Meanwhile, the other two squads entered the TV station through a broken window, gunfire not ceasing.

    Indoorbat was especially intense, sometimes leaving even the most seasoned fighters powerless.

    This included the famous "Malotte incident" where the renowned Wild Kid Special Forces were bogged down and lost.

    "Boss, there''s a firefight in a room on the right side of the first floor. Lagarto is injured, Leopardo has been killed, and the drug traffickers have taken two hostages," a team member from EDM radioed in for instructions.

    Kennedy pressed his earpiece, "There are no hostages in the TV station, only drug traffickers! I repeat, only drug traffickers!"

    "?Recibido!" (Received)

    Hearing themand through the earpiece, the squad leader understood what to do. He pulled out two hand grenades from his pocket, bound them together with tactical tape, pulled the pin of one, counted silently for a few seconds, and then threw it directly into the room.

    A loud explosion...

    A leg was sted out of the door.

    The squad rushed in, finishing off those who weren''t quite dead yet.

    "Head, reinforcements for the drug traffickers are on their way!"

    Listening to the voice in his earpiece, Kennedy hurried to the window to look outside.

    Outside the TV station, more than 200 drug traffickers were swarming down from about twenty pickup trucks.

    These people were just damn hard to kill!

    "Requesting backup!"

    ...

 Chapter 62 Betraying a Brother, Double-Dealing and Framing

    Alberto Lopez Portillo (Alberto) was very annoyed as he loosened the top button of his suit.

    As the spokesperson for "Reclusos en confinamiento," his family had been active on Guadalupe Ind for 60 years.

    This was one of the important US-Mexico air routes, very close to California, earning a significant ie each year through kidnapping tourists, smuggling, and drug trafficking.

    Unlike the old-school drug traffickers, Alberto was educated, even a high-achieving graduate of Cambridge University''s business school. He wanted to unite all the drug traffickers on the ind following the "Godfather" Gardo''s system of centralized management, unified collection of payments, and uniform distribution.

    He believed that Guadalupe Ind alone was enough to sustain many people.

    Just when he was full of ambition and ready to expand his influence...

    Victor arrived!

    Coming up with a rat-a-tat-tat,pletely uncivilized, catching the drug traffickers off guard. Couldn''t you havee up to talk first?

    In Alberto''s view, the drug traffickers on Guadalupe Ind were forced to fight back!

    When he learned that the television station had been attacked, even the usually calm Alberto cursed outrageously. In his new za System, this ce was an important publicity outlet, and more importantly, the Portillo family earned a lot of money from the television station every year.

    He came with his gunmen to assist.

    "Charge! A $500 reward for killing a policeman!"

    The drug traffickersing down from the pickup trucks were herded by the underbosses, driving them to charge forward as if they were cattle or sheep.

    Really not employing any tactics at all.

    You can do this against the Mexican Military Police, but facing EDM (Mexican Lion), aren''t you just targets?

    As soon as they entered firing range, they were met with a crossfire.

    They couldn''t even break through the defensive line.

    A drug trafficker holding a rocketuncher crouched and fired at the second floor!

    "RPG!!!"

    Whizz~

    Bong!

    The massive shockwave blew an EDM member by the window outwards, falling to the ground coughing up blood, half an arm missing, all shredded. Kennedy Heisenberg ran over, pulling out a tourniquet and gauze from his shoulder to bandage the wounded.

    But the impact was too great, and soon enough, the light in his eyes dimmed.

    Kennedy paused his hands, knowing there was no hope. As amander, he coldly dragged the body of hisrade to one side and directed the others to continue resisting.

    Meanwhile, Victor at the police headquarters also received the call for help, likewise seeing the Golden Finger''s figure of 74/80 manpower, a full 6 men down!

    Of course, this could be replenished.

    But it also indicated the intensity of the battle.

    Victor quickly organized a rescue, leaving 60 officers to guard the police station, all others went to provide support.

    Two TPz-1 armored vehicles were loaded with protective grilles, reducing the likelihood of being destroyed by a single rocketuncher shot. Inside the vehicles, the officers tensely massaged their faces.

    Most of them had only ever been jail guards.

    Lacking inbat experience.

    They needed to be taken out for training!

    Victor, wearing a bulletproof vest, boarded the SA.321Ja helicopter, rushing towards the television station.

    Alberto''s entire body was seething with emotion, and he tore off the well-maintained facade, snarling, "Waste! You''re all waste!"

    200 people, and they couldn''t even break into the television station.

    The drug trafficker boss beside him nced at him, dissatisfied with this new spokesperson. The brothers went up and fought with real knives and guns, and you''re directing from the back?

    Your hair is just a little longer than others.

    "Boss, police reinforcements are arriving!"

    A subordinate next to him, holding a phone, said nervously. Alberto was startled, and then, hearing the noise of machinery, he looked up to see a helicopter approaching from a distance.

    The drug traffickers could distinctly feel the rising panic.

    Every day, a helicopter hovers over you and you can''t shoot it down. Doesn''t your head hurt?

    "Alberto, pull back! The police firepower is too intense. We''ll figure out a way to buy more heavy weapons and blow up these two helicopterster."

    A leader advised from aside, but the tone wasn''t suggestive of a discussion. After speaking, the other party immediately signaled the drug traffickers to retreat.

    Alberto was so frustrated he was practically itching in annoyance!

    The Portillo family was, at its core, a criminal syndicate, and you think you little punk can take over? You''re not fit for it.

    Just like the Gulf Group, which by all ounts belonged to the Abrego family. But after his arrest, his sons and nephewscked the ability to call the shots, and had to share power with Cardenas. Later, they were kicked to the curb.

    Criminal syndicates are not royal thrones.

    You think you can inherit just by saying so?

    Alberto felt these old immortals were getting in the way, but he held back, his eyes fiercely fixed on them, his gaze shifting to the helicopters in the sky. He frowned, gestured with his fingers to pull a trusted subordinate over and whispered two sentences in his ear, "Go find the police, tell them where Litokwa and the others are hiding."

    The subordinate was immediately bewildered, his tongue tying into knots, "Boss¡­"

    Litokwa was the family''s second inmand, the same drug trafficker who had just shouted his full name, someone Alberto was quite close to, likely his uncle.

    He wanted to use the police to kill the opponent.

    A drug trafficker is always a drug trafficker; they never forget to fight amongst themselves no matter the circumstances.

    Even theter-hyped "Shorty" Guzman''s best trick was betrayal: being unfaithful, selling out brothers, siphoning from both ends, framing and entrapment, seducing sister-inws!

    You still expect criminals to have any integrity?

    Those willing to cross moral boundaries tomit crimes have very little integrity.

    Victor?

    He was just morally flexible.

    After all, he held the final say, for who could argue when you wield the bigger gun?

    Under Alberto''s watchful eye, the trusted subordinate had no choice but to agree reluctantly.

    But he felt full of despair for the future.

    If the bosses fight like this among themselves, how can they fight a war against the police?

    Moreover, he felt that Alberto wasn''t all that capable, narrow-minded and unpleasant. Should he betray him to the "underboss"?

    Thinking this, the trusted subordinate couldn''t help but nce at Alberto.

    ¡­

    "Chief, they''re pulling out. Do we pursue?" yelled an observer from the helicopter. The voice was muffled and nearly drowned out by the loud noise.

    Victor, sporting wind goggles, looked down and saw the drug traffickers drifting away in their pickup trucks.

    "Let''snd first!" Victor made a downward motion.

    The pilot responded with an OK gesture, and the helicopternded on the rooftop of the TV station where people were already waiting.

    Victor leaped nimbly down from above and pped Kennedy on the shoulder whilemending him, covering one ear with his hand, "Is the broadcast room operational?"

    "It''s functional!"

    Victor nodded, flicked his fingers, and signaled to be led the way.

    Descending the stairwell, the air still reeked of gunpowder; corpses and debris were everywhere.

    "There are 11 surviving staff members at the TV station¡­"

    "I remember Best''s intelligence report mentioned there were over 20 staff members here?" Victor looked at Kennedy, who kept mum, and he understood instantly, "Drug traffickers are beasts!"

    "I will expose these brutal methods to all the inders of Guadalupe Ind!"

    "Boss, should I find someone to prepare a speech for you?"

    "Are there any college graduates among the police officers?"

    No one spoke.

    Who would be a police officer in Mexico when they were a college graduate? They would have fled and immigrated long ago.

    Those who could read and had education came from wealthy families; as always, it''s the poor who stay put.

    ...

 Chapter 63 Television Speech (Extra for Music Cat Alliance Leader!)

    Evenings fell quickly on Guadalupe Ind.

    Most of the residents in the neighborhood named after the Mexican independence hero Morelos were from the lower ss.

    Their main sources of livelihood were odd jobs or going out to sea to fish.

    But due to battles between drug traffickers and the police, factories had closed, ports were at standstill, and even the only two schools had suspended sses.

    "Ugh, really sick of those damn police. Why do they have to fight drugs? Wouldn''t it be better to live in peace with the drug traffickers?"

    "Yeah, my dad could make some money following them, and just one trip to the United States could earn 50 US dors, plus he could buy me lots of toys, but now these cops have messed it all up."

    "Heard the drug traffickers are recruiting to fight against the cops, 300 pesos a day, are you in or not?"

    A few teenagers sitting under a big tree were grumbling to each other.

    A skinny figure passed by with a basket on his back, head down, but upon hearing their conversation, he seemed to muster his courage, "That''s not true!"

    The teenagers were startled.

    "Drug traffickers are like a cancer, they''re the parasites of this country, they are killing people!" the little boy said bravely.

    "What did you say! Santos, you asking for a beating?"

    "Beat him! Beat him! I think he''s been asking for ittely."

    "Kill the little bastard!"

    The older kids shouted and charged towards him.

    The boy named Santos stepped back in fright, but only one step, then he raised his hands in anger and shouted, "Justice will never die!"

    "Long live Mr. Victor!"

    "Long live Mexico!"

    He charged at the children who were bigger than himself.

    ¡­

    Valentina looked at the worn wall clock, her brows furrowed with tension, two pieces of cornbready on the table, the usual dinner for her family.

    Just as she was getting anxious and thinking about going out to look for him, she heard the door open and then saw a small figure walk in.

    "Santos!"

    Valentina hurried over to him and stopped short when she saw him, then quickly worried, "What happened to your face?"

    Santos'' little face was covered in dirt and wounds, bruised in ces, he heard his mother''s question and cracked a smile, half his teeth were broken, "I''m fine, Mom."

    "I''ll go wash up," he said and ran to the bathroom to wash his hands, tiptoeing to look at his wounded face in the mirror, he gave himself a cheer with his hand, "Hang in there, Santos!"

    When he came out, Valentina hurriedly had him sit down to apply medicine. He winced in pain but grabbed a piece of cornbread and started to gnaw on it, though it was tough.

    "Good evening, residents of Guadalupe Ind, this is Victor."

    Santos'' eyes brightened at that name, he quickly turned his head to the television, Valentina tapped his head, "Don''t move around."

    Santos'' eyes were glued to the TV.

    Victor sat in his police uniform, facing the camera, nked by two armed EDM members, "I am very pleased to announce that today we have reimed the Guadalupe Ind TV station that had been under the control of drug traffickers. From 1840 to 1989, our kin and countrymen suffered at the hands of drug traffickers who created inhumane ughters on this originally peacefulnd."

    "But mypatriots, please do not be afraid. When darkness falls, the sun far on the horizon is struggling fiercely. Even if little boats wandering the seas are scattered by strong winds, they still choose to stand firm."

    "We should be the creators of history. Only in this way can we be truly aplished individuals. Mexico should not be like this, the pursuit of truth and knowledge and the struggle for them is one of the highest qualities of humanity."

    "Mexico is not just one person''s country; it belongs to all of us. I have a dream that one day my children will no longer lose their childhood to drugs, riots, and arson. I dream that one day, they will stand in the sunlight and proudly proim, ''We are Mexican!''"

    "Therefore, on behalf of the Guadalupe Ind Police Station, I dere war on the drug cartels. We will not ept anypromises or threats. We will fight for Mexico until thest man, even if our blood runs dry!"

    "I also sincerely invite everyone to join us. As of today, Guadalupe Ind is under martialw. After seven in the evening, no one is allowed outside, or they will be considered a drug trafficker. I announce that any inder has the right to kill them, and for every drug trafficker killed, the police station will issue a reward of 1000 US dors and keep the informant''s identity secret."

    "Long live the great nation of Mexico! Long live the great people of Mexico!"

    Victor spoke entirely without a script, his expression solemn yet dignified. After he finished, the screen went ck.

    This broadcast was for everyone on Guadalupe Ind, meaning all the inders saw it.

    Many forgot to chew the food in their mouths, staring nkly at the television.

    Dere war on the drug cartels?

    This... there hasn''t been such a resolute person in Mexico since its independence in 1821.

    Some nced and just murmured about a politician''s show, while others waited to see the joke unfold, waiting to see how the drug traffickers killed him.

    Of course, there were also those whose eyes shone bright¡ª1000 US dors!

    That sum was enough to make many people lose their senses.

    "Long live the great nation of Mexico! Long live the great people of Mexico!!" Santos jumped down from his chair, yelling fervently with his hands raised as he ran into the room.

    "Your head isn''t even clean yet." Valentina called out after him.

    "Mom, a man should not weakly moan but should enjoy the pain!" Santos said, standing at the door of the room.

    Valentina was stunned, her eyes turning red, perhaps feeling her son had grown up.

    Santos climbed onto the bed and carefully took down a delicate little box from the shelf, cing it on the table. He opened it forcefully, revealing a police badge lying inside.

    He took it in his hands and held it tightly, lifting his head to gaze at the Morning Star in the sky. He seemed to see his father, bearded and d in police uniform, holding him as a child. He had told him to grow up and be a policeman.

    "Father, please bless Mr. Victor from heaven, he is a good man."

    Santos bowed his head onto his hands and prayed with his eyes closed.

    ...

    "Set up the Browning M2HB on the second floor, the television station is key for us to control the narrative on Guadalupe Ind."

    Victor was willing to invest heavily, as it was estimated that at least close to 10,000 people on the ind were involved in the drug trade. If these people all rushed forward together, the few hundred officers at the police station would definitely be overwhelmed, even with Tairoing it would be useless.

    But the drug traffickers could not truly unite, among those 10,000 were dozens of organizations, and many were part of the transportation line. If you want a driver to do a gunman''s job, you have to pay him extra.

    Therefore, the number of drug traffickers with actualbat capability would not exceed 2000 at most, and many of them had been killed by him.

    But it wasn''t easy to wipe them all out, so mobilizing the public was the only way.

    1000 US dors per head, that was practically robbery.

    But the more such a ce, the more it should utilize lightning-strike tactics.

    To truly pull everyone away from drugs, there needed to be industry. Once the society stabilized somewhat (after most of the drug traffickers were dead), a few factories could be opened, giving everyone a job.

    Victor had indeed taken Guadalupe Ind as his stronghold.

    "Let the bullets fly for a while."

    ...

 Chapter 64 Mr. Santos~

    The ones who are most concerned about the situation on Guadalupe Ind are probably the Tijuana Cartel and some corrupt officials.

    Mexicali!

    The capital of Baja California State.

    The Governor''s office.

    Rafael Max stared at the stacks of US Dors on the coffee table in front of him and couldn''t help but swallow his saliva.

    "Governor Max."

    The man sitting in front of him had somewhat fluffy hair and was wearing a yellow shirt with spots, still donning sunsses indoors and crossing his legs in an arrogant pose.

    Such goddamn posturing!

    He called out, and Max somewhat reluctantly shifted his gaze, lifted his head to look at the man, his expression sycophantic, "Mr. Ramon, you can speak directly. With our rtionship, there''s no need for formalities."

    Ramon Areno smiled, "As long as you''re happy, Governor Sir, our Tijuana Group is not short of money, but we do dislike trouble."

    Max''s expression changed, "Are you talking about Victor?"

    Ramon nodded, "His actions on Guadalupe Ind have severely harmed our interests, you know, without us, the junkies in the United States would significantly affect local security."

    "What do you mean?"

    "Take out Victor..."

    Max gave a sheepishugh, "Killing a police chief, you guys should have more experience in that than me."

    Ramon couldn''t continue with that, if he could send his men to Guadalupe Ind, would he need you?

    The message from above was clear; the shit had hit the fan.

    Tijuana is now at war with Sinaloa, both sides evenly matched and unable to spare more manpower. Anyway, the Governor is one of our own; give him some money and let him figure it out.

    Seeing Max''s expression, Ramon gestured to his subordinate, who took another bundle of US Dors from the carrying case and continued to stack it up.

    Drug traffickers love these "impressive yet hollow" gestures, but they know all too well the weakness of these corrupt officials¡ªit''s money, right?

    The one thing drug cartels have in abundance is cash.

    The Medellin Cartel could rake in 180 million US Dors per day from the United States in the 80s, how could you ever spend all that money?

    But it also highlights a fact: so much cash flowing out, and the most significant part, not paying a damn tax, no wonder the Yanks would be furious.

    They''re not afraid of how much you want, just if you don''t want any.

    As expected, once Max saw the money he became "hungry," his face creased with smiles, "Killing Victor directly is not something I can do, but Guadalupe Ind is still under Lower California. In a few days, I''ll have hime back for a security meeting. You can take him out on the way."

    Ramon frowned; he was a blunt man and preferred direct approaches, but he also understood that it was impossible for a Governor to shoot a subordinate, "Can you guarantee he''lle?"

    "If he still wants a career, and I have the power to propose a new chief for Guadalupe Ind."

    "I''ll have someone contact him right away."

    Ramon nodded, picked up the wine in front of him, and raised his ss with a smile.

    ...

    "Go to Mexicali for a meeting? To hell with that."

    Victor set down his teacup, "I know what those bastards are up to just by their smug faces. A meeting? Sure, let theme here. I have plenty of space; they can have it their way."

    "I think it''s a trap, Rafael Max''s reputation isn''t so great. I''d heard of him back in Mexico City, they say he''s involved in Tijuana''s drug trafficking."

    "Drug trafficking? We''ll find an opportunity to take them all out!"

    "I want to see, when there''s a gun to his head, if he''s still going to talk about holding a meeting."

    Casare hesitated, "If they send a new mayor or chief to rece you..."

    "Buddy, there are many idents in this world that you simply can''t avoid. Guadalupe Ind is at least 260 kilometers from the shore; you can''t predict the day the waves wille, right?"

    "A boss isn''t a boss just because he is; it''s because I acknowledge him, that''s why!"

    Casare understood what Victor meant.

    The great white sharks of the Pacific had been having a good time recently.

    Thump thump thump~

    A knock on the door sounded, and an officer opened the door, "Boss, there''s a kid looking for you downstairs."

    "A kid?"

    Victor frowned, "Go take a look."

    Police station lobby.

    It had been cleaned up, except for the bullet holes in the walls.

    Santos, with a cloth bag on his back, was leaning on the counter, just watching an officer loading a gun, his calves pressed hard against the counter to prevent himself from sliding down.

    "Hermano mayor (big brother), what''s this gun called?"

    The officer looked up at the inquisitive eyes of the child, his heart softened, "CZ75 handgun."

    "So cool~" Santos sighed, "When I grow up and join the police, can I get a weapon like this?"

    "Why do you want to be a police officer?"

    "Of course, it''s to uphold justice!"

    His voice wasn''t quiet, the nearby officers all heard it.

    "Uphold justice?"

    Santos nodded, his eyes shining, "Just like you all, maintaining the safety of Guadalupe Ind, I want to protect my mom, Uncle Lopez, Tanis, Pedro..."

    As he spoke, he even started to count on his fingers.

    "I want to be a real man, just like my father!"

    The officer polishing the gun: "Where is your father?"

    Santos''s smile paused, a touch of loss in his expression, "He was killed by drug traffickers, but he also killed three drug traffickers!"

    As he spoke, pride shed across his face.

    The words left the officer a bit at a loss, unsure how tofort him.

    "Your father was a hero." A voice came from behind Santos; he quickly turned his head and saw a familiar face.

    "Mr. Victor!" Santos shouted excitedly.

    "What a great kid."

    Victor smiled and ruffled his hair, "But to be a hero you still need to work hard, you have to grow tall and be strong, only then will you have the strength to defeat the drug traffickers."

    Santos nodded excitedly, looking around, "Mr. Victor, I have something to tell you."

    Victor naturally leaned down to listen, and the boy whispered beside him, "I found out that someone is hiding drugs in the church."

    "How do you know?"

    "I overheard it. People transport goods for drug traffickers next to my house, and they don''t care because I''m just a kid."

    Victor pondered carefully; these drug traffickers must be desperate. If they can''t move the product, it''s like rotting in their hands, and they can''t afford the loss.

    Do drugs have a shelf life?

    "Fantastic, young man, what reward do you need?" Victor asked with a smile.

    "Can I be one of your officers when the timees? Sir!"

    Santos raised his hand excitedly, like an avid little fan, "To fight for Mexico''s drug suppression efforts with you for the rest of my life!"

    Victor saw the love for his country in the boy''s small eyes.

    No matter how bad a ce, there will always be people who deeply love it, and if they''re gone, thend is doomed to perish.

    Victor patted Santos''s hand.

    Smack!

    "Then you''ll certainly be the bravest officer, Mr. Santos."

    This "sir" made the boy smile with unparalleled brilliance.

    ...

 Chapter 65 Obey the Law, Father!

    The weather on the ind changes on a dime.

    The sky was dim, and the rain seemed to pour down without warning.

    The church was sparsely filled with believers.

    Even with the police and drug traffickers at each other''s throats, people still needed to attend mass¡ªafter all, approximately 89% of Mexico''s poption is Catholic. Even a powerful figure like Guzman had to flee to Guatem in 1993, after a shootout led to the death of a Cardinal.

    In Guatem, he paid an official 1.2 million US Dors, hoping for protection.

    But once the official took the money, he turned Guzman in.

    This marked the beginning of Guzman''s imprisonment.

    On the day the Cardinal died, Mexico''s national media continuously broadcasted Guzman''s photo on television, and the public took to the streets in protest. The incident was severe enough to provoke the otherwise passive Mexican public into rebellion.

    "God said, He shall return to Earth..." As the priest at the altar read from the Bible, there was a ng, and the door was violently flung open from the outside.

    All those present instinctively looked towards the entrance.

    They saw a troop of armed personnel, dressed in ck and wearing masks, rushing in. The word Polic¨ªa was emzoned on the left arm of their uniforms.

    The priest''s brow twitched, he set down the Bible, and strode forward quickly. "Officer, what seems to be the problem?"

    "Just a routine check," Victor exined with a smile.

    The priest caught a glimpse of an armored vehicle outside the doorway and the gaping barrel of a cannon mounted atop it. His mouth soured, thinking, do youe with a cannon to read the meter?

    "Officer, this is a house of God, what you''re doing is..."

    "God? Does He break thew?"

    The priest was taken aback by the rhetorical question. Watching the flustered priest, Victor flipped the Roman cor on his robe and said with a smile, "On Guadalupe Ind, even God must abide by thew."

    "Search!" With a wave of his hand, more officers in police uniforms burst in from outside and began searching the church.

    The priest paced anxiously to the side.

    Although the congregants felt that this was disrespectful to God, considering that the intruders were armed, they thought better of it and kept their heads down.

    "Director, there''s nothing behind the church." Experience new stories on m v|l e''-NovelBin

    "Director, there''s nothing in the restroom annex either."

    Victor squinted his eyes as he looked at the Our Lady of Guadalupe Statue in front of him¡ªpure, gentle, and immacte.

    This Virgin Mary, sharing her name with Guadalupe Ind, had been a spiritual belief for Mexicans since her apparition back in the 16th century.

    "Smash it!" Victor suddenly ordered.

    Thismand stunned everyone!

    Even many officers hesitated, as though the 21st century was around the corner and some people were dismissive of certain Catholic relics, they still maintained a basic "respect"¡ªor perhaps a fear of the esoteric.

    "No! Officer, this is sacrilege!" the priest protested, agitated.

    The congregants by his side emboldened themselves to object as well.

    Victor nced at the priest deeply, seeing through him. To Victor, no one could hide; this impassioned priest was in reality a drug trafficker.

    And not just any trafficker. He''d been active for nearly 20 years, a member of the local drug syndicate, nted here.

    Regr officers were hesitant to act, but not those from the EDM.

    What the boss said, went!

    They retrieved a battering ram from the armored vehicle.

    "Dear God! Save your people..." The priest knelt on the ground, crying out loud. His dramatic pleas incited restlessness among the congregants.

    But beneath the shadow of the gun barrels, they also had to promise."

    Seeing his efforts to stir the believers were futile, the priest''s expression darkened. He spread his arms and stood in front of the statue.

    "Do you wish for martyrdom?" Victor drew his handgun, grinned, and said, "I swear I won''t shoot your face."

    An EDM member went up and floored the priest with a p, then swung his hammer to smash.

    Bang!

    One blow of the hammer, and the whole statue cracked, followed by another.

    The entire statue of Our Lady copsed with a crash.

    Victor stepped forward, rummaged through the rubble, and pulled out a neatly packed clear bag, "What is this?"

    The priest immediately copsed on the floor like a broken man.

    "Clergy harboring drugs, looks like you''re in a hurry to meet God, take him out and shoot him!" Victor''s voice suddenly grew louder.

    The EDM members dragged the priest out by his hair.

    No matter your status, right now you''re nothing but a drug trafficker!

    And there was no interrogation either.

    "You can''t kill me! I am clergy, Mexico has no death penalty, you can''t kill me." The priest''s face twisted from being pulled by the hair, but he didn''t forget to shout loudly.

    "I''m sorry, father, but on Guadalupe Ind, the death penalty is in fashion," Victor said to Kennedy Heisenberg, "Use the M2 Browning heavy machine gun."

    The priest was dragged out by the thug in a sorry state.

    Soon, the sound of a machine gun''s rat-tat-tat could be heard.

    "Confiscate all these drugs, seal the church, no opening without my permission."

    ...

    ng!

    Alberto Lopez Portillo''s face turned a livid shade of blue as he flipped the table, causing the fruit and tea to spill all over, then grabbed his subordinate by the cor, "What did you say, say it again!"

    "The... the church has been sealed, our goods are gone."

    Alberto nearly rolled his eyes in anger, "How did the police find out about the goods in the church?"

    "There must be a snitch!"

    This batch was supposed to be sent to California, and the gangs inside the United States had already given an advance payment. If the goods aren''t delivered, this route would be cut off, and the loss would be even greater.

    "Boss, let''s find a way to divert some goods right now. If the Original Bloods Family doesn''t get their supply¡­" The subordinate didn''t finish his sentence.

    But Alberto, who had lived in the United States for a long time, obviously knew what that meant.

    Founded in the 70s in Los Angeles, this African American gang had spread globally in just a decade, but because the armed forces in the United States kept things under control, these gangs hadn''t caused any significant trouble.

    But asional gang wars were still a thing.

    The blood feud between the Original Bloods Family and the Crip Gang had imed over five thousand lives over the decades.

    But even the fierce Colombians, when trafficking drugs in the United States, had to get local gang permission, otherwise...

    They''d show you what being a territorial gang means.

    Alberto clicked his teeth in frustration, furrowing his brows deeply, "Then divert the drugs destined for other states in the United States to California first."

    "I''ve lost at least five million US Dors! Damn it!"

    "Boss, there''s another thing, after Victor made his televised speech, it seems like many of the inders are getting restless," the subordinate tried to put it gently, "The guy nicknamed Perro fino of the Trevino Family next door, Los, was killed."

    1000 US Dors had already begun to motivate some of the braver inders to take action.

    The world nevercked "brave" people.

    The more Alberto thought about it, the angrier he got. He kicked a teacup on the floor hard, turned around with a dark look in his eyes, "These peasants think they can turn the tables with Victor around? Teach them a proper lesson, let these lowlifes understand that ultimate victory will always be ours!"

    "What do you mean, boss?"

    "Some people in the Morelos District are getting too cozy with the cops, show them some color!"

    ...

 Chapter 66 Padrino! (Godfather)

    Victor''s "television address" turned out to be useful.

    The lure of $1000 was too great!

    More than ten people had already imed the reward.

    The bodies of the drug traffickers were hung up on the main streets, with signs in Spanish reading: "??matar al narcotraficante es inocente!" (Killing a drug trafficker is not a crime!)

    Even the TV stations were broadcasting Victor''s speech on loop all day long, vigorously provoking the public''s thoughts.

    Under these circumstances, the drug traffickers'' retaliation became increasingly brutal.

    Dawn.

    When people were still in their dreams.

    Dozens of vehicles stormed into Morelos District, and from them jumped hundreds of drug traffickers, who burst into the splotchy old residentialplexes, kicking down doors and threatening the upants with weapons toe out.

    They gathered everyone in the open space.

    Some were shivering in the cold, d only in their underwear.

    Valentina clutched Santos tightly, standing nervously among the crowd, constantlyforting him with the words, "Don''t be afraid, don''t be afraid."

    Drizzle began to fall from the sky.

    Pop pop pop¡ª

    The spurt of gunfire made the crowd let out involuntary cries of rm.

    "Good, it seems you still know what fear is, but! Some have forgotten, and we are very happy to remind you. That cop won''t be able to stay on Guadalupe Ind for long, but we are here forever!" a drug trafficking leader yelled, brandishing his weapon.

    "Betrayales with a price!"

    "Ah ah ah! Help, mercy, mercy... I won''t dare again."

    Suddenly, cries and whimpers came from above, and everyone looked up to see two traffickers on the rooftop, holding down a man who clung to a metal rod, pleading desperately.

    His family stood to one side, trembling.

    "Kritens." Santos recognized his friend, whose freckled face was streaked with tears.

    The trafficker, perhaps irritated, dragged him to his feet and then threw him off the rooftop, his screams piercing the air as he fell.

    Thump...

    Have you ever seen a watermelon smash open?

    Valentina covered Santos'' eyes, but he pried them open, staring fixedly at the body.

    The drug leader, clearly satisfied with the people''s frightened and timorous looks, announced, "Do you know why this is happening? This is retribution, a warning from the gentlemen of Reclusos e confinamiento (isted inmates)!"

    With that, he made a gesture.

    The others on the rooftop were thrown down by the traffickers.

    "No no no! I don''t want to die!"

    "Sir, let us go! Please!"

    Santos'' arm was tightly gripped by his mother who, with only two people''s strength, said, "Anger won''t change the fact that you are powerless, Santos, you must learn to endure!"

    He could only watch helplessly as his friend was thrown down and smashed into a pulp.

    The traffickers left, but before they did, they rolled down their car window and shouted, "Whoever handles their corpses, I''ll kill next."

    Even after the cars had driven away, it felt as if there was still a stone weighing on everyone''s head, every face stricken.

    "In the future, we better stay away from those cops..." mumbled an older man with a full beard as he stepped forward.

    He clearly had some standing in the neighborhood.

    Many people nodded in agreement, while others grumbled, "Those damn cops never bring any good. Kill drug traffickers? As if you could finish them off? It''s just like sitting in the office, then dropping your pants and farting into the microphone, not a single word is trustworthy."

    "Were things really that bad here without the police station and the government?"

    "I think so too, we could get by without police, but when they show up, we can''t even manage," one of the adults said, and others chimed in one after another.

    "Not at all!"

    Santos broke away from Valentina''s grasp and stood out to shout, "Drugs are a menace to society, Mr. Victor and his group represent justice!"

    "What''s the use of justice? We just want to live, Santos. Where''s that cop now? Where is he?"

    "Right, don''t speak for them, be careful or the drug traffickers will kill you."

    "If the Mexican Government doesn''t care about drugs, what can a single cop do..."

    As Santos listened to their words, he shouted hoarsely, "You cowards!"

    "Then why didn''t you stand up just now? Are you afraid of dying??" someone retorted. "You''re just like us, you''re useless beyond shouting."

    A few kids older than him kept hounding him.

    People, they hate being contradicted the most, even when they know they''re wrong.

    Santos pushed through the crowd, "No, Mr. Victor can''t be wrong!"

    With that, he ran off, with Valentina calling after him, but she couldn''t catch up at all.

    The rain kept pouring down, and the ground was quickly filled with mud.

    Santos fell and then got up again, running straight to the police station. The officer standing outside the cordon wanted to greet him, but could only see his back.

    He ran to the hall in one breath.

    "Hey, Santos, what happened to you?" a familiar officer joked.

    "Where''s Mr. Victor?"

    "Isn''t this our reserve officer? How did you forget to bring an umbre?" Victor joked as he walked down from upstairs, Santos threw himself at him, his face smeared with what could be snot or tears.

    "Kritens died, he was my best friend. His entire family was thrown down from the building by the drug traffickers. They also warned us not to help the police, or they''d kill us. Many people are scared..."

    Santos cried and recounted the situation.

    Victor squatted down and wiped away his tears, "Maybe in the pursuit of truth, we all find that we have to ept some injustices, endure suffering we shouldn''t have to, experience unreasonable setbacks, but, we must grit our teeth, and keep fighting! Fighting!"

    "Officer Santos, today I''ll teach you the first lesson."

    Victor stood up, the other officers holding their breath in anticipation, "When we have absolute firepower, don''t hide the rage in your chest, what we should do is to take the safety off and kill them!"

    "Forgiveness is God''s affair, our job is to send them to meet God!"

    "Casare, bring our new toy, Kennedy, take 60 heavily armed men, we''re going to blow those dogs to hell!"

    Santos lifted his head.

    Victor wiped his face with his hand and turned towards the door.

    "Gentlemen, let''s show them what happens when they cross me, Victor!"

    Santos ran out after him, and he saw officers wearing hoods lifting the stic tarp from the pickup trucks parked on the side.

    "What''s that?"

    "Type 64 120mm mortars, equipped with high-explosive bombs, the Director intends to tten the entire drug trafficking group," a policeman beside him sighed.

    Even though Santos didn''t understand what the model meant, he could understand the numbers.

    120mm?

    Does therger number mean it''s more powerful?

    The concept of caliber started to form in his young mind.

    ...

 Chapter 67 This is Revenge!

    Resolving Victor''s anger was actually quite simple.

    Stand still, don''t move, and just let him fire off a round, and that would settle the matter.

    A minor issue, right?

    You could basically tough it out.

    But generally, it doesn''t quitee to that.

    And he didn''t have much time to deal with the small fries on Guadalupe Ind with this "lovey-dovey" nonsense; he needed to find a rotten fish to kill.

    The base needed expanding!

    If Guadalupe Ind were developed properly, he would dominate the crucial US-Mexico trade routes, and everyone would have to pay a toll, no matter what kind of goods they were carrying.

    So, to kill these drug traffickers, Victor summarized the following points.

    "One, the caliber is not big enough; it doesn''t shock the drug dealers."

    "Two, the firepower isn''t fierce enough; we need to increase the caliber."

    "Three, all of the above are correct."

    So, he used points to exchange for more than a dozen Type 64 120mm mortars, which wererge-caliber and ready for artillery support at any time.

    Victor stuck his hand out the window and let go; the cigarette butt fell to the ground and was crushed by the wheels,"Contact the TV station, tell them to prepare for a live broadcast throughout."

    The helmeted Casare was stunned upon hearing this.

    "If you''re killing a chicken and no monkeys are watching, then it''s a failed military operation."

    The ind had an area of nearly 250 square kilometers, roughly 25 kilometers long and 10 kilometers wide, about the same as 0.004 of Tongliao.

    If you don''t make a big enough fuss, some people might not even realize what''s happening.

    Casare hurriedly acknowledged and quickly notified the TV station to send someone over.

    The show was about to begin!

    Victor, too, had been busy. He had long figured out the drug trafficking syndicate''s territory¡ªa total puny area.

    The caravan passed by the TV station about three kilometers away, and on a naturally formed hill, you could see houses; that was the base of the Portillo family.

    This criminal family had been active on Guadalupe Ind for decades, and if not for an unfavorable location, might have be arge family like "Michoac¨¢n" by now.

    But also because they hid on an ind.

    They avoided several US-Mexico joint drugw enforcement efforts, with their respective pros and cons.

    But today might be a different story...

    Their auspicious day just had Victor put diapers on it.

    The officers unloaded the mortars and directly "requisitioned" two houses at the foot of the hill. The people of Guadalupe Ind were very cooperative; after a few punches, everyone fell in line.

    "Boss, the TV crew has arrived."

    "Turn on the equipment, broadcast the whole process."

    The TV crew hurriedly set up the equipment, looking miserable. They were now one of the few technical staff left, of course they couldn''t be sent home now¡ªif they left, who would handle the equipment?

    Soon the equipment was adjusted.

    Victor wore two watches, one set to American Time and the other to Victor Time (inurate, depends on mood), and it was just approaching eight o''clock in the morning, "Let''s start with a round of high-explosive bombs to wake them up."

    Many ind residents who were eating breakfast found that the program they were originally watching suddenly shed and changed to a different scene.

    The police were busy with the mortars, in the distance you could see the sea level, and unidentified birds circling in the sky.

    "This looks like it''s by the beach?"

    "The west side of Guadalupe Ind? I''ve been there..."

    Meanwhile, inside the mansion on the waist of the hill.

    A towel-d Alberto sat on the couch with an angry expression, looking at Litokwa in front of him, "Uncle, what is the meaning of this?"

    "Weren''t you nning to betray me to the police? Why are you asking me now?" The second-inmand, Litokwa, sneered.

    Alberto suddenly looked at his subordinate beside him; thetter instantly moved next to Litokwa, while the former red, "You betrayed me!"

    "Old... Alberto, you simply don''t have the ability to lead the Portillo family out of this predicament, and moreover, you''re too naive, you just..."

    He hadn''t even finished speaking when a violent explosion was heard, and bits of ster fell from the ceiling, silencing everyone in the hall.

    "Boss! It''s no good, the cops are shelling us."

    A drug trafficker yelled from the doorway.

    Experience new tales on m v|l e''-NovelBin

    Litokwa reacted quickly, shooting Alberto dead then decisively leading his men to rush out.

    As they ran out the door, a piercing screech filled the air, and as the traffickers looked up, they saw mortar bombs raining down from the sky!

    "Get down!!"

    ...

    "?P¨®ngalo!!(Fire!)"

    For an arms dealer, running out of ammunition was the ultimate disgrace, with 13 120mm mortars at his disposal and 60 high-explosive bombs prepared.

    Victor was intent on leveling the opposition.

    Those who had never experienced it firsthand may not grasp the terror of a 120mm caliber; the intense explosion from a direct hit could literally rattle you to death!

    Mexican drug traffickers had never seen such ordnance before; being able to use machine guns was already luxurious for them¡ªthey couldn''t even fathom artillery.

    At the sound of artillery, they instinctively hit the ground.

    Well...

    Many were shaken to the point where their insides ruptured, and blood streamed from every orifice.

    Litokwa staggered to his feet, the second-inmand of the drug syndicate looking ragged as he observed the destruction around him, unable to summon any anger.

    "Victor! I fuckxx!"

    Whoosh...

    Boom!

    A high-explosive bomb detonated right beside him, probably not fatal...

    "Set firing elements¡ªfire!"

    After all 60 high-explosive bombs were deployed, the mountain side was unrecognizable, shrouded only in rising plumes of smoke.

    The residents of Guadalupe Ind watching the scene on TV felt a chill run down their spines.

    "This is retribution!"

    On the screen appeared Victor''s face, his expression solemn, his gaze chilling, "The Portillo family killed four civilians in the Morelos District, which has gravely crossed my red line. Guadalupe Ind cannot ept, nor will it tolerate, harm to the innocent."

    "Any harm to civilians is a provocation!"

    "I hereby issue a stern warning, demanding that drug traffickers on Guadalupe Ind surrender to the Guadalupe Ind Police Station by noon tomorrow. Failing that, they will be regarded as rebels, and my forces will no longer offer the opportunity to surrender, focusing instead onplete annihtion."

    "A bounty is issued for any remaining members of the Portillo family, $2000 US dors per core member, and civilians who betray information to drug traffickers will be executed by firing squad like drug traffickers!"

    Victor''s gaze prated the camera lens, "Gentlemen, Guadalupe Ind is mine!"

    ...

    "Boss, are we really epting the traffickers'' surrender?" Casare asked. He was somewhat thrilled himself; such a one-sided battle was exhrating.

    The thought of epting a surrender even felt slightly disappointing.

    Victor nced at him, "When they surrender, gather them all together and mow them down with machine guns. Surrender? My word has never counted!"

    Casare was stunned, then pped himself.

    Fuck!

    After all this time with Victor, how could he still be so na?ve?

    An image suddenly took shape in his mind.

    Thousands of key drug traffickers surrendering, only to be wiped out in one fell swoop.

    Amin from Africa would have to praise Victor, "Yo Wes..."

    Casare shivered.

    It seemed his reputation would grow evenrger!

    ...

 Chapter 68 The Spark of a Career!

    120mm mortar rounds fired five consecutive shots!

    At a nce, the waist of the hill had been sted a few centimeters lower.

    "Kennedy Heisenberg," the number three man in the Victor Cartel, charged forward with the officers, fearing that someone might still be alive after such bombardment.

    "Don''t kill me! Don''t kill me, I surrender!"

    A criminal in the yard''s swimming pool, obviously lucky, quickly raised his hands and pleaded as he saw Kennedy and the others, "I have a seventy-year-old mother..."

    Bang!

    Kennedy sted the man''s head open with a shotgun, "Sorry, I refuse."

    "Search! Check the safes, the nightstands, and inside any covers."

    This was an "extracurricr activity"¡ªraiding homes!

    To develop Guadalupe Ind, you need money, and if the drug traffickers are dead, doesn''t that all be Uncle Victor''s?

    Drug traffickers like to hide cash at home. When Colombian Pablo was on the run, any ce he had stayed could yield a huge sum of cash.

    Because their money was "dirty," it had to beundered. When Sandra Beltran, the famous Mexican drug lord nicknamed "Queen of the Pacific," was arrested in 2007, it was for moneyundering.

    But the police didn''t need any of thesebels!

    Victor publicly dered this money belonged to the drug traffickers and, from then on, he could use this method to under" the money earned from arms sales. The drug traffickers would never imagine that, in death, they would still take the me for "Uncle."

    In the end, Kennedy Heisenberg found $3 million US dors, 1.5 million Pesos, as well as about 20 kilograms of gold and jewelry estimated to be worth over $600,000 USD in the ruins of the Portillo family home.

    When Victor heard the news, he was silent for a long time, his tone very firm as he looked at Casare, "If the drug traffickers don''t die, I feel very ufortable."

    Just one rotten drug trafficking family on the ind of Guadalupe had so much cash, imagine how much money those transcontinental drug trafficking organizations must have.

    No wonder when the DEA catches drug traffickers, the CIA has quite a few people trying to obstruct them.

    Buddy, the waters are too deep for ordinary people, it takes someone like Uncle Victor to handle it, someone with a thick skin and an even thicker barrel.

    When he returned to the police station, Santossported a new set of clothes that hung awkwardly on him as police attire, "Mr. Victor, that was awesome!"

    "If I could be like you one day, that would be it."

    Victor patted his head, "Santos, you don''t need to be me, but you will definitely be me. The anti-drug efforts in Mexico aren''t just my responsibility; you and your generation are the main force."

    "But for now, I stand before you. When I''m old or fallen, you should take up my cause, carry on my torch, and overthrow, resist, eradicate those drug traffickers who are ravaging Mexico."

    Santos nodded with conviction, like a believer listening to "God," then suddenly it seemed like he remembered something, "Mr. Victor, I''ll be baptized in a month, can youe and be my godfather?"

    Victor was taken aback, because in Europe and America, being someone''s godfather means you are their Padrino, their Godfather, and that''s serious business.

    It''s like being their guiding light.

    That''s what the Italian Mafia loves to do.

    Seeing Santos''s hopeful gaze, Victor touched his head, "Of course, both God and I are with you."

    Feeling the warmth from Victor''s palm, Santos nuzzled like a puppy, finding the fatherly love he hadn''t felt in a long time.

    When you''re lost in life and suddenly a light appears, you''ll find everything about them to be virtues.

    "Father! I''ve finally found someone as great as you!"

    ...

    When the Portillo family, "dominating" the northwest of Guadalupe Ind, was "live-streamed" being wiped out, other drug traffickers dared note to their rescue.

    What a joke.

    With a 120mm caliber bigger than a fist, what if it hit their own head?

    Jakarta Snow (Nieve en Yakarta) Cafe.

    Waitstaff shivered to one side, legs trembling.

    The main cafe was packed with burly men, tattoos, guns, nose rings, and even some with words carved into their faces, the visual impact alone was significant.

    "The Portillo family... gone," a white man in a cowboy hat said somberly.

    "Scorpion, we''ve got eyes!" retorted a ck man sitting opposite him, his temper seeming quite bad.

    Mexico is a multiethnic country, with about 1.5 million ck people living in states like Guerrero, Oaxaca, and Veracruz.

    "?Negro! Do you believe I will shove your ass into a watermelon!"

    This remark enraged the ck man, who grabbed the handgun on the table and pointed it at the other party; the white man''s followers hurriedly pulled out their guns, and both sides readied their weapons.

    The other drug traffickers watched with cold eyes.

    "Enough!"

    Just as the atmosphere turned rigid, a towering figure rose, standing at least 190+ tall. In Mexico, he certainly qualified as a "giant," his eyes fierce as he furrowed his brows.

    This was Francisco, nicknamed "Warrior," whose organization "Morsis" was affiliated with Tijuana and held an "aloof" status on Guadalupe Ind.

    The ck man and the white man hadn''t really nned to start fighting; hearing his words, they both sat down sulkily.

    "Francisco, have the gentlemen from Tijuana not replied yet?"

    The burly man shook his head, "The gentlemen have given us permission to give up Guadalupe Ind."

    "What!"

    "How can this be!"

    "This is not possible, how could the gentlemen issue such an order."

    The other drug traffickers all looked in disbelief at this scene.

    Especially the white man, who shouted even more vehemently.

    "Juarez has announced an alliance with Sinaloa and has dered war on Tijuana."

    This news was even more shocking, but frankly, it had no rtion to them.

    If Tijuana gets taken down by the tworge groups, their smaller organizations just have to find a new boss, which is quitemon in Mexico.

    But right now, everyone is "begging" under Tijuana; they can''t exactly stand up and flip the table, can they?

    "The gentlemen mean..."

    The burly Francisco took a deep breath, a look of resignation in his eyes, "Surrender."

    "Their firepower is too strong, where did that bastard Victor get his cannons from! Damn it, are those Mexican politicians eating shit?" a drug lordined loudly, but the relief was evident on his face.

    They...

    Were really scared.

    If the police are armed with cannons, should the Coast Guard also have aircraft carriers?

    "I won''t surrender!"

    The white man kicked the table away with one foot, "You bunch of cowards!" and stormed out, kicking the door on his way out.

    Francisco looked at everyone, also standing up, "Tomorrow I will go to see Victor to ensure our interests. There are terms to our surrender."

    After he left, all the drug traffickers in the cafe looked at each other and could only heave a sigh.

    If you can''t beat them, what can you do?

    As long as they could live, they were willing to sell anything.

    The more ferocious a person is, the more afraid of death they tend to be.

    ¡­

 Chapter 69 Negotiation? What do you think you are!

    Mexicali!

    In the governor''s office.

    After sending off Tijuana''s talker, Ramon Areno, Rafael Max returned to the office and flew into a rage, flipping everything on the desk except for the money.

    "What does he Victor want to do!"

    So that''s what Casare Gonzalez, the senior assistant of the Guadalupe Ind Police Station, said about inviting him to Mexicali?

    "The hemorrhoids burst; can''t make the trip."

    When the secretary ryed this to Rafael Max, the 57-year-old governor almost retired prematurely.

    He was still very principled; he took Tijuana''s money, so he had to do their bidding.

    The main reason was... fear of death!

    Ramon Areno had just warned him that if he didn''t take down Victor, the Tijuana Group could not guarantee the safety of Rafael Max''s daughter in the United States.

    This was a threat!

    For a governor to be threatened by a drug cartel was rare anywhere in the world, but when you peeled back the cover and saw it was Mexico, it felt all too natural.

    In 2019, within ten months, 48 presidential candidates were shot dead by drug traffickers, most of whom were in high positions.

    Governor?

    What''s that?

    If they say you''re done, you''re done.

    The exasperated governor sat in his chair, his mind weaving strategies; politicians mightck force, but they were full of cunning ns.

    He quickly thought of a solution.

    Appoint a mayor for Guadalupe Ind who would naturally be in charge of Victor by virtue of position and rank. Then find an excuse to remove him from his post.

    This was a good n!

    But who to send?

    Rafael Max drummed his fingers on the desk, pondering over the candidates.

    The next day.

    Just as Victor was settling into his office to start work, Casare came in with a strange look on his face and knocked on the door.

    "Boss, the drug lords have sent a representative over, wanting to talk to you."

    Victor wiped the table with a napkin and tossed it in the trash, "Did they say anything?"

    Casare shook his head, "But it''s probably surrender. It seems we scared them yesterday."

    Victor, in a bid to publicize his achievements, had the bodies of the Portillo family''s key members (what could be pieced together) dragged by officers to severalmunities with high foot traffic for exhibition.

    They were piled up like dead dogs.

    It brought quite a bit of shock to the public.

    The braver ones even ran to the "ruins" of the Portillo family''s estate, as it''s probably called now, where not a single good brick could be found, limbsy scattered everywhere, and heads hung on the walls.

    Even the beehives under the eaves were sted apart!

    The two dogs they raised were dead too.

    It was sheer brutality.

    Privately, some citizens and drug traffickers had begun to call him "Tirano (Tyrant)!"

    "Bring them in."

    Casare nodded and headed out of the office. Shortly, he returned with two burly men, led by the imposing figure of Warrior Francisco.

    His stature was indeed pressure-inducing.

    Victor nced at the man, "No matter how big they are, one shot takes them down."

    "Brother, times have changed!"

    He sat in the chair, his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring straight ahead.

    This demeanor made Francisco''s color stiffen, and watching the burly man holding his breath, he pressed down on his somewhat pale-lookingpanion, "Officer Victor, won''t you invite us to sit?"

    Victorughed at this remark, "What''s your status? What''s mine? You think you''re still the big shot on Guadalupe Ind? Standing while you report to me is enough when youe here."

    "What the hell do you mean, you damn cop!"

    Francisco couldn''t hold back hispanion, who was furious and about to go after Victor when the police at the door swarmed in.

    Victor gestured with his hand to signal Kennedy and the others to rx, walked over, straightened the man''s clothes, and said with a smile, "Young people are just impulsive, hot tempered."

    "Damn your mother!"

    He grabbed the man''s hair with one hand, yanked it hard, and his right hand took out a folding knife from his pocket and stabbed at the man''s neck with force!

    Francisco was about to rush over at the sight.

    "I''m warning you, don''t move," Casare drew his gun and pointed it at him, and Francisco immediately stopped in his tracks.

    Victor stabbed repeatedly with his butterfly knife, blood spurted from the throat''s vessels, sshing all over him.

    The drug trafficker red, struggling hard, his hand still holding on to Victor''s clothes, who raised the knife and plunged it into the man''s eyes, striking bone where it should have been softest.

    After struggling for a while, he finally pulled out the butterfly knife.

    Victor stood up, turned around, and nced at Francisco, who couldn''t help but swallow at the sight of that look in his eyes.

    Victor squeezed out a smile, cleaning the bloodstains on Francisco''s clothes with the butterfly knife, "If you''re too hot-headed, you need to be dealt with."

    Francisco nced at the corpse of hispanion on the floor, the gaping hole where the eyes used to be made him shudder.

    "We came here to negotiate," he said, mustering his spirit.

    "Negotiate? What right do you have? I''ve won, why should I negotiate? Not satisfied? Call your men and let''s have another round, see if Jesus will stand by you. I''m telling you, I''m the boss of Guadalupe Ind, Jesus is number two!" Victor mmed the table and gestured thumbs towards himself.

    "Either die on this ind or roll out of here, and don''t take any weapons with you. Take anything else, and if you agree, I''ll find you a boat tomorrow. My word is final."

    Victor''s arrogance and fury gave Francisco a headache, he had never seen anyone like this.

    Mexico''s politicians, no, a police station director hardly counts as a politician, which one isn''t about taking bribes? It''s all good as long as everyone is happy, but someone like Victor so eager to fight the drug trade is truly unique.

    People propose drug bans, but who''s going to be the one to take the shots?

    Francisco: "I need to discuss this with them."

    Victor waved his hand dismissively, "If you can''t decide, go discuss it. You have 24 hours, if I don''t get a response by tomorrow, then it''s war. I don''t have much time to waste here chit-chatting with you."

    Francisco nodded, nced at the corpse of hispanion on the floor, realizing that taking the dead man back was pointless.

    But as he reached the door, he suddenly stopped, "Director Victor, may I ask why you hate drug traffickers so much? Don''t we deserve any way out?"

    "We could give up half our profits to you!"

    "I''m a cop, not Jesus! Go make your wishes to a priest."

    Which drug trafficker doesn''t deserve to be killed?

    All should be executed!

    "Scaring them isn''t enough, drug traffickers are like lions, they love to pounce when you seemx and bite you to death, but sorry, I''m a hunter, I like to kill them as soon as I see them!" Victor said, squinting his eyes at Casare as he watched Francisco leave.

    "Will they surrender?" asked Casare.

    "When you''ve lost the courage to resist, it''s not easy to muster it again. If he surrenders, arrange for them to be taken to the docks."

    Victor paused, "It''ll be more convenient to feed them to the fish then!"

    ¡­

 Chapter 70 I, Victor, Just Have a Bit Too Much Firepower!

    Francisco ryed Victor''s message to the drug traffickers without change.

    At that moment, the scene...

    Everyone stood up, filled with righteous indignation, cursing Victor for being inhuman.

    They all mored to teach him a lesson.

    But no one got up; they were glued to their chairs.

    Leaning against the doorway, Francisco took a drag of his cigarette, watching coldly, and suddenly said, "So, shall we go to war? We have enough people right now to unleash a round of fire on Victor, but I have to tell you, we''re running low on ammo."

    The room instantly fell silent.

    The drug traffickers instantly shut up, looking at each other.

    "Francisco, do you think Victor keeps his word?" one of the traffickers asked, voicing his concern, "He won''t wait for us toy down our weapons and then eradicate us, will he?"

    Francisco himself hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowed, "He shouldn''t bewless to that extent, should he? It''s a civilized society we''re living in now!"

    It was funny to hear a drug trafficker say something like that.

    They had done their share of things usually only animals are capable of.

    When Qiqi''s (Camarena''s) body was found, even the seasoned Mexican coroners threw up at the sight, and one of the reasons the DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) was so angry was because the death was too gruesome.

    Even decadester, the news media''s sparsements still conveyed that sense of despair!

    "If he actually does something so cruel and inhumane, I''m afraid no one in Mexico will tolerate him!" Francisco said, furrowing his brows. Discover hidden content at m,v l''e-NovelBin

    In truth, they didn''t have any options left.

    Everyone was already scared out of their wits.

    They could only "pray" that Victor would maintain the basic "morality."

    Francisco threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out in frustration, looking at the others, "Does anyone else have any objections?"

    The drug traffickers looked at each other.

    "Fine, that''s settled then. I''ll contact them."

    Francisco didn''t want to dy, as dys could causeplications. He picked up the bulky mobile phone from the table and called Casare.

    When Casare heard that the drug traffickers had agreed, he gestured OK to Victor, his tone neutral, "Be at the dock by eight tomorrow. The boat has already been arranged. If you''re not there, it''s considered resistance!"

    "Gentlemen, this is thest chance the police station is giving you. Please cherish it." He then hung up.

    Listening to the dial tone, Francisco gestured to the others, "You heard that. Gentlemen, we''vee to this point; we don''t have a choice anymore. God bless us!"

    "God bless~"

    The drug traffickers prayed in unison.

    But they forgot, they should be praying for Victor to allow God to speak!

    ...

    The white drug trafficker nicknamed Scorpion sat in the car, his eyes coldly watching the market in front of him, with a cigarette in his mouth.

    He couldn''t stand the thought of just leaving Guadalupe Ind. Unlike the others, he was an outsider. He had finally gotten a foothold here, and now you''re telling me to surrender?

    There will always be those who would rather sacrifice their lives for money, status, and power.

    Especially for desperados like drug traffickers, cutting off their livelihood is like killing their parents!

    Some people have many parents, so it''s no big deal to surrender.

    But not Scorpion; he only cared about money!

    Those cowardly idiots still want to surrender?

    If we lose our territory and end up like cornered rats, what''s the point of living when all the money''s gone?

    The crime syndicate he founded by himself didn''t have many who were willing to fight for him anymore, just 8 left. The only ones who could stick with a madman were madmen themselves.

    They nned to create chaos first, to make sure the cops didn''t have it easy, and then y it by ear from there.

    Scorpion chose the market as their target. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, and his minions inside the vehicle watched him. As he was about to throw away the cigarette butt, the long-standing cautious nature of a drug trafficker made him sense something was amiss.

    Where are the people from the market?

    "Retreat!" He yelled. Just then, he saw a cop emerge with an RPG, firing a rocket directly at their van!

    The driver shifted into reverse and floored the gas pedal, but with the RPG-7''s initial velocity of about 117 meters per second, could even a sports car outrun a rocketuncher?

    Zzz~

    A thick line of skid marks, the van executed a slick U-turn, but being too slick meant courting death.

    Scorpion turned to look back, his eyes wide with terror, his body drenched in sweat, watching helplessly as the grenade drilled into the undercarriage, and a massive st wave sent the van nearly two meters into the air.

    When itnded, the rear was already engulfed in a fireball.

    Two Humvees came by and went rat-tat-tat...

    Scorpion really did die a grisly death.

    Actually, it''s not that Victor had some kind of prescient ability, but he knew too well what drug traffickers were like. He expected someone to make a rash move. To prevent what happened in the Morelos District from happening again, Victor reorganized functions and structures.

    Kennedy Heisenberg''s EDM was in charge of the firepower assault team.

    The remaining EDM reserve unit was split into 140 patrol officers for regr patrols, a 15-member logistics transport team, and a 65-member rapid support team.

    The equipment for the regr patrol unit wasn''t weak either; they had 15 high-end Humvees (optional equipment: Browning M2HB 0.50-inch heavy machine guns), 1 TPz-1 armored personnel carrier, 1 "Storm" armored transport vehicle, and one SA.321Ja helicopter for air patrols.

    Individual gear: Ingram Light Submachine Gun with 4 magazines, and a Colt M1911 Pistol.

    Each group consisted of 15 individuals, one Police Sergeant (Polic¨ªa Segundo), and 14 Police Auxiliary Staff without rank, equipped with two RPG-2s, two Remington M870P Shotguns, two M249 Machine Guns, with a U.S. military ammunition base of 6+1, meaning 210 bullets per person!

    Was Victor really nning to establish his own reign?

    He had almost drained all his points!

    If Best''s negotiations in Juarez go smoothly, he''d still need to prepare goods for them, meaning he could only get points from drug traffickers.

    No matter how you looked at it, it was certain death for Francisco and the others if they surrendered.

    The reason Scorpion got targeted was that... Damn, which normal person stays in a van all the time?

    When the van drove up to the entrance of the market, patrol team members spotted something fishy and decided to strike first. With firepower like that, it was a force to be reckoned with,parable even to Los Angeles SWAT in the United States.

    The regr patrol units introduced themselves to the outside as "Equipo t¨¢ctico de auxiliares de polic¨ªa" (Police Auxiliary Staff Tactical Team), abbreviated as ETAP!

    After the van had been burning for a while, the leading Police Sergeant ordered the fire to be extinguished. After putting out the mes, and with the bodies inside charred, they reported the situation to the higher-ups.

    Upon receiving the patrol officers'' message, Victor fell silent for a while.

    "It seems the only way to get a drug trafficker to truly repent is to physically eliminate them."

    Casare nodded, "A dead criminal can''t harm anyone, and I''ve already arranged for someone..."

    Victor nodded, swiveled his chair, and looked out the window; the sky that had long been imprisoned by a hazy mist was finally showing a glimmer of dawn.

    "The sky over Guadalupe Ind should be brightening up!"

    ...

 Chapter 71 I, Victor, uphold justice!

    The video of the drug trafficker nicknamed Scorpion (Escorpi¨®n) being wiped out was yed on a loop on Guadalupe Ind television that same night.

    They even paired his photo with the image of his charred remains for all to see.

    Ordinary citizens watching this would slowly grow their confidence in the police force, while the drug traffickers watching would "rejoice" that they hadn''t been as stubborn as Scorpion.

    Francisco sat in the bar. This would likely be hisst visit to a Guadalupe Ind bar. Watching the news broadcast on television, the tequ in his hand lost its appeal.

    "Boss, should we take Nora with us tomorrow?" his subordinate asked by his side.

    Francisco paused, that was his mistress, and they had a child together. He hesitated, sighed, and said, "Leave some money for her. Although that tyrant is here, Guadalupe Ind is still much safer than other ces."

    His father was a drug trafficker, and so was his grandfather.

    A drug trafficker?

    Sooner orter, they were bound to end up as corpses in the wilderness!

    How many of them ended up with a good oue?

    Francisco dreamed of being a painter when he was young. He loved Van Gogh, but unfortunately, Mexico, his country, had no room for even a small desk or a dream. As a child, he dodged the skirmishes of his father''s enemies, and all four of his brothers died young.

    He had no choice but to follow this path.

    But he didn''t want his own child to have to walk it too.

    Francisco finished his tequ in one gulp, picked up the hat on the table, and said, "Get some rest early. Don''t bete tomorrow."

    He walked out of the bar, lit a cigarette for himself, and looked up at the starry sky.

    "The moon is so beautiful," he remarked.

    Tonight should be the quietest night on Guadalupe Ind since Mexico''s independence, with no gunfights, no noise, no homicides.

    "Probationary officer" Santos sat by the desk at home, looking towards the outside, squinting, and muttered, "The moon is really clear."

    ...

    The next day.

    The sky was clear, with a light breeze.

    The sea breeze brought a warm, intoxicating air.

    Such weather was rare on Guadalupe Ind.

    Drug traffickers came from all directions, slowly gathered nearly a thousand core members. Under the guidance of the officers, they discarded their weapons to avoid any "unnecessary trouble", and all civilians were not allowed near the docks.

    A military management was implemented within five kilometers of the dock.

    The drug traffickers hung their heads, appearing somewhat low-spirited.

    During the US-Mexico joint drug clean-up phase, many big shots surrendered because they couldn''t win against the military, like Gardo. But it was rare for the police to make them throw up their hands.

    Francisco arrived early and picked a good spot, but when he gazed toward the sea, he didn''t see any boat!

    "Boss, why are there so many police over here, and where''s the boat... the boat?" his subordinate also felt something was wrong and quickly asked.

    Francisco pushed past the obstructing drug traffickers and ran back the way he hade.

    "Stop! Get back there!" the gun-wielding officer cursed, cocking his weapon.

    "Victor! Where''s Victor? I want to see him," Francisco shouted loudly, his expression turning frantic. Upon seeing Victor descend from an armored vehicle, he said, "Where''s the boat? Are you going to make us swim over?"

    "You guys arete, the boat has left," Victor replied.

    That was a tant lie.

    Francisco, angered, pointed to his watch, and challenged, "You said eight o''clock, and it''s not even time yet!"

    Victor raised his own hand, pointed to his watch, and then turned the hands forward by an hour in front of them, "I''m sorry, it''s Victor time on Guadalupe Ind now, so, you arete!"

    "And ate drug trafficker is the same as forfeiting the chance to surrender!"

    Francisco''s brow twitched, a sense of unease surged in his heart, and when he saw the machine gun on the armored car swivel towards him, his expression became ferocious, "Victor, fuck your mother!"

    "?Fuego! (Fire!)" Casare gave the order.

    The Rh202-style 20mm autocannon mounted on the E-6 ring mount on top of the TPz-1 armored vehicle began to spin, followed by a piercing sound.

    Thud~

    Thud thud thud thud thud~~

    Shell casings ejected to the side, clinking against the vehicle''s body before rolling on the ground, making a crisp sound.

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    Francisco''s body wasrge and burly, and in a war, smaller targets tend to live longer because they are less likely to get shot.

    He had at least a third more bullet holes in him than anyone else.

    s, being too tall is also a kind of sin.

    When Francisco fell, all he could hear were the drug traffickers'' screams and the sound of frantic footsteps.

    One foot stepped on his face.

    An image suddenly shed through Francisco''s mind: it was the first time he killed someone, a family of four. He had trapped them in a car and then burned them to death with a fire.

    The drug traffickers now were crying out in terror, just like that family had.

    Everything went dark before Francisco''s eyes, and he died.

    Many drug traffickers tried to run to the sides, but Victor had arranged for officers with machine guns to sweep the area. The barrels grew so hot that the traffickers, with no way out, jumped into the sea in panic, shouting in despair.

    The invention of firearms turned death into a series of numbers.

    After just 20 minutes of shooting, the dock was littered with the bodies of drug traffickers.

    Two TPz-1 armored vehicles equipped with bulldozing buckets pushed these bodies into the sea like shoveling mud.

    It saved time on cleaning up.

    Beneath the docks, numerous fish could be seen...

    Victor took a drag on his cigarette and looked up as he blew out a puff of smoke, "The air smells sweeter without the drug traffickers."

    He was in a very good mood.

    Especially with those points steadily increasing.

    The drug traffickers on Guadalupe Ind didn''tpare to those from the prison, but they still provided him with 6.4 million points.

    Casare stuck his head out over the sea and the smell of blood attracted Jaws below. Suddenly a huge bloodied mouth burst from the sea, giving him a fright, and Jaws swept up a body and dove back under the water.

    "From now on!"

    "No drug traffickers are allowed on Guadalupe Ind!"

    "Gentlemen, anyone who traffics drugs is going against me, Victor!"

    The surrounding officers stood at attention: "S¨ª, ?Se?or!" (Yes, Director!)

    ¡­

    Zacatecas State.

    Tijuana VS Juarez + Sinaloa!

    The defeated are retreating. Three ntations have been burned down, along with two research institutes. The transportation routes from Baja California State to the US-Mexico border have been disrupted, causing heavy losses for Tijuana.

    Inside a private house.

    Several important members of the Felix Family were seated.

    "I think we should form an alliance with the Gulf Group, we need help," said Ramon, known for his mboyant personality and fondness for bright clothes, to his older brother Benjamin.

    "The Gulf Group doesn''te cheap," replied Benjamin.

    Ramon, annoyed yet amused, responded, "If Palma and Guzman, those bastards, break through, do you think we will still be alive? We shouldn''t worry about the price being high, we should be grateful that we still have a chance."

    Benjamin nodded, "Agree to the demands of the Gulf Group." He paused before adding, "They want Guadalupe Ind?"

    Ramon nodded, "They want that ce as a transfer point for goods across the Pacific Ocean. Now there''s some clueless director on the ind, but he''s got good firepower. I heard the traffickers there can''t hold out much longer. We''re just about to negotiate with the Gulf Group. If they want it, we''ll give it to them.

    It just so happens that our men on the ind cane down to help us resist Sinaloa."

    "They have strong firepower?" asked Benjamin, raising an eyebrow.

    Ramon was about to speak when the cell phone on the table rang. Benjamin gestured for him to answer the call. Ramon apologized with a smile, still showing respect for his older brother.

    "What?"

    "They''re all dead?!"

    Ramon couldn''t help but exim aloud.

    All the Felix Family members present turned to look at him, seeing the notorious head of the Tijuana Cartel with an ugly expression.

    It was even fair to say he was in disbelief!

    ¡­

 Chapter 72 We Are the Best Partners!

    The waters between Ensenada City and Guadalupe Ind were rich in fisheries, and many fishermen liked to work there.

    An old fishing boat with a grating engine noise was fishing nearby, and the young Koulibaly followed behind his father, helping to forcefully pull in thes as slogans filled with Mexican ng were shouted, and thes were dragged up by the machinery.

    Koulibaly hadn''t even caught his breath when he heard his father''s curses. He looked up and his pupils dted in shock.

    A half-bodyy among the fish, the upper half gone, the wounds looking as if it had been bitten off by some ferocious prey.

    Finding a dead body in the sea was disconcerting and considered bad luck, but being seasoned at sea, they simply tossed it aside and nned to bury it onnd once ashore.

    Finding corpses in Mexico was all toomon. If you saw a stic bag lying on the street in a bustling area, you''d best not look inside out of curiosity, for you might find it full of... human tissues.

    In September 2019, in a well outside the city of Guadjara in Jalisco, people smelled a strong putrid stench. The police found a pile of shredded flesh and tissue inside, which they pieced together to roughly 119 bodies.

    Why roughly?

    Because there were always bodies that couldn''t be fully assembled!

    Drug traffickers who killed each other liked to chop bodies into pieces, as if that could somehow intimidate their enemies.

    The crew thought it was a fluke, but when body parts turned up in three consecutive hauls, the captain finally sensed something was amiss and returned to port overnight.

    Back in port, Koulibaly saw many fishing boats and learned from them that they too had found bodies.

    The news quickly alerted the Ensenada City police, who sent people over. Together, these fishing boats had pulled up a total of 167 bodies.

    And the number kept rising.

    Familiar tattoos found on these bodies tentatively identified them as local drug traffickers who had drifted over from the opposite side of Guadalupe Ind.

    The incident quickly alerted the local government, and they spected that something major had happened on Guadalupe Ind!

    By the time the news reached the ears of Ramon of the Tijuana Cartel, it had already spread rapidly.

    With the media''s involvement, the news burst forth from Baja California State and began to boil over into the whole of Mexico.

    ...

    Meanwhile, Victor was "constructing" infrastructure on Guadalupe Ind.

    When a drug trafficker "identally" fell into the sea, their "inheritance" without heirs was all confiscated.

    On Guadalupe Ind, Uncle Victor was the state!

    What?

    You say you''re the son of some drug trafficker?

    Then surely you''re a drug trafficker too. You want to im inheritance? Take your shot first. If you survive, I''ll recognize you as the rightful heir.

    The eradication of drug traffickers resulted in funds over 16 million US dors, as well as 100 kilograms of gold and countless pieces of jewelry.

    What a windfall!

    What does this teach us?

    Keep your business clean because the moment you get taken down by someone, your money bes theirs.

    The first thing Victor did with the money was to give a bonus to his officers.

    "Gentlemen, this is money from the Director, not from the Mexican Government!" Casare shouted in the middle of the police station lobby, waving the cash around.

    Casareughed as he handed out the money, "Two thousand US dors each, sign when you receive it. Following Victor, you don''t have to worry about revenge from the drug traffickers, nor about your family going hungry, or even about whether you''ll get your paycheck tomorrow. All you have to do is listen to Uncle Victor, maintain the ind''s public order, and do your job well."

    The officers'' eyes shone with excitement as they raised their fists and shouted, "Long live the Director!"

    Mexicans are very pragmatic.

    Or you might say, whoever provides is the mother.

    Second floor.

    Victor leaned on the railing, smoking his cigarette quietly, watching the scene below.

    "Padrino!" Santos stood beside him. He hadn''t been baptized by Victor but was already calling him Godfather familiarly.

    "Is this alright?"

    "Why?" Victor turned his head and asked him.

    Santos crinkled his little face, "The books all say that heroes are always frugal, hardworking, and fearless, and my father says money corrupts people''s beliefs."

    Victor touched his head, "If those who uphold justice cannot even secure their own survival, they will abandon their morals. No one requires the Mexican Police to earn low wages; they deserve more for oveing traffickers for peace. You have to understand something, Santos, sometimes to a certain extent, morality and money are linked."

    Santos was indeed a smart kid.

    Victor was happy to have him around and teach him some things.

    Victor alone couldn''t possibly resolve all of Mexico''s historical problems. Firearms could only take out traffickers and violence, not solve the problems of people''s livelihood. Ultimately, one of the reasons for the rampant drug trafficking in Mexico was the vast wealth disparity.

    "Padrino, Guadalupe Ind should be under your charge," Santos suddenly looked up, "The former mayor only hid in the city hall, teachers have been unpaid for a long time, schools couldn''t continue. If you hade earlier, many people would have books to read."

    Victor patted his face, avoiding "blunt" words with the child.

    After handing out the money, Casare went upstairs, and Santos, being quite perceptive, went off to read, even waving at the former.

    "He''s a quite adorable kid, boss. Are you really nning to be his godfather?"

    "Why not? I quite like him," Victor said with a smile, turned around to lean on the railing, pulled out a cigarette, and offered it to the other person, who also hid his smoke and lowered his voice, "Boss, what about those drugs?"

    During the search of the drug traffickers''ir, they had seized close to 1.2 tons of drugs, which, if valued, would be worth around 85 to 120 million US dors in the United States!

    "I saw the Tijuana mark and the Gulf Group''s on it upstairs; it must be the ind traffickers secretly transporting for them," Casare said.

    California actually belonged to Mexico, but in 1847, the U.S. military captured Mexico City, forcing Mexico to sign the Guadalupe-Hidalgo Treaty.

    As stipted by the treaty, Mexico was forced to cede arge area of its northern territory to the United States.

    And Guadalupe Ind was lying in the middle between Upper and Lower California, forming a buffer zone. Because of its strategic location, the ind might have already had a military presence if it weren''t for the scarcity of resources.

    "Dump it into the sea!" Victor''s deration was resolute. He nced at Casare, whose expression seemed... regretful?

    That was, after all, 85 to 120 million US dors, enough for financial freedom on the spot.

    Victor squinted his eyes, "If anyone messes with the drug business, they shouldn''t me me when I show no mercy and personally hang them from amppost!"

    Casare could hear the determination in Victor''s tone and shivered involuntarily, nodding vigorously.

    Once you touch drugs, your life is over.

    Don''t think it''s an overreaction.

    There are countless examples.

    David Thompson: As Jordan''s idol, "Skywalker" Thompson was one of the few stars in the ''70s who could dunk as easily as eating, but he became addicted to drugs. After being traded from the Nuggets to the Supersonics in the 82-83 season, Thompson''s career was destroyed, his stats plummeted, and he was reduced to a second-rate yer.

    Even one of the greatest ck women of the 20th century, Whitney Houston, died because of it!

    And then there are Elvis Presley, John Belushi, Janis Joplin, and many others.

    In fact, Victor firmly believed that in the face of drugs, everyone is equal, and death is what awaits!

    Victor looked at Casare, after all, he was his trusted general, and softened his tone slightly, "Later on, take 2 million US dors for yourself, let Best take your family to the United States. That money is more than enough to buy a big vi to live in."

    When you have money, don''t hide it; share it with everyone.

    As long as you have firepower, are you afraid of running out of money?

    After all, isn''t the reason people follow you to get promoted and make a fortune?

    This is how the upper echelons take the lion''s share while the rank and file get a piece; everyone''s happy.

    Casare''s eyes lit up instantly, his facial flesh trembling, "Boss, isn''t this... inappropriate?"

    "We are the best partners, how could I disappoint you?"

    Casare nodded vigorously.

    Yes!

    We are the best partners!

    ...

 Chapter 73 Boss, youre right!

    "From now on, Guadalupe Ind will be our turf!" Victor exhaled a puff of smoke, moving from a jail guard to a police station director wasn''t easy.

    But in his n, this ce was merely a stepping-stone. First, he needed to secure his base, then he would counter-attack the ind cities of Mexico. The entire Latin America continent would need a greeting from the "drug control" iron fist!

    Drugs are the most "disgusting" thing in the world!

    They must be eradicated!

    "Should we get some more defensive weapons? I heard the drug traffickers even have submarines. Should we set up some cannons at the dock?" Casare quietly suggested.

    Having tasted the benefits of firepower, he couldn''t forget it even now.

    "It would be best if we could set up an anti-air defense too. All the big cartels have air routes, if anyone flies over, we shoot them down directly!"

    Casare became more and more excited as he spoke.

    Men...

    When they''re together, they talk about three things, women, politics, military.

    Do they talk about how much chicken costs at the market entrance?

    They probably know the red light district very well.

    "Should we blow up the mountain, then stuff some missiles in there?" Victor couldn''t help butugh as he said it.

    Casare was taken aback, he looked up, pausing for two to three seconds before asking, "Boss... can you get missiles?"

    !!!

    "Do you think I''m a warlord?"

    Casare stayed silent, just looking at his own boss. Victor felt a bit of a tingle on his scalp under his gaze, pointing at him and saying, "Don''t nder me, we''re heavily armed police!"

    "The drug trafficker firepower is so fierce, the caliber isn''t big, it really makes me feel insecure."

    Casare didn''t say a word, just nodded vigorously.

    Everything you say is right, boss.

    As Victor cursed twice and walked back to the office, he said at the doorway, "Military control is canceled, and from now on, December 27th will be set as ''Guadalupe Ind Freedom Day'' to celebrate Guadalupe Ind bing the first strictly no drug trafficker area in Mexico."

    Yes!

    No drug traffickers.

    Bring one, kill one. Even if a drug trafficker has freaking multiple lives, it wouldn''t be enough for Uncle Victor to kill.

    "I think we need a spokesperson for the police force," Casare suggested.

    The thought of a TV presenter with a big mouth from his days as a jail guard in Mexico City popped into Victor''s head. He shared his choice, and Casare looked at him with a strange expression, "Boss, Mexican TV stations have their own staff."

    "Then we''ll increase her sry. I believe she will make a choice," he said.

    Casare always felt that Victor''s intentions weren''t very pure.

    ...

    The police station had lifted the military control!

    This should be the best news.

    It meant that the many people who lived by setting up stalls coulde out and work.

    Finally, there was a bit of liveliness at night.

    But not everyone liked this way of life.

    On the steps of the park sat many people, sighing and groaning, while gulping down cheap beer.

    "Gilipos (Asshole!), Victor... I..." a bare-chested middle-aged man smashed his bottle on the ground, a bit too much alcohol in his system. Hispanion hurriedly pulled him back, "Do you have a death wish? Is this someone you can curse?"

    The middle-aged man shuddered and sat down quietly, continuing his heavy sighs and groans.

    They were all "contract workers" for the drug trafficking groups, also colloquially known as downstream dealers, transporters,borers, and so on.

    Why can''t the Mexican drug traffickers bepletely eradicated?

    Because many people rely on them for their livelihood.

    Take Guadalupe Ind for example; there are no industrial factories, and since it''s an active volcanic ind, many economic crops aren''t suitable for cultivation. Many people depend on drug traffickers to make a living.

    This is also why the drug war started by Calderon in 2006 ultimately ended with a "government surrender." The government couldn''t solve the people''s livelihood problems. After capturing Guzman, there would still be Armando, El Mencho, and others.

    The line between a farmer losing their livelihood and bing a rioter is paper-thin.

    Many inebriated locals started causing trouble, but the situation remained under control.

    The next day when Victor went to work, his senior assistant Casare handed him an incident report, "Boss, we received 22 callsst night, 14 of which were brawls. I think we should find something for the locals to do."

    "Do you have any good ideas?"

    Casare closed the door and turned around, "We could set up a factory like at teau Prison, let Best go to California in the United States to find some orders. With so many people on Guadalupe Ind, we can definitely be Mexico''srgest sub-contracting factory."

    Damn...

    Who says there are no smart people in Mexico?

    Guadalupe Ind currently has just over 70,000 people. Where else in the world does a factory employ that many people?

    "And we can control the local resources, letting the inders earn as much as they spend. The money will just end up back in our pockets, right?"

    Due to its unique geographical location, most of Guadalupe Ind''s suppliese from external purchases. There are twopanies on the ind simr to grain and oil stores. When the timees, we can directly take them over!

    If they disagree...

    Cough cough... Victor would definitely not resort to any tactics.

    He is a good guy after all.

    Victor carefully pondered Casare''s idea and felt it had high feasibility. If they didn''t address the employment issues, these people with nothing to do would soon form new crime groups.

    This would create a vicious cycle.

    "Furthermore, for the handwork, we don''t have to gather them together. They can take the work home. If we need an assembly line, we can requisition the city hall. It''s huge and barely used; might as well turn it into a factory."

    "So you''ve thought this through?" Victor looked at Casare with a peculiar expression, "That''s not like you."

    "I''m thinking about making progress, aren''t I? I always have to learn when following you, Boss. If we maintain Guadalupe Ind well, the Mexican Government... cough, even if the drug traffickers want to act against us, we can organize a militia in a short span."

    He almost let his true thoughts slip.

    Being an emperor in this ce couldn''t feel more thrilling!

    If only the boss had a warship or cargo ship, then we could nk Ensenada City and threaten the Tijuana Cartel, directly rooting out the cancer. Continue your adventure with m|v-l''e -NovelBin

    By then...

    With Victor Boss''s reputation, he could definitely run for office.

    By that time, what surname would Mexico bear?

    Ding~~ Ring~

    The phone on the desk rang abruptly, interrupting their enthusiastic conversation. Victor picked up the phone and his expression immediately turned solemn, "Okay, I understand." He hung up after saying this.

    "Go to the dock; Gulf Group has sent someone to redeem the shipment."

    Casare was also startled by this news.

    "Boss, are we going to let them take it back? Wouldn''t that continue to harm others?"

    Victor smiled broadly, "They have to bring money to redeem their goods, right? Let''s ''invite'' them in. Once they set foot on Guadalupe Ind, we can arrest them. Then their money bes our spoils of war, doesn''t it?"

    Sinister!

    Truly sinister!

    Casare gave a thumbs-up, "Boss, you''re absolutely right!"

    ...

 Chapter 74 You Threaten Me On My Turf?! (Seeking Subscriptions)

    Guadalupe Ind dock.

    A pure white small yacht was moored.

    udia Abrego stood on the deck, beautiful, or rather sexy. Just hearing her name, one would know she was a member of the founding family of the Gulf Group, the Abrego family.

    She held a cigarette in her mouth, her eyes fixated firmly on the fully armed officers on the dock.

    Dressed in desert camo, Salomon (France)bat boots, and a mask that left only a pair of eyes exposed, which were deep and oppressive.

    If it weren''t for the clear "Polic¨ªa" (Police) written on the armband, udia Abrego might have thought some country''s Special Forces had arrived.

    She waited patiently, and about ten minutester, she saw a Hummer drive into the dock. A fat man hopped down and walked briskly towards her, his gaze lingering on her chest for a moment.

    udia noticed.

    But her expression was calm, knowing that in Mexico, women wanting to survive in the male-dominated crime industry often had to trade on their sexuality.

    All men werescivious.

    There''s a saying in Mexico: if you want to rise, be a mistress first!

    To build connections, udia had frequented the parties thrown by various drug traffickers, known for being "liberal."

    Casare stood on the dock, without introducing himself, "Come on up, I''ll take you to meet boss Victor."

    udia nodded and with the help of her bodyguard, she stepped onto drynd. She wasn''t sure if it was an illusion, but as she set her foot on the ground, the fat man seemed to show a smile, and his mouth moved slightly.

    "Sir, what did you say?" udia asked.

    "Nothing, Guadalupe Ind wees you," Casare said with a cheerful smile, even personally opening the car door for her.

    In fact, what he had just muttered was... "The money is in the ount!"

    The Hummer drove through the residential areas with udia, encountering children in split pants who, instead of being afraid when they saw the vehicle, teased each other and chased it.

    udia was thoughtful. She had heard about the situation on Guadalupe Ind. Apparently, the local Director from a Mexican rural vige was ruthless, eliminating all the drug traffickers on the ind!

    At first, she thought it was an exaggeration, but in Ensenada City, she had seen the corpses.

    Half eaten by sharks.

    The Gulf Group''s higher-ups thought this was a formidable opponent, so they sent udia to retrieve the shipment at all costs.

    After all, to men, a beautiful woman''s body was also a target for conquest.

    The addicts opposite were already howling for their fix.

    The Hummer drove straight to the police station.

    Patrol cars were everywhere on the road.

    In the police station, udia even saw armored vehicles and cannons, some of which were covered by awnings. Was this the military or the police?

    udia''s anxiety spiked. If the Mexican Police were all this well-equipped, what was the point in resisting? Better to just surrender.

    Uneptable. When she got back, she would definitely suggest to the bosses that they upgrade the Gulf Group''s equipment,plete with helicopters.

    Casare led udia upstairs, knocking on the door. After hearing e in'' from inside the office, he pushed the door open.

    udia turned her head and saw a man sitting behind the desk, with dark, short hair, deep-set eyes, a cigarette cocked at an angle in his mouth. His face wasn''t particrly handsome, but the lines were sharp and strong.

    "Ady?"

    Victor smiled, pointing to the cigarettes on the desk, "Wee, smoke?"

    udia walked boldly over, picked up a cigarette and put it in her mouth, then used her fingers to remove the cigarette from Victor''s mouth to light her own. She took a drag, "Great taste."

    "You''ve got guts,dy."

    "Abrego women are not cowards," udia paused, then untied the scarf binding her hair, "And my chest is quite big, too. Want to feel it? As long as you agree to return our shipment."

    Casare pricked up his ears. Was she being so direct?

    But thinking about it, Mexican female drug traffickers were like that. Pure? If you''re pure, then what are you doing dealing drugs?

    For instance, "Pacific Queen" Sandra originally wanted to be a journalist. "Godfather" Gardo was her distant uncle. With her family''s influence, she had interviewed many drug lords, but once, a rejected suitor kidnapped her.

    She was released several monthster.

    One could imagine what happens when a woman gets kidnapped for months.

    After her release, she had made up her mind to be the drug queen.

    And udia in front of him was no angel either.

    Victor "saw" her message.

    At the age of 11, she was betrothed by her father to an heir of a drug trafficking group, seven years her senior, but at 13, she personally killed this "husband" who had been abusing her. At fifteen, she married again, this time to a Judicial Police Commander from Nuevo Leon, but after three years of marriage, upon discovering his infidelity, she personally ughtered him.

    Since then, she understood that if a woman wanted to avoid being a mere essory, she had to be strong. She joined the Gulf Group led by her cousin Garcia Abrego and eliminated plenty of opponents with her beauty.

    People gave her the nickname: "Red Spider (Ara?a roja)."

    When Victor heard udia''s "terms," he smirked, "Your p***y isn''t worth 80 million US dors, let''s talk about something more realistic."

    What kind of pussy is that expensive?

    udia heard the mockery in his tone but managed to suppress the anger welling up within her due to her "quality" upbringing, signaling to her bodyguard who handed over a briefcase to him.

    "Inside are four bearer checks, each worth two million US dors."

    "You want to redeem goods worth 80 million US dors with 8 million?"

    udia looked at him, "This is the Gulf Cartel''s goodwill, and we have also secured the use rights to Guadalupe Ind from Tijuana. If you agree, we can hand over the ind to you for management."

    This made Victorugh out loud.

    "Tijuana? What is that? Does Guadalupe Ind belong to them? What right does a drug trafficking organization have to allocate territory to you?"

    "Are you joking with me?"

    "Madam, this is a police station, not a mental hospital."

    udia frowned, her tone carrying a warning, "Officer Victor, think it through, thebination of Tijuana and the Gulf Group is not something those small-time drug dealers canpare with. We also have deep connections in Mexico City."

    "Are you threatening me?" Victor suddenly asked.

    udia spread her hands, "I am from the Abrego family. I am merely stating a fact. If that''s how you want to see it, perhaps it can be considered so."

    Victor nodded his head.

    "If you n to continue in the Mexican political arena, we can help you too, what we like most is to support those who have potential¡­"

    udia wanted to continue, but then she heard a loud, "You motherf**ker threaten me on my own turf!"

    Victor reached under the table and grabbed a Mossberg M9200A1 shotgun, cocking it with his left hand and, under udia''s horrified gaze, pulled the trigger.

    Boom!

    It directly "sprayed" her away, the scene changing so quickly that not even the bodyguards, let alone Casare, had time to react.

    As the bodyguards came to their senses, reaching instinctively under their clothes for their guns, Victor gave them a spray too.

    Their heads were instantly blown open!

    Unsatisfied, Victor, holding the gun stylishly in one hand, gave it a hard shake and fired another shot at udia''s face on the ground.

    Her delicate features were gone in an instant.

    Only after emptying all the bullets in the shotgun did Victor take a deep breath.

    And at the door, police officers had already rushed in with guns drawn.

    Seeing the bodies on the ground and the Director with a cigarette in his mouth, they exchanged puzzled looks.

    "It''s nothing, a misfire," Victor waved his hand, "Drag the bodies out."

    The officers went ahead and "collected" the gruesomely battered bodies.

    "What a waste," muttered Casare.

    "What did you say?" asked Victor.

    Casare shook his head, "Boss, these two were from the Gulf Group¡­"

    "You''re still a key member of the Victor Group, what are you afraid of?"

    "I want to make it clear that sooner orter, the violent organizations in Mexico won''t be the drug trafficking groups, but me, Victor!"

    "Victor Carlos Vieri!"

    ¡­

 Chapter 75 Our Path is Full of Hope!

    "Victor Carlos Vieri!!!"

    Within a luxurious manor in Victoria City, the capital of Tamaulipas, a low, rage-filled curse could be heard.

    The short and stocky Juan Garcia Abrego, with a dark expression on his face, shook faintly from a scar on his face left from a shootout.

    The man who had once turned Gulf Group from a smuggling ring into a transnational drug trafficking organization hadn''t been this angry for a long time.

    It wasn''t udia Abrego''s death that pained him¡ªshe was just a cousin; if she was dead, she was dead. What pained him was the batch of goods that were meant for San Francisco. The local saleswork had already started to distribute, junkies had been lined up, and the CIA had been taken care of.

    The goods hadn''t even been loaded onto the vehicle yet.

    They were worth 100 million US dors.

    Although it wouldn''t cripple him, this loss was enough to cause him heartache.

    Revenge was necessary!

    If every cop was as insolent as Victor, wouldn''t he have to worry about the safety of his shipments in the future?

    Back in 1988, during the joint US-Mexico drug eradication efforts, Abrego had a shipment from the Port of Guadjara bound for Seattle in the United States that was messed up by two minor policemen, resulting in a loss of two tons of goods, and he had topensate a good deal of money in the US as well.

    A weekter, those two policemen and 17 members of their families were found stuffed into a trash bin.

    One can only imagine to what extent the bodies had to be manipted to fit all 17 into one bin?

    The incident left the Mexican Government extremely embarrassed, but what could they do?

    Even the news media didn''t dare to report it.

    The goods could be forsaken, but face absolutely could not be lost.

    "Cough cough cough... Garcia, don''t let anger cloud your judgment," a hunched figure entered in a wheelchair, pushed by someone. Abrego quickly stood up, signaling medical personnel to let go, and personally pushed the wheelchair, bowing his head, "Uncle, why are you here?"

    This was his real uncle, Juan Nepomuceno, also the founder of the Gulf Group, who had secured a "Protection Umbre" by sparing no expense, and from time to time, made charitable donations, ensuring he never spent a day in jail in his life.

    This boss, who had fought his way through the Prohibition era in the United States, possessed unique personal charm and life experience, and he had groomed his own nephew, Abrego, who led Gulf Group to be aprehensive drug trafficking organization.

    In Abrego''s eyes, Juan Nepomuceno was the only person he respected.

    "The disinfectant in the hospital smells too strong. I don''t like it. If I have to die, I''d rather die at home," Nepomuceno said with a smile, then coughed violently as he ran out of breath.

    Abrego hurriedly patted his back.

    "Garcia, I''ve spent my whole life learning to be careful. Women and children can afford to be careless, but men cannot," said Nepomuceno.

    "Take a deep breath before doing anything. Anger will only make you blind to your surroundings."

    Abrego nodded, about to share the incident with his uncle, but Nepomuceno waved his hand, "I''m old, you don''t need to tell me. You decide for yourself."

    "The only thing I have to do is wait for death," Nepomuceno said with self-mockingughter, patted his nephew''s hand, then signaled the caregivers to push him to rest.

    Watching his uncle''s retreating figure, Abrego''s eyes held an unwavering determination.

    "Uncle, the Gulf Cartel will never sink!"

    He took a deep breath and called over his confidant to announce a 5 million US dor bounty for Victor''s head.

    Let those "mercenaries" who recognized money but not people probe the waters first.

    Money, the drug trafficking group had plenty!

    ...

    At this time, Victor was leading his men in an inspection of Guadalupe Ind.

    He nned to build an airport!

    "Boss, does this middle-of-nowhere ce really need an airport? Taking a ferry gets us to the other side," Casare trailed behind Victor, panting and propping himself on his knees, ncing at the middle-aged man walking ahead of them.

    That was the designer the boss had invited.

    It was actually a professional that Victor had exchanged for. Such specialized work had to be left to experts. Those like them, involved in "violent" dealings, didn''t even have the education that this person had in leg hair.

    What did they know about design?

    Shooting, on the other hand, they knew a bit about.

    When customizing a character, because he didn''t know what skills a designer would need, he directly chose the "Paris National School of Advanced Techniques and Design" excellent student temte, which included over a dozen professional skills and qualities.

    That had cost him nearly 200,000 points!

    And he still had to pay a monthly sry.

    But at least it was more reliable than those found outside; they could even be tasked with building bunkers on the ind eventually.

    "You need to lose some weight. You''ve been eating too welltely; your belly is almost drooping to the ground," Victor said, looking back at him with a smile.

    Casare smirked and patted his belly, "It''s because Guadalupe Ind has been so peaceful under your rule, boss. I can even go out for takeout at night now, of course I gained weight. It''s ''safety fat''."

    "Why don''t you call it ''Victor fat''!"

    Who says Latin Americans are forthright?

    This one''s also got a smooth talker.

    Victor was very happy when he heard it.

    "Casare, you need to broaden your horizons. We''ve only eliminated the drug traffickers on Guadalupe Ind, but what about Mexico? The entire Latin America? Even many countries around the world still live amidst drug crimes. We should treat them all equally; we need weapons that can physically eliminate them from a distance..."

    Casare was stunned.

    What, boss, are you serious?

    That charitable?

    In the future, go beat the Vatican and make the Pope believe in you.

    "Boss, they''re just drug traffickers, not warlords. Do we really need airnes? I think increasing the number of guns would be better. Besides, it''s not our ce to handle drug enforcement in other countries, right?"

    Victor smiled mysteriously, knowing something others didn''t.

    The U.N.''s International Narcotics Control Board, or what the public referred toter as the "Drug Enforcement Department," was set to be established on December 12, 1990. Such an agency would surely need some "military support," wouldn''t it?

    Otherwise, on what basis would they eradicate drugs?

    Once Victor''s position was high enough, he would have the authority to represent Mexico in joining it.

    Global drug eradication is everyone''s responsibility!

    Uncle Victor absolves himself of none!

    "When dealing with savages, we have to be as ruthless as the savages, Casare. Do you know the two kinds of people most willing to ept change in this world?"

    The other party shook his head.

    "The wealthy and criminals."

    "If you tell them that longevity genes are found in feces, thetter would rack their brains to kidnap medical talents to extract substances they don''t even recognize from the feces and then sell them to the wealthy who wish to live longer."

    "You know, to make money, criminals will do just about anything. There might even be a neden with drugs taking off from Mexico and scattering them across the world. If we had nes, we could blow them out of the sky!"

    "Didn''t Best say that Juarez also formed a team of assassins? It might not be long before all the Mexican Drug Cartels will have to modernize their military force. Perhaps... they might even have fighter jets!"

    Casare listened to such a "bold" assumption with his mouth half open.

    He was aware that drug traffickers had some jet nes, which are used for crop dusting in Latin America.

    But actually, Casare was still "short-sighted". Your next journey awaits at m v|l-e''-NovelBin

    Given the current changes in the situation, it might not take half a year for the Mexican Drug Cartels to gradually transform into "warlord-like" organizations.

    Drug eradication work will be more and more difficult.

    This gloomy topic even made Casare feel "tired". Yawning, he asked, "Boss, if it''s so difficult, why do we still have to do it?"

    "There must always be someone to hold up a torch in the dark, to tell everyone that there is a path ahead, and that we should move on, so that when we die, our gravestones can bear the words: ''He tried to change the world and never gave up.''"

    Victor looked at him, "And moreover... I''m a cop!"

    Sparks from fireworks fell from the sky, Casare lifted his head, and suddenly he thought of the time at school when he took an oath to the g.

    Back then¡­

    He was young, he was honest, and he was full of hope for the future.

    Latterly¡­

    He was scared, he was cowardly, and he prayed the drug traffickers would just leave him alone.

    But now, when Victor appeared, it felt like a seed in his heart eagerly sprouting.

    How much did he wish to be a good cop?

    "But boss, we only have a little over 200 people," Casare muttered.

    "More people will join us!"

    "Let''s start with Guadalupe Ind. I n to open a civilian police academy on the ind, recruiting students aged 14 to 19, then replenishing our police force with fresh blood. I''ll choose a location right by the beach where there is an empty factory left by a drug trafficker. You go to the TV station and put out a notice, let all the inders know."

    People at that age, if you instill in them a sense of national duty, they will be Mexico''s new generation.

    Victor had no ns to change the country in a few years'' time.

    Killing is easy, just a fraction of a second with a bullet, but building a country requires a generation or even two.

    "I will serve as the principal, you will be the vice-principal, and Kennedy will be the school''s military training officer. At least they must be proficient in NATO-standard weapons and tactics when they graduate."

    Looking at Victor, who was talking with great enthusiasm.

    Casare didn''t know what to say.

    Boss, are you training "Police Auxiliary Staff" or "Mexican Soldiers" here?

    But if it really develops as the boss envisioned.

    Invading Mexico...

    No, it should be, "Vuestro emperador ha vuelto. (Your Emperor has returned)."

    ...

 Chapter 76 Guatemalan Special Forces!

    Six o''clock in the afternoon.

    It was exactly dinner time.

    Santos sat at the dining table on time, holding his bowl quietly, waiting for the broadcast of "Guadalupe Ind Current Affairs News".

    This was a newlyunched program.

    Its main purpose was to convey current affairs of Guadalupe Ind and Mr. Victor''s "important instructions".

    "Duke of the Ind" Victor.

    "The following is a message released by the police station,"

    the male presenter said, reading from his script with sses on.

    "Guadalupe Ind will conduct a major sweep against drug residues, and no one shall engage in the production, concealment, or sale of drugs. Offenders will face the death penalty! Drug users can be sent to rehab centers forpulsory detox."

    "Residents of the ind are not allowed to illegally possess firearms and ammunition. They must be turned in within three days, or else forced measures will be implemented."

    "December 27th will be designated as the ''Freedom Day of Guadalupe Ind,'' celebrating the sessful drug eradication."

    "Spokesperson for the police, Officer Casare said, ''Guadalupe Ind will open tworge processing nts, capable of employing 2,000 people. In order to improve employment chances and work benefits for inders, a ''manual piecemeal'' system will be implemented, with an hourly wage not lower than 1 Peso. Those in need may register at the police station,''"

    Cheers could be heard upstairs, downstairs, and from neighbors to the left and right.

    Everything else didn''t matter to them; this was a real "people''s welfare project," and moreover, with an hourly wage not lower than 1 Peso, that would be considered a high sry in Mexico, even if one worked 18 hours a day.

    Close to 200 US Dors a month.

    Valentina patted his shoulder, signaling him to eat. Santos nodded and was about to bite into his corn torti when he heard another announcement from the TV.

    "The police department responsible, Mr. Victor stated that a 3-year police academy will be established on Guadalupe Ind, focusing on training special talents in line with Mexico''s national conditions. It will recruit 14 to 19-year-olds. The school will not charge any fees, and a monthly allowance will also be provided.

    Outstanding performers will have the opportunity to intern at the police department."

    Santos suddenly lifted his head, still with food at the corner of his mouth, listening to the host''s announcement, his eyes shining with excitement.

    "Mom, I want to participate in this!"

    Valentina frowned at the TV, as no Mexican parent would want their child to be a police officer.

    In Mexico, being a bandit had more future prospects than that.

    Perhaps sensing Valentina''s hesitation, Santos jumped down from the chair and hugged her, "I want to be a brave man like dad."

    Valentina touched his head, "But it will be very hard."

    "What''s there to fear about hardship? I am a man; what should really be feared is stagnation, not charging forward."

    Santos was actually already 14, but he looked underdevelopedpared to his peers, at least a head shorter, yet the words he spoke were so powerful.

    "Mom, Mr. Victor said!"

    "??El ¨¦xito no tiene que estar en m¨ª! ??El ¨¦xito debe estar en m¨ª!!" ("Sess doesn''t have toe from me; sess must involve me!")

    A certain light burst from Santos''s eyes.

    "My name is destined to be written in the history of Mexico."

    Valentina was also moved by Santos''s words. A child having such thoughts, what parents hope most is for their child to grow up. She covered her mouth, remembering the hardships of raising a child alone over the years, and couldn''t help but hug Santos and start crying.

    "Mom, don''t worry, I will protect you, I will also protect Mr. Victor, and I will protect the whole of Mexico!"

    Suddenly, he felt the ss trembling, and the sound of an engine''s vibration filled his ears. Santos thought the noise sounded familiar.

    "Helicopter! It''s a helicopter!" he ran excitedly to the window, stuck out his head, and looked around. Indeed, he saw a helicopter flying at low altitude.

    Excitedly waving his hand.

    But then he felt something was off... why did the helicopter look somewhat unfamiliar?

    Buzz, buzz, buzz¡ª

    The sound of the engine arose at the beachside.

    Then, a red transport vehicle came into view, covered with a rain tarp that concealed two objects, but judging from the shape protruding from underneath, they seemed to be gun barrels.

    All the misceneous people at the dock were driven away.

    The transport truck parked steadily, followed by the crane truck, which approached afterward. Several policemen jumped onto the transport to pull off the tarp, revealing the big guns inside.

    Let us introduce the new member: AK-630M-type 30mm 6-barrel naval gun!

    Caliber: 30 mm, Total weight: 1918 kg, Overall length: 1629 mm, Maximum range: 8100 m, Muzzle velocity: 900 m/s.

    Originally, the n was to install a shore-based gun, but the dock could only amodate ships not exceeding 1000 tons, so there was no fear ofrge ships docking. The biggest concern would likely be small yachts or hovercraft, and the naval gun was just suitable for that purpose.

    Who said naval guns have to be mounted on ships? I''ll nt it onnd!

    The ground policemen, hearing the sound of the propellers, looked up puzzled and saw the helicopter. The detail-oriented sergeant thought, "No, that''s not one of our craft!"

    "Quick, call headquarters!"

    The apanying policeman hurriedly pulled themunication system clipped to his clothes and shouted into it, "An unknown helicopter has intruded upon Guadalupe Ind! I repeat, an unknown helicopter has intruded upon Guadalupe Ind!"

    "Received," came the calm response from the other end.

    Inside the police station, a shrill air raid siren went off instantly.

    The quick-response EDM officers swiftly donned their equipment, while other team members took their nned positions.

    The members of the fire support group ran to the garage and drove out a modified troop transport vehicle.

    Welded on top was a Swiss-made "Oerlikon" GDF-005 anti-aircraft gun!

    It''s absolutely perfect for hitting low-flying aircraft.

    Meanwhile, Victor climbed up to the high tform of the police station with Casare and a few officers protecting him, taking a pair of binocrs to observe the helicopter.

    A Bell 212 helicopter!

    Victor noticed, written on the side of the helicopter in an astonishingly bold manner, "Kaibil"!

    "Guatemn Special Forces?!" Victor frowned.

    This force was all too familiar, having been established by the Guatemn military government on December 5, 1974, with the founding of the Commando School (Escu de Comandos).

    Three monthster, on March 5, 1975, it was renamed the Kaibil Training and Special Operations Center.

    Although part of the Guatemn military, this unit was notorious for its unruliness, but most importantly, for its civilian massacres, with the most infamous being in December 1982 at Las Dos Erres.

    There were even atrocious acts of sexual violence and murder.

    The news had even reached Mexico at the time.

    But damn it, Guatem is over 900 kilometers away. Are you telling me your helicopter flew all this way?

    You don''t use fuel? Are you powered by feathers or something?

    "Boss, they''re here!" Casare eximed beside him.

    "Shoot them down!"

    Victor decisively gave the order.

    Guatemn or spicy next door, you just barge in without saying hello?

    Uncle Victor won''t tolerate that!

    ...

    Alvaro Colom clung tightly to the handle, his gaze falling upon the crowd below, waving at the helicopter, revealing a maniacal smile on his gaunt face.

    Find your next read on m_v l|e-NovelBin

    "Kill them!" he ordered the gunman.

    As themander of the Guatemn Special Forces "Kaibil," Alvaro was known for his brutality, cold-bloodedness, and ruthlessness. He had alsomitted numerous crimes domestically.

    He had been participating in a military exhibition in Lower California with his troops and the Mexican Military, but the news of a 5 million US Dor bounty for a police officer''s head excited the bold Alvaro. He took his team and headed straight for Guadalupe Ind during a break in the exercises.

    This was utterly unheard of elsewhere...

    While calling itmonce in the fantastical Latin American region would be a stretch, such things had urred.

    Back in 1968, a Honduran farmer''s sheep strayed into Salvadoran territory, leading to a conflict with the locals, and a fight ensued.

    Then Honduran patrol soldiers invaded the opposing territory and killed seven people, including a local chieftain. It''s said that this incident was rted to the war that broke out between the two countries the following year.

    Hearing Alvaro''smand, the gunman fired his GAU-16 .50 caliber heavy machine gun at the crowd below, mowing down at least a dozen people who had no chance to escape. The survivors screamed while the wounded cried out for help.

    Alvaroughed aloud, relishing the thrill. He''d done this before domestically, capturing those who opposed the Government Forces and tying them to rocks before leaving them to the tides, taking pleasure in their screams.

    But suddenly, he saw the pilot''s body jolt as if frightened, yanking the control stick to rise as if trying to avoid something.

    The next second...

    The rm inside the helicopter began to re, piercingly loud.

    It even made Alvaro shiver inside.

    "What''s happening!" he yelled, gripping the handle tightly.

    "Tu madre! (Damn it), we''ve been hit," the pilot roared as the helicopter spun and fell straight from the sky, its nose grinding against the ground, sparking mes and dragging a long ck streak before finally crashing into a wall anding to a stop.

    Thick smoke billowed from the aircraft.

    The EDM squad inside the police station, already prepared, drove towards the target at full speed.

    Alvaro survived, he and a few teammates struggled out of the helicopter. As soon as he climbed out, he was met with a gun to his head.

    He brazenly raised his hands, even wearing a carefree smile on his face, "I surrender!"

    "I am Lieutenant Alvaro Colom from the Guatemn Special Forces, I demand you treat prisoners humanely!"

    Victor, arriving with the second group, jumped off the vehicle andughed upon hearing this.

    "What falls from the sky are criminals, not prisoners!"

    Victor stood over him, looking down from his superior position, squinting his eyes, gesturing to Kennedy to approach. When he came close, Victor pulled out Kennedy''s dagger, grabbed one of Alvaro''s teammates, and plunged the de into the side of his neck!

    The man struggled vigorously, looking at his captain with pleading eyes, hoping to be saved.

    "No rush, after I''ve had my fun with him, I''ll send him to join you!" Victor whispered into his ear.

    ...

 Chapter 77 I am not God, not now.

    Alvaro looked at the team member''s expression of agony and hurriedly averted his eyes with some panic.

    "Your name, military number, and purpose ofing here!" Victor demanded, staring at him.

    But he was quite tough, refusing to speak.

    Victor didn''t indulge him, having someone tie one of his legs with a rope and then binding the other end to the Humvee. Alvaro panicked immediately, "Stop it, I am a soldier from another country, you have no right to punish me..."

    No right?

    Let your bosse and talk to me.

    Boom~

    The driving officer hit the gas, dragging him off.

    He let him experience what''s known as: extreme human-powered vehicle.

    The friction on his back soon made Alvaro scream in pain, struggling to tear off the rope on his foot, but the stony roads of Guadalupe Ind were ruthless, and as the car dragged him over a sharp stone, his clothes tore in an instant, cutting deeply into the flesh.

    Blood instantly stained the whole garment, dragging a trail of marks on the road.

    Victor leaned against the Humvee, smoking a cigarette, watching the returning vehicle, "Another round!"

    The cigarette wasn''t even finished, what''s the rush.

    The officer nodded, dragging the half-dead Alvaro for another round. His back was in a bloody mess, one leg bent at a 90¡ã angle, broken.

    By the time they returned again, Alvaro was swollen all over, covered in blood, and barely breathing.

    Victor walked over, not minding the filth, and stepped directly on the man''s face, plunging the dagger in his hand into the other''s thigh, causing Alvaro to scream in pain.

    See, even the toughest guys can feel pain.

    Death isn''t scary, pain is!

    "Perk up, don''t fall asleep now, can you answer my question now?"

    Victor, so understanding, even his way of waking people up was filled with the "Victor-style" romantic touch.

    "The Gulf Group''s Abrego... Rego," Alvaro finally confessed, his face contorted in pain, barely able to catch his breath, "He put a bounty of 5 million US dors on your head."

    So that''s how it is.

    5 million US dors!

    No wonder even the Guatemns were tempted, taking the time off from their official duties to earn some extra cash.

    Victor''s expression became serious, his tongue licked the inside of his lip, his eyes squinting, his demeanor calm, "My name is Victor, when you meet Satan, send him my regards, and wish him a good morning, good afternoon, and good night!"

    Alvaro''s eyes narrowed as he saw the man reflected in his pupils pulling out a gun and emptying his bullets into his head.

    "Take care of them, gentlemen, Guadalupe Ind does not wee those filled with malice!"

    Kennedy, holding a submachine gun, sprayed bullets at the Guatemn soldiers who were kneeling on the ground, holding their heads!

    "That bastard from Matan put a 5 million bounty on my head, not enough, he''s too stingy. 10 million! No! 20 million US dors, whoever kills him gets the money," Victor dered, waving his hand.

    "Besides him, everyone from the Abrego family has a price on their head, this is the bounty set by the Guadalupe Ind Police Station!"

    "Make it public!"

    Money, you think I don''t have any?

    No problem, drug lords have plenty!

    ...

    Victor went to see the injured as well; seven people were dead. Their families clutching the corpses and wailing loudly, which seriously annoyed Victor, who had already considered Guadalupe Ind his own territory.

    Retaliation!

    He wanted retaliation!

    When he returned to the police station office, he saw Casare answering the phone with a helpless expression. When Casare saw hime in, he hurriedly covered the mouthpiece and mouthed at him.

    "Alejandro!"

    That was his "old boss", a "life-and-death friend".

    He took a deep breath, took the phone from Casare, and tried to soften his tone, "Mr. Alejandro, good afternoon."

    There was silence on the other end, followed by anger and gnashing teeth, "Victor! Just how much trouble have you stirred up!"

    "? I''ve always been obedient, getting along very well with the people."

    Drug trafficker: ...

    Alejandro: "Your reputation has spread across Mexico, everyone is praising you as a beacon of the police force, some even hang your photo in the slums, now you tell me, did you kill all the drug traffickers on Guadalupe Ind?"

    "Don''t lie to me, over 400 bodies washed up on the beaches of Ensenada City!"

    Victor continued to fib with eyes wide open, "They must have identally fallen into the water."

    Alejandro was so angry he had tough at thatment, "I hope you can keep your cool when facing the inquiry."

    "Inquiry?" Victor frowned with distaste, "Which mess... superior ising over?"

    "I''m in charge!"

    The atmosphere on the phone suddenly turned icy.

    "Thanks to you, my new position has been confirmed, as the head of the Baja California State Security Department."

    Viktor''s eyes lit up at this news.

    The first thought that crossed his mind was, if his old boss died in any city in Baja California, could he use the pretense of avenging him and maintaining order to sweep the local drug traffickers off their feet?

    But he couldn''t ask that directly, could he?

    Wouldn''t that be embarrassing?

    "I think you need a bodyguard, sir! I have 300 men who can follow your orders at any time."

    Alejandro started coughing violently when he heard this number.

    "Since when did you have so many people?"

    "On the road towards the light, there will always be like-minded people supporting each other, as long as the drug traffickers don''t die, we''re always fighting."

    Could Mexico really have that many enlightened people?

    Alejandro remained skeptical; he pondered for a moment, then softened his tone, "Victor, there are too many drug traffickers in Mexico, and you''re a threat to them now. They will find a way to eliminate you, you''re not God, you can''t predict your own danger."

    "We should learn to step back appropriately, that''s also for the sake of moving forward better."

    Victor''s eyebrows twitched, "Sir, I''m not God, not now. But I can pull the trigger, kill all the drug traffickers, and then there will be no danger."

    "Jesus''s hands are only good for blowing whistles, not suited for firing guns."

    Even knowing him to be reckless, Alejandro was still shocked by his audacity; to speak ill of drug traffickers in Mexico was to court death.

    "You''d better watch your words, Victor..."

    "My name is Victor Carlos Vieri, not Un sirviente de Dios (a servant of God), and perhaps, Mexicans should sing praises of my name."

    Victor nced at his watch, "All right, SIR, remember to put in a good word for me when you take office, I''m off to have afternoon tea, goodbye."

    With that, he hung up the phone.

    Casare leaned in with his head, "Boss, you were brilliant. Don''t worry, I don''t believe in Jesus, I''ll get my brothers and sisters to believe in you."

    Victor couldn''t helpughing at him.

    "Mr. Alejandro ising to Baja California to take over as head of the Security Department?" Casare whispered, seeing Victor nod, then furrowing his brows, "The guy who took up the position before him and his family disappeared while they were out, and justst month, the bodies of three people were found stuffed in sealed oil drums, discovered by a janitor."

    "The killer was a minor drug trafficker who had pledged allegiance to the Tijuana Cartel, and he alsomitted suicide out of guilt."

    "He was against drugs?" Victor asked, surprised.

    Casare nodded, "He had arrested the son of Benjamin of the Tijuana Cartel, and the day after his disappearance, he was released."

    If there was no foul y at work here, it would be more believable to trust that Mexico was free of drug traffickers.

    "Mr. Alejandro probably..."

    Victor suddenly spoke up, "How high do you think the chances are that he dies there?"

    Casare was immediately taken aback.

    "Don''t be nervous, I''m just worried about sir, that''s all!"

    But intuition was telling him that it might not be the case.

    "About 80%, drug traffickers prefer one of their own in power."

    Casare, seeing Victor deep in thought, hesitated before saying, "Boss, I think it''s in our best interest that Mr. Alejandro remains alive."

    "What do you mean? I''m just concerned about his safety," Victor said without even blinking.

    Having such a boss gave Casare a bit of a headache.

    Hopefully...

    May God protect Mr. Alejandro.

    He''s a truly good man.

    ¡­

 Chapter 78 A Particular Person! (Extra!)

    Tamaulipas Capital, Victoria City.

    In a private hospital named Happy Heavenly Kingdom.

    Abrego was pushing his uncle, Juan Nepomuceno, in a wheelchair for a stroll in the garden.

    The weary Nepomuceno coughed, then self-mockingly said, "This is what it''s like getting old, having to run to the hospital every other day, it''s troublesome for you to worry about me."

    Abrego, a rather portly man,ughed and ced a hand on Nepomuceno''s shoulder, "Uncle, what''s that? You used to carry me on your shoulders. Without you, I might have starved on the streets by now."

    "My little Abrego has grown up," the old man liked to reminisce and sigh, "And I''ve grown old."

    "Don''t worry, Uncle, the doctors here are excellent. They''ll take good care of you. If you''re not satisfied, just tell me. I can have doctors brought over from the United States if needed."

    It was unclear whether this "bringing over" would involve regr methods.

    "What''s there to be unsatisfied about? Compared to the other old guys, at least I can die in peace, not on the streets. That''s the biggest fortune one can have."

    Abrego looked at Nepomuceno''s face covered in liver spots and could only heave a sigh in his heart, providingfort in the other''s final days.

    Just as he was enjoying the fine weather, a core member came running over, about to speak, but stopped upon seeing Nepomuceno.

    "You go ahead, a caretaker can push me back," the old man considerately patted the other''s arm, and Abrego nodded, "Uncle, I''lle to see you after I finish my work."

    Nepomuceno smiled and nodded.

    Abrego hurriedly left with the core member, passing by a doctor wearing a mask, who turned back to look at him, then cast his gaze towards Nepomuceno and approached, "Let me help you, sir."

    Nepomuceno looked up, as his nature was cautious, examining the other person. This was his "habit," but then he thought, this was a private hospital, after all.

    Most of Mexico''s private hospitals had a "background".

    Drug cartels, the government, local gangs - what did they pool their resources for?

    It was a "safe haven" for old drug traffickers who wanted to retire. Walking the dark paths too much leads one to live in fear.

    As for people.

    The older they get, the more they fear death!

    "Thank you, doctor," Nepomuceno said, his smile resembling that of any ordinary old man. Who would guess that he once monopolized smuggling routes and brothels in Matamoros at the US-Mexico Border?

    The doctor nodded, pushing the wheelchair into the building.

    Most of the drug lords stayed in single suites with three rooms and a bathroom, including a TV, air conditioning, and an air purifier, with bed sheets changed daily.

    The doctor wheeled Nepomuceno into the room. Thetter waved his hand and said with a smile, "I can take it from here, thank you."

    "You''re wee, Mr. Nepomuceno, but someone sent me to deliver a message to you."

    The doctor took off his mask, locked the door from the inside, then leaned in and whispered, "Mr. Victor sends his regards!"

    He grabbed Nepomuceno''s hair, covering his face and furiously dragging him, obviously, the old man tried to resist, but how could hepete in strength with a burly young man.

    He was forcefully pulled from the wheelchair and dragged into the restroom.

    And pressed down into the toilet bowl!

    The old man struggled fiercely.

    But water from the toilet rushed into his nostrils and ears.

    Shortly after, his body went limp.

    If you don''t believe it, you can try it out with a toilet at home, you''ll find it''s easy to get waterlogged quickly.

    Lifting his hand, Nepomuceno copsed on the ground, his face turned a purplish hue. The assassin calmly turned on the tap to wash his hands, then leisurely took a dark pen from his shirt pocket and wrote on the conspicuous wall:

    "?V¨ªctor te recuerda, ?por favor, respeta ley!"

    (Victor reminds you, please abide by thew!)

    After writing this, the assassin straightened the wheelchair that was lying on the floor and opened the door to leave.

    Fingerprints?

    In Mexico, was there a need to prevent leaving fingerprints at a murder scene?

    If you''ve got the guts, seek revenge. If you have the means, take my head.

    Around three or four minutes after the assassin left, a carefree caretaker walked in but not two secondster, screamed and ran out, her face ashen, but after a few steps, her legs gave way, and she copsed onto the ground.

    When her colleagues rushed over and saw what was inside the room, they, too, were scared to the bone. Find your next read on m_v l|e-NovelBin

    Abrego quickly received the news and arrived.

    Looking at Nepomuceno with eyes wide open, he knelt down on one knee, ced a hand over his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up with teary eyes.

    Stepping out of the sickroom, he saw the shaken and distracted caretaker standing at the door, and spoke without a hint of humanity in his voice, "I don''t want to see them."

    A drug trafficker beside him grabbed the caretakers'' hair and dragged them away like dead dogs.

    The caregiver screamed, begged for mercy, and cried out loud, but did you expect a drug lord, that scum, to have a soft heart?

    You might as well ask the Vatican to pray to the Coming One.

    "Boss, Luto y vicisitud (Lament!),"

    Abrego''s triangr eyes reflected ferocity, "Cut the crap! It would be right for Victor to mourn!"

    "Tell the guys in Tijuana to kill Victor, and I''ll give up two US channels and introduce them to the Cali Cartel''s goods!"

    Upon hearing this, the henchman nearly blurted out: "Boss, think twice."

    Abrego''s expression made him instantly shut up; he didn''t want to end up shoved into a toilet.

    Everyone in the Gulf Group knew Nepomuceno''s ce in Abrego''s heart.

    There were even rumors that they weren''t uncle and nephew, but father and son¡ªthough Nepomuceno was not without sons.

    As for passing the position to a nephew?

    There must be something fishy going on.

    But Abrego''s power within the Gulf Group was too deep, so no one dared to challenge him.

    His word wasw!

    ¡­

    After Nepomuceno died, Victor received the "points reminder."

    He was someone who held grudges.

    If I can''t get you, Abrego, do you think I can''t take out the uncle you care about the most?

    Since when did maintaining justice require being openly fair?

    Victor was telling all drug traffickers that he yed dirty!

    You''d either stay out of it or see who was more devious.

    After all, he was alone.

    And to prevent the Jail Guards'' families from being threatened, he also had "police apartments" arranged, ready to move their rtives over in the next couple of days.

    "Design a gun emcement here for me!"

    On Guadalupe Ind, Victor marked a spot on a hill 300 meters away from the dock and to the side of an AK-630M type 30mm 6-barrel naval gun.

    The hill wasn''t high, just about seventy meters, but standing there was enough to overlook half the ind.

    "Make it an open design; I''ll ce four anti-aircraft guns here. When peoplee from the sky, I''ll shoot down nes; if they approach from the sea, I''ll level them."

    Victor learned his lesson the hard way.

    If the Guatemn Special Forces tried anything like before, he would ensure they were shot down at the seaside and fed to Jaws.

    Speaking of which, Victor asked Casare to dump drugs into the sea before...

    Recently, the behaviors of great white sharks in the area started to be strange.

    But what did that have to do with Victor?

    Do the animal protection groups have artillery?

    "Boss, if the Mexican Government finds out... will they...," Casare mentioned cautiously by his side.

    "Oh, right, the government," Victor said, as if he''d just remembered, pping his forehead.

    Should he dismiss them so casually?

    "Casare, we are the officials too. Once Alejandro arrives, we can even move the security department of Baja California State here,"

    By then, he could...

    He was a loyal subject, after all!

    It was just about getting Alejandro to sign a name.

    He had no soldiers or generals under him; this was protecting the leader.

    Casare helplessly waved his hand, suddenly noticing an officer running toward them in the distance. He immediately perked up, "What''s going on?"

    "The new mayor from the Capital has arrived, and he brought a liaison officer from the Guatemn army with him. They look furious, like they''re about to..."

    Victor''s ears perked up too, and on hearing this, heughed.

    "They came as a team? Good, they can also leave as a team!"

    ...

 Chapter 79 Do you know where the entrance to the military court is?

    Zacatecas State.

    A muscr man in a ck short-sleeve shirt walked out of the Walmart Supermarket, with arge tattoo visible on his shoulder, a brawny build, and a thick beard on his face.

    He carried the food he had bought and got into a pickup truck, and through the mirror, two more people could be seen sitting inside.

    As the vehicle was about to start, a van suddenly blocked their way, startling the driver into mming the brakes and angrily honking the horn while sticking his head out and cursing continuously.

    The van''s door opened.

    Four fully armed individuals jumped out, wearing skull masks, one of them holding a shotgun to the driver''s head and firing with a "bang"!

    It was like splitting a watermelon.

    The rest of them yanked open the doors and dragged the remaining two out onto the ground.

    "L¨¢zaro, where is Benjamin?"

    Kennedy Heisenberg stood in front of him, questioning the short-sleeve tough guy, but the other man just red and refused to answer.

    "Smack!"

    A p to the face.

    "Where is Benjamin?!"

    But the man''s face swelled from the p, and he stubbornly resisted, "I don''t know."

    Kennedy didn''t bother talking, he pulled out a pistol and decisively shot him in the head, then turned his gaze to the other man, "Where is Benjamin?"

    "I... I don''t know, I really don''t, I''m just an ordinary good citizen," the man waspletely terrified.

    "Hood him!" Kennedy waved his hand.

    An officer behind him put a stic bag directly over the man''s head and started to tighten it fervently, fogging up the bag instantly as the man struggled desperately, panting heavily in panic, then quickly became severely oxygen-deprived.

    When the bag was removed, the man was gasping for air.

    "I don''t know, I don''t know," he continued to mumble.

    It''s not that they were really that tough; it was just that revealing Benjamin''s location would definitely get them killed by the Tijuana Group!

    Benjamin and his brother were notoriously ruthless, and with "Godfather" Gardo''s careful guidance, they were extremely cautious!

    "Drop your pants!"

    Kennedy took a stick from the van and handed it to one of the officers, and the rest turned the man over and pulled down his pants.

    "Give it to me!" Another officer nicknamed "Leopard Lion" snatched the stick away, saying harshly, "Do you want your ass blooming? I guarantee you''ll only like men for the rest of your life."

    The thought of it made one''s anus slightly ache.

    What man could endure such torture?

    His tone even started to carry a whine, "There is an engagement party tonight at Masamitra for Benjamin''s sister. All the high-level leaders of the Tijuana Group will be there, and nobody else."

    Kennedy nodded, patted his face, "Thanks, kill him."

    "Leopard Lion" grabbed his hair and fired three shots into his head.

    The group of people got into the van and casually drove off.

    A few minutester, the security guard from Walmart timidly came out, swallowed his saliva at the sight of the bodies on the ground, and then chose to call the police.

    It doesn''t matter...

    It won''t affect business.

    The van drove straight to an abandoned factory, which was a temporary resting ce.

    Victor heard that his old boss "Alejandro" wasing to Baja California to take up his post and thought of earning some merit points for him.

    If Alejandro knew he had such a good subordinate, he would definitely be happy and curse him to death.

    The real reason, however, was that Victor couldn''t possibly stay on the ind forever; he would use this as a stepping stone and then "march" into California, where the Tijuana Cartel headquartered there was the first target to be eliminated.

    Kennedy came ahead with his men to see if there was a chance to take out the Benjamin brothers.

    Once thisrge organization was headless, it would be even easier to strike.

    "Boss, how are we going to infiltrate the hotel tonight?"

    "Wipe out the drug traffickers, and walk in openly," said Kennedy, sparing his words.

    The rest of the EDM officers looked at each other in bewilderment.

    That crude?

    Shouldn''t there at least be some kind of n?

    "As long as all are eliminated, no one will know we''re assassins."

    Kennedy pushed aside a table, patted the ground, and upon hearing a hollow sound, found a ring to pull on and wrenched it open, a thick odor instantly assaulting their noses.

    "Get down there, the boss has prepared something inside."

    Three officers went down wearing gas masks, and soon started dragging out boxes with a skull painted on them.

    It also had a sign in Spanish: ?Armas qu¨ªmicas, peligrosas! (Chemical weapons! Dangerous!)

    Several officers nced at each other, immediately understanding what was inside.

    "Boss, doesn''t this need to go to a military tribunal?"

    Kennedy nced at them, "Do you know which way the doors of the military tribunal open?"

    He paused, "Besides, the boss would go to jail."

    The officers: "???"

    "It''s not essential; if all goes well, we won''t need to use these. They''re just for our mentalfort."

    This thing...

    The lethality is still too sadistic.

    ...

    When Victor arrived at the dock in a Hummer, he saw several officers in a standoff with about seven or eight people, some of whom were wearing Guatemn military uniforms.

    A dark-skinned man, possibly with Niger bloodline, pointed at an officer and started berating him. Victor was too far to hear what was being said.

    But with a blink of his eye, all the information about that man was revealed.

    Carlos Ruiz Felix

    Male!

    The newly-appointed Mayor of Guadalupe Ind.

    A senior member of the Tijuana Cartel.

    Cousin of Benjamin Felix.

    ...

    In 1987, during Governor Rafael Max''s campaign, more than 200 people gathered to protest his corrupt activities, demanding his resignation.

    The Governor, furious, proimed, "Let''s show them some color."

    A few hourster, a group of armed militants mixed with police forces attacked the demonstrating students. Masked armed militants immediately began firing, scattering the crowd, and right there, six students died, with more than twenty injured.

    At that time, the person in charge of the police forces was Carlos Ruiz Felix.

    He watched as the crowd of protestors was massacred.

    That incident barely caused a ripple at the time; with the Governor above and the Tijuana Cartel below, he was at most in trouble for a couple of years.

    This time, he finally got his chance to rise to power.

    "Run him over!"

    Victor never asked why scumbags became scumbags; they just needed to be dealt with!

    The EDM officer driving the vehicle nodded at Victor''s words, pressed the elerator, and with a roar from the engine of the Hummer, all eyes at the dock turned toward them.

    They saw a Hummer speeding towards the crowd.

    Several quick-reacting Guatemn soldiers hastily dodged, but some were not fast enough and were knocked to the ground.

    Even a dog in the distance stood up with its tail tucked in fear.

    The Hummer directly hit Carlos Ruiz, sending him flying three or four meters before running over his head without slowing down!

    With a jerk of his leg, his head... his brain was gone.

    Victor stepped out of the vehicle, looked at the burst head on the ground, and frowned, "There are still drug cartels on the ind, and now the new mayor and Guatemn external liaisons have all been killed!"

    Casare, shrewd as always, engaged the machine gun from the vehicle, targeting the remaining individuals and pulled the trigger, sweeping across them.

    Damn, they didn''t even let them speak.

    Not a single bit of freedom!

    Sorry, but Uncle Victor here "practices dictatorship!"

    "Toss them into the sea to feed the sharks."

    "Boss, if the state asks for the drug traffickers, what do we do?" Casare thought through every aspect.

    Victor nced around and pointed at the dog that had stood up and was panting, "I think he''s the leader of the drug cartel."

    Casare''s face twitched, and he forced out a question, "Boss, dogs don''t shoot guns, do they?"

    "Maybe the dogs on Guadalupe Ind are a bit smarter?"

    "Whether they believe it or not is their problem, if they can believe in the existence of God, why can''t they believe that this dog is a drug trafficker? Isn''t that a double standard? It doesn''t matter what they think; what matters is what I think. If I say it''s a drug trafficker, then it must be one!"

    "So... what are you nning to do then?"

    Victor''s gaze flickered, "Do you eat dog meat?"

    ........

 Chapter 80 : 80: Ramon from Tijuana is Shot Dead!

    Night fell quickly.

    The sky was foggy...

    It was somewhat scary.

    It was so quiet that even a fart could make you feel terrified.

    Zacatecas State, Masamitra Hotel.

    Fully owned by the Tijuana Cartel.

    Don''t think that drug cartels only deal drugs.

    The Big Drug Trafficker Pablo from Colombia even yed the stock market, only to be virtually "robbed" by those Wall Street guys, almost sending him to his grave with rage.

    If it weren''t for the bit of sanity left.

    He would have trulyunched a northern expedition!

    What does this tell you? The hearts of those in finance are dark.

    Today was the wedding of Benjamin''s sister, Manuel Massalva Felix, don''t look down upon her, she''s known by the nickname: "Skull Queen!"

    She''s in charge of the financial operations of the Tijuana Cartel, wielding enormous power.

    Her husband is the eldest son of a local drug trafficking family, which is sort of a marriage alliance. They have deep ties with underground gangs in the United States, and the Tijuana gang ns to gain support from them through this connection.

    We can''t beat them!

    The Sinaloa and Juarez are pretty much sweeping through Mexico.

    Too brutal.

    The fools from the Gulf Group still want us to tackle Victor before they''ll help. If I could spare the effort, would I need you?

    To prevent any problems, the Tijuana gang hadid a  of heaven and earth" all around, which just meant they brought over lots of underlings.

    They even blocked the roads!

    How impressive is that, the Governor of Zacatecas State didn''t dare let out a peep.

    The local Cardinal personally came to bless the newlyweds.

    He didn''t want toe, but Tijuana offered too much.

    Benjamin and Ramon, as brothers, warmly weed the distinguished guests.

    "What''s the word from Juarez?" Benjamin asked with a smile while nodding to guests, speaking in a subdued tone.

    "They demand that we give up all our channels to the United States to them."

    "?Al diablo!(Damn it!)" Benjamin couldn''t help but curse out loud.

    "Oh, brother~" Manuel Massalva, in her wedding dress, came over, heard his words, and couldn''t help butin, "Don''t swear at my wedding."

    Benjamin adored his siblings, he stroked her head and nodded with a smile, "Sorry, you look really beautiful today."

    Manuel Massalva happily twirled around.

    This wedding dress was designed by an American designer, and it even had 210 diamonds stitched into it, worth around 450,000 US dors in total!

    And the poor in Mexico struggle every day just for a few Pesos.

    Don''t say you''re not trying hard.

    If effort mattered, the old ox would be rich by now.

    When the music started, all the guests stopped in their tracks to watch the beginning of the wedding ceremony. Regardless of what they were thinking inside, they had to look "happy" and "congrattory" on the outside.

    The elderly priest with sses was about to open the Bible when suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted from the entrance.

    All the guests inside the hotel instantly scrambled.

    "Stay calm,dies and gentlemen, there''s nothing to worry about, everything is under our control. The wedding will continue," Benjamin jumped on stage and extended his hand, nodding to the priest, then turned his gaze towards the entrance. Benjamin''s remaining brothers had already rushed out.

    Who the hell had the audacity toe to Tijuana territory and make a scene?

    "The fight''s started, boss, it''s started!" the officer in the passenger seat shouted back to Kennedy, who instantly sprang up and looked into the distance.

    Tijuana had sealed off the roads; they couldn''t get in and had to figure something out on the outside.

    "Somebody suddenly drove through and then shots were fired," the officer pointed at two red sedans.

    Those people seemed to be there to cause chaos.

    Definitely rivals of the Tijuana Cartel, either Juarez or Sinaloa.

    "That looks like Ramon!"

    Kennedy, still chewing on his breakfast, a corn torti, squinted to see several people rushing out from the entrance.

    He swallowed the torti in one gulp and shouted, "Charge in!"

    "Tie up the grenades, we won''t stop the car, just throw them out, blow them to hell!"

    The driving officer nodded, floored the gas pedal, the revs were literally off the charts. It was a good thing they were in this van, if it had been a luxury car, it might be a wreck right now.

    The sudden "intruders" became the third party, instantly hitting and sending a drug trafficker flying who was trying to block the way, and continued without stopping, Kennedy and others holding submachine guns and spraying bullets all around.

    Fuck!

    Let''s see who''s unlucky.

    Anyway, they''re all drug traffickers!

    The two fighting factions were both dumbfounded, "If you''re not a brother, which side are you on?"

    The officer who tied the grenades pulled open the car door, lobbed one with great force towards the hotel entrance!

    There was no TV drama scene where they shoot the grenade with a gun, which is pretty stupid.

    The grenade fell right at the feet of Ramon and his brothers, and then the explosion was heard, with limbs scattering amidst the ashes.

    "Pull back, pull back!" Kennedy was a bit panicked as well.

    The power of the st was surprisingly great!

    Those next to Ramon might be his other brothers, right?

    Looks like we wiped them out in one go?

    If we don''t run now, even Jesus would be doomed.

    The tires of the van were screeching, running faster than a dog!

    They disappeared in the blink of an eye.

    And the other group of "bad guys" also realized something was wrong and tried to flee, but were blocked by the drug traffickers. One of their cars got away, the rest ended up riddled with bullets!

    Benjamin just came out in time to see this scene, his eyes wide with shock!

    Everything turned ck before his eyes, and he slumped to the ground without minding his dignity.

    ¡­

    "What!? You''re saying you blew up four of Benjamin''s brothers?!"

    Victor was fishing on the ind, enjoying dog meat (dog drug trafficker), when he heard the news.

    Kennedy on the phone also uncertainly asked the officer beside him, "It was four guys, right?"

    "I counted them, don''t worry, boss."

    It was only then that Kennedy confidently reported, "Yes, boss, apart from Benjamin, all direct rtives of the Felix Family were blown up."

    No wonder...

    The points skyrocketed!

    Four guys provided nearly 7 million points.

    So that''s where the problem is.

    Victor couldn''t help but burst intoughter, "Good, very good! I''ll celebrate for you guys when youe back."

    After hanging up the phone, Victor was still very excited, embracing the equally baffled Casare, "Quick! Go to the TV station to start a live broadcast, I want to announce this to everyone."

    The TV maniac, the Ind Tycoon, Duke Victor.

    He had never really wanted to keep a low profile, and he definitely wanted to take credit for this.

    Perhaps this police rank could be moved up a bit now, couldn''t it?

    "Boss, you want to take credit for this?"

    "Why not? This is a golden opportunity to make a name for myself. We are enemies with the Tijuana Cartel, and the police ought to have the right to hold a celebration."

    "If it weren''t for theck of manpower, I would have nned to make a scene at Juan Nepomuceno''s funeral. A drug trafficker dies and expects a funeral?"

    "I''ll send his ashes to heaven on the spot!"

    Casare swallowed hard looking at the rosy-cheeked Victor.

    Boss, this game is getting more and more thrilling!

    ...

 Chapter 81 : 81: I Declare Myself Responsible for This Matter! (Vote for Monthly Ticket!)

    The Tijuana Cartel couldn''t possibly keep this matter under wraps.

    Many people and organizations were behind the scenes, stirring things up.

    It immediately made the Mexican "hot search," and even neighboring United States had a lot of news popping up.

    Mainly because the Tijuana Cartel really was "too prominent."

    Imagine: in a ss full of bad students, your homeroom teacher is already displeased with you. Then you act like the little tyrant among those students: farting when the teacher is talking, and asionally pping the teacher, telling him not to get too jumpy.

    You go around snapping your ssmates'' underwear and flicking their little brothers during breaks.

    Such a student...

    would be "quite conspicuous," wouldn''t they?

    At this moment in the Sinaloa Group.

    Palma, the confused speaker, looked at Guzman, "Your people... killed all of Ramon''s crew?"

    He nced at him, then back at the news on TV.

    Suddenly he felt... Guzman was so dangerous!

    Zambada was sitting beside him, smiling and saying, "Impressive, Guzman is truly worthy of his reputation. With you here, Sinaloa can definitely take over Tijuana!"

    This remark made Palma narrow his eyes.

    When the boss starts to fear his underling, it''s already tough because Guzman''s abilities are quite prominent. Now you''ve taken out the enemy''s top-ranking people. You''re making things difficult for me.

    Guzman was also a bit dazed.

    Hey, wait! That wasn''t it!

    I only sent people to cause trouble, and you directly killed Ramon?

    He was about to exin when he saw Palma''s meaningful look, and suddenly his nerves tensed up.

    Palma was quite petty-minded.

    To get more attention than the boss, you either bow your head or you take out the boss.

    But Guzman''s failure to exin made Palma even more displeased, while Zambada sat nearby, the corners of his mouth showing a faint smile as he nced at the two of them.

    They all had their own ulterior motives!

    Although the three people had been "good friends" for over a decade, when Guzman and his cousins failed in their venture, they joined under the independent drug lord Aviles, following Palma.

    But after Gardo''s arrest and the disintegration of the Guadjara Cartel, the Sinaloa Group got most of the territory. Their influence grew instantly, smuggling drugs to the United States through tunnels 24 hours a day.

    They had an ie of nearly 15 billion US dors every year!

    With more money and territory, they weren''t as close as before.

    Brothers ended up screwing each other over big time!

    "I''m not watching this! Nothing good to see." Palma suddenly turned off the TV and got up to leave.

    Now only Guzman and Zambada were left in the room, thetter posing like a bitch and asking, "What''s wrong with Mr. Palma?"

    Guzman turned his head, his stocky frame ring at him, "Zambada, do you realize your pissy smell is almost overflowing?"

    Zambada''s face turned red with shame.

    He had a condition where he couldn''t hold it in well, which was always an embarrassing problem for him. Guzman''s words felt like a p to him!

    But the other man didn''t give him the chance to reply and walked away with a dark face.

    Zambada was very tolerant, he took a deep breath, picked up the orange juice in front of him for a sip; he hardly touched alcohol, as it could cloud his thinking.

    When Guzman left the room, he saw the four brothers of the Beltran Leyva standing at the door.

    The eldest, Arturo, spoke softly, "Palma looked very upset when he left. What happened?"

    "Find someone to get rid of him!" Guzman said with a dark face, without exining the reason.

    The four brothers were shocked; the eldest, Arturo, was the most capable. He calmly analyzed that something must have gone wrong between them. Otherwise, with Guzman''s patient and low-profile nature, he would never stand out like this.

    "I''ll take people to kill him tonight. Can you control Sinaloa?"

    Guzman spat in the trash can beside him, "It doesn''t matter if it''s the past, present, or future, Sinaloa is mine!"

    The Beltran Leyva brothers were also excited.

    They were still small-time leaders, but they didn''t want to be forever.

    Big cousin!

    We want to move up.

    The death of the Ramon brothers in Tijuana was prying at the bnce, elerating the birth and destruction of various forces!

    And at the Guadalupe Ind TV station.

    Victor coughed in his neatly pressed police uniform, adjusting his hair slightly, waiting for "Guadalupe Ind Current Affairs News" to end, followed by the newly created program, "Victor Speaks." When was it created?

    Just ten minutes ago.

    It was personally signed and approved by the Director Victor himself.

    If you don''t want to end up like that dog of a drug trafficker, you''d better satisfy his "little request."

    "Sir, it''s time for you to go on stage." Victor''s earpiece conveyed the dispatcher''s voice, and with a smile full of energy, he stepped onto the stage.

    Some people were born to be in front of the camera.

    "Fellow inders, good evening. I''m honored..."

    ...

    "Mr. Victor!" Santos, who was reading in his room, heard the sound from the TV in the living room, jumped up excitedly, and then ran out.

    Valentina, busy with work, shook her head with a smile in resignation.

    "We are happy to announce that in a major drug enforcement operation, we killed 27 drug traffickers, including Ramon Felix, an important leader of the Tijuana Cartel, along with his three brothers. And we also wounded Benjamin."

    "Achieving a very perfect victory!"

    Santos eximed in rm, then immediately raised his hands in cheer. Of course, he knew about the Tijuana Cartel. In Mexico, you could be ignorant of the president''s name, but you absolutely had to remember the symbols of the drug cartels.

    Otherwise, if you bumped into them on the street, and identally annoyed them, your family would have the "trouble" of finding you in a roadside garbage bag.

    Victor had, of course, made up those numbers.

    But how could he not embellish his bravery?

    Isn''t one of the roles of public opinion to elevate oneself and denigrate others?

    Most ordinary Mexican residents are uneducated, being literate is like being a top schr there. You have to say something that they love to watch and listen to.

    "The Guadalupe Ind Police Station announces that a reward of 4 million US Dors will be offered for the head of Tijuana Cartel leader Benjamin Felix, and will provide dual physical and mental protection."

    The 4 million US Dors wasn''t for the ordinary person, but for the other leaders under the Tijuana Cartel who were not part of the Felix family.

    With all the Benjamin brothers dead, and no help left, when else would they rise in rebellion?

    Killing the boss is a Mexican gang tradition.

    This time, Guadalupe Ind TV did not ce any channel restrictions, meaning that cities in the neighboring Baja California could all watch his speech if they could tune in to the channel.

    In a university cafeteria in Ensenada City, the cafeteria owner randomly switched to a channel, nobody paid any attention, and people were chatting with each other, but many were cautiously gossiping about Tijuana.

    But when Victor''s voice came from the TV, the originally noisy cafeteria suddenly fell silent.

    All the university students nkly raised their heads and stared at the TV.

    Victor on the screen was very serious, with a profound and reserved gaze, standing ramrod straight, but seemingly in control of everything.

    He personified the robustness of a Latin American man and an indescribable "integrity."

    If there were any YouTubers now, they would definitely feature him in an episode titled "Hunk from Heaven!"

    "I am Victor Carlos Vieri, the head of Guadalupe Ind Police Station. I ammitted to solving the drug problem in Mexico and hope that everyone can join in this war. Fellow citizens, Mexico is on the brink of national extinction. Kill the drug traffickers! Annihte them! Thend of the War God should forever be sung about!"

    "Gentlemen!"

    "No matter the cost, we must defend our ind and nation. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on thending grounds, we shall fight in the fields, in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender."

    "My country has the heart of a lion, and I simply wish to awaken its roar."

    "I sincerely invite talents of all kinds to join the Guadalupe Ind Police Station. We will offer a minimum sry of 1,000 US Dors per month, along with generous benefits. If you hate drug traffickers as much as we do, please contact us."

    Mexico is the War God.

    Victor''s resonant voice came from the TV, and the young are passionate, especially those in higher education. No one wants to lie down and be a vampire; everyone looks forward to changing the world.

    To punch through this filthy world!

    To cleanse the things that annoy us!

    Many university students clench their fists, excited by Victor''s words.

    Suddenly...

    They saw the TV explode.

    "?Gilipos!" A university student dressed in branded clothes stood up, pulled out a gun, and shot at the television set.

    By his manner... it was clear that he had a considerable connection with the Tijuana Cartel.

    ss shattered everywhere.

    Some people instinctively ducked their heads, not daring to make a sound.

    But others were boiling with excitement.

    "What are you doing!" a poorly dressed student bravely stood up, staring at him with clenched teeth.

    The other party was startled to see someone standing up to question him but instantly became angry, turned the gun towards him, and cruelly pulled the trigger.

    But no bullet came out; was the gun jammed?

    "Fellow students, kill this drug trafficker!" the student shouted as he rushed forward and struck the man down to the ground with a punch.

    It takes a leader to inspire action; once someone takes the initiative, others will respond, and a hundred male students joined in this "duel."

    They actually beat him to death!

    Turning him into mush.

    With so many people, a ssh of their urine could have overwhelmed him.

    The leading student saw the dead, panicked, but then climbed onto a table, raised his hand, and said, "Fellow students, it''s not illegal to kill a drug trafficker!"

    "Let''s go to Guadalupe Ind!"

    "Let''s join Mr. Victor''s team!"

    "Let''s save Mexico together!"

    Some hesitated and asked, "Guadalupe Ind is in the Pacific Ocean, how do we get there?"

    The question was like a bucket of cold water poured over their heads, instantly bringing everyone back to their senses.

    Right, the Pacific Ocean was in between; were they supposed to swim across?

    They''d be eaten by sharks in the sea before they ever got there.

    The student standing on the table grew tense.

    If people from the Tijuana Cartel arrived, they would be doomed.

    "We can contact Guadalupe Ind Police Station; they must have a way," suddenly a student said.

    Everyone''s eyes flickered with hope.

    Now, they could only hope for the best against the odds.

    "Who has a phone?"

    "There''s one in the cafeteria."

    "Go! Rush there, make the call fast; otherwise, we''ll be toote when the drug traffickerse," someone shouted.

    ...

 Chapter 82 Shooting, why are you joining the fray!

    "Boss, you really nailed it!"

    As Victor stepped down, Casare eagerly ran up to take his manuscript and also handed him a bottle of mineral water.

    Victor took a sip of water, "It''s a pity we didn''t bring back Ramon''s body. If it had been hung on Guadalupe Ind, it would have been a definite blow to the drug cartel!"

    The police station''s staff of just over 200 was simply not enough.

    There are tens of thousands of people on your Guadalupe Ind alone, and you have to respond even to trivial disturbances, right? Even with overtime pay, it''s too much for anyone to handle.

    And most importantly, with so few people, Uncle Victor felt very insecure.

    If he had hundreds of people under hismand, he would have just stormed in... forcefully.

    It''s not like he''s short on money.

    Drug traffickers have "sponsored" quite a bit, he''s flush with cash.

    Money''s meant to be spent, right? Or else, can it breed more money?

    While the two were chatting, a police officer scurried over, his expression anxious, "Boss, there''s an emergency."

    Victor raised an eyebrow to signal him to continue.

    "Students from CETYS University in Mexico, after listening to your speech, beat a drug trafficker to death. They hope we can send someone to protect them as they go to the ind."

    "How many people?"

    "Close to 150!"

    Victor''s eyes lit up. These were highly educated students - university students from the 80s were considered intellectuals with higher education no matter where they were. If they came to Guadalupe Ind, then he could "establish" many things.

    Including public schools, city hall, and other ces that needed people.

    "Get me the police station."

    Casare quickly nodded, pulled out the phone he carried with him, dialed the police station. It rang twice before someone answered, and he quickly handed it to the boss.

    "This is Victor, Imand the EDM squad to head to Ensenada City¡­"

    ...

    Beep Beep Beep~

    An urgent siren sounded throughout the police station.

    Within about a minute, all members of the EDM team, fully armed, came down. Kennedy wasn''t there, a Sergeant was in charge.

    "Guys! Director Victor orders, rescue the university students trapped at CETYS University and protect them to the dock. At any time, at any ce, under any conditions, they must be protected!"

    "Please keep in mind our motto: Unity, Courage, Honor - Always loyal!!"

    "The operation''s codename: Dagger!"

    "Move out!"

    Over 70 members of the EDM boarded the prepared helicopters, while many colleagues at every window of the police station watched enviously.

    And someone said, "Pues en onda! (So cool!)"

    What man can resist such gear?

    Under the night sky, by the sea, the wild waves were boiling, and the setting sun was making itsst desperate struggle, wishing for a bit more sunlight to cling to the sky.

    A group of warriors boarded the helicopter, heading towards an unknown mission.

    This sort of distinctive heroism was highly "aspirational".

    And the rest of the police station wasn''t idle either; they had to coordinate the boats leaving the harbor.

    ...

    Jose Sanchez Chavez led his ssmates in a panicked flight.

    He was the student who stood on the dining table calling for resistance.

    They were in trouble now!

    The one they beat to death was the son of a minor leader of the Tijuana Cartel.

    The gang of drug traffickers drove straight into the school, and it was useless even with teachers blocking the way; they shot and killed the other party directly!

    It was a female teacher.

    Jose Sanchez Chavez and his ssmates ran, but there were too many people, and in the end, they were scattered. Many were caught up by the drug traffickers and shot dead on the spot.

    "I¡­ I can''t run anymore!"

    "Me neither, I can''t keep up."

    "Chavez, take¡­ take the ssmates and go."

    The students who were weaker physically simply copsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

    "Get up! Get up!" Chavez tugged at them, and seeing the drug traffickers getting closer, he clenched his teeth, picked up a stick from the roadside, and stood in front of his ssmates. "Don''t worry, I will die before any of you!"

    A true warrior always cherishes the lives of others.

    Chavez gripped the stick tightly, shouting, "??Hijos de puta! ?Come,e to kill me!!! (You bastards! Come on,e kill me!)"

    At that moment, he was the bravest warrior in Mexico.

    Young men were ready toy down their lives for their country at any moment.

    Meanwhile, those fiendish figures in the official residences were making deals with the drug traffickers, bathed in the light of theirmps. They were betraying Mexico,ughing without restraint, dressed in garish colors, they werepeting for attention.

    Adult behavior may be impulsive, but patriotism should be too!

    Drug traffickers raised their guns and shot at Chavez.

    Bang bang bang¡­

    Bullets pierced through his body, spattering blood everywhere.

    His mother had hand-sewn that shirt, now riddled with bullet holes. It was cheap, worth only a few Quetzals, yet it was precious¡ªit was thest piece of clothing his mother left him.

    Mom¡­

    Killed by drug traffickers.

    Boom¡­

    As Chavez''s body fell, it seemed as if thend of Mexico itself sank. He lifted his head, his eyelids heavy, as if he could see the horizon. Back then, he was young, and his father, mother, and brother were all still there.

    The entire family was happy.

    So tired¡­

    Your next journey awaits at m v|l-e''-NovelBin

    In the next life, I won''te to Mexico again.

    This ce has no room for kinship, love, or friendship; they cherish hypocrisy and filth.

    As Chavez closed his eyes, he seemed to see a helicopter flying low in the distance, and he heard his ssmate kneeling beside him, crying and shaking his body.

    "Mr. Victor¡­ you really came!"

    Then everything went dark. He died.

    The drug traffickers who spotted the helicopter had long sensed trouble and attempted to flee, but the Mi-8unched an AT-2 anti-tank missile directly at the group!

    A small mushroom cloud rose, effectively vaporizing the traffickers.

    A team of EDM members slid down from the helicopter, warily surveying their surroundings, signaling to the students to board the aircraft.

    "Take Chavez, take him with you!" a ssmate pleaded, tugging at the EDM officer''s clothes, tears in their eyes. "He protected us."

    The officer nced at the Commander on the helicopter, who checked his watch, "Take him! Quick!"

    They reluctantly moved Chavez''s body onto the aircraft. Once it was full, it immediately departed, while the EDM squad followed their n, seeking vehicles to infiltrate and locate other separated students.

    Meanwhile, another SA.321Ja detected about forty students in the northwest corner of the city. Arriving just in time, they engaged the drug traffickers in a street firefight.

    Hearing the gunfire, a window above the street unexpectedly opened, revealing a head¡ªwas someone really so foolishly curious to look out?

    Sure enough, the next second, a stray bullet from the traffickers'' side struck him, and his body fell backward.

    In Mexico, you''re that curious?

    You think they''re setting off fireworks?

    This is truly a self-inflicted death.

    "Retreat! Helicopter fire support!"

    As more and more traffickers appeared, the groundmander pressed his earpiece to issue the order; they had to go bynd, as there was no time to board.

    The machine gun beneath the nose of the SA.321Ja "Big Nose" opened fire.

    The traffickers scrambled for cover.

    Who does this? Calling for helicopter fire support?

    "Gor, st them!" the groundmander ordered a team member carrying an RPG.

    The man nodded, assisted by a spotter, quickly unloading the rocketuncher and hurriedly loading it.

    Once the students and team members moved farther away, he took a kneeling position and fired an RPG directly at the corner where the traffickers hid.

    Whoosh~

    The rocket sliced through the air towards its target.

    A drug trafficker who had just peeked out to look was suddenly wide-eyed.

    His pupils constricted, reflecting the iing rocket.

    Before he could even shout, boom¡ª

    He and four or five traffickers alongside him wereunched into the sky.

    A severed leg flew up to a second-floor window, hanging from the ledge.

    An "Unnamed" Special Forces unit had infiltrated the city, engaging in battle with the Tijuana Cartel. The news spread throughout Ensenada City in an instant; there was no need to rally¡ªthe traffickers armed themselves and slowly gathered together.

    Their numbers soon exceeded a thousand.

    Many carried machine guns and fired at the helicopters above; they couldn''t fly low anymore, or they''d surely be blown out of the sky.

    Mainly for fear of the pilots being hit.

    The Ensenada City police station closed its doors.

    Yes, they went off duty right there!

    Over a thousand people chased them to the harbor, aiming to trap them.

    At that moment, a German TNC 45-ss fast patrol boat was racing toward them!

    ...

 Chapter 83 "Duke Victor"!

    The dock was alive with gunfire.

    There shouldn''t be anyone sticking their heads out nearby.

    A group of students huddled in the container at the very back, shivering andforting each other.

    1000 vs 70!

    A very typical "African headless fly" tactic.

    The EDM team was fully equipped with bullet-targeting night vision devices, which made them even more formidable at night. Continue reading at m|v-l''e -NovelBin

    But there''s an old saying that holds true, "Too many guns can kill an elephant!"

    The Mexican drug traffickers had updated their arsenal, all carrying US-made M16s, and some even had SPAS-12 multipurpose shotguns!

    God damn it...

    That stuff ispletely banned in the United States civilian market, and not even the Mexican Military Police have such good gear.

    There''s a saying, "Just like a one-shot kill, but the biggest difference between you and a sniper is that you really only have one chance to shoot!"

    Meaning, the sniper might miss and still get the chance to dodge.

    But with a shotgun...

    There''s simply nowhere to hide.

    The drug traffickers'' equipment is constantly being upgraded!

    The war on drugs is bing increasingly brutal.

    Finally, the EDM also began to suffer casualties.

    "Fire support! I need fire support!" the groundmander, taking cover behind a barricade, shouted into his headset, down on the ground with a gunshot wound to the leg, biting his teeth as he tore open a protective pack to bandage the wound.

    The Mi-8 and SA.321Ja helicopters in the sky were also helpless.

    The drug traffickers were firing their machine guns into the air.

    Bullets clinking crisply off the chopper''s body, some even got lodged in the ss of the SA.321Ja, giving the crew a big scare. If it weren''t sturdy enough, they could have all been done for!

    The traffickers also hadbat experience. Seeing the EDM''s resistance slow down, they knew the other side must be low on ammunition or suffering heavy casualties. The lieutenants yelled and charged.

    "Attention all officers!"

    At that moment, new voices came through the earpieces, "This is the Grand Duke Viktor Patrol Ship, please ensure your own safety, artillery coveragemencing in 1 minute! I repeat..."

    The EDMmander was taken aback upon receiving this message, then suddenly looked up, seeing a warship emerging through the night, silhouetted against the waves!

    The night was deep.

    But you could still see the formidable gun muzzles atop it.

    "Quick! Move, take the students and move them out." Themander hurriedly gave the order, dragging the frightened students whose legs had gone soft to run farther away.

    No sooner had they fled than they heard whooshing sounds.

    Two missilesunched directly at them!

    The sky lit up with brilliance.

    MM38 anti-ship missiles striking and target?

    But then again...

    There doesn''t seem to be a rule saying you can''t use them, is there?

    In the 4th Arab-Israeli War, Egyptunched beaver-style and the copycat version of the C601 Salmon missiles to strike ground targets. As long as the weapons are well utilized, there really are no restrictions to their use.

    But truly... what an extravagance.

    "Flying Fish" missiles cost about $200,000 to $400,000 each, the actual price varying depending on the arms dealer''s ethical flexibility.

    The Grand Duke Viktor just dropped two of them¡ªdid a 1982 Lamborghini Countach just vanish like that?

    The drug traffickers watched the "manna from heaven," equally stunned, mouths agape, not even knowing how to scream, as they watched the missiles hit the ground and the hundreds of kilograms of explosives in the warheads detonated instantaneously.

    Those close to the impact were utterly torn apart.

    A mushroom cloud rose.

    Many curious onlookers in the city stood on rooftops, staring at the distant scene in dumbfounded amazement!

    Is this... an American incursion?

    But no, wasn''t it that Mexico once voted to join the United States, and they declined? They don''t like it when it''s served up on a silver tter?

    Perhaps they prefer a show of force?

    Victor, standing in the control room looking through the ss at the distant sparks of fire,manded, "Approach the shore!"

    "Allbat personnel be prepared, I want to ask the mayor of Ensenada City why, when encountering my men, the drug traffickers not only refuse to surrender but even dare counterattack!"

    "Yes!"

    With his order issued, the officers in the control room promptly acknowledged.

    This ship cost Victor nearly 13 million points to exchange, practically emptying his savings, and he discovered that for simr big-ticket items like warships, if you''re willing to spend more points, Golden Finger can "mark" them with a clear origin for you.

    Meaning, you spend the points, and the seller system will cook the books for you, smuggled in.

    And it''s not expensive either: 200,000 points.

    Later, he could just phone Harris at teau Prison to have him pluck some unlucky sod from The Third Prison and knock him off¡ªthose points woulde right back, wouldn''t they?

    Having a ship was very necessary¡ªit could help transport goods, fight sea-going drug traffickers'' smuggling operations, and could even shut up some irritating fools!

    "Keep the drug traffickers rolling over in weapon equipment." ¡ª Victor!

    The "Victor" slowly approached the dock.

    As he set foot onnd,

    thend was as if marked.

    Ensenada City!

    Your future "master" hase to see you first.

    ...

    Anti-ship missiles are not nukes after all, and quite a few lucky traffickers who were hiding behind managed to run away when they sensed something wrong.

    They didn''t even want their guns!

    Just dropped them on the ground.

    The panic was clearly seen by many civilians and even journalists hiding in corners.

    One bold reporter even stood up to take photos.

    But these usually brave and menacing traffickers now looked pale with fright.

    "They... they''ve broken in, the police have broken in!"

    "???"

    Why does that sound so strange?

    Suddenly, a drug trafficker fell to the ground, his legs twisted, screaming as he crawled on the ground, looking at his rades" running away, letting out the most "helpless" howl.

    What could frighten a drug trafficker to the point of crying like that?

    Following his journalist''s "instinct," he thought this would definitely make a great photo and lifted his camera to capture what wouldter be hailed as: "The drug trafficker''sst confession."

    Seeing the journalist, the drug trafficker''s eyes lit up as he reached out, hoping for salvation.

    "?S¨¢lvame! (Save me!)"

    The pleading look would stir pity in anyone.

    Bang!

    A gunshot rang out.

    And the drug trafficker''s head was shot, he fell dead on the spot.

    The journalist looked up in panic to see a fully armed officer with an EDM armband on his arm approaching, his boot stepping on the trafficker''s head, switching to a shotgun, and firing another shot at the corpse!

    He shattered the man''s arm, making sure he was dead, then turned to nce at the journalist who hurriedly disyed his credentials around his neck, "I... I''m a journalist."

    The officer nodded, "Don''t pity drug traffickers. Who pities the families they''ve destroyed?"

    "If you encounter them, contact us. We provide a service to send them to meet God!"

    The journalist swallowed hard and nodded quickly.

    When the officer walked away, he looked down at the body on the ground.

    A thought struck his mind.

    "Could the era of Mexican drug traffickers being to an end?!"

    ...

    Under the protection of officers, Victor headed for the city hall and could still hear gunfire when he was a kilometer away from the destination, very intense.

    "Go and check what''s happening," said Victor, frowning.

    The officer beside him nodded, ran to inquire, and returned in a few minutes, "Boss, a few traffickers are hiding in a pre-dug tunnel firing back, and the grenades we throw in are being thrown back."

    "How could they be so stupid?"

    Victorughed in annoyance, "Use the methrower! Burn them to death! Haven''t I equipped you with them?"

    "I refuse to believe that these rats hiding in their holes have the upper hand over hunters."

    The officer hurriedly ryed the message to thebat team.

    The team leader pped his forehead and quickly called for reinforcement with methrowers.

    Officers carrying the Italian T-148 methrower from "First Blood" stood at the tunnel entrance and sprayed inside!

    Whizz~

    The thing could shoot dozens of meters.

    Touching the me meant instant ignition, and the traffickers inside screamed in agony.

    Trying to put it out was impossible.

    They could only scream and rush out of the tunnel, but as soon as they came out, they were shot dead by officers waiting outside.

    "Drag them away, hang the bodies in the streets!"

    The leading officer looked at the charred corpses and didn''t let them go either.

    That was even more shocking.

    Whoever the hell dealt drugs, this would be their fate.

    Your ashes will be scattered!

    ...

 Chapter 84 Victors Righteous Iron Fist!

    Mayor Jose Lopez sat behind his desk, wiping sweat and exhausting his phone with calls that went unanswered. He called the local garrison, and as soon as they heard his hope for soldiers to maintain order,

    they simply hung up the phone.

    "Do you even listen to yourself?"

    "What do we use to maintain stability?"

    "You mean with soldiers?"

    "Sorry, they''re out there getting chased and shot at."

    The culture in Mexico is such that by day they are soldiers, by night they be drug traffickers, carrying their weapons to join the battles of various cartels. If they win, they get a bonus, if they lose... well, the garrison can ask the security department for condolence money.

    Unexpected, right?

    In 2007, the second year of Calderon''s drug war, he suddenly wanted to see the list of military sacrifices, intending to pay his respects or to tell the people how many were sacrificing for the nation.

    And the result?

    Over 60,000 people had died in 2006.

    F*ck!

    The entire Mexican Army had only about 200,000 members; you''re talking about practically half of them being dead.

    And the whereabouts of the constion money were even murkier.

    This made Calderon question for the first time if there was any future in Mexico''s war on drugs. You eradicate drugs, can you eradicate corrupt officials?

    Not even he was clean himself.

    So, the number of soldiers stationed in various ces was never full.

    Jose Lopez, desperate and aggravated, finally snapped, "Damn you, Victor, it was great for you to stay hidden away on Guadalupe Ind, what are you doing in Ensenada City!"

    "Sir, speaking ill of someone behind their back isn''t very nice behavior." A voice came from the door, startling Jose Lopez, who looked up to see five people walking in, with a very familiar man leading them.

    "Victor!" he stood up immediately.

    Victor smiled. "Don''t be nervous. I''m a very peaceful person, Mr. Mayor. I heard some drug traffickers were causing trouble, and I came to help."

    Jose Lopez was all too "familiar" with him.

    The bodies of those drug traffickers who stormed the coast are still in the morgue, practically overflowing it!

    "May I know why you in Ensenada City... eh?" Victor corrected himself, frowning, "are behaving so uselessly!"

    "You can''t deal with drug traffickers, thieves, or robbers? Can you tell me why?"

    Jose Lopez stammered, his chubby face going numb.

    "Are you involved in a deal with drug traffickers?" Victor suddenly asked coldly, causing the other man to widen his eyes and shake his hands frantically, "No, no, absolutely not possible."

    Victor nodded, picking up a cigar box on the table, "Gurkha ck Dragon?"

    Readtest stories on m_v-l''e|-NovelBin

    "That doesn''t seem cheap, what, 400 US dors a piece?"

    "Your sry can afford that?"

    Jose Lopez hastily exined, "I have other part-time jobs, my wife is doing odd jobs, my son is a teacher¡­ Ah!"

    Victor grabbed his hair and mmed his head on the table, hitting him with the cigar box, "Fuck! Just admit you''re corrupt, you think I''m a fool!"

    The cigar box was instantly deformed, and Jose Lopez''s face was covered in blood, as he screamed.

    "VALUABLE items just don''tst."

    Victor grabbed the ashtray and knocked the man out cold with a blow.

    In his eyes, this Jose Lopez was no good.

    He had been mayor for seven years and was supposed to run for election, but this guy colluded with the Tijuana Cartel, directing them to assassinate other candidates.

    One particrly threatening candidate had publicly exposed him as apdog for the cartel at an election event, and then...

    his entire family was killed and flushed down the toilet!

    The brutality was unbearable...

    Victor took a tissue, wiped the blood from his fingers clean, and casually tossed it, covering Jose Lopez''s bloody face.

    epting the cigarette Casare passed him, he put it in his mouth.

    Casare pulled out his gun and emptied the magazine at Jose Lopez on the ground,

    "Boss, the drug traffickers are too vicious; they''ve even killed a mayor. I think we should sweep the whole drug rings of Ensenada City!"

    Victor nced at Casare and nodded.

    "You''ve said it all, what am I to say?"

    But having a proactive subordinate is still pretty good.

    "Should the boss consider taking them in again?"

    Casare seemed to have developed a fondness for the deceit used at Guadalupe Ind, nning another round of the same tactic.

    "It''s different here from the ind."

    This ce is onnd, there are more informants, the environment is moreplex ¨C if you kill someone after they surrender, I guarantee you''ll be on the news tomorrow. Guadalupe Ind is not the same, it''s surrounded by sea, you can even say they slipped.

    As for the bullet holes?

    Maybe sharks can shoot guns.

    When dogs can be drug traffickers, why can''t sharks fire guns?

    "Tell the officers to protect themselves, we won''t be staying in Dan Senada for long."

    Our base still has to be on the ind.

    Casare nodded and had Jose Lopez dragged out.

    "By the way, bring me that cigar, don''t let it go to waste," Victor said at the doorway, pointing at the cigar box on the ground.

    A new headline popped into Casare''s mind.

    "Shocking! Mr. Victor is so frugal, he even picks up cigarettes to smoke."

    ¡­

    Jose Lopez was killed by drug traffickers!

    The news was broadcast overnight.

    All the ordinary people watching the TV and listening to the radio panicked, but then they heard the presenter shift tone, "But don''t worry, the situation in Ensenada City is under control with Mr. Victor leading!"

    "The gentlemen at the Guadalupe Ind Police Station are eradicating the rebellious drug traffickers, our city is safe, please trust us!"

    The traffickers were immediatelybeled as rebels.

    This made maneuvering even easier.

    The presenter took off his headphones, looking at the police officer in front of him and the gun in his hand, and offered an awkward smile.

    "Good, rest assured of your safety, nothing will happen with us here," the officer with the face mask nodded in satisfaction.

    The presenter bitterly smiled inwardly.

    Are you the police or bandits? Taking over the TV station just like that.

    The fighting continued until the early hours of the next morning.

    The whole Ensenada City was aplete mess.

    The bodies of drug traffickers were strewn across the streets, there were very few pedestrians on the road, and even those who dared go out were carefully sticking to the walls, quickly hiding away at the first sign of trouble.

    And it must be said that the Mexican Government''s response was ridiculously slow!

    Ensenada City was a war zone all night, yet there was no support from other cities until after 8 a.m. the following morning, when a sluggish convoy finally moved into the city.

    All from nearby city police forces.

    They clutched their guns nervously as they looked at the bodies on the ground.

    But the weapons equipped by these officers...

    They were outdated, some even carried the French Army''s MAS Mle 1936, relics from World War II.

    Are they expected to fight drug traffickers with these?

    Right after the convoy entered the city, Victor sent a message inviting them to gather at the city hall.

    To discuss matters of the aftermath.

    He nned a meeting...

    To see who could be won over, and who was the enemy!

    ...

    <img data-y-imgId="10054603" data-y-path="/imgChapter/23506817501037701/26228101101623904/10054603/fa60d7076d69d493da2329066d5f72e23Sroepm9G1OeJM3.jpg">

    MAS Mle 1936!

 Chapter 85 I, Victor, am very amiable towards friends! (Subscribe, my friend!)

    Ensenada City, a meeting room in the city hall.

    Four people sat down, those who knew each other were exchanging nces, asionally ncing at Victor, who was sitting in the chief seat.

    On their way here, they had already found out about the incident.

    The corpses of drug traffickers they saw on the road were his doing.

    Now, who in Mexico does not know Victor?

    That''s the notorious "Drug Enforcement Warrior", but it''s said that he''s got a foul temper.

    Victor looked at his watch, smiled, and stood up, "Gentlemen, you''re all..."

    "Wait, wait~"

    Before he could finish his sentence, a man dressed in a police uniform and wearing gold-rimmed sses rushed in through the door, waving his hands and smiling at everyone, and then with a plump, sat down on a chair.

    "Who is this?"

    "I am Director Herrera Garcia from the Caste Police Department."

    Victor raised an eyebrow, nodded with a smile, and nced at his watch, "You''re two minuteste. We agreed on nine thirty, didn''t we? This..."

    "No need to be that strict, Mr. Victor. Actually, I had matters to attend to, but I postponed them for this meeting with you," waved Herrera Garcia.

    "Oh? So you''re giving me face after all."

    "No problem, it''s mutual help," said Herrera Garcia, pping Victor''s shoulder.

    Casare didn''t dare to turn his head to look at the boss; he could only nce out of the corner of his eye. It was over! The boss was smiling!

    Victor nced at the hand on his shoulder and swatted it away with a p. He wasn''t light-handed; the other party was stunned and fell to the ground. Victor pushed the table out of his way and kicked him!

    A kicknded squarely on his face.

    "Face? What are you that I should give you face? Fuck!"

    Victor picked up a chair and smashed it onto the man, curling him into a ball like a shrimp. The other police chiefs hurriedly moved aside out of fear.

    Herrera Garcia''s sses were shattered.

    The man was knocked out cold.

    Victor waved his hand, exhaled deeply, and turned to the others, "Remember, I don''t need anyone to give me face. If you''re not convinced, call some people, and let''s have a showdown to see who''s tougher. If you''re not up to it, keep a low profile."

    He pulled out his wallet, counted a stack of US dors, tossed it onto the man, and said to Casare, "Take him to see a doctor."

    Fatty Tiger quickly called two officers to drag Herrera Garcia out.

    Victor sat down on a chair, lit a cigarette for himself, and, looking at the other chiefs who were still shaking while standing, patted the table, "Why are you all standing? Am I that frightening?"

    The group hastily pulled over chairs and sat down, each sitting more upright than thest.

    All cowards!

    "Rest assured, I, Victor, always make sense in what I do. What kind of person is Herrera Garcia? Don''t think I don''t know; he''s from the Tijuana Cartel."

    "Does such a man deserve to sit with me?"

    The chiefs chuckled awkwardly below.

    "Right, right, Mr. Victor is correct."

    "Exactly, we all oppose sitting with someone who fraternizes with traffickers!"

    One by one, they acted cleaner than the others.

    Yet one by one, they were incredibly nervous. Who among them was clean?

    Victor''s lips curled in mockery.

    He tapped his fingers on the table twice, and the people below promptly shut their mouths in understanding.

    "I''ve called you here not to fuss about trivial matters, but for one thing."

    "The Tijuana Cartel must be eradicated from Baja California State!"

    Everyone''s face changed drastically at the announcement, and they sat as if on pins and needles, looking at each other, thinking about fleeing.

    Victor watched this scene unfold with a light chuckle, "What are you afraid of? Ramon and his brothers under Benjamin were killed by my men. Isn''t it easy to deal with the rest of the small-time drug traffickers?"

    "Vic... Director Victor, it''s not that we don''t want to do it, we just don''t have the power," a chief blurted out. He shivered as Victor looked his way, visually recalling how Herrera Garcia got beaten, and quickly added, "The cartel''s firepower is intensifying. They''re equipped with assault rifles, grenades, and even rocketunchers ¡ª we can''t handle this."

    "Yes, yes! I heard Benjamin even acquired two armored vehicles from the United States. Our police stations are still using revolvers; we just can''t."

    "I heard that Tijuana City Police Department hasn''t received sries for three months; cops are selling ice pops on the streets to survive."

    These were real issues, so of course, Victor would not get angry. Instead, he listened quietly until everyone had finished, then nodded.

    "I understand your concerns. These were problems before, but not anymore!"

    "Guadalupe Ind Police Station will support a relief operation for your four cities, providing a batch of weapons and military advisors to help you fight the traffickers. All weapons and equipment costs will be borne by us."

    "Additionally, we''re willing to cover all the sries for your police departments."

    This promise made their eyes light up.

    "And what you need to do is quite simple. To face the increasingly tense drug trafficking situation, you need to sign a cooperation agreement with me... not me, with Guadalupe Ind Police Station, for a period of 5 years, mainly tobat crime within your jurisdictions!"

    "This deration should be broadcast via television."

    The chiefs looked at each other, hesitating.

    Isn''t this directly turning against the Tijuana Cartel?

    What if they get killed by them?

    No one dared to make a sound.

    Victor was in no hurry. One of his purposes foring to Dan Senada City was to form the special "Victor¡ªAnti-Drug Alliance" with the surrounding city police departments.

    He needed to brand it. Otherwise, who would know who was leading?

    Moreover, if they were willing to join, it would be a "cooperative rtionship," and the criminals they killed or arrested would earn points for Victor!

    "Gentlemen, evil can never ovee righteousness (caliber)!"

    "Let''s have a vote. I''m very democratic."

    "Who''s in favor? Who''s opposed?"

    Victor scanned them with his gaze, "Raise your hand if you''re in favor."

    He raised his hand, and the four police department bosses looked at one another, and in the end, only one person really raised their hand!

    There was nothing to be done...

    Drug trafficking in Mexico has a history of over a hundred years. To put it harshly, potentially hundreds to thousands of officials have been murdered, and over a million civilians have died.

    And yet, no dawn has been seen in the war on drugs.

    You think you''re awesome, Victor, with weapons from who knows where, but you''ve got so few people. Do you have any idea how many drug traffickers there are in Mexico?

    Half a million!

    And how many are indirectly involved in transport, trafficking, nting?

    About 7 million!

    These numbers on paper are just a string of digits, they don''t look meaningful, but what do you think would happen if so many people lost their jobs at the same time?

    The peasant uprising that urred in Chiapas, Mexico, in 1994.

    What a time to be alive.

    And still, this kind of thing happens, which goes to show how serious the problems in Mexico are.

    It''s not that nobody has tried to change it, it''s that it can''t be changed.

    Victor looked at the others below him; the three men looked at each other, shrunk their necks, and none dared to meet Victor''s gaze.

    He wasn''t angry, really, he wasn''t angry.

    "Director Simon Bolivar, you lost 2 million Pesos at the casinost month. You couldn''t possibly pay that back, could you? The money from the Tijuana Cartel is easy to take, isn''t it?"

    The middle-aged man with white hair sitting below instantly turned pale.

    "Director Tiago, your son killed someone in Tk, a pregnant woman, no less. You knew about this, didn''t you?"

    "And Rickens, your wife owns thirteen shops. Let me think about their previous owner, oh, seems like it was Ramon Felix, right? And you''re a core member of Tijuana, first a drug trafficker and then a cop, if I''m not mistaken?"

    Victor pointed at the other three and said, "Someone sent an anonymous report straight to me. I think I should deal with it."

    The three men immediately erupted.

    "Mr. Victor, this¡­ this ispletely unfounded. Where''s the report? Where is it?" The Director named Rickens jumped out.

    The other two also hurriedly chimed in agreement.

    Victor nodded, beckoned with his finger, and Casare handed him a pen. He quickly wrote something down and passed it over, "Here, the report."

    This action was truly an eye-opener for them.

    Rickens snorted with augh, "This is nder! Victor, you''re retaliating against us."

    "But that''s the fact. When I, Victor, handle matters, I always focus on the evidence!"

    While saying this, Victor grabbed Rickens, who was closest to him, stuffed the piece of paper into his mouth. The man struggled hard to spit it out, but it was already torn.

    "Oh my!"

    "Rickens, you''re capable of destroying evidence like this, this is outright contempt of thew!"

    Victor was really angry.

    Casare walked in just in time to hear this sentence and immediately understood it was his turn to go into action again, bringing the officers up to pin the three men to the ground.

    "You''rewless! Victor, you''re a disgrace to the police, this is defamation, I''ll sue you!" Rickens fumed.

    He just couldn''t hold back anymore and let out a curse.

    "So you''re attempting to assault an officer on duty?"

    Suddenly, Rickens stopped struggling. He was a wily old fox and knew Victor''s words all too well; back when the Tijuana Cartel sought his help, he enjoyed using this excuse to kill his targets.

    "He must not be very satisfied with my judgment, let him go ask Jose Lopez, the Mayor," Victor said to Casare.

    Thetter nodded expressionlessly and, grabbing Rickens by the hair, dragged him out of the door.

    The remaining two kept their mouths shut.

    To see Mayor Jose Lopez?

    Hadn''t that guy died?

    Victor has "superpowers"? To send someone to God!

    "Don''t worry, someone will judge your sins."

    That was Victor''s parting gift to his former boss Alejandro.

    Thetter was about to take office; he had to give him some aplishments, right?

    Victor was good in almost every aspect except for a short temper. But was that really a w?

    After the officers took them away, Victor turned to look at him, trembling in the corner like a pitiful bug.

    It was too terrifying!

    Four people hade in, and now he was the only one left.

    Even horror movies usually have at least two main characters who survive, right?

    When he saw Victor looking over, he hurriedly mustered a smile, "Vic... Mr. Victor, I..."

    "Care for a smoke, Mr. Salvador Guillermo?"

    Victor offered a cigarette, and the other man waved his hands, "No... I don''t, oh, wrong, wrong, thank you, thank you."

    Guillermo quickly took it with both hands.

    Victor smiled and nodded.

    "I recall you worked in Tecate, right?"

    The man nodded eagerly.

    "Go back with confidence, bring your wife and kids to Guadalupe Ind, it''s safe here. You wouldn''t want the drug traffickers to retaliate against them, would you?"

    Guillermo nodded grimly.

    "Don''t worry, from now on I''ve got your back!"

    "Anyone who touches you is disrespecting me, Victor."

    "As long as you keep the peace in Tecate, I''ll find a way to promote you. You don''t want to stay at the bottom forever, do you?" Victor patted his shoulder.

    "We are police officers; we must guard the bottom line. If even we can''t maintain it, then there will be no morality left in the world."

    Among these four, Guillermo was probably the one with the "least" faults.

    He too had epted bribes from the Tijuana Group.

    Truth be told, in such an environment in Mexico, you either take the money or your whole family dies.

    Aside from that, Guillermo was fairly "clean."

    And most importantly, isn''t whether or not he took the money up to Victor to decide?

    Cough!

    Up to thew to decide!

 Chapter 86 God Chooses Victor? No! Victor Chooses God!

    Afternoon.

    In the television station of Ensenada City.

    Officer Guillermo, head of the Trat Police Department, and Victor, the "speaker" of the Guadalupe Ind Police Department, jointly held a "public speech" to the outside.

    Discover hidden stories at m,v l''e-NovelBin

    They severely criticized the damage inflicted by the Tijuana Cartel on Ensenada City, as well as the brutality against innocent people, and vowed to join forces to strike back!

    For this, the Guadalupe Ind Police Department would provide the Trat Police Department with financial aid of 5 million US Dors and a number of weapons and equipment.

    They would also offer condolences in the form of 100,000 Pesos to the families of frontline officers who sacrificed themselves in the "Ensenada City War on Drugs".

    Furthermore, a "Victor Aid Station" would be opened in the city, where any citizen in need could apply for assistance, receiving the utmost support.

    Upon release of this news, Victor''s reputation skyrocketed in Ensenada City.

    Problems that can be resolved with money, for the moment, are not really problems.

    Justst night, raids on drug trafficker dens led to the seizure of over 20 million US Dors in cash. Given more time, perhaps even more could have been squeezed from the drug cartel leaders.

    That money was all dirty; the Tijuana Cartel had special moneyundering operatives in various ces in Baja California, responsible for cleaning the cash.

    Before it could beundered,

    Victor "exterminated" them.

    For the drug traffickers, that money was unrecognized ie, but for Victor, it was "legal ie". There were plenty of ces on the ind that could use the cash flow, and it would eventually make its way back into his own hands.

    "Director Victor, may I ask where your police department''s weapons and fundse from? Could you share with our audience?" a male reporter, who had been "requested" beforehand, stood up with a microphone and asked.

    Victor nced at the bewildered Guillermo beside him, then sighed as he looked into the camera, "I know everyone is very curious about this."

    "So I will tell the public that my weapons and funds alle from legitimate sources, clearly listed in my ounts. My family is actually quite wealthy; my parents earned a lot in business and could have moved to a safer country."

    "But my father said, ''Mexico is where I was born and raised; we can''t expect what the country can do for us, but must search our conscience and ask what we can do for the country.''"

    "I''ve always kept these words in mind, so I attended the police academy and became a honored police officer. I could protect the public, but I wasn''t able to protect my parents from the drug traffickers'' revenge. At that time, I felt very lost, but remembering my father''s words gave me confidence. I sold the factory, house, car, and even broke up with my girlfriend of 7 years.

    I loved her, just as I love Mexico."

    "Until we havepletely won this war, my life belongs to Mexico and all Mexican people!"

    "I used that money to purchase weapons and to pay the police department''s sries. I believe my tiny spark in the cold darkness will surely call to more like-minded individuals. Officer Guillermo is one, but he definitely won''t be thest."

    Victor looked into the camera with deep emotion, "??Os amo, mam¨¢ y pap¨¢, os amo, M¨¦xico! (I love you, mom and dad, I love you, Mexico!)"

    This statement must be written into "Victor''s Quotes!"

    To be published in a volumeter on.

    Victor wiped away his tears, and this scene was broadcasted on television.

    In Ensenada City, Lower California Vriny City, Mexico...

    Hundreds of thousands, millions, tens of millions of people watched this scene, all deeply moved, with even the more emotional viewers already wiping away their tears alongside him.

    Santos from Guadalupe Indy in his mother''s arms, sobbing uncontrobly, eyes red, as Victor''s number one fanboy''s eyes radiated even greater strength.

    "So, Mr. Victor keeps his pain inside; he truly is the strongest person!"

    Many of his political enemies and rivals couldn''t help butugh in front of the TV at this sight.

    Benjamin from the Tijuana Cartel stared hard at the television, grinding his teeth, the veins in his palms visibly throbbing.

    CTMD!

    You can spin a yarn better than a drug trafficker.

    Benjamin had checked his background; your family doesn''t own a damn thing, let alone a factory. Not even two toilets to your name.

    Benjamin swore under his breath, but could only sit on the couch, in a house that had lost all its liveliness, where once many brothers had been.

    He sat alone.

    The reflection of Victor''s speech on the television seemed to mock him.

    When Victor and his entourage exited the television station, they were met by a crowd outside.

    Casare was also there in casual clothes, along with many familiar faces from the EDM scene.

    "Mr. Victor! Please stay in Dan Senada City, we need you here," someone said.

    "Mr. Victor, I want to join your cause," another dered.

    "Victor..."

    Many people pushed forward, but the officers held them back.

    A little girl happened to fall right in front of him and Victor rushed over to help her up, carefully patting the dirt off her knees and conveniently "facing the camera."

    "Are you okay?" Victor asked "gently."

    The little girl shook her head and kissed him on the cheek, "My mom asked me to thank you. She said if it hadn''t been for you avenging us, my dad''s death would have been in vain."

    "Your dad was?"

    "He was a policeman! The kind that fights the bad guys!"

    Victor''s eyes reddened as he nodded and hugged the child, raising his hand for silence until the cheers stopped.

    Then he spoke as if choosing his words carefully.

    "Her father was my colleague, a true hero. I am d there are people like him in Dan Senada City. I''m not alone in Mexico, this is her child, and she will be my child too! I will sponsor her until she turns 18 and graduates from college so that my colleague and the warriors on the frontline of drug enforcement won''t be disappointed."

    "It is this kind of hero we should admire forever!"

    "We cannot let them shed blood and tears; what we must do is to respect the heroes! Admire them, learn from them, be one of them!"

    "Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready? We will fight to the end, to make Mexico great again!"

    The apuse was thunderous.

    The cheers were overwhelming.

    The new guy, Guillermo, watched in astonishment, admitting to himself that Victor''s speech was indeed very inspiring, the passionate sentiment almost made one feel ready to take up arms and fight.

    This "acting" was nothing short of miraculous.

    Why aren''t you acting in Hollywood, next door? Why fight drug trafficking in Mexico?

    Really.

    Victor and his entourage got into the cars that were ready at the entrance, and as he stepped in, Victor didn''t forget to wave goodbye.

    Only after the cars had driven away did the excited crowd slowly disperse, but the name "Victor" would certainly be a trending topic.

    Casare stood in a corner, smoking a cigarette as if waiting for someone.

    Soon, a man with a little girl in his arms came hurrying over. The man was dressed inly, his face scruffy with an unkempt beard, and the little girl was the same one Victor had held earlier.

    Casare teased her a bit.

    Then he handed over a stack of US dors.

    "You make sure no one knows about this."

    The man nodded fervently, "Don''t worry, I won''t tell anyone about this."

    Casare nodded in satisfaction and walked away.

    The man counted the money, giggling to himself.

    "Stephanie, we''re going to leave for the United States. Mexico is doomed, everyone is lying, everyone''s mouth is filthy and sinful," the man said casually to his daughter.

    "But..."

    "I just felt that uncle was being sincere."

    Stephanie looked up at her father. "I could hear it in his voice, feel his body trembling. I believe him, he wasn''t deceiving us, he really wants the Mexican people to have better lives."

    The man was taken aback, looking at his daughter.

    She bravely met his gaze.

    "I think we should go to Guadalupe Ind and see. Father, I believe Mexico has truly weed the one chosen by God."

    ...

 Chapter 87 The Weapons? Donated by a Kind-hearted Person.

    Victor had been "holding court" in Dan Senada City for two days.

    He mainly wanted to see if the Tijuana Cartel had the "guts" to counterattack!

    After all, the cannons of his "Duke Victor" were still pointed at them.

    But clearly...

    They didn''t have the nerve.

    The drug trafficker wasn''t in a hurry, but some people were bing anxious.

    On January 6, 1990.

    The Mexican Government finally sent someone to "take over" Ensenada City, and it was an old acquaintance.

    Alejandro!

    At the airport.

    Victor looked at his former boss and his entourage getting off the ne with a smile on his face, and took the initiative to extend his hand, "You''ve worked hard, Mr. Alejandro."

    Having not seen each other for a long time, the man appeared utterly exhausted, with lifeless eyes and heavy dark circles, showing no joy from any promotion or fortune.

    Alejandro let out a long sigh, "Victor, your situation has be serious!"

    Upon hearing this, Casare''s calves tensed, almost making the EDM officers protect Victor as they hurriedly ran away.

    "How serious?"

    "Are those old men afraid that I''ll pull down their pants and tell everyone that they don''t have a little dick? Do they wake up every day and call the drug traffickers first thing in the morning to say good morning?"

    "If they''re not happy with it, they cane to me. I''d love to reason with them."

    Victor''s words were bing increasingly spirited.

    He wasn''t afraid at all.

    "Anti-Drug Pioneer," "Light of the Mexican Police," "Drug Lord Nemesis," "Emperor of Mexico" (strike that, strike that, he hadn''t achieved that yet).

    With his current reputation, the Mexican Government wouldn''t dare do anything to him¡ªthey could only y small tricks, like assigning him elsewhere or having him report on his duties.

    Ah~

    I, Victor, won''t go!

    When I''m at my strongest, I''ll go to Mexico City and ask who really owns this world, whether it''s the drug traffickers or Victor... the ordinary people!

    Alejandro took a deep breath, "Let''s talk in the car," as he nced at Victor.

    The man nodded and walked ahead.

    Who would dare to make a move if Victor didn''t?

    The two of them boarded a bright red Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit, bulletproof and collected as spoils from the drug lords.

    It was said to be the vehicle of one of the seven brothers from the Tijuana Cartel.

    "This car is very ostentatious," Alejandro said as he patted the seat cushion.

    Victor smiled and crossed his legs, then took out a cigar box and offered it to Alejandro, "Do I need to be discreet now? I''m probably the most audacious person in all of Mexico in everyone''s eyes, right?"

    That was indeed true.

    Mexican drug enforcement!

    You''re audacious enough.

    Alejandro took out a cigar and paused it in the palm of his hand, "I came here on behalf of some people to ask where exactly your armamentse from?"

    "Don''t say your family runs a factory, pal. They don''t believe that story at all."

    "Donated by the International Red Cross," Victor said with a straight face.

    Alejandroughed and nodded his head, "Alright, I''ll report back just like that."

    That actually took Victor aback, "You believe that?"

    "Does it make a difference whether I believe it or not? It doesn''t matter. You just have to understand that in Mexico right now you''re hotter than the president, those who need votes are too busy trying to win you over, and besides, would you tell the truth?"

    "It''s not worth it to damage our rtionship over such garbage issues."

    Alejandro seemed to see things quite clearly.

    It''s not him who''s scared after all.

    "Didn''t you say it was very serious?"

    Alejandro nodded, "Some people who are in cahoots with the drug traffickers are panicking. You''ve cut off their ie stream. Besides, the Tijuana Cartel has ended its war with Juarez + Sinaloa, with Benjamin ceding some interests to them in exchange for a ceasefire.

    Meanwhile, the Gulf Group has purchased over 20 million US Dors worth of weapons from the US ck Market, and their target might be you."

    "How do you know?"

    "Victor, the Mexican government is corrupt but not ipetent. The security department still has its own ways."

    Victor quite agreed with that statement, he pondered for a moment, and then said with ease, "Then let theme find me on Guadalupe Ind, I''ll be waiting for them on the ind!"

    The naval guns leaning on the dock had long been starving for action!

    "What about Ensenada City, or Baja California State?" Alejandro turned his head to ask him.

    Victor''s eyebrows twitched as he quietly waited for the other to continue.

    "I have already applied to headquarters to establish a new security force responsible forbating crime in the Baja California region, with a team of 300 people. The approval hasn''te through yet, but when it does, I want to put you in charge."

    Oh ho!

    Victor thought it was the right decision not to have killed Alejandro in the first ce.

    Look, isn''t the returning now?

    Although the Guadalupe Ind Police Station could recruit arge number of Police Auxiliary Staff, the scope of activity is limited after all, and the legitimacy isn''t well established, there''s always someone trying to catch your slip-ups, but if you''re a direct unit of the Baja California Security Department, that''s called an airborne operation!

    The iron fist of justice!

    "I think it''s perfect to set up the headquarters on Guadalupe Ind," Victor suggested.

    "Why do you care so much about that ind? Isn''t it good to move to Ensenada City? After all, you''ve severed Tijuana''s influence here, and transportation is more convenient," he asked.

    Victor just smiled at this, unwilling to borate.

    Am I supposed to say that I n to hide some troops inside andunch a major surprise attack on those big rats?

    The motorcade headed toward City Hall.

    Alejandro looked out the window and saw quite a few shops hanging Victor''s portrait at their entrances?

    "It seems you are deeply loved by the people in Ensenada City, more popr than the president," he said. Your next chapter is on m v|l-e''-NovelBin

    Victor smiled, "The Mexican people are too eager for someone to maintainw and order, after all, those who like drug traffickers are the minority, most deeply despise them. Who walking on the street doesn''t have rtives killed by drug traffickers?"

    "Sir, it''s not that I chose Mexico, but that the Mexican people chose me," Victor stated more bluntly, "If you can annihte the Tijuana Cartel, I believe you will undoubtedly be the strongest candidate in the next gubernatorial election."

    Alejandro smiled upon hearing this.

    "With your support, I can rest assured," he said.

    He had made many moves to be transferred to Baja California, aiming for Victor. What good was it to be a senior assistant in Mexico City?

    When youe out to work, you need to follow the right person.

    "So where do you n to work? Tijuana or Mexicali?"

    "I''ll be in Ensenada City. Until a new mayor arrives, I''m in charge here, so Victor, any needs you have you can fully discuss with me," he said.

    That was exactly what Victor needed to hear!

    ...

    That very afternoon, Ensenada City''s TV station began looping a "help wanted" ad, Guadalupe Ind needed arge number of skilled technicians.

    And to be incorporated into the local government departments.

    The minimum sry was no less than 2,000 US dors, and for high-level talents, there was a subsidy of 10,000 US dors.

    If you had children, there was an additional panion bonus" of 2,000 US dors per year, and up to 50 days of annual leave!

    The police department was also recruiting Police Auxiliary Staff.

    Requirements: no tattoos, no criminal records for parents and the individual, and a minimum height of 165 cm.

    Finding someone in Mexico whose parents have no criminal record might be a bit difficult, but what Victor wanted were these minorities; otherwise, the police department would be filled with corruption and disorder.

    The need for political vetting had be evident.

    And to entice young people, even the sries were posted.

    "Trainee constable: 500 US dors a month."

    "Officer: 600 US dors a month."

    "Chief: 1,200 US dors a month, with standard police benefits."

    There were currently only three levels, but this was already enough to delineate the "bloated" staffing.

    Otherwise, who would the numerous auxiliary police listen to during patrols?

    Once the sries were out, the registration ces were instantaneously overwhelmed.

    One should know that Ensenada City had a resident poption of nearly 400,000, always having some highly educated individuals.

    Even people from nearby cities wereing over.

    On the docks, you could see ships transporting ordinary people to Guadalupe Ind, their gaze fixed on the distance, hoping the seagulls would bring them new hope.

    ...

 Chapter 88 Guadalupe Island Talent Plan!

    Stephanie leaned nervously against her father''s chest.

    In her hand, she still held a lollipop.

    It had been given to her by the plump police officer named Casare when they boarded the boat.

    "We''re here! We''ve arrived at Guadalupe Ind!" she didn''t know who suddenly shouted with excitement. Stephanie also mustered up her spirits, looking off into the distance, only to see a blurry silhouette.

    She widened her eyes.

    As the boat slowly drew closer, the view became clearer.

    There were quite a few people on the dock, waving and cheering. Stephanie hadn''t seen such a lively and festive scene in a long time, and a smile of excitement slowly spread across her young face.

    ng~

    The ship docked.

    Casare walked down the gangway and handed the name list to a city hall staffer, "There are a total of 301 people. You take care of their amodations, a few directors up there have said to keep a special eye on them."

    He flipped through the list, pointing to one name, "Vicks Eric Burnt." There was also his photo, a middle-aged man with a mature look, already balding.

    Graduated from the University of Sydney, School of Civil Engineering!

    A senior designer at the Mexican Department of Transportation.

    He was indeed a high-level talent who, after listening to Victor''s speech, decisively resigned and brought his family north to join Victor.

    In Mexico, there was no future in road repair...

    Damn drug traffickers didn''t care about roads at all, just one st and down it went, whether it was concrete or asphalt, it was scrapped.

    What?

    You say Mr. Victor also fires cannons?

    That''s different, there must be a problem with the road, otherwise, how could an ordinary road be shattered with just one shot?

    The city hall staff were previously rescued university students, young and inexperienced at work, but enthusiastic, and most importantly, they weren''t yet adept at deception.

    "I understand, leave it to me."

    Casare nodded, waved toward the ferry, signaling the officers to let people through. The crowd instantly rushed down and the local residents serving as "volunteers" warmly met them.

    To provide housing for neers, Guadalupe Ind implemented a "hosting" model, which meant having these neers live with local residents. This was popr in the Latin American region, and many students spent their initial time in a new environment this way.

    It could narrow the distance between both parties, endear the neers to the locale, and also for... oversight.

    Who knew if there was any bad seed among them?

    The families received financial assistance from the city hall, a subsidy of 600 pesos per month. Otherwise, do you think there would have been so many "volunteers"?

    Stephanie looked around, holding her father''s hand.

    "Hey, what''s your name?" Suddenly a voice broke into her ears. She turned her head and saw a skinny boy looking at her, his face wearing a gentle smile with dimples. The sunlight shining behind him made it seem like he stepped out from a fairy tale book Stephanie had read.

    "Stephanie."

    "I''m Santos, wee to Guadalupe Ind. This is the safest ce in Mexico, you don''t have to worry about any bad people bullying you. Mr. Victor blesses it!"

    Stephanie hesitated but then nodded with a smile, her eyes curving into crescents.

    Her red dress was a bit old, but it still brought out the girl''s innocence and romance ¨C one quietly listening, the other chatting away.

    As if they were old friends for many years.

    Santos smacked his lips, "Come stay at my house. We have several empty rooms, Mom, is that okay?"

    He called out to Valentina behind him.

    "Of course, it''s okay," the woman said with a smile.

    Stephanie looked at her father, who was a bit flustered and hesitated before speaking, "Then we''ll impose. Please rest assured, we''ll find a ce to live soon."

    Valentina nodded with a smile, patting Stephanie''s head, "No problem, helping others is what every Guadalupe Ind resident should do, we thank Mr. Victor."

    The man was taken aback. Could he detect admiration for Victor in that casualment from the mother and child?

    Did that man on the television really possess such immense charm?

    He was the one who had turned his own daughter into a "token."

    He had traveled to many ces and had seen too many politicians who outwardly appeared honorable but were sleazy in private, who would speak against drugs yet deal with drug traffickers.

    He had long since lost hope for Mexico.

    If it weren''t for ack of money, he really would have fled to the United States already, but is that ce really any better?

    Mexicans don''t know what heaven is like, as it''s too far away, but they know what the United States is like because it''s so close!

    But to truly be beloved by the people, one must definitely have Victor''s ability; let''s just wait and see.

    Satisfied with his mother''s permission, Santos happily and naturally took Stephanie''s hand, "Come on, let''s go home and watch TV. I''ve saved Mr. Victor''s speeches, I''ll show you."

    Feeling the warmth from the hand she held, Stephanie, who had been in a single-parent family since she was little and had no one to talk to, smiled quietly and nodded.

    Under the setting sun, the light was just right. The small shadows reflected, and their smiles could not be hidden.

    ...

    Meanwhile, at Darren Cena Municipal Cemetery, there was a solemn atmosphere.

    Low sobs and mournful music filled the air.

    Victor had personallye to mourn a student named Jose Sanchez Chavez!

    Standing beside the coffin, Victor looked at the dense array of cameras and the friends and ssmates who hade. He stuffed the speech he held in his pocket, "I wrote a speech allst night, but I realized, some greatness cannot be described with words."

    "Jose Sanchez Chavez, a 19-year-old college student, gave his life for his ideals. He was a great Mexican warrior who fell on the frontlines of the drug war. He died under the enemy''s gunfire, but his spirit deserves to be forever remembered and mourned."

    "Death is never the end; it is oblivion that truly finishes us!"

    "I''ve decided to award him the Guadalupe Ind Anti-Drug Hero Medal and will hang his photo in the police station''s hall of honor, so that all officers can learn from his selfless spirit."

    "God bless him, and may he rest in peace."

    Victor bowed deeply to the coffin.

    The police officers behind him also bowed.

    Chavez was dressed in the clothes his mother made for himst, riddled with bullet holes, adorned with a medal.

    The clothes were beautiful!

    Finally, as the mournful music yed, four officers carried his coffin to burial. Since his family had all been killed by drug traffickers, his teacher, the closest person to him, with tearful eyes, covered the first mound of soil.

    Everyone quietly watched as the coffin was buried.

    On his gravestone was written a phrase: ?Aqu¨ª yacen los verdaderos h¨¦roes, el amor puro! (Here lie the true heroes, pure love!)

    After the funeral,

    the teacher called out to Victor.

    Grabbing his hand, with a look that still carried sadness, "Sir, Mexico will win the war on drugs, won''t it?"

    "Everyone will have the opportunity to study, all children won''t have to hide in their homes in fear, and all teachers will be able to stand in the ssroom to impart knowledge, right?"

    The teacher was quite old, like an elder making hisst "request" to Mexico.

    Such a modest request, for which Mexicans had struggled for over a hundred years!

    Victor took a deep breath, gripping the teacher''s hand tightly, "Yes, please believe, the fruits of victory will soon blossom across the whole of Mexico, and we will win the war on drugs! Mexico will prevail! Justice will prevail!"

    Some countries are truly rotten.

    But some people will give their lives for their ideals.

    The cause of justice is never short ofrades.

    ...

 Chapter 89 El Mencho!

    Victor had stayed in Ensenada City for a week.

    He bought arge amount of supplies and building materials.

    Every day, there were more than a dozen trips from the port to Guadalupe Ind, taking advantage of the current situation where Alejandro still "held power," Victor didn''t hide or hoard anything.

    He had sent at least 8,000 people over.

    The Guadalupe Ind Police Department''s auxiliary staff nned to recruit another 200 people, bringing the direct headcount to 500, but his conditions were too harsh.

    No tattoos allowed under a certain age?

    Even a priest has a little boy tattooed on his navel.

    There''s a joke where a Vatican priest went to Japan, found the little boys so cute, and wanted to tattoo them for memory. As a result, the tattoo artist inked a nuclear bomb on his butt.

    Plus, no criminal records for the parents...

    Poor Mexicans can''t survive without some side hustles, and the rich are already on an uneven path...

    After several rounds of selection, quite a few people passed, around 1,032 in total. Victor wasn''t in a hurry and directly found a field in Ensenada City to train them.

    It wouldst for three months, and the top 200 performers would join the Guadalupe Ind police force.

    The rest were directly assigned to the newly approved "??equip movil de terrorismo violento! (Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit), acronym: EDTV!"

    They said it was for 300 people...

    But 300 people ¡Ù only 300 people.

    Anyway, that money would nevere from above, so sries and such had to be determined by themselves.

    In fact, police sries in each state of Mexico are unstable; for instance, the wealthier Nuevo Leon pays at least twice as much as the poorest Chiapas State!

    Victor set the sry for EDTV at 300 US Dors per month, with separate calctions for attendance, injuries, and welfare benefits.

    No need to worry about food, clothing, shelter, or transportation¡ªit''s all covered!

    Lots of young people joined.

    Mexicans can endure hardships and work hard for up to 18 hours a day.

    He found 30 officers from the EDM to give them intensive training.

    Victor only wanted the best 200 out of these 1,000 people!

    It was like raising gu, every young guy was brimming with energy.

    A weekter, the Mexican Government finally assigned a new mayor, and that guy, Victor had seen him; he seemed obedient and very cooperative. Only then did Victor feel at ease to return to Guadalupe Ind.

    The night before he left, he had a private conversation with Alejandro for over two hours.

    Nobody knew what they discussed.

    But the next day, Alejandro announced aplete drug ban in Baja California State!

    The Tijuana drug trafficking group wasbeled a "terrorist organization"!

    This should be the most foreword state in all of Mexico.

    But the funny part came.

    Two hours after Alejandro''s announcement, the spokesperson for the office of the Governor of Mexicali State in the capital of Baja California dered to the public, "The decision of the security department is wrong! We do not ept, nor will weply with this stupid regtion."

    "Governor Rafael Max believes there are no criminal gangs in Baja California, and such actions totally smear the state office."

    He''s panicked, you see how panicked he is.

    If Rafael Max were right here, Victor would have made sure he understood what a true "Iron Fist" is!

    Sooner orter, Baja California will be liberated!

    But Victor was not someone to be trifled with; he had his people strike back on television.

    "To prevent the ugly Rafael Max from betraying the Mexican people and taking actions against the respected Mr. Alejandro, the Guadalupe Ind Police Department will send personnel to patrol Ensenada City for a period of three months!"

    That was like pointing a finger at the adversary''s nose and cursing them.

    Who do you think you are.

    It was said that the Governor, already in poor health, spent the night in the hospital that evening.

    Amidst the messy affairs, one piece of news stood out.

    The leader of the Sinaloa Drug Cartel, Palma, was gunned down by a gunman while dining out, including his child and lover.

    The Sinaloa Group announced to the public that it was Victor from Guadalupe Ind who did it!

    They thought he was utterly inhumane and amoral!

    And they called on all drug traffickers to siege him.

    January 29, 1990.

    The Juarez, Sinaloa, Gulf Cartel, Tijuana, and the Michoac¨¢n families along with 47 drug trafficking groups from all 32 states of Mexico announced a reward for Victor Carlos Vieri.

    "And they would eliminate him at all costs!"

    ...

    In the official residence of the Juarez key yer Agur.

    Figures were moving around outside.

    Many masked drug traffickers armed with submachine guns patrolled the area while dogs drooled and growled from their throat.

    Snipers were also on the rooftops.

    Four or five police cars were parked at the door, and thinly dressed policemen stood at the entrance to guard the doors as a meeting of bosses was taking ce inside.

    Inside, the room was filled with smoke.

    Five sofas were ced, with Guzman from the Sinaloa Group, Agur from the Juarez Cartel, Abrego from the Gulf Group, Benjamin from Tijuana, and Osir Cardenas from the Michoac¨¢n family sitting on them!

    This should be considered as the five major drug trafficking groups in Mexico known so far.

    As for the Knights Temr Cartel?

    That was a drug trafficking organization formed around 2006 by the remnants after the destruction of the Michoac¨¢n family.

    The other drug trafficking kingpins were sitting on stools behind them.

    The entire hall was filled with sixty or seventy people.

    "Victor must die!" Abrego dered grimly, taking a deep breath as he was the first to put forth his decision, "Don''t even think about trying to buy him off. By the time you go there with a check, he''ll shoot you in the head and then take your money. He''s aplete bastard!"

    His tone was filled with helplessness and indignation that he couldn''t suppress.

    Looking at each other, Guzman and Agur, who had conflicts with the Gulf Group, were inwardly pleased but knew this was not the asion to show it.

    They were all big shots ruling their own realms, sitting here for the sake of amon interest.

    "I agree!" Benjamin raised his hand, "He definitely has to be taken out!"

    "I agree too." The third to raise his hand was Cardenas from the Michoac¨¢n Family. He was the most handsome of the lot, with an air of a mature gentleman, but his cruelty was second to none.

    The riots in Mexico City against Victor were instigated by him.

    With three people agreeing, Guzman and Agur quickly raised their hands as well.

    The rest of the drug traffickers weren''t important; they were just there to echo the sentiment with shouts of "666".

    "How many men are you putting in?" Guzman asked.

    The question instantly made the room go quiet.

    These old foxes were scared ofmitting too many men, worried that their enemies might take the opportunity to strike their bases. Don''t think for a second that they were sitting here with sincere intentions.

    Each had their own schemes.

    Whoever had be a drug trafficker wasn''t a fool.

    You look at me, I look at you.

    "I''m contributing 200 men!" Benjamin raised his hand and stood up, "I''ll lead my men myself. Victor killed my brother, and I will avenge him!"

    "Anyone who breaks their word, don''t me me for ying dirty!"

    Lower California was his territory, and the Tijuana Cartel had taken the biggest hit. Many eyes were on him, and the underlings were getting restless.

    By taking Victor''s life, Benjamin aimed to reassert his authority; otherwise, his downfall was imminent.

    The decades of efforts by the Felix Family would be reduced to ashes.

    Seeing him take initiative, the others weren''t stingy either.

    "I''ll contribute 200 men," Guzman said.

    "I''ll also put in 200 men," Agur raised his hand.

    The Michoac¨¢n Family onlymitted 70 men, being a crime organization built on blood rtions, they didn''t have many people. The Gulf Group, on the other hand, put in 300 men, with Abrego joining in the belief he was avenging his uncle.

    Everyone sent their most trusted lieutenants to lead the teams.

    But Abrego pulled a lean figure from behind him. The man looked tough, with a pair of mustaches and deep eyes, not very talkative and quite serious in appearance.

    "His name is Nimisio Ose Cervantes, you can call him El Mencho; he will rece me."

    The other bosses nced at him and saw nothing noteworthy, only thinking that the guy looked spirited.

    "Let''s set the date for February 7th!"

    "I want tomemorate the birthday of my uncle, Juan Nepomuceno, on that day."

    No one objected.

    A sensational "drug traffickers besieging the police" case, destined to be recorded in history, was about to unfold.

    ...

    Meanwhile, on Guadalupe Ind.

    Victor was making his inspection rounds.

    On the ind, a school, two residential buildings, a park, and quite a few factories were under construction, and the ce was bustling with activity.

    The better the living ces were constructed, the morefortable Victor felt.

    Of course, he wasn''t there for leisure; what mattered most was creating job positions to significantly improve security and the economy on Guadalupe Ind.

    "Boss, boss¡­"

    Casare was huffing and puffing as he ran over from behind and slipped on the steps due to not paying attention, nearly face-nting.

    This made even Victor unable to help butugh at him, "What''s the hurry? The drug traffickersing to attack?"

    Gasping, Casare nodded vigorously, "Yes, the traffickers areing!"

    "??"

    "Our informant has sent news, about 47 drug trafficking groups have dispatched over 1700 people intending to forciblynd on the ind."

    The Five Major Sects besieging Bright Summit?

    Has Victor be the antagonist?

    He looked around calmly, "Guadalupe Ind is surrounded by the sea, are those traffickers looking to lose their lives trying tond?"

    Casare shook his head; he was just shocked by the number of attackers.

    "No need to panic, do you know the time?"

    "February 7th, 1990!"

    "Then let those Mexican drug traffickers experience what''s called the Guadalupe Ind War!"

    Victor still had several million points in his hands.

    Offensive battles might be hard to fight, but is a defensive one really difficult?

    Seeing his confidence, Casare also let out a sigh of relief and unconsciously made a prayer gesture.

    Victor nced at him, gazing towards the distant sea.

    A Pacific Ocean orca breached the surface.

    Recently, the ecology in the vicinity had been thriving, with many marine creatures being discovered. Perhaps it was because Jaws was living well, it called all its buddies over.

    Jaws: Bros,e quickly, there''s good food at Guadalupe Ind.

    A group of fish came over, cleared out the drugs, and then partied together.

    "I''ll add a snack for you tonight,"

    muttered Victor to himself.

 Chapter 90 The Defense of Melon Island!

    Those who have been to war would know.

    What kind of terrain is the hardest to deal with.

    Desert, rainforest, or teau?

    None of the above!

    It''s isted inds!

    In the Arlington National Cemetery of Washington D.C., there stands a statue depicting six U.S. soldiers raising the American g into the ground.

    This statue is based on a famous photograph titled "g Raising on Iwo Jima," whichter became a symbol of the American spirit. And what this photo captured was the Battle of Sulphur Ind.

    A mere 20-square-kilometer solitary ind turned into a bloody meat grinder on the Pacific battlefront.

    Back then, the U.S. military had to rely on aircraft and artillery, and then pay a heavy price to sessfullynd on the ind.

    What about drug traffickers?

    What could they rely on?

    Kayaks?

    Of course, while looking down on drug traffickers in his heart, Victor still had to prepare.

    A number of residents discovered that many covered things had appeared on the docks. Some wanted to sneak a peek but were stopped and scolded by the guarding officers.

    This led some sensitive residents to feel a trace of nervousness in the air.

    Santos had just returned from school that day, with Stephanie following behind, both holding snacks, when they suddenly saw a convoy driving past, surrounded by crowds.

    "Six, seven, eight..." a boy full of freckles was counting, when suddenly someone patted his shoulder, "Campos."

    The rhythm of the boy''s counting was disrupted, and he counted wrong. Annoyed, he turned around, but when he saw Santos and hispanion, his expression rxed. He was obviously on good terms with thetter and hooked his arm around Santos''s neck. "Hey, you''re out with your girl, huh?"

    "Don''t talk nonsense, she''s my sister!"

    Campos pursed his lips, pointing at the convoy, "A bunch of trucks just passed by, one after another, with ''Police Station'' written on them. I bet they''re carrying weapons; if only we could take a look underneath."

    As if his mouth was blessed, the ind was already windy, and just after he finished speaking, a gust of wind blew over, lifting the tarp on the back of a truck ¨C the ropes clearly hadn''t been tied down properly.

    They could see a row of racks on the truck.

    But, influenced by war films, Santos immediately knew what it was.

    "BM-13 rocketunchers!!" He eximed in surprise, but quickly covered his mouth and pulled Campos and Stephanie away.

    "What''s the matter? What happened?" Campos asked curiously.

    "Nothing, nothing, just don''t go out if you don''t have to in the next few days." And with that, Santos ran straight home.

    Seeing Stephaniegging behind, he squatted down, "Come on, get on, I''ll carry you."

    She nodded and climbed onto his back.

    Though Santos was thin, he had good stamina, and he ran all the way home with Stephanie on his back, just in time to see Valentina cooking.

    Stephanie''s father Dexter feared in rice and was working at the construction site.

    "What happened? You look so tired," Valentina asked curiously.

    "We''re going to have a war!" Santos swallowed hard.

    This puzzled Valentina. Where would there be a war? Guadalupe Ind?

    With whom?

    Sharks?

    "I just saw rocketunchers, like the ones in the movies, whooshing past."

    Stephanie nodded in agreement beside him.

    "Maybe it''s just a regr drill? There''s no need to worry, right?" Valentina had barely finished speaking when they heard the door open again, and Dexter, looking haggard, returned.

    Stephanie called out and pounced on him.

    "Hold on, I''m a bit dirty."

    "You''re back early today, did you finish the work at the site?" Valentina lifted her head to look at the wall clock, noting it wasn''t even five o''clock yet.

    The man smiled and shook his head, "I don''t know, they suddenly stopped the work at the site. The foreman told us to go home and that we probably wouldn''t work for the next few days and to take a break. It''s strange; there''s still a lot of work left."

    Valentina suddenly fell silent, her expression turning grim.

    Seeing that she wasn''t responding, the man lifted his head to look at her and noticed her upset look, "What''s wrong?"

    "Daddy, brother Santos said we might have a war!"

    The manughed, "You should watch fewer war movies, how could there be a war?"

    "It''s true, I saw a lot of rocketunchers heading towards the beach just now." Santos hurriedly interjected.

    Valentina frowned, "Could your unexpected holiday be rted to this?" Experience new tales on mvl

    Dexter was taken aback and also started to ponder, "When you went to the market to buy groceries, did the prices change?"

    "It seems so, they''re a lot more expensive." Valentina thought for a moment and nodded.

    "Perhaps there has been a change,"

    just before a crisis urred, market fluctuations were extremely urate.

    At that moment, a Hummer police car passed by, loudspeakers on top ring, "A military curfew starts this evening, no one is allowed outside. Please pass this message among residents; if you encounter any trouble, seek immediate shelter."

    The message couldn''t have been clearer.

    War wasing!

    Valentina''s tense hand rested on Santos'' shoulder, squeezing nervously, as he looked up, "Don''t be afraid, mom. Mr. Victor will be victorious!"

    Dexter furrowed his brow, "Who are we fighting against?"

    Information on Guadalupe Ind was dyed, after all, it''s in the Pacific Ocean, and without paying special attention, one wouldn''t know that the drug traffickers were nning to "siege" Victor.

    "It doesn''t matter who, Mr. Victor will be victorious,"

    "He is invincible in battle!"

    "He will not fail on his own ind,"

    Santos shouted, raising his hand.

    Dexter nced at him, a fanatic.

    Meanwhile, on the northwest sand beach of the ind.

    Landing operations on the ind were difficult, but as one couldnd on all sides, it also tested the defenders'' capacity.

    Victor was a rather tricky man.

    Thus, he ntedndmines on the more essible parts of the sand beach!

    About 60 M14 mines were buried across just 300 square meters of sandy beach.

    Fucking hell...

    With that density, Victor was simply inhumane.

    After all, those things were cheap, 110 points apiece, easy to make.

    And 500 meters behind the beach, a trench had been dug, manned with 4 NSV machine guns, and another 30 meters away were 4 Type 64 120mm mortars.

    Thirty men in that ce should be enough to hold it, right?

    Just the M14 mines would take out a bunch, with their st radius, even athletes would be blown to pieces.

    Even if the athletes survived the mines, what about the machine guns, the mortars?

    If they got past that, then Victor deserved to lose.

    Casare watched the EDM officersying mines, his scalp tingling, and he couldn''t help scratching his head, "Boss, this... this is a bit brutal."

    Victor, with a cigarette in his mouth, replied, "If we''re not brutal, why the hell would I fight drug traffickers?"

    "You have to be brutal with drug traffickers!"

    "If we get through this, Baja California will basically belong to us. The Tijuana Cartel will have no power to stand against us."

    That was indeed true; ording to the informants'' reports, Tijuana Benjamin was personally leading a vendetta.

    We must kill him!

    When the whole family''s together, it should be a time of reunion.

    "Keep an eye on the ind''s security too, if anyone tries to loot amidst the chaos, shoot them all!" Victor''s tone was filled with murderous intent.

    Casare was also nervous; ever since he''d heard the news, he hadn''t slept well. With his plump body, he heard that drug traffickers loved to steam overweight people until their fat rendered.

    Just thinking about it made him shudder.

    "Are you scared?" Victor suddenly asked.

    Casare looked at him, hesitated, then nodded with a bitter smile, "Nervous, I''d be lying if I said I wasn''t. Aren''t you afraid?"

    "Afraid?"

    Victorughed and pointed to thendmines ahead, "If those drug traffickers could scare me, I would have left Mexico long ago. Who do you think is more brutal, them or me?"

    The question caught Casare off guard.

    Because, the way Victor treated drug traffickers was simply...

    "Boss, you call that upholding justice! They''remitting crimes, how can that be the same?"

    The ttery had to flow.

    Victor nced at him, "If you''re more brutal than anyone else, naturally your fear of them vanishes instantly."

    "I''ll kill them all!"

    "And then, I''ll hang all the drug traffickers in my hall of honor!"

    "All of them!"

    ...

 Chapter 91 Tonight, Im going to celebrate my birthday on Guadalupe Island!

    Mexican drug traffickers are more efficient than the government.

    After all, Victor had truly infringed upon their interests severely.

    Benjamin was the most enthusiastic about this.

    Bustling around before and after the saddle.

    Do you think he really wants to avenge his brothers and sisters?

    Don''t be naive...

    It''s all for his own benefit.

    Now that he has finally pulled a bunch of "fools" into this, to kill Victor and ensure the Tijuana Group''s base is not lost.

    As he was coordinating the cargo ships, his underling handed him the phone, "Boss, Mr. Abrego from the Gulf Group."

    Benjamin raised an eyebrow, took the phone and had barely listened for a moment when his expression changed dramatically!

    He blurted out two words: "?Hijo de puta! (Bastard!)"

    ... Experience more tales on mvl

    Base Camp of the Gulf Group. Matamoros!

    The graveyard of the Abrego family is here.

    But Juan Nepomuceno hadn''t been interred, Abrego had sworn to use Victor''s head to appease the spirit of his uncle!

    Inside the mansion at that moment.

    Abrego''s face was grim as he looked through the ss at the scene in the separate room, a man tied to a chair, his body bearing no good flesh, bones even protruding, while a drug trafficker pressed a button in front of him.

    In an instant, the man on the chair began to tremble all over.

    Screams were incessant.

    "Kill me! Kill me!" the man shouted loudly.

    Abrego hadn''t expected someone within the ranks of the drug traffickers to actually be an informant for the police!

    Did he think the Mexican Drug Cartels were finished?

    Ingrates!

    "Where is his wife and children?"

    Next to him, El Mencho said, "Buried in a concrete block."

    "Hang him from the big bridge in Matamoros. I want to show everyone what happens when you betray the Gulf Group," Abrego said through clenched teeth.

    "Boss, I think we should postpone our n. Given Victor''s cunning, he must be prepared by now. If we go now, our casualties will surely increase," said El Mencho.

    Abrego squinted, recalling his uncle''s advice, "Keep a cool head, don''t let anger ruin your judgment."

    He took a deep breath but shook his head, "This was decided by the five major drug trafficking organizations together. If we break the agreement, they will attack us together, and our losses will be even greater then."

    El Mencho''s voice was solemn, "Breaking an agreement is not a serious crime in Mexico, but death is. Considering Guadalupe Ind''s terrain plus the police fire support, our chances of storming it are zero!"

    He analyzed the situation calmly for his boss.

    Since when do drug traffickers care about moral boundaries?

    Betrayal ismon. If the price is right, even your own mother could have a tag on her.

    Rules?

    Don''t be naive. If Mexico really had rules, would it be in such a mess?

    "We can instigate a fire fight with the police from Maulipas State, and then tell the others that we couldn''t escape. Meanwhile, we''ll take over Benjamin''s territory while he''s away from Tijuana," El Mencho said.

    "By then, we''ll be able to control the Baja California region. With marine and aerial transportation, our profits could double!"

    Abrego''s heart tightened, and he looked up at El Mencho. This son-inw of the Millennium Group was eerily calm, as if discussing something ordinary.

    In Abrego''s eyes, this guy could definitely make things happen!

    Cunning, sinister, vicious, and possessing the intellect rare among drug traffickers.

    "You make a good point," Abrego deliberated for a moment and then slowly nodded, "but not showing up isn''t an option. Pick some we don''t like to follow Benjamin onto the ind."

    He also wanted to use this opportunity to rid himself of some subordinates who were "disrespectful" to him.

    "Stirring up trouble with the police from Maulipas State is your job. Keep it at the right level," Abrego paused, "Once this is settled, you''ll be in charge of business in Jalisco."

    El Mencho''s heart leapt, but years of being at the mercy of others had made his emotions unpredictable; he had his own way of doing things.

    He was long tired of answering to others.

    But owing to the downfall of his father-inw''s Millennium Group at the hands of the Michoac¨¢n Family, he was left without any capital and had to rely on Abrego, quickly gaining favor for being ruthless and taciturn.

    Now, finally, it was his turn!

    Jalisco wasn''t such a bad ce!

    El Mencho had a dream...

    "To be the biggest drug trafficker in Mexico and even Latin America!"

    ...

    Benjamin cursed fiercely and then threw his phone away.

    "That Matamoros bastard, getting into a sh with state police at this time, what''s inside his head? Shit?"

    The underling looked at him and then quickly lowered his head.

    You didn''t curse him on the phone, and now you''re cursing him when he can''t hear you.

    "Don''t worry about him, proceed with the n. After we get rid of Victor, we''ll take care of him."

    February 7, 1990.

    Clear.

    No clouds for thousands of miles...

    No, that''s not right, it started raining in the evening.

    Benjamin arranged for 8 roll-on/roll-off ships, which are vessels where trucks and semi-trailers carrying containers or other cargo can directly enter and leave the cargo hold for loading and unloading.

    There''s a lot of space below, enough to fit several tanks.

    Mostly, these are the "main force" in scenic areas.

    Around 9 pm.

    Aside from the Ensenada City area, roll-on/roll-off ships burst through the waves at 6 other docks around the Baja California region, and mounted on their decks were the 20mm G1-2s,monly known as Gatling 6-barrel rotary cannons!

    Old pieces produced by the South African Armscorpany.

    Bought on the US ck market.

    Able to suppress naval vessels and firepower on the ind.

    Do you think drug traffickers reallye "empty-handed" nowadays?

    Benjamin emptied his coffers and spent nearly 60 million US Dors on arge amount of weaponry. He also modified the upper half of 6 of the roll-on/roll-off ships to amodate 2 SA341 ''Little Antelope'' and 4 Bell 214 helicopters purchased from France!

    And he hired professional pilots for them.

    That''s also a connection from France.

    No one would think that drug traffickers sell to the United States, would they?

    Those who be drug cartels all have damn wide connections!

    Benjamin also knew that drug traffickers''bat skills were really pathetic. They can bully the weak, but to fight against the experienced Victor, they''re stillcking.

    He spent 10 million US Dors to hire a 170-person mercenary squad, veterans active on the African battlefield.

    If they can''t beat them, throw in manpower¡ªI have money!

    Drug traffickers really have nothing but money. Pablo, while fleeingter, even burned money to keep his wife and kids warm, recklessly spending 2 million US Dors in one night just for heat.

    Really, not manypanies have as much cash flow as they do.

    He was truly bleeding money!

    In the eyes of drug traffickers, problems that can be solved with money are not considered problems. For ones like Victor that can''t be solved, they just throw money at them to hire others to do the job!

    The tactic of hiring foreign reinforcements will appear a few yearster, when Mexican drug traffickers transitioned from traditional organizations to more violent ones. During that time, many were left homeless after the dissolution of the Russian Bear, and they helped train gunmen for the drug traffickers and directly joined the fight.

    "Boss, we''re 10 nautical miles from Guadalupe Ind! (18.52 kilometers)" came the drug traffickers'' report over the radio.

    "Carry out the n as scheduled!"

    "Understood."

    After Benjamin gave themand, the drug traffickers began to act, quickly inting several assault boats and dropping them from the ship.

    One by one, either drug traffickers or mercenaries, armed and sitting in assault boats, charged towards Guadalupe Ind!

    Under the moonlight...

    One could see a dense array of about a hundred assault boats. Even if you fit four people in each boat, that''s still damn near five hundred people.

    In the air, six helicopters also took advantage of the night to fly low, opening up an area for thending forces first, and facing direct opposition would just bomb them outright.

    This was Benjamin''s tactic.

    He just couldn''t believe it.

    Victor couldn''t defend against it, get angry, then cover the area with firepower!

    Cover the entire ocean.

    Benjamin felt a surge of boldness.

    "Tonight, I''m going to celebrate my birthday on Guadalupe Ind!"

    Bro, you shouldn''t be saying that; you''re not in control. Thest guy who said that has been dead for decades and gets dragged out for public whipping.

    People, thest thing you want to do is pop champagne mid-game.

    And also having your back full of gs.

    ...

 Chapter 92 Call Me Victor... General?!

    Nickname: Sitting atop the SA34 "Little Antelope" was Vayeback Diouf, who belonged to a South African mercenarypany named EO! (Executive Oues!)

    They didn''t care who the customer was, as long as you paid, all you had to consider was how you wanted to sit in the seat you desired.

    They had participated in numerous coups, with amplebat experience.

    "I hate the ocean!" Vayeback muttered, looking down at the churning waves below, his name a clear indication that he was suited for desert warfare.

    "Proceed ording to n, Strong Sailor, breach from the northwest corner of the ind and establish a firebase there, and don''t go too deep!" he instructed through his headset.

    "Got it!"

    They saw a Bell 214 heading towards the designated spot.

    The mercenary known as Strong Sailor grabbed onto the handrail, bold and daring as he leaned out, squinting around before gesturing to the pilot to descend to the ground below.

    "All ready!"

    Inside the cabin, the sound of bullets being chambered was heard everywhere.

    "God bless!"

    "If I make it through this one, I can buy my daughter a piano."

    "Ah Men!"

    The mercenaries were quite calm, ustomed to life and death and the fires of war, the cooler they appeared.

    To them, this was just another ordinary operation tond on an ind. They''d heard the target was a cop ¨C in Africa, they''d fought against warlords, could cops be more heavily armed than them?

    The Bell 212 found a ce tond, and as soon as Strong Sailor disembarked from the helicopter, he felt that something was amiss ¨C it was too quiet... Ufortably so.

    The sound of the ocean waves felt unsettling.

    Watching the 17-member squad starting to set up the firebase on the teau, just as he was about to press the earpiece to report, suddenly, he saw a red line streak across the sky.

    A re!

    The word shed through Strong Sailor''s mind.

    Immediately, a barrage of res shot up, illuminating the sky in an instant.

    The faces of the mercenaries on the teau were all bewildered.

    "Charge! Get in there!" Strong Sailor reacted quickly. It was no longer possible to retreat; the only option was to charge in.

    "?P¨®ngalo! (Fire!)"

    Located 600 meters behind the teau were 10 M-30 type 122mm howitzers. Following themand, the neatly arranged howitzers fired in unison.

    The artillery barrage engulfed the teau.

    Boom! Boom! Boom!

    That pricey Bell 212 was blown to bits.

    From afar in the sky, Vayeback''s eyes widened. As soon as he saw the res, he sensed trouble. Watching the mes rising from a distance, he knew a mercenary squad was done for.

    "Fly over there, blow them up, shit! Where did the cops get the artillery from?"

    The pilot flew the helicopter, which was equipped with two missiles, onto the artillery positions. One shot was all needed to make everything OK!

    "Watch out for ground anti-air!" the technician on the SA34 "Little Antelope" suddenly shouted just as a stream of bullets shot up with a rattle from below.

    The pilot, well-coordinated with his technician, jerked the control stick. But someone in the cabin lost their footing and stumbled, falling out of the open door with a scream that ended abruptly with a thud.

    "Goddamn it, take it out! Take it out!" Vayeback''s eyes were blood-red as he barked at the anti-aircraft twin-gun below.

    With a serious expression, the pilot pressed the fire button.

    The 20mm cannon fired at the concealed anti-aircraft position, sting the ground and kicking up dust.

    The twin gun fell silent momentarily, but before any sense of relief could set in,

    they saw two figures on a nearby rise, shouldering a "Blowpipe" portable anti-air missiles ¨C Vayeback was all too familiar with it; he''d served in the United Kingdom.

    Damn it!

    Was this the police?

    "Evade! Evade!" Vayeback''s voice turned shrill as he screamed.

    Whoosh~

    Blowpipe fired!

    Didn''t matter what the odds were; flying a helicopter so low was basically courting death.

    The pilot clenched his teeth, his face flushed with strain, and Vayeback red, terror filling his eyes, but it was of no use.

    All he could do was watch as the Blowpipe scored a hit.

    The aircraft disintegrated midair.

    The Desert Ant belonged in the desert;ing to midair was practically begging for death.

    That also proved a point: no matter how badass you are onnd, in the sky, your life is in someone else''s hands.

    Inside a dugoutmand post.

    Victor, holding a pair of binocrs, watched the fireball in the distance crash into the sea and happily pped his thigh, "Good job, they''ll be promoted after this fight is over."

    He''d actually wanted to equip them with the FIM-92 Stinger.

    But American stuff was just too high-tech andplicated, with aplex charging system and operation procedures, so he switched to Blowpipe anti-air missiles instead.

    Casare watched Victor''s mood.

    He wasn''t sure whether to address him as Director or General anymore.

    As long as loyalty was in ce, that''s what mattered.

    "Director, other forces have spotted the drug trafficker''snding troops, should we open fire?"

    "Fire!"

    ...

    Over 20 assault boats were preparing to embark from the dock.

    They were about to reach the shore.

    The AK-630M type 30mm 6-barrel naval guns positioned on both sides of the dock opened fire.

    Have you ever seen a of gunfire?

    Just spraying wildly.

    "Ah! Ahh!! Ahhh!!!" A young drug trafficker cowered in the assault boat, not even knowing where he''d thrown his gun, his face covered in blood as he screamed in terror, a stench of urine emanating from his crotch.

    He was so scared he wet himself!

    Big brother, you lied to me!

    You said we were going to fight cops, but this is like damn warlords!

    He wanted to go home, to find his mother. He stood to jump into the water, but as soon as he got up, pop¡ª

    The upper half of his body was gone.

    Turned into rain.

    His lower half fell into the water where marine creatures lurking below swarmed over it. Within moments, a 300-meter zone in front of the dock became a no-go area.

    Using naval guns against assault boats.

    Who else could pull this off?

    Of course, some were lucky.

    Mercenaries from EOpany, through sheer luck, made it to the shore and quicklyy down, nning to crawl in a low posture, trying to advance using the blind spots of the naval gun''s fire.

    Hm?

    Suddenly something popped up ahead with English words on it. The mercenary squinted, and saw written: This is facing the enemy!

    Boom boom!

    The explosion instantly sted him into the air.

    Hisst thought: "NMB, ymores on the shore!!!"

    Victim mode engaged.

    On the dock here, Victor hadid out 40 ymores. These things wouldn''t just explode if you stepped on them, they''d also detonate if you entered their vicinity.

    Following one explosion came a chain reaction, blowing the nearby mercenaries into pieces; they writhed on the ground, clutching their severed legs and howling.

    As for any remainingndmines afterward?

    Let the drug traffickers roll!

    Spread out on the ground, they''d roll back and forth.

    ...

    The continuous sts petrified the residents of Guadalupe Ind.

    Many hid under their nkets, shivering uncontrobly.

    In the midst of war, civilians have no choice but to pray that the shells are not blind.

    Of course, there were also those who boldly peeped through their windows.

    "The helicopter''s been shot down!" Campos, full of excitement, was shaking Santos''s arm.

    Explosions are man''s romance.

    Santos, equally thrilled, nodded his head, "I knew Mr. Victor would protect the ind. When I grow up, I want to join his team."

    Campos hesitated, then said, "Then I should sign up for the police academy."

    "Will your parents agree?"

    "If they don''t, I''ll scare them with Mr. Victor!"

    Looking at him with a bizarre expression, Santos thought to himself, what a filial son.

    "Then I''ll drive a tank in the future, and you''ll be my assistant."

    Campos nodded but then asked, puzzled, "Does Mr. Victor have tanks? Isn''t he a police officer?"

    "Who says police can''t have tanks? You''ve seen the rocketunchers, right? Whatever the Mexican Government has, Victor has, and what they don''t, Victor still has."

    "Amazing. If you ask me, Mr. Victor is like an emperor from TV," Campos said, his mouth agape.

    Santos cut him off, "No! Sir promotes justice and light, those feudal emperors are an insult."

    Seeing his buddy get so worked up, Campos shrugged, "I was just joking."

    What kind of times are we living in that there are still emperors?

    Oh, except in Africa!

    So why not in Mexico?

    Stephanie, with her small eyes, watched the distant artillery fire, the thunderous noise ringing in her ears, feeling nothing but chaos and panic.

    Turning her head, she asked Dexter at the door, "Daddy, why do boys like these sounds?"

    Dexter patted her head, his gazeplex as he looked at the two adolescent boys, "Because those who don''t know fear admire war, but real men oppose it."

    "What about Mr. Victor? Is he a man?"

    Dexter took a deep breath, "He''s preventing a war!"

    ...

 Chapter 93 The Battle of Guadalupe Island Beach!

    February 7, 1990, on the beach of Guadalupe Ind.

    Night!

    Gunfire was everywhere, apanied by screams.

    "Move closer! Bring the boat up along the beach!" Benjamin, holding a telescope, saw the assault boats impeded by a barrage of machine gun fire and, quite irritated, shouted his orders.

    A Ro-Ro... storming the beach?

    What a micromanagement expert!

    Thest one to die in such a way was the "Anti-Japanese Hero," "Brutal Mutaguchi!"

    The 800-plus ton Ro-Ro vessel thundered forward,manded toward the northwest section of the beach. Oddly enough, the bullets seemed to have eyes of their own, simply whizzing above the ship.

    The hull remained unscathed?

    This must surely be good fortune smiling upon them!

    Thud~!

    With a heavy impact, the Ro-Ro vessel lurched, making everyone on board stagger and stumble. Benjamin, gripping the railing, was excited, "Disembark, get off quickly, fellows, we have already won half the battle!"

    He clearly was not a student of world military history.

    Otherwise, he would have understood that the most dangerous ce in anding operation lies... on the beach!

    More than 300 drug traffickers, armed with M16s, rushed out of the cabin under the lead of their boss.

    "Spread out! Spread out! Watch out for the machine guns!" The boss did have some tactical sense, "Bend down as you move forward."

    He hadn''t even finished speaking when there was a boom!

    The boss, nearly 200 pounds heavy, was directly sted into the sky, and when he fell back down, his body had been split in two.

    "Landmines! There arendmines!"

    In a panic, many drug traffickers started running around, and one explosion after another resulted in the 60 buried M14ndmines setting off a series of sts.

    Boom boom boom boom...

    The entire beach was overturned anew.

    Those lucky enough were merely legless, lying on the ground and howling.

    Benjamin''s eyes bulged, his whole body feeling cold as ice.

    Sounds of whooshing passed above his head, and looking up, he saw rows of rockets, trailing their tails,ing in at a t trajectory!

    There appeared to be more than 150 of them...

    "?Mierda! (Damn it!)" Benjamin muttered under his breath.

    The whole Ro-Ro and the surrounding hundreds of meters were instantly engulfed by the rockets.

    Kennedy Heisenberg covered his ears, looking at the distant inferno and speaking into a walkie-talkie, "Reload! Fire another round!"

    With the Katyusha, all you needed to do was prop up its wheels with logs to fire horizontally.

    In the Battle of Berlin in 1945, the Soviet Army lowered the angle of Katyusha rockets, opting for a t trajectory that instantly overpowered the German defenses and checkpoints, turning them all into nothing more than decorations¡ªuseless!

    Hundreds were instantly turned into souls departed.

    The officers, hearing themand, hurriedly loaded the rockets, and with Kennedy''s gesture, another 160 rockets wereunched toward the fiery beach.

    Who the hell can afford such luxury!

    Even Pablo, who boasts a force of 40,000 men, isn''t thatvish, right?

    But between Vic and Pablo, who is more formidable?

    Thetter''s power is at its zenith now, an opportunity for a showdown.

    Victor''s tactic was simple, "Let them in and hit them!" Once the drug traffickers disembarked and set foot on the coast, escaping would not be easy. Under this barrage of fire, who could survive?

    And on the Pacific Ocean,

    The "Duke Victor" was cutting its way in and out amongst the remaining Ro-Ro vessels!

    With two 7.62mm caliber machine guns at the bow and stern, helmeted officers were spraying the Ro-Ro vessels with fire, and casings ttered from the ejection ports, quickly piling into a small mound.

    "Radar search, lock on!"

    "Torpedounch is ready!"

    Thebatmand center on the patrol boat awaited the captain''s order.

    "Fire!"

    The fire control operator pressed the button.

    From below the patrol boat, a 533mm torpedo tube emerged, the surrounding water vibrating, with a number of small fish circling around.

    A torpedo was ejected from the tube, rushing toward an opposing Ro-Ro vessel.

    About a minuteter,

    The Ro-Ro vessel erupted in mes, its hull immediately tilting, taking on seawater.

    A warship attacking a Ro-Ro ship¡­

    Isn''t this just like a high school athlete pummeling a primary school student?

    On the "Duke Victor" alone, there were 20 different types of cannons. How could they stand against such firepower?

    "Save me! Save me!!"

    Dozens of drug traffickers clung to the railing, screaming pitifully with snot and tears streaming, hoping their fleeingrades might pull them to safety.

    But who would be so noble to still be a damned drug trafficker?

    The captain watched this scene, smiling at the corner of his mouth.

    "Aim the machine guns at the drug traffickers hanging from the hull, fire!"

    Themand was ryed down the line.

    The officers adjusted their machine gun barrels, pulling the trigger at the crying traffickers.

    Have you ever seen balloon shooting in a square?

    That''s just because those street vendors don''t have machine guns. If they did, they would understand how thrilling a strafing run can be.

    The bullets tore through the traffickers'' arms, and with a mix of despair and screams, they fell into the sea. One sweep from the gun was like the Grim Reaper tallying souls.

    Some traffickers couldn''t bear it any longer and leaped into the sea from the tilting vessel, shouting loudly.

    But apart from sshing waves, there was simply no killing power.

    "Continue the pursuit!"

    Seeing the situation turn sour, the other drug trafficking group''s ferries fled helter-skelter. They were cunning, letting Benjamin charge in first while watching the enemy being bombarded by firepower¡ªwho else would have the guts to follow?

    But thinking of escaping?

    Did you ask the abbot... I mean, did you ask Victor?

    Armed helicopters in the sky strafed the boats below!

    The drug traffickers on deck scrambled towards the control room as the prepared EDM assault team officers rode on assault boats towards the fleeing ferries. After storming aboard viadders, they first threw smoke grenades, then sprayed bullets inside indiscriminately.

    This fully demonstrated a principle.

    Compared to the regr army...

    Drug traffickers were just small-time.

    ...

    The battlested until 7 am before gradually quieting down.

    The whole of Guadalupe Ind seemed as if it had been refurbished.

    Having an intact corpse was practically a miracle in itself.

    Victor was followed by his bodyguards as he kicked a severed arm off a rock. Behind him, Casare''s face was lit with a smile, holding the battle report in his hand, "Boss, we have killed approximately 600 drug traffickers, with another 500 missing at sea, 2 ferries were destroyed, and 6 captured, including about 500 drug traffickers and 90 mercenaries. We also brought down 3 helicopters."

    "We lost 7 officers with 27 wounded!"

    Victor raised an eyebrow, "How were they sacrificed?"

    Casare''s smile faded, "An outpost was blown up by a mercenary''s helicopter; the officers didn''t make it out."

    "Pick out those mercenaries and kill them. The rest of the drug traffickers... take them to the minefield to clear mines! Those who survive, bind with shackles and parade them through the streets!"

    That harsh?

    "Boss, this will stir up public opinion; a lot of eyes are on this."

    "Do you think I care?"

    "Worry about public opinion when killing drug traffickers? If anyone has a problem, they cane find me on Guadalupe Ind. If any human rights activists are standing and making statements, then ask them to kneel down!"

    "Here, my word isw!"

    Casare swallowed hard, sensibly nodding his head.

    He ryed Victor''s orders.

    Kennedy stood in front of the captives with EDM officers, eyeing the differently dressed mercenaries and waving to his men behind him.

    The officers rushed forward and dragged the mercenaries out.

    "What are you doing? What are you doing? Let go of me, I demand you follow the Geneva Conventions; I am a prisoner of war."

    But no one paid him any mind.

    The Geneva Conventions?

    On Guadalupe Ind, "Victor''s Quotes" were followed!

    Seeing the tantrums do no good, a mercenary howled, "These police are going to kill us, they''re demons!"

    Suddenly, many captives panicked, and the noise and mor erupted.

    "Demons?"

    "We believe in Victor!"

    Kennedy pulled back the bolt of his submachine gun and swept across the drug traffickers who had stood up. He kicked the nearest captive to the ground and pressed his boot firmly on the man''s chest.

    "Director''s orders, for those causing trouble, kill half first!" an officer shouted from a distance.

    Kennedy, known internally as "Loyal Dog", was said to be extraordinarily devoted to the Director among EDM officers.

    Whatever the Director said was done to the letter.

    Kennedy nodded to the messenger, "Sorry, you''ve angered the sir." He lifted his hand and motioned to the crowd, "Left side lives, right side dies!"

    EDM officers raised their guns and opened fire!

    The helpless drug traffickers atst understood how the innocent civilians they once faced must have felt in their final pleas.

    "I don''t want to die! I don''t want to die!"

    "My mother is still waiting for me toe home!"

    The captives cried and ran.

    Kennedy and the others didn''t bother to chase; a road roller followed behind and pursued the traffickers. Without panic, they waited until the traffickers reached the seashore and howled helplessly at the ocean. Then the road roller simply rolled over them.

    Anyone with a brain knows how heavy a road roller is.

    The sound of bones breaking apanied the screams.

    Had a reporter captured this scene, it would have gone viral¡ªonly now there was no inte to spread it.

    But did Uncle Victor care?

    Death to drug traffickers!

    The captives who were chosen to live on the left side copsed on the ground, lifeless. That''s how people are; as long as they themselves survive, why struggle over someone else''s death?

    After everyone on the other side was killed.

    Kennedy looked at the survivors on the left, "Gentlemen, now it''s your turn to be active."

    "Take them to clear the mines! Those who survive might have a chance to leave Guadalupe Ind!"

    Clearing mines!

    The captives'' eyes were filled with despair, but upon hearing thetter part of the sentence, they regained a glimmer of hope, each person believing they were the chosen one.

    They wouldn''t be so unlucky.

    Kennedy watched the group.

    I said you could leave Guadalupe Ind.

    But I never mentioned providing a boat.

    Swim back on your own!

    ...

 Chapter 94 The Fall of Tijuana! (Vote for Monthly Tickets!!)

    ```

    The beach with mines and the dockside.

    There were dead with severed legs everywhere.

    Most of them wailed all night¡ªwho woulde and treat you?

    You hope Victor woulde and treat you?

    Forget it... even Satanughed out loud.

    Kennedy led about 50 captives, making them walk in groups of three, hand in hand, side by side, "just walk back and forth three times."

    The drug traffickers looked at each other.

    Their legs trembled uncontrobly, and they couldn''t help taking a step back.

    Rat-a-tat-tat...

    Bullets swept the sand behind them, stinging their heels. Kennedy''s sinister voice came through, "Step back, and you die! If you''re not willing, we''ll kill you and use your bodies to detonate the mines."

    You can''t reason with the people on Guadalupe Ind.

    You think you can buy your life with money?

    If you''re killed, the money will be Victor''s anyway.

    Surviving is simple, abide by thew and cherish nature.

    Under the coercion of the guns, the drug traffickers held hands, relying now on their luck.

    Boom!

    The first group hadn''t gone far before their luck ran out. They were blown sky-high; the three of them truly suffering and dying together.

    "Next group!"

    The sounds of explosions sporadically erupted on several beaches, asionally sounding almost pleasant.

    After more than two hours.

    Kennedy looked at the drug traffickers lying on the ground, drenched in sweat, less than 10 remaining, and just smirked, "Congrattions, gentlemen, you''re still alive."

    "Over there..." one of the traffickers pointed at the ones with limbs blown off, still wailing.

    "They''re beyond saving."

    Kennedy walked up to an injured trafficker, whose ears were gone and half his face was blown off. He clicked his tongue twice, "May Victor bless you."

    Biubiub!

    He gave the man two shots.

    This was mercy from Mr. Victor!

    "Get up, get up!" Kennedy yelled at the traffickers to stand, kicking those who were slow to rise.

    They were handcuffed together in a chain.

    The others panicked.

    "What... what is this?"

    "Didn''t you promise you''d let us go?"

    "Don''t worry, we won''t take your lives. Director Victor keeps his word; it''s just a parade through the streets! You wanted a look inside Guadalupe Ind, didn''t you? We''ll give you a tour!"

    ...

    Humvee police cars drove through the residential area, the loudspeakers ring: "Residents, the great Police Director Victor has defeated the coalition of drug traffickers!"

    "Please, all residents,e down to the streets to cheer our victory!"

    Why do these words sound more and more like those of a dictator?

    "Victory! We have victory!" Santos, the number oneckey, a hot-blooded young man, excitedly raised his hands, dragging his brothers and Stephanie down the stairs.

    "Mom, Uncle, hurry up, or we''ll be toote," he said, not forgetting to greet Valentina and the man Dexter before leaving.

    The streets were filled with cheering crowds.

    They stood on either side, craning their necks.

    Waving gs they had somehow acquired with vigor.

    "Here theye!"

    Santos was short and couldn''t see, so he anxiously squeezed his way in, his face getting pressed out of shape by someone''s backside, until he finally got through.

    He saw Humvees one after another, mounted with heavy machine guns, dragging the drug traffickers behind them.

    Excited cheers surrounded them.

    "Right! These drug traffickers should all be shot!!"

    "Yes, there''s no good end for drug trafficking. Mr. Victor did the right thing."

    ```

    "I say just kill them all, the Director is really too kind."

    Santos, listening to the conversations around him, also felt proud, continuously telling others, "Mr. is my Godfather, and he''s going to baptize me in a couple of days."

    Upon hearing this, the residents all looked surprised, then patted his head, "Then you must learn well from Mr. Victor, he is an excellent police officer."

    "Mmm-hmm, I will eradicate all the criminals in Mexico!"

    The adults nearby chuckled and encouraged him.

    Just then, the cheers became louder; Santos looked over and saw Victor sitting on a Hummer, waving at them.

    As if...

    Reviewing his subjects?

    The "Duke of the Ind" on Guadalupe Ind was already unting his military strength to his people!

    Looking at the imposing Victor, Santos''s face showed longing.

    In his mind, his belief became even stronger.

    To follow Victor, to learn from Victor, to be Victor!

    Those drug traffickers hung their heads like the walking dead, utterly spiritless, this is called heart-crushing. Do you think living longer is better?

    Committing a crime on Guadalupe Ind, the death penalty is the most "mild."

    Biang!

    Matamoros!

    The golden AK47 slipped from Abrego''s hands; he squinted his eyes, "Failed?"

    "All dead..." El Mencho said with his head lowered, his tone also carrying a hint of disbelief. He admitted he did not believe the drug trafficker "Coalition Forces" would win.

    It was his intuition, but he never thought they''d be defeated so quickly.

    "Even a thousand pigs couldn''t be caught in one night!" Abrego eximed, pulling at his hair, "Benjamin is just an idiot!"

    If Benjamin were still alive, he''d certainly cry foul. That firepower wouldn''t be able to catch pigs, but it could certainly roast them.

    "We can now take over the territory in Baja California, but this will directly conflict with Victor," Abrego said, now truly a bit fearful.

    Benjamin is dead!

    Tijuana is going to be reorganized, the Felix Family all lined up together, decades of drug trafficking just vanished?

    Could the Abrego family face the same fate?

    El Mencho, seeing the hesitation flicker across the other''s face, said, "Boss, we should seriously consider upgrading our weaponry on arge scale, and we need to hire the most professional instructors.

    "From Africa, Europe, even Asia, we can recruit more people to join. We need military-grade weapons as our backbone."

    "No goods in the United States; we can turn to the Soviet Union. I''ve heard they''re a bit strapped for cashtely. We can send someone over to see if there''s any advantage?"

    Look, he''s now showing his "Fangs." As a child, with a house full of brothers and sisters, after finishing elementary school, he went to work and felt there was no future, so he smuggled himself to the United States and blended into various cities in California.

    He joined the Mexican crime organizations, engaged in deception, kidnapping, and drug trafficking.

    Multiple times arrested and imprisoned.

    Now, at the age of 24, he already had over a decade of work experience; he was supposed to be deported back to his native Michoac¨¢n, where he had already found a connection to join the police force.

    However, because of his cunning and ruthlessness, Abrego took notice of him, and that''s how he became one of Abrego''s men.

    El Mencho saw it clear.

    Mexico''sndscape is changing, and drug traffickers are evolving into warlords!

    "Boss, if we fall behind, we will be beaten! Tijuana is gone."

    Seeing that Abrego was still hesitating, El Mencho added fuel to the fire.

    After all, Abrego was decisive; he had brought a small organization to the level of a corporate group, which spoke to his methods.

    "Take out 300 million US Dors for the purchase of weapons!"

    "I refuse to believe that Victor can keep supressing us if wepete with fire!"

    300 million dors worth of munitions might not be much for a major country.

    But this is a drug trafficker...

    The drug trafficker is also going to increase military spending?

    El Mencho is truly Mexico''s "King of the Scrolls."

    With a single sentence, he persuaded a man to willingly pull out 300 million dors for him.

    It''s more than Mexico''s annual military budget.

    In the future...

    It''s probably going to get even livelier.

    ...

 Chapter 95 Youd better bring more people!

    Guadalupe Ind.

    The remaining 70 drug traffickers wept with joy, and many were roaring with excitement.

    They...

    had been released!

    These cops actually kept their words, really kept their words.

    "Where''s the boat... the boat the officers are sending us away on?" A drug trafficker lieutenant asked Kennedy with a fawning smile.

    "There''s no boat, swim back yourselves."

    "Swim back?!"

    The drug traffickers were instantly dumbfounded.

    You look at me, I look at you.

    "Off... officer, the distance to Ensenada City is over 300 kilometers, are you joking?" stammered the drug trafficker lieutenant.

    Kennedy''s eyebrows raised slightly, he nodded slowly, stepping aside, "You have a point. Go on, I''ll take you to Mr. Victor."

    The lieutenant''s face lit up with joy, and he followed Kennedy for a couple of steps, then suddenly saw the police in front of him lunge forward as if he had lost his footing.

    "Assault on an officer! You dare to assault an officer! Fire! The drug traffickers are rioting!"

    Drug trafficker lieutenant: "???"

    The machine guns on the Humvees cocked, firing across the drug traffickers on the shore.

    Ratatatatat...

    Swept dead.

    Kennedy suddenly felt exhrated, watching as all the drug traffickers in front fell, he straightened his clothes, looking down at the lieutenant who was spewing blood from bullet-torn lungs and made eye contact with him.

    Pulling out his gun, he fired three shots into his head.

    Even his eyeballs were shattered.

    "The thing I hate most is people staring at me."

    "Business as usual, add a meal for Jaws."

    The officers nodded, ustomed to it, if there were no drug traffickers left in Mexico, they could all be zookeepers.

    But what would the zoo animals eat?

    Police department, Director''s office.

    In his hand, Victor held a badge with a ck scorpion logo, its stinger entwined with a sword.

    "EO? I might as well believe in UFOs."

    Laughing scornfully, Victor tossed the badge into the fish tank beside him; he thought he needed to improve his temper by keeping some fish to refine his taste.

    He found out that even fish were too noisy, so he just cooked them.

    "Boss, I checked and this EO seems to be pretty powerful..." Casare said from the side.

    "There are many powerful people, but this is Mexico, not Africa. You take someone''s money, you have to be ready to die for them," Victor said.

    You think money is that easy to earn?

    They''re just mercenaries, right?

    These dogs don''t get Geneva Conventions protections, which means you can chop them into pieces if you catch them, and nobody will say a thing.

    Casare nodded, now having an unusual confidence in the firepower of the police department.

    No matter who it is!

    If anyone wants to make anding, they''d better leave some corpses on the beach.

    And Mexico is not Africa.

    "Another thing, we announced during the curfew, a total of 31 incidents urred on Guadalupe Ind, 17 of which were violent crimes like smashing, looting, and arson, involving about 171 people. Boss, I think we should build a prison," Casare suggested.

    "Criminals like these should be made to build roads!"

    "We urgently needbor for various measures on the ind, and if they don''t want to be beaten, they have to pay every month. Just like in teau Prison, the living can create more value than the dead."

    What Casare said was very diplomatic, which meant, boss, the sharks can''t eat anymore!

    Throwing more bodies into the Pacific is outright environmental pollution.

    Victor frowned, then as if thinking of something, "I heard that ashes could enhance the growth of economic crops?"

    Casare''s eyes widened in shock!

    Boss, what are you doing?!

    Victor saw the "Grand Steward''s" eyes suddenly widen to reveal syed blood vessels, he waved his hands in a half-joke, "I''m just kidding. I''ve been watching a science program recently. Do you really think I''m that brutal?"

    "The boss loves learning," Casare also said with a forced smile.

    "Alright then, let''s build a prison, but don''t make it toofortable. Find a way to get it over to the beach, set up a few water booths, and whoever doesn''t behave lock ''em in a cage then take them to visit Jaws!" Victor said with murderous intent in his tone.

    "As for the prisoners before the prison ispleted, especially those who looted during the chaos, execute those who should be executed, and apply the death penalty where due! No leniency, enforcing thew is one of the best ways to improve security!"

    "Look at Singapore - they still retain caning but they are also one of the safest countries in the world."

    Victor did not say Guadalupe Ind was a country, it was just a metaphor!

    He tapped his hand lightly on the desk, "Mexico has nothing but drug traffickers; don''t worry aboutcking people for bridge construction."

    ```

    Knock, knock, knock~

    Right as the two were having their "secret conversation," there came a knocking at the door, and then a young girl in police uniform pushed the door open and entered.

    She was green, naive, tying her hair into a ponytail trying her best to lookpetent.

    She was one of the secretaries arranged by Victor for the "Secretary Office," four in total, two men and two women, all university students who had previously joined Guadalupe Ind.

    "Director, the TV speech is ready," she said.

    Victor smiled and nodded, picking up the hat on the table. "Let''s go, I have to share our achievements with my people¡­ the inders," he said.

    People? Coming out already?

    Big boss, you''re really scheming!

    However, Casare was still excited, as a leader with ambitions was always better than following one without any.

    "Director, it''s getting cold, put on an extrayer," she suggested.

    ...

    "Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to announce!"

    Victor''s face appeared on the family televisions across the cities of Baja California State.

    Other states had him artificially blocked out.

    What are you joking about?

    With you, Victor, pulling this every day, the drug traffickers in my territory are getting jittery, and this is affecting the GDP. But, this must be the result of the drug traffickers colluding with certain officials.

    I can''t deal with you, but I can deal with our own TV stations!

    The victory method of Ah Q applies everywhere.

    When Calderon cracked down on drug traffickers harshly in 2006, he put a lot of pressure on the officials below, and then? These officials just burned ordinary straw and told the higher-ups it was drugs, followed by a lot of publicity about the sess of drug eradication.

    Fooling those above and deceiving those below is universal.

    Then suddenly Victores crashing in, flipping tables, do you think anyone''s happy?

    Uncle Victor wants you to be unhappy, because if you''re happy, then I''m not.

    "The egregiously evil, menace to Mexico, Big Drug Trafficker Benjamin Felix has been killed!"

    A charred corpse appeared beside the TV.

    Even a dog couldn''t tell this was a person.

    All we heard was that Benjamin was on a passenger ship, but that ship was blown up by Katyusha. Who knows whose body it was?

    Randomly grab one and snap a photo.

    You say it''s not him? Then you must be very familiar with Benjamin, definitely a drug trafficker!

    "It signifies the disintegration of therge-scale drug trafficking organization that was upying Baja California State!"

    "Long live!"

    "Long live Mr. Victor!"

    Cheers from Guadalupe Ind and Dan Senada City resounded through the heavens.

    Every year in Tijuana, over 2000 people die at their hands¡ªthe figure is no small matter. Truly heinous. Many dare to be angry but do not dare to speak. Now with the deeply sinful Benjamin killed, it''s like a celebration for everyone.

    This "Guadalupe Ind War" held different signals in the eyes of many. That''s over a thousand people. Why didn''t Victor say where those people went?

    He must have killed them all!

    That damned "Tyrant"!

    This time around, Victor did not make any "deafening" promations; stepping down from the stage, he said to Casare,

    "Call Best back from the United States. We''re going to establish no fewer than 10 factories on Guadalupe Ind and in Dan Senada City. We can put a pause on the arms business for a while."

    Arms dealing is profitable, but running around as a trafficker barely yields any profit. Victor nned to promote Alejandro, then, through his connections, set up an "ammunition processing factory" or "firearm assembly nt" to be a partner of the Mexican Government.

    Then sell in the name of the nation.

    Hehehe...

    Why would I help you without any benefit for me?

    The most important thing is, now with the drug traffickers eradicated, at least half of Guadalupe Ind and Dan Senada City''s people had lost their means of survival.

    Do you think...

    They won''t make a fuss?

    Don''t think everything is safe now; when the timees for an explosion, it will be toote.

    Casare nodded and took note.

    "Director, a call from Mr. Alejandro," the secretary said, handing him the phone.

    Victor took it and said with a smile, "Sir, do you have any good news?"

    "I think you shoulde to Dan Senada. Someone from Mexico City has arrived," Alejandro said in a low voice, "And it''s a deputy minister from the education department." Explore more at mvl

    "You''d better bring more people!"

    ...

    ```

 Chapter 96 You Dont Respect Me? You Dont Respect Me! (Vote for Monthly Tickets!)

    ```

    Bring more men?

    Squinting his eyes, Victor clearly picked up on Alejandro''s subtext.

    They''re up to no good!

    Uncle Victor always likes stirring things up.

    "Let Kennedy bring EDM with me to Dan Senada City. I want to see what bullshit the people from Mexico City can spout."

    Casare fully yed the role of the Dog-headed Military Advisor, "Boss, why don''t we have the officers sail the ship over? If those bastards get tough, we''ll give them a broadside directly!"

    "Get tough? How many guns does the Department of Education have?"

    "But you''re right, better safe than sorry. Just do as you said, restock the ammunition, and transport two Katyushas on the ferry."

    If they want to get tough!

    Let them understand what Uncle Victor''s p means.

    By the time he got to the police station, the EDM was already assembled, and the group boarded four helicopters. Besides the Mi-8 and the SA.321Ja, Victor also procured an "Enjoyable Green Giant" H-3 transport from American Sikorsky Company, capable of carrying 28 people.

    The other was an AH-1 "Huey Cobra"!

    Investing heavily in air power to protect the smuggling activities around Guadalupe Ind, going up and firing directly at them.

    But, there shouldn''t be any drug traffickers daring to use this route in the short term.

    Costing them over one billion US dors annually.

    The three helicopters escorting Victor''s aircraft soon arrived at Ensenada City,nding on the helipad of the city hall. As soon as he got off, he saw Alejandro waiting for him.

    The two shook hands firmly.

    Alejandro hooked his shoulder, looking quite close, and whispered, "The man who came is Zafaru Teyera, he''s here to negotiate."

    "For whom? The drug trafficker?"

    "Who else but them," Alejandro said helplessly. "You''ve killed too manytely. The cartels have lost their most important channel. They can''t bear such a big loss."

    Victor nodded, asking the key question, "Why bring someone from the Department of Education? Is he deeply involved?"

    "He''s the Suegro (father-inw) of Raul Salinas de Gortari."

    The surname sounded very familiar to Victor. Suddenly, a thought shed through his mind, "The bald guy''s brother?"

    Alejandro nodded.

    The bald guy was none other than the current strongman of Mexico, Carlos Salinas!

    His brother-inw had be the second-hand man of the Department of Education, and now he''s here to plead for the drug traffickers?

    Just great!

    As expected of Mexico''s corrupt officials!

    Victor knew such nepotism was unavoidable in any country, but it was rare for a country''s leader to be involved in drug-rted issues.

    "Where is he?"

    "In the office." Alejandro spoke helplessly. "The man is quite arrogant."

    Victor nodded, "I like the arrogant ones."

    They''re not so easy to break, so you don''t just kill them right off the bat.

    They made their way to the office, and the municipal staff they encountered en route all greeted him respectfully. Victor did not put on airs, responding with a smile and a wave.

    "You''re more suited to being a politician than I am," Alejandro remarked, seeing him like this.

    "Politics isn''t about who''s suitable or not; it''s about whether the benefits push you," Victor replied.

    Victor pushed the door open and was immediately taken aback as he saw a middle-aged man with a receding hairline sitting cross-legged, stroking his chin with a malicious look on his face as he watched a female secretary bustling around inside.

    There were numerous others sitting around as well.

    The appearance didn''t look good at all.

    But then again, the bald Carlos Salinas and his brothers were no good either. When he was 12 years old, he shot and killed a 12-year-old maid, and it even made the social newspapers. But...

    His father was a Federal Congressman, and their family was highly prominent.

    As the balding Deputy Minister of the Department of Education, Zafaru Teyera heard the door open and nced over. Seeing so many people at the door, he raised an eyebrow and kindly smiled, "Victor,e sit."

    Is he acting like the host here?

    Victor nodded with a smile and stepped in, scanning the room.

    No seats left. Find your next read at mvl

    They were all taken.

    "You''ve been a bit too muchtely, and it has upset some people. But don''t worry, these are minor issues. It''s normal for a young man, I was the same at your age, just make some changes and it''ll be alright," Zafaru Teyera let him stand.

    Then he began to talk as if admonishing a younger rtive.

    "Are you disrespecting me?" Victor suddenly spoke up.

    "??" Zafaru Teyera was taken aback.

    Victor delivered a knee thrust, hitting him directly in the ribs, and grabbing his neck to pin him against the wall. "Goddammit! Everyone came to greet me, why didn''t you? Who the hell do you think you are? You didn''te!"

    "You''re disrespecting me!"

    ```

    Victor grabbed the familiar weapon from the table, the "ashtray," and smashed it down on his head. "When Ie, even Satan has to stand up; you sit and talk to me? Didn''t your mother teach you any respect?"

    Alejandro held his forehead; he knew this was going to happen.

    He had already warned Zafaru Teyera, telling him Victor had a bad temper. Do you know what he said?

    "If he''s got a bad temper, then he needs to improve it. Mexicans need to be gentlemen."

    Well...

    You want him to be a gentleman, and he beats you into dog shit.

    Alejandro didn''t intend to pull Victor off; Victor, just don''t hit me after you hit him.

    The bottom of the ashtray was about 3CM thick; that hit was solid, doing some serious damage to the other guy.

    Gasping for breath, he stood up, his heel stomping on the other man''s mouth, shattering his teeth to pieces.

    Victor turned around, looked at the people in the other seats, pulled over Zafaru Teyera''s chair, and sat down, "I''ll sit here. If I''m not here, you all must stand. Don''t move a muscle!"

    He shouted at a man with sses who had just adjusted his eyewear.

    "Take him out and beat him!"

    Kennedy, along with two officers, dragged him to the next room. Screams ensued, but were quickly muffled, clearly someone''s mouth was being covered.

    "I''m speaking on top, and not making you kneel is already being nice. And you dare to move." Victor''s gaze swept over them, extending three fingers.

    "I''ve got three things to say."

    "First, don''t f*cking y thepdog for drug traffickers, or I''ll settle the score with you sooner orter."

    "Second, don''t even think of messing with me. I can''t stand a speck of sand in my eye. If you''re not honest, I''ll smash you to pieces!"

    "Third, do your official duties, and I''ll do my policing. If you interfere with my work, I''ll make sure you can''t sitfortably!"

    "Anything else? If not, get lost."

    With a wave of Victor''s hand, the staff who hade with Zafaru Teyera took to their heels, and as they reached the door, "Wait!"

    The group shuddered, turning around with mournful faces.

    "Drag him away."

    In a fluster, they hauled the unconscious Zafaru out, leaving in disarray.

    "You''ve really offended the high-ups this time," Alejandro sighed.

    Victor''s eyebrows twitched, "Right, seriously offended them."

    "Since we''ve offended them, we might as well go all out. Zafaru and his men won''t get out of Ensenada City!"

    Alejandro''s heart skipped a beat as he looked at Victor, seeing that he wasn''t joking, and swallowed hard.

    "He disrespected me, and I''m pretty rebellious."

    Who says you can''t be rebellious at almost 30?

    The rebellious phase just camete.

    "The Tijuana Cartel still has people resisting. I think we need to be careful these days," Alejandro was a smart man.

    Isn''t it obvious by now?

    Ensenada City and Guadalupe Ind are going against the entirety of Mexico, already having offended many vested interests.

    Victor and Alejandro are reformers without any way out.

    You think bowing your head will solve everything?

    Bowing down will just get you killed faster.

    If you''re not tough, the drug traffickers will climb up, and before you know it, they might just turn up in toilets, sewers, the wilderness.

    Then in pieces here and there.

    ...

    "Long live Mr. Victor!"

    A throng of people was gathered outside the City Hall, holding up photos of Victor, shouting fervently upon hearing he had arrived.

    Some even paired his image next to that of God.

    This was the highest honor.

    "We want work! We want work!"

    On the opposite side of the street, another group had gathered, carrying signs that read: "?Vamos aer!?? no hay narcotraficantes, no tenemos trabajo! (We want to eat! Without drug traffickers, we have no work!)"

    "These bastards, don''t they know how disgusting drug traffickers are, betraying the country."

    "It''s those fanatics again, pah!"

    Both groups red at each other, staring down their opponents.

    Suddenly, a shoe flew out from who knows where, and that was the spark. The two sides started a brawl right there.

    Hundreds of people shing in a massive street fight!

    ...

 Chapter 97 Even if You Cheer, You Need My Consent!

    Hundreds of people were engaged in an intense brawl, fighting viciously!

    The police constantly blew their whistles below, their batons smashing down on the crowd involved in the fight.

    Victor''s men were trampled over as if they were drawings on the ground.

    The entire scene was in utter chaos.

    Screams, wails of pain, and cries were incessant.

    Meanwhile, upstairs in the city hall, Victor and Alejandro watched in silence.

    "Aren''t you going to stop it, boss?" Casare asked softly at his side.

    "The police are maintaining order, why stop it?"

    Victor, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, pointed to the crowd below holding supportive signs, "Today they can support you like this, but if someday you can''t meet their expectations, they can turn against you. You need to make them understand that even their cheers must have my approval!"

    "Call an ambnce for them."

    Casare nodded hurriedly and scurried off.

    "Leave one deputy minister of the Baja California State security department for me," Victor said, gazing into the distance.

    Alejandro was confused, "The number of people in the security department has been arranged."

    "Then fire one!"

    Victor looked at him, "What''s the use of keeping useless people around? Here in Baja California, you and I have the say, everyone else? They can find somewhere else."

    He was no longer satisfied with just 80 men in EDM; he had to climb the ranks, ascending in position so he could control more people.

    Currently, there were barely 300 men on the ind, and even though there were a thousand more in the training camp, Victor felt very insecure.

    Mexican drug traffickers are too dangerous!

    Benjamin: ?????

    Sometimes, Alejandro also found Victor''s toughness hard to swallow, but he himself was rather meek, and most importantly, he was afraid that the other party might beat him too.

    All he could do was force a smile and nod, "I''ll try my best to find a way."

    "Don''t be so dejected. We eliminated the Tijuana Cartel; you should demand some benefits from the old men in Mexico City. If they refuse, then criticize their philosophy on TV and make the public doubt their enthusiasm for drug prohibition. You''ve got to learn to boldly use the media."

    "Can you curse at people?"

    "Do you need me to teach you a few phrases?"

    Victor pped him on the shoulder, "Only those with personality are remembered by the people, Alejandro."

    After the Millennium, many countries have seen peculiar characters.

    Someone with their pants down can still hold sway; if they didn''t have a big caliber at home, people would have diedughing already.

    "Smile a little, don''t look so sour."

    Alejandro forced a smile.

    "If a murderer can take a seat in the National Pce of Mexico, why can''t you? Buddy, listen to me, it won''t be long before you have to think about what posture to adopt when you take that position."

    Victor straightened his suit for him and patted his shoulder, "We can''t be satisfied with the present. Once we develop Dan Senada city properly, we''ll be invincible. I n to invest in several factories here; fancy a stake? Get the mayor involved and anyone else you think might be valuable."

    You can''t always threaten people with force.

    Interests are the best ties.

    Force is just something that makes these greedy people sit down and have a proper conversation.

    "You''re starting a factory??" Alejandro looked bewildered for a moment, hesitating, "Victor, drug traffickers can''t make soap."

    "????"

    Even Victor had tough at this, "Buddy, what are you joking about? Dan Senada city and Guadalupe Ind are both natural harbors; we can export fish, handicrafts, and even industrial products. Those protesters earlier were right; we need to create jobs for them. You don''t want the entire city full of prostitutes, hobos, and thieves, do you?"

    "In the political system, if you''re not sitting at the table, you''re on the menu."

    "We need development!"

    Mexico isn''t actually poor.

    They have avocados and many other things besides; vegetables have been their major export for ten consecutive years, and auto parts are even sold as far as Southeast Asia. In 1989, the domestic output was 214.03 billion US dors.

    But where does all this money go?

    p your hands and it disappears.

    A dog guarding the treasury might bark a few times as someone tries to take the money, but put a Mexican bureaucrat there, and he''ll stuff extra money into his underwear.

    The longest record was the dy of public servants'' sries for over three months.

    If it had not been for the "pocket money" from local drug traffickers, the system might havepletely copsed.

    The countries in the Latin American region are always filled with magical realism.

    Alejandro suddenly felt that Victor was a leader "with ideals and ambitions," at least one with a more sound mind.

    "Leave it to me. I''ll make sure the city hall gives the best benefits," he promised.

    He also wanted to develop Ensenada City into a major Mexican harbor city.

    He could collect so much in taxes...

    No, that''s called maintaining stability, eradicating drug traffickers.

    "Knock knock knock~"

    After knocking, a female secretary wearing high heels walked in¡ªa notch higher in quality than the ones on Viguadalupe Ind; Victor liked this type, with generous curves.

    "Boss!"

    Casare suddenly burst in from outside, looking serious. He nced at the woman, frowned, and whispered in Victor''s ear, "The Gulf Cartel has announced that they are taking over the Tijuana Cartel''s turf."

    "Oh?"

    Victor''s eyebrows twitched as he pinched his cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke, "Abrego''s nose is quite sensitive."

    "Have the other organizations agreed?"

    Casare shook his head, "Sinaloa and Juarez disagree, arge-scale conflict has erupted in Mexicali, and local military police are suppressing it."

    "Governor Rafael Max must be having a headache now," Victor said with a touch of schadenfreude.

    "Should we send someone over?"

    "Whoever enters that quagmire dies; it''s not an ind, our few men wouldn''t even suffice to fill their teeth gaps."

    Offensive and defensive battles are entirely different,

    Wait for them to fight their brains out, and then promote the scene under "Uncle Victor''s" rule."

    By then, there will definitely be many people hoping for us to "liberate" the whole of Lower California.

    That''s what the people desire, the unanimous wish!

    The main problem now is theck of manpower, funds, and firepower.

    He nced at his points.

    29800000!

    No, it''s still too little, maybe have Harris blow up the Third District of teau Prison?

    Anyway...

    Those old drug traffickers are useless to keep around!

    The useful ones are in the First Prison Zone and the Second District; they work on sewing machines.

    Casare stood by the side, for some reason always feeling a chill.

    "But issue a statement, warning the three parties not to harm innocent civilians, or we will retaliate!"

    ...

    Mexicali, the capital of Baja California.

    This rtively wealthy city of Mexico was now suffering a catastrophe.

    Battles were everywhere.

    Masked drug traffickers wielding weapons were indiscriminately shooting at fleeing pedestrians.

    Some local social gangs were looting everywhere, causing chaos.

    The stationed military police were being driven back in defeat; even many surrendered on their knees, yet they were still executed by the drug traffickers.

    Inside his office toilet, Governor Rafael Max was hiding in a panicked state, listening to the gunfire outside, his hands trembling with age.

    Boom!

    A loud noise as the office door was kicked open, followed by the sound of messy footsteps entering; Rafael Max''s nervous hands gripped the small handgun tightly.

    Holding his breath and listening to the sound of drawers being rummaged outside,

    But...

    After all, he was getting on in years; he lost his footing and directly sat on the toilet, making a sound.

    "Damn it!"

    Rafael Max''s eyes widened as the person at the door began spraying bullets into the toilet, emptying their magazine.

    The Governor is dead... Find your next read at mvl

    The toilet door opened, revealing two bandits wearing masks, armed with AK47s. One nced at Rafael Max''s gold watch, swiftly stripped it off, and even pried out his gold teeth.

    "Hurry! Let''s go, the cops areing."

    "Don''t rush, let me check a bit more; what''s the hurry, I knew these officials are rich."

    In the end, they even took the leather shoes.

    It''s a sad state of affairs when a Governor dies in his own office!

    ...

 Chapter 98 CJNG!

    Governor Rafael Max was killed by drug traffickers?!

    ording to video surveince, two idiots killed the security guard and broke into the city hall, piging their way up until they finally killed the governor.

    This is simply ridiculous.

    Why wasn''t such an important department guarded by the police?

    Answer: The police ran away too.

    This isn''t the first governor to be killed; in the past 30 years, over 17 governors have been assassinated, including 6 incumbents and 11 former ones.

    But this is undoubtedly a provocation against the Mexican Government.

    The Presidential Pce announced that over 5,000 military police will be dispatched to carry out an armed drug sweep in the Baja California region, to severely crackdown on the brazen activities of drug traffickers.

    In the entire war-torn Baja California, however, there are two unusually safe ces, Ensenada City and Guadalupe Ind.

    To prevent drug traffickers from entering "our territory," Victor reinforced Ensenada City with 100 EDM members and more than 150 Police Auxiliary Staff, as well as three helicopters and each carrying two PRO-A 93-mm Aerosol Bombs made in the Soviet Union!

    This weapon mainly relies on the destructive power of an instantaneous explosion after the aerosol explosive absorbs oxygen from the air, destroying bunkers, field fortifications, urban barriers, military equipment, armored vehicles, and eliminating exposed living targets.

    If you daree, I''ll show you a bombing!

    Victor had been promoted to "Deputy Minister of the Department of Security for Baja California State, Mexico." His police rank remained the same.

    ording to Alejandro, the position was greased with at least 400,000 US dors.

    For Victor, the effect was apparent.

    The original 80 members of the EDM expanded directly to 200!

    Now that he had money in hand, Victor spared no expense. Twenty people were molded ording to the standard naval temte and ced on the "Duke Victor."

    The remaining 100 were modeled after the German GSG9 Special Forces.

    He had thought of modeling after the SEALs and Delta Force, but each unit''s temte came at a different price, with the Yanks'' being particrly expensive. For Delta Force, they charged an additional 60,000 "usage fee" per person, not to mention other skills; a total set for one person could exceed 150,000 points!

    That made Victor''s eyes pop with urgency.

    An average small-time drug trafficker on the street was worth only about 200 points; 150,000 points would require how many traffickers?

    But on second thought, could a Wall Street financier be the same as your stock advisor?

    That''s talent!

    The German GSG9 Special Forces were cheaper, only 20,000 "usage fees," and no more than 70,000 points per person.

    But just thinking about it was terrifying; the EDM''s whole team was benchmarked against Europe''s most elite special police force, which in Germany consisted of only about 320 people. If Victor kept expanding like this, his whole team could end up Special Forces.

    The Mexican Government''s anti-drug operations had been going on for almost 3 months, but to no effect.

    Instead, the number of deaths was rising day by day.

    In just three months, over 700 military police had died, and over 1,000 drug traffickers had perished.

    Both sides were trapped in a state of tension.

    March 27, 1990.

    Victor was inspecting his own factory; he had opened two garment processing nts, one green vegetable import and exportpany, and three crop purchasingpanies in Ensenada City.

    Altogether, they could employ over 3,000 people! Discover hidden stories at mvl

    Nearly 400 million US dors swept from drug traffickers was all smashed down here. Of course, this money was also spent on infrastructure on Guadalupe Ind, and there were still big gaps to fill.

    Every day he opened his eyes, he had to think about money.

    These factories would still need some time before they could start operating.

    Fortunately, half a year of construction hadpletely changed the ind, at least making it much more suitable for human habitation.

    But many projects still required funding; they couldn''t just be abandoned halfway.

    He had to find a way to get some money.

    Perhaps...

    Go trouble the drug traffickers?

    "Boss! Major General Ichagre, the head of the anti-drug unit, was blown up this morning in a hair salon by Juarez Armando and his men," Casare said, covering his mouth and whispering.

    Victor nodded and turned to the apanying factory manager, and said gently, "These look good, but you must ensure the workers'' benefits. There must be no skimping on wages, and you have to give overtime pay after 13 hours."

    If it weren''t for thetter part of the sentence, one might truly think Victor was a great phnthropist.

    Thirteen hours would tire out even a donkey.

    The factory manager nodded and bowed profusely in agreement.

    After making another round, Victor left the factory and got into an armored Hummer, sitting down before asking, "Is this news true?"

    "Yes, official news from Mexico."

    "What was the Major General doing in a hair salon?" Victor frowned.

    Casare also shook his head, uncertainly saying, "Looking for a prostitute?"

    Well, that''s quite possible!

    "Do we have any information on this General Ichagre?"

    "Couldn''t find much, it''s not veryplete," Casare said with his head down.

    This wasn''t like after the Millennium, where you could just hit the Enter key on Wikipedia or something simr to get information; a lot had to be done manually, which was very cumbersome.

    ```

    But Victor felt it was about time to establish his own intelligence department. He couldn''t rely solely on external news and official intelligence for information.

    What they allowed you to see might not necessarily be correct, but what they didn''t want you to know was definitely urate.

    The death of Major General Ichagre was definitely not that simple, which also indicated that the drug enforcement team was now headless; it was likely they would be pulled out for reorganization.

    After all the fighting, they hadn''t even eradicated the drug traffickers, which made one wonder if they were genuinely ipetent or impotent despite their intentions.

    Perhaps, the Mexican Government would have to redeploy troops from elsewhere.

    This was his intuition.

    Back at the Ensenada City Hall, as soon as Victor saw Alejandro, he noticed thetter''s weary eyes and worried look, and even the usually non-smoker had cigarette butts on his table.

    When Alejandro saw Victor, he lifted his head, "Victor, I''m afraid we might have to go and suppress the drug traffickers."

    ...

    At that moment, in a mansion in Mexicali.

    Abrego was petting an orange cat, which seemed to be enjoying itself with its eyes squinted.

    "Are you saying the Mexican Government intends to send Victor to suppress us?"

    The man standing in front of him was dressed in a suit, and his work badge was still pinned to his chest, obviously havinge here straight from work without even clocking out.

    It read: Baja California Senior Judicial Police Commander: Jose Herrera Duarte.

    When Abrego asked his question, the man bowed and nodded, "I saw the document from the higher-ups; it''s written just like that."

    As soon as he finished speaking, a stack of US dors rolled toward his feet.

    Joy appeared on Jose''s face; he had chosen toe in person rather than calling, exactly for this reason.

    "Thank you! Thank you!"

    He picked up the money, stashed it into his pocket, and left under the guidance of a servant.

    In the hall.

    It was very quiet.

    Suddenly, Abrego''s hand tightened, harshly choking the orange cat''s neck. The animal struggled violently, scratching the man''s hand, but he seemed utterly unfazed by the pain.

    Once the cat was strangled to death, he casually tossed it aside and narrowed his eyes.

    "Victor!"

    "Let''s see who will stand victorious this time!"

    Abrego was full of confidence; he had formed an assassin squad of over 2000 men using weapons bought from El Mencho, causing Juarez and Sinaloa to retreat step by step, and it seemed they would soon give up the struggle for Baja California.

    If Victor were toe now, Abrego would make sure he understood what fury meant.

    He would settle new scores and old ones all at once!

    He picked up the phone and called his underling El Mencho, whom he had kept his promise with by letting him go to Jalisco to organize drug trafficking.

    However, he had heard that the kid had roped in his own siblings and even formed an organization called "Jalisco New Generation."

    Abrego didn''t care, as long as you obeyed and operated under the name of the Gulf Group, it didn''t matter what you called yourself.

    In Mexico, anyone could start an organization.

    "Boss," El Mencho''s muffled voice resonated from the other end of the line.

    That was just his temperament, and Abrego didn''t mind. He directly ordered, "Bring your men over. We are going to confront Victor!"

    There was a moment of silence from El Mencho.

    Abrego''s right eyelid twitched.

    "Sorry, Abrego, but I''ve decided to strike out on my own."

    "!!!"

    El Mencho ended the call right after saying that.

    Abrego was dumbfounded.

    I''m calling you to fight Victor with me, and you decide to go solo?

    Address me by my first name?! Are you that scared of death?

    He stood up angrily and smashed his phone to the ground. What else could he do except curse in rage?

    El Mencho had chosen the perfect time; with Victor''s arrival, Abrego wouldn''t have the time to trouble him, and if thetter truly intended to mess with him regardless, he would have to give up the Baja California region.

    To surrender the ie of several billion dors a year, after thousands had died¡ªwas it even possible to simply let go?

    Did Abrego have that kind of resolve?

    El Mencho was very cunning. Once Victor and Abrego engaged, his Jalisco New Generation couldy down roots in this territory.

    He believed Abrego had no future.

    Nothing beats the sensation of being the boss, and that was one thing El Mencho was sure about.

    He had his exit strategy all nned out, just waiting for this moment.

    ...

    ```

 Chapter 99 The Mexican Hero, Only Victor and El Mencho!

    Jalisco, Guadjara.

    A seaside vige.

    The air was redolent with the smell of fish, and salted fish hung thickly outside. People dressed like farmers moved back and forth.

    This was the stronghold of the Jalisco New Generation.

    El Mencho truly deserved the American praise as "the most brutal, cunning, and organized" big drug trafficker. In just three months, he had managed to raise a force of no less than 300 people and he understood the importance of weapons.

    Read exclusive adventures at mvl

    His drug traffickers were all armed with AK74 assault rifles, wore skull face masks, and were also equipped with RPK machine guns, RPG rocketunchers, Dragunov SVD sniper rifles, and even armored vehicles.

    And these personnel were by no means worthless.

    Most of them had served in the Mexican Army.

    Of course, at the beginning, El Mencho used the Gulf Group''s name and money, but he was generous. He was not stingy, paid the drug traffickers their sries on time, and even gave bonuses, so everyone was quite loyal to him.

    After hanging up the call with Abrego, El Mencho let out a sigh, "From now on, we''ll do our own thing and make even more money!"

    His followers cheered.

    They were excited.

    Who would want to be a dog for the Gulf Group when they could be their own boss?

    "Find someone to make contact with Juarez and Sinaloa. We can help them smuggle goods to the United States. The routes others dare not take, I dare to take. The payment will be one-third of each cargo."

    Without ntations for now, they could only start with outsourcing.

    But El Mencho believed that his drug empire would eventually monopolize from the source.

    "Brother, have you really decided to cut ties with the Gulf?" El Mencho''s younger brother hesitated to ask.

    "Abrego is shortsighted and petty, Guzman is cunning and sly butcks a strategic vision, the Michoac¨¢n Family are a waste, the idiots from Tijuana are gone, in all of Mexico, I see only two figures."

    El Mencho raised two fingers, "One is Victor, and the other is me!"

    No sooner had he spoken than a bolt of lightning struck down, startling his brother, who swiftly shrank his neck and peeked out the window, swallowing hard.

    His brother''s words seemed exceptionally arrogant.

    "Thendscape of Mexico will change because of us both."

    Ambition shone in El Mencho''s eyes.

    ¡­

    "Go up and suppress the drug traffickers?"

    "Of course, no problem."

    Victor was very casual, watching Alejandro rub his fingers, smiling as he said, "But shouldn''t there be some sort of gesture?"

    "This¡­"

    "The big shots in Mexico City won''t do anything, just tell us to go and fight to the death? No problem, I am a police officer after all, but my brothers need to eat, and I need to update and purchase my weapons. Surely they can''t expect us to cover everything, right?"

    "Without money, it''s tough to get things done!"

    Alejandro frowned; he obviously understood what Victor meant. It was nothing more than a price hike!

    A warlord!

    This TMD is just a warlord!

    "Give me 200 million US dors¡­" Victor had barely finished speaking when Alejandro shook his head, "It''s harder to take money from their pockets than to snatch a bone from a dog''s mouth."

    "Then promote me, give me a national force of an independent drug control unitmand, allow me to recruit nationwide and organize special drug enforcement operations."

    After all, the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) was not entirely under hismand.

    Having a direct drug control force under his ownmand, with EDM members serving as officers, and pulling a group from the Marine Corps with financial resources and faith, wouldn''t that make a small warlord?

    With just this handful of people, expecting to take on hundreds of thousands, even millions, of drug traffickers in a firefight was unrealistic, given only their poor organization and discipline. Had it been the drug traffickers of around 2010 with their operational capacity, Victor would have been minced by now.

    The drug traffickers of that time¡­

    Even the U.S. Militarying in for drug enforcement had no chance.

    Several helicopters had been taken down.

    "This¡­ is also difficult," Alejandro said with a pained expression.

    "Difficult, then let the big shots of Mexico City fight their own wars. These are my terms, and if they agree, tomorrow I''ll take my men to sh with the Gulf Group!"

    "If they don''t agree¡­"

    Victor squinted his eyes, "Then I''m sorry, but the drug traffickers on Guadalupe Ind haven''t beenpletely eradicated yet!"

    He didn''t bother with more words and stood up, "I hope for a quick response. I have to go now, it''s Sunday today, and I must attend my godson''s baptism!"

    Victor needed to create more value for himself within the rules.

    Otherwise, the bigwigs in Mexico City would think he was still that ordinary policeman who could be beckoned and scolded at any time.

    In the office, Alejandro was left alone, scratching his head in frustration.

    "Boss, will they agree to these conditions?" Casare asked, looking at him.

    "Why not?"

    "Drug traffickers are eroding their control over the state, and I am not. To some extent, what I am doing also reflects well on their faces."

    After all, drug enforcement is the most righteous cause in the world!

    No matter if you''re high-ranking officials or esteemed gentry, if you have any issue rted to drug abuse, your public persona is sure to crumble.

    Not conducive to progress!

    Things that can''t bear the light of day are forever the filthy refuse of sewers!

    Victor boarded the helicopter, flying toward Guadalupe Ind.

    Today was the time for Santos''s baptism.

    Having promised to be his godfather, he certainly couldn''t break the appointment.

    Our Lady of Guadalupe.

    That is, the ce previously discovered to be hiding drugs.

    It has reopened.

    With the Duke Victor''s approval, God allowed rebirth here!

    At the back of the church, by a man-made stream, surrounded by a crowd, Santos clenched his fists nervously.

    "Don''t worry, Mr. Victor promised you, he wille," Valentina said, smiling as she stroked her son''s head.

    Just as she finished speaking, a roar of cheers like a mountain copsing and a tsunami ensued.

    A convoy of a dozen cars approached from afar, and when they stopped at the church''s entrance, more than twenty fully armed EDM officers disembarked from the Humvees.

    There was a bit of a drug lord''s style to it.

    Kennedy was inseparable from him, ready to take a bullet when necessary, and from his bulging waist, it looked like he packed quite a few "tools" as well.

    Victor smiled and waved at the crowd.

    The crowd cooperatively raised their hands in response.

    On this small ind of Guadalupe, perhaps it wouldn''t be long before Victor''s portrait was hung up.

    The will of the people!

    "Sorry, I''mte!" Victor said, touching Santos''s face, thetter''s eyes shining with excitement. He looked up at Valentina, smiled, and reached out his hand, "A pleasure to meet you for the first time, Ms. Valentina."

    Thetter was equally delighted. As a mother, she was very straightforward; having Victor as her son''s godfather meant she didn''t have to worry about Santos''s future.

    At the very least, there was the support of a powerful patron.

    In Valentina''s eyes, he was that patron.

    "Let''s begin," Victor said to the priest.

    The new priest hurriedly nodded; he had heard that this man had a vtile temper, and the previous priest was allegedly turned into a sieve by him.

    Santosy quietly in the stream, which was specifically marked as not seawater, for if it were the nearby seawater, even Satan couldn''t purify it.

    Victor held him with both hands, following the priest''s prayers word for word.

    Under the zing sun...

    It was as if, over a thousand years ago, on the eastern banks of the Jordan River, a figure destined to be recorded in history was undergoing baptism by John.

    "It is done," the priest said softly.

    But as Victor pressed his hand on Santos''s forehead, he added an extra sentence, "Both God and I bless you!"

    The priest''s eyes widened in shock.

    NMD!

    That line wasn''t in the script, oh dear!

    He really wanted to stand up and p Victor, to defend the sanctity of his profession, but when he nced at the burly men looking rather fierce beside him, he shrank down, silent.

    The priest didn''t want to meet God just yet.

    He hadn''t had enough fun.

    A caliber that could shut his mouth.

    Helping Santos up, with his hair soaking wet, he asked, "Mr. Victor, have you been baptized?"

    Victor smiled, "Jesus has already died, no one has baptized me."

    Priest: GNM!

    He turned and walked away. Out of sight, out of mind.

    Staying here, he couldn''t fight nor dare to speak out.

    Sooner orter, he''d damn well join the Liberation Theology!

    Incense in the left hand, a gun in the right; when it''s time to burn incense, burn incense; when it''s time to shoot, shoot!

    After Santos''s baptism, Victor didn''t leave. He witnessed the baptism of more than a hundred children and blessed them.

    Standing on that baptismal stage, he said, "Children are the hope of Guadalupe, and the beginning of the struggle. Please allow me to call you gentlemen anddies. From today on, you must fight like adults."

    "Long live the ideal!"

    The people below cheered.

    But suddenly, someone shouted, "Long live Mr. Victor!"

    The scene gradually became more autocratic.

    The priest, hiding on the side and advanced in years, trembled at the mouth.

    ...

 Chapter 100 One Ruthless Man is Enough (Vote for monthly ticket please!!!)

    Victor sat in the car, looking at the bustling construction site outside and the emerging infrastructure.

    He felt a hint of pride in his heart.

    On Guadalupe Ind, he had implemented an eight-hour workday, but with three shifts. The inders were getting paid, and his machines never stopped.

    It was truly a win-win situation.

    Moreover, to reduce the burden on families affected by "work-rted injuries" and "fatalities," Victor nned to open an insurancepany on the ind,pelling everyone to purchase a policy. It would only cost 200 pesos a year, and since 1990 the exchange rate had fluctuated.

    1 US dor ¡Ö 2.2 pesos.

    The insurancepany could also cover the police officers for idental insurance. The money for this woulde out of the police department''s budget yearly, which in turn woulde from the ind''s finances. In this way, wasn''t this money going into Victor''s pocket?

    Even if an officer were injured or killed, the im would be paid by thepany under Victor''s name, which could also boost his reputation.

    There were now close to ny thousand people on the ind, with many immigrants arriving.

    If it weren''t for theck of funds right now, opening a supermarket on the ind, like the Yanks'' Walmart¡ªhere it could be called Wonima¡ªwould monopolize the localmodity market and definitely make money.

    The motorcade entered the residential area.

    A yellow Humvee police car was parked on the side of the road, and four or five older kids were frolicking around two police officers, chattering away.

    There was none of themon fleeing at the sight of the police that urred elsewhere.

    When the police officers noticed the motorcade, they stood upright and saluted.

    The kids did the same, looking quite adorable in the process.

    Victor rolled down the window and waved at them with a smile.

    This was the power that drove him!

    When he returned to the police station and had just set his foot into the lobby, he heard a broadcast from the TV, "The up-anding drug trafficking organization, Jalisco New Generation, emphasizes that the Gulf Group''s war in Baja California is meaningless!"

    "It only harms ordinary people. When men who must support their families fall in pools of blood, who will take care of their homes?"

    "They call for the Gulf Group, Juarez Cartel, Sinaloa Group, and the Mexican Government to cease hostilities and end this disaster."

    Victor turned to look and caught a sh of the camera focused on a man in a dark green military uniform, beret cap on his head, mask covering his face, with a muscr build. Behind him on the wall hung a banner that read: CJNG!

    His voice was altered, "We ask both sides to show restraint and ensure the safety of civilians. We are also willing to take in civiliansing from Baja California. We will use our power to protect Jalisco!"

    Victorughed.

    But he couldn''tugh wholeheartedly.

    The drug traffickers knew to use media and public opinion to cloak themselves now?

    Drug traffickers protecting civilians?

    It was incredibly far-fetched. Then what were the police for? What was Victor here for¡ªto be a gigolo?

    However, the person in charge of this organization did have brains.

    Jalisco New Generation?

    The name felt familiar!

    Victor had a feeling this new group would be his rival.

    Indeed, after 2005, the drug trafficking scene changed, and on more than one asion, traffickers recruited neers under banners of "defending our homnd, eradicating evil!"

    And they did follow through with some real actions.

    For instance, in 2015, two criminals from outside Guadjara killed a police officer and raped seven women. The Jalisco New Generation caught them, stripped them naked, surrounded by seven or eight weapon-wielding men as they bled profusely in front of the camera.

    Finally, after admitting to their crimes, the traffickers executed them.

    This video went viral at the time.

    And their closing statement was, "We are Jalisco New Generation, and our main aim is to protect civilians!"

    "Gather their information, I want to know their moves," Victor said, pointing at the Jalisco New Generation on the TV.

    With a pained expression, Casare realized he''d have to find informants and spend more money again.

    ...

    Although Jalisco New Generation seemed to be acting as a mediator, in reality, they were only adding fuel to the fire.

    The drug traffickers take a break? The big bosses don''t agree. They''ve been battling it out, nearing victory, and now a government force wants to intervene? What are they up to?

    The Mexican Government cease hostilities? Would they not care about losing face?

    Thebat around Mexicali intensified, bing a three-way battle!

    Gulf Group on one side, Juarez + Sinaloa on another, and the Government Forces on yet another¡ªthe whole of Baja California was inplete disarray.

    They would start shooting on sight.

    Victor''s new underling, the head of the Trat Police Department, Guillermo, did have some ability. With the weapons supplied by his boss, he could basically maintain order in the city.

    Victor had supported him with two BTR-80 armored personnel carriers, 15 Browning M2HB 0.50 inch machine guns, and 40 AK47s, not to mention 300,000 rounds of ammunition!

    He really had invested heavily, but after all, when recruiting underlings, you''ve got to give them some sweeteners.

    Victor had stayed on Guadalupe Ind for another half month, during which Alejandro called him to say that Mexico City would not ept his demands and loudly berated him as an illegal armed force!

    "Then let them solve it themselves."

    And then he quietly waited to see the joke unfold.

    Indeed, in the following month, the Mexican side dispatched a Major General from the Navy tomand the battle.

    Hmm... then he was kidnapped.

    By Juarez''s Armando. Experience exclusive tales on §Þ??

    On the way to take up his post, the convoy was attacked, the bodyguards were killed, and the Major General was kidnapped, leaving the Mexican Governmentpletely disgraced!

    In the end, they could only spend 5 million US dors to ransom this "useless" man.

    Armando became the real "General Killer."

    Now, with others supposed to take the post, no one was willing to do it.

    They were all scared to death.

    Find someone else, you say.

    After going around in circles, they ended uping back to Victor.

    April 1, 1990.

    Ensenada City. City Hall.

    V¨ªctor''sughter filled the office as he waved his hand dismissively at a helpless-looking Alejandro and Special Envoy Stephen Moyer, "Sorry, I can''t help it¡ªthe General got captured by a drug trafficker."

    "If it were me, I''d have already killed myself."

    "Please show some respect, Officer Victor," Special Envoy Stephen Moyer said, his face very grim.

    "Do the weak deserve respect?" Victor scoffed, "You should havee to me earlier, and by now, I would have already taken down that Abrego."

    "Enough nonsense, you didn''t call me here just to have a tea party."

    Stephen Moyer took a deep breath, "We agree to your terms; we''ll permit you to establish an anti-drug unit after quelling the drug traffickers'' revolt in Baja California, but it cannot exceed 1500 men, and the government will not fund it."

    "200 million US dors!"

    Victor extended his hand, "And another 200 million US dors!"

    Stephen Moyer sprang to his feet, "You didn''t say you wanted money!"

    "That wasst month''s price. You''re hiring me, so what''s wrong with raising my price?"

    "You''re wee to look elsewhere, pick from the Army, the Navy, or even the Air Force, and see if anyone else will go."

    "Apart from me, who else is there in Mexico?"

    A tough guy is all it takes!

    "This..." Stephen Moyer''s face darkened, "I need to report this."

    "Twenty minutes should be enough, right? I don''t have that much time to y house with you."

    The envoy nodded and went out to make a call.

    "Victor, there''s no need to make things so tense," Alejandro said, spreading his hands.

    "I just want to tell you something¡ªthey are dogs! To get a bone out of their mouths, you have to make them submissive; they''ll learn their lesson once they''ve suffered," Victor said.

    No money?

    No way I''m moving!

    He was most certainly unyielding.

    ...

 Chapter 101 Its difficult for me if you dont give money.

    Victor hadn''t finished smoking his cigarette when Special Agent Stephen Moyer came back, his expression carrying a hint of relief.

    "The gentlemen have agreed to your demands," he said.

    "Transfer the money into the ount!"

    Victor signaled Casare beside him, who hurriedly handed over the prepared card number.

    A flicker of irritation crossed Stephen Moyer''s eyes as he took the card number, his brow furrowed. "You still don''t trust us?"

    Victor chuckled, "I like to have the money in hand."

    He just didn''t trust the integrity of the Mexican bureaucracy.

    It was strange for a country''s credibility to be doubted by its own police, and with no other option, Stephen Moyer had to make another call to hurry things along.

    Just then, they heard Stephen Moyer''s voiceing from the doorway, "Sir! What if he truly brings people to Mexico City for the money?"

    Victor paused, nced at Alejandro, and said with a smile, "Is that about me?"

    "I think those gentlemen intend to trick you into going first and then try to renege on the deal if possible. They''ve done plenty of such despicable things."

    Victor nodded, stepped outside, and saw that Stephen Moyer was visibly irritated. He snatched the mobile phone from him, "Hello, gentlemen, don''t you want to pay?"

    Find your next adventure on §Þ??

    The person on the other end of the line was quiet for a moment before speaking in a very displeased tone, "Victor?"

    "Yes, sir. May I ask when the money will be transferred?"

    "You''re a police officer, and you need to understand that you must follow orders..."

    Victor let out a derisiveugh, "Say that again, and I''ll start charging extra. Mr., save your bullshit for someone else. I just want to know when my money will be in the ount! If you don''t pay up, are you talking about your mother?"

    "Either pay up or I''ll st your grains out."

    "I''ll ask one more time, are you going to pay or not?"

    Victor could hear the person on the other line''s breathing grow heavier, "Yes!"

    This brazen style was very much like that of a military leader.

    Even the warlords in Africa weren''t like this.

    Heughed, handed the phone back to Stephen Moyer, "There, it''s settled. Make them transfer the money quick, or my armored car won''t have fuel."

    The special agent quickly said a few words into the phone, then looked at Victor with a strange expression, "Do you know who that just was?"

    "Nobody gets away with owing me money!"

    "Pay up or get lost."

    By the time Victor returned to the office, Casare eagerly reported, "The money''se through."

    See, that''s why you gotta chew them out.

    The transfer was surprisingly fast.

    Victor was also impatient; as long as you pay up, you''re the boss.

    Everything is negotiable.

    "For the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV), I''ll take 500 men with me. I''ll leave 100 for the Guadalupe Ind Police and take the rest. You''re in charge of public safety at these two ces," Victor told Alejandro.

    Alejandro nodded, his expression turning serious, "You can count on me!"

    "Casare, advance separately. Arrive in Mexicali by 9 p.m. sharp!"

    Casare checked his watch, it was already five, leaving them just four hours ¨C a real test of the troops'' ability to assemble.

    Marles Training Camp.

    Located 20 kilometers from the outskirts of Ensenada City.

    Beep beep beep~

    The emergency siren sounded.

    The Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) members in training and resting quickly grabbed their gear.

    Dressed uniformly in dark ck fatigues, the Mexican national emblem stitched on the left chest of their shirts and on the right, their motto: "Fearless sacrifice, guarding our homnd!"

    Victor spared no expense on this unit; although they didn''t match up to his own direct troops, they were nheless no less inferior to others.

    Individual equipment: Steyr MPi69 submachine gun, 3 magazines of ammunition.

    The training hadn''t gone on for long. Asking them to use sniper rifles was a joke; just lift the gun and spray was the way to go. As long as you shoot faster than the drug trafficker, you survive.

    Wasn''t that good enough for taking on drug traffickers?

    Anyway, fire support and all was up to the "Guadalupe Ind" Police Department.

    The EDM officer in charge of training stood on the tform, watching everyone below, and with a wave of his hand, ordered, "Get on the vehicles!"

    Hundreds of people boarded the troop carriers in unison.

    A few minutester, two BTR-80 armored personnel carriers with bells took the lead on the road.

    The sounds echoed nonstop across the pavement.

    ...

    It was still light at six in the evening.

    A convoy of about fifty vehicles traveled on the Mexican national highway.

    Emzoned on the sides: Guadalupe Ind Police Department.

    They were riding in in sight!

    Afraid of drug traffickers attacking? No way!

    To prevent RPGs from blowing up the armored cars, they were fitted with reactive armor, each spaced more than 10 meters apart, ensuring there was time to retaliate!

    Three Humvees were leading the way.

    Carlos Prada sat in the vehicle, a bit nervously, gripping his firearm tightly, with his bulletproof vest meticulously fastened.

    "Hey, rookie!" called an EDM member from the front passenger seat as he tossed a can of Red Bull to Carlos, who fumbled with it as seen in the rearview mirror,ughed, and said, "Don''t be nervous."

    Carlos Prada had just graduated from Marles Training Camp as the top of his ss and joined the "Guadalcanal Police Department." Owing to his outstanding physical qualities, he was immediately included in the EDM reserve squad.

    He nodded when he heard the team leader''s words.

    "Traffic jam?" suddenly asked the driver, and Carlos looked ahead and saw that indeed, at a tunnel entrance, a line of cars stretched out as far as the eye could see.

    "Ssszzz~" The walkie-talkie on the dashboard cracked twice, "What''s going on? Tank, what happened up front?"

    The team leader in the passenger seat picked up the walkie-talkie, "Traffic jam."

    "Stay alert."

    "Understood!"

    "This is going to take at least half an hour," the driver muttered.

    Nicknamed "Tank," the captain casually nced aside and suddenly noticed several men sitting in a red sedan diagonally opposite, their arms inked with tattoos, chewing something in their mouths, and staring intently in this direction.

    On a garbage truck to the right, the driver wearing a hat also seemed off, with one hand underneath, as if holding something¡ªsurely it couldn''t be a XX.

    "Watch out for the red sedan on the left front and the garbage truck behind," the captain shouted, pulling the bolt of his gun.

    Rookie Carlos quickly threw the Red Bull behind him, his palms sweating with nervousness.

    Tank reported the situation to themand center behind them.

    "You have permission to get out and return fire," came the reply.

    "Understood!"

    The captain nced at Carlos, "You stay in the vehicle, everyone else dismount if they make a move!"

    In the red sedan, the tattooed man in the passenger seat held a pistol in his left hand, and beside the person in the back seaty a CETME Ameli machine gun, its magazine sticking out at an angle.

    The tattooed man hooked his right hand on the doortch, ready to get out of the car.

    "Get out!" the captain yelled. Seven or eight men disembarked from two Humvees, each picking a target and raising their guns, "Don''t move!"

    "Don''t move! Hands up."

    "Tank" shouted loudly; the opposition slowly raised their hands, but then suddenly made a move to charge.

    Rat-a-tat-tat...

    "Open fire!"

    Bullets bounced off, turning everyone inside the red sedan into Swiss cheese.

    Blood sprayed everywhere.

    From inside the vehicle, rookie Carlos suddenly saw a person jump onto an off-road vehicle at the far end of the tunnel, holding... a rocketuncher??

    "Captain! Look out!!!"

    Carlos yelled hoarsely.

    Whoosh~~

    The rocketuncher, trailing a sound, flew towards "Tank and the others." Carlos felt the vehicle lurch, something seemed to m into it from behind.

    The towering 2.35-meter-tall BTR-80 armored personnel carrier directly used its side to block the rocket!

    This thing...

    Not only was it equipped with reactive armor but it had also been DIY-modified for increasedteral protection¡ªthe "Guadalcanal Police Department Maintenance Division" had let their imagination run wild.

    Protective bricks were stacked onto the BTR-80 armored personnel carrier, with a thickness of up to 110mm. Combined with the reactive armor, although it lost its firing ports, it had be much more durable!

    The RPG explosion on its side sent a massive shockwave that shook the vehicle, drifting it over a meter, its rear bumping into other vehicles.

    "Return fire! Return fire! Ram them!" came the order over the radio tomand the vehicles.

    The BTR-80 armored personnel carrier rotated its front, and the 14.5mm KPVT heavy machine gun swept ahead.

    The traffic jam outside the tunnel was nothing but an illusion.

    It was an ambush by drug traffickers!

    Rookie Carlos saw a "Sergeant York" anti-aircraft gun charging up behind the convoy¡ªa vehicle simr to an armored car, but it was armed with a cannon!

    A 40mm autocannon!

    Meant for anti-air defenses, but who said it couldn''t target enemies at the front?

    Boom, boom, boom!

    With the support of machine cannon fire, all the ss on the vehicles ahead shattered, and unsatisfied, the BTR-80 armored personnel carrier surged forward, ramming through.

    The traffickers were savvy, blocking the tunnel with vehicles to impede their progress.

    Rat-a-tat-tat...

    The battle was far from over; gunfire erupted from the hillside. It started faint but soon turned rapid and intensified.

    "NSV heavy machine gun!!"

    From themand vehicle behind, Victor recognized the type of gunfire, noting the traffickers had significantly upgraded their arsenal.

    Bullets struck the vehicle, nging loudly...

    "Mole, Mole, the enemy''s machine gun position is found, blow them away!" Kennedy picked up the radio to give the order.

    "Understood!" the artillery operator replied.

    ...

    Behind the hill where the machine gun nest was located,

    about a dozen traffickers were frantically assembling... a mortar?!

    An American "M-224 mortar"!

    "Damn it, where''s the manual, isn''t there a manual for this thing?" the leader was an anxious wreck, as they had no systematic training.

    Exactly...

    They had only been shown by the ck market seller a few times.

    Still, the traffickers fumbled with the operation.

    As one trafficker tried to load a shell, a crisp rolling sound was heard, followed by aunch, the projectile flying towards the convoy.

    But the angle was slightly off, exploding ahead instead.

    "Sess! We did it." the trafficker celebrated, dancing with joy.

    Pop!

    His head burst open under the watchful eyes of the other traffickers.

    "Sniper! There''s a sniper!"

    The leader, his face sttered with blood, quickly got down and screamed at the top of his lungs.

    Meanwhile, a sniper on a distant rooftop cycled the bolt of his Steyr-Mannlicher SSG 69 sniper rifle, leapt down, and quickly moved to another location, not forgetting to press his earpiece while running.

    "11 o''clock direction, hillside, straight-line distance 470 meters, fire for effect!"

    ...

 Chapter 102 Duke Victor Graces His Territory!

    Snipers sometimes also act as spotters.

    Especially in ces where the battlefield environment is extremelyplex.

    "11 o''clock direction, hillside, straight-line distance of 470 meters, cover with artillery fire!"

    The artillery team leader shouted to the officers to jump onto the extended semi-trailer, pulling open all the tarpaulins to reveal the Type 63 107mm towed rocketunchers inside!

    On the 17.5-meter semi-trailer, there were 11 rocketunchers!

    Each with 12 barrels, how many barrels in total for 11unchers? Quick, answer that.

    This weapon, along with the AK47 and RPG-7 rocketuncher, is hailed as one of the three great ''magic weapons'' of guerri warfare. Let''s put it this way, Africa might go without a king, but not without the Type 63 107mm towed rocketuncher!

    In many websites'' descriptions of weapons, there''s usually a mention of which countries use them, but for this one, there''s only one sentence: "To this day, the armed forces using it span across the globe."

    Impressive, isn''t it?

    This thing is also light. After aiming in the direction specified by the sniper, with a turn of the barrel and following themander''s order,

    the rockets flew out in an instant.

    They nearly ttened that hill!

    A cloud of thick smoke rose.

    Covering one ce with hundreds of rockets is simply showing off wealth.

    The drug trafficker never imagined in their life that they could get hit by an Asian weapon within Mexico''s borders.

    In the convoy, Victor also brought along a road roller, which, lined up in parallel, immediately ttened the vehicles, regardless of whether there were any drug traffickers inside or not.

    It was just the kind of dirty trick a drug trafficker would y.

    Why are drug traffickers difficult to eradicate?

    Because they wouldn''t likely have ''drug trafficker'' written on their foreheads, blending into crowds, and often indistinguishable from ordinary civilians.

    Just like the drug traffickers in Brazil - their firepower and organization aren''t as good as in Mexico, and the Brazilian government has more execution power than the Mexican Government, but why are those traffickers still sticking around like a bad rash?

    Because they hide out in the slums.

    But with Victor...

    No matter where you hide, even if you''re in the toilet, he''ll st the toilet until shit flies out.

    "Alternate cover, advance." Victor''s calmmand came through the radio.

    The lead vehicle smashed through those "tin cans."

    The "rookie" Carlos, feeling a bit dizzy inside the vehicle, was about to push the door open to get out when the team leader and a few team members climbed onto the vehicle.

    "Bring the medical kit from the back," the team leader said through gritted teeth.

    Carlos hurriedly handed over the medical kit, and the other party took out isopropyl alcohol and pressed a cotton ball dipped in it against a wound on his face, grunting in pain.

    Through the rearview mirror, Carlos saw a deep scar on half of the team leader''s face!

    He swallowed hard.

    "Are you scared?" the team leader turned to look at him.

    "No... not scared."

    "Bullshit!" the team leader scoffed with derision, "Who isn''t scared? But you need to understand that on the battlefield, the more scared you are, the quicker you die. You need to keep a cool head, engage if you can, run if you can''t, there''s no shame in that."

    Carlos nodded, half understanding.

    "These drug traffickers'' firepower has intensified again. It looks like the Director is ready to make a hefty investment this time," the team leader said offhandedly.

    The driver next to him, covered in dust, was still a bit out of it, clutching his head, "We should just drop an H-bomb and blow all the drug traffickers to hell."

    Carlos listened, his heart racing.

    The Director...

    Surely he wouldn''t entertain such a notion.

    Inside themand vehicle, Victor''s expression also grew serious.

    "The drug traffickers'' firepower has gotten stronger," Casare sighed. As the steward, wherever the boss went, he naturally followed.

    "The gap between us and the traffickers is narrowing," Casare continued.

    Victor took a drag on his cigarette, sneered disdainfully, "Narrowing?"

    "My caliber could easily blow their heads off; they''re still far from matching my firepower!"

    Victor had brought along "new equipment," there would always be calibers they would fancy. Continue reading stories on §Þ??

    "Have you contacted the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit?"

    "They are about 40 kilometers from Mexicali," Casare replied.

    Victor nodded, ncing at his watch and frowning, "Speed up! I want the Gulf Group to have a sleepless night."

    8:45 PM.

    The caravan finally saw the outline of Mexicali city.

    "Boss, at the city gate, we''ve encountered¡­police?!" The officer ahead spoke through the walkie-talkie, "They won''t let us into the city."

    This made Victorugh.

    Simr incidents had urred in other cities before. In 2011, during a drug crackdown, the Marine Corps even exchanged fire with the local police.

    In 2014, a police chief in Jalisco was detained by the Navy on suspicion of drug trafficking, which led to the subsequent unrest.

    The local police were too intertwined with the drug traffickers.

    "Ram through them! We''re here to suppress a rebellion, not to negotiate," Victor said, picking up the walkie-talkie.

    Rookie Carlos stood beside the captain, a dozen officers in front of him. The captain''s walkie-talkie volume was turned up, and everyone heard Victor''smand.

    "Our Director is angry. Are you letting us through?" the captain asked the inspector in front of him.

    "Impossible! You can''t enter Mexicali," the inspector spread his hands but his legs were trembling.

    He was originally a member of Tijuana, but his boss was gone, eradicated. When the Gulf Group moved in, he defected to them and, with Abrego''s help, took the Director''s chair within half a month.

    By day he was a policeman, by night a drug trafficker.

    Heh, didn''t expect that, did ya? It''s called moonlighting, diversification of professions.

    The captain didn''t say much more, climbed on the Hummer, stepped on the gas, and charged toward the group of officers.

    The leading inspector closed his eyes...

    Bang!

    A jolt of pain, and he was sent flying six or seven meters.

    Rookie Carlos gaped, watching the "heroic" captain knock over all the police.

    "Enter the city! If anyone''s in the way, run them over, no matter the consequences."

    The groaning officers on the ground heard this and quickly crawled to the side.

    By his tone, he meant it!

    "Hang the loudspeakers, let all the citizens know¡ªwe have arrived! Safety hase!"

    The once silent Mexicali city, with residents hiding in their rooms, heard loudspeaker announcements one after another.

    "This is Guadalupe Ind Police Station! We solemnly dere that drug traffickers shouldy down their weapons and surrender, or they will be treated as rebels!"

    "The end of the Tijuana Cartel is upon us,y down your weapons and surrender!"

    Some bolder residents cautiously peered out their windows. The caravan had its lights on; Victor, showing off his muscles with cannons and armored vehicles in full view, was telling everyone.

    He had the power to deal with the drug traffickers here!

    Hiding and cowering was not his style.

    "Guadalupe Ind Police Station?"

    "Victor?"

    "Is it Mr. Victor?"

    Residents who often watched the news brightened up, their tones tinged with excitement.

    And Victor, inside themand vehicle.

    Looking through the peephole in the ss, he saw the chaotic scene outside.

    Shops were closed, walls had copsed, and the streets were in disarray.

    An unpleasant stench pervaded the air, and no one was tending to the trash cans.

    On the ground, you could even see bodies.

    The homeless had fled as well.

    Could you imagine this was a city, not the end of the world?

    "Go to the TV station!"

    To take over the three major residences of the bandits was always the first step.

    "First squad, take control of the police station, disarm all officers, and don''t allow them to leave the premises."

    "Second squad, upy the city hall!"

    ...

    A squad was about 60 people, equipped with heavy firepower.

    The squads that were called out split from the caravan, heading towards their destinations.

    What Victor intended to do was to cut through the chaos swiftly!

    To have the drug traffickers crying out!

 Chapter 103 Dont kill me! Im Zambada!

    Mexicali Capital TV Station.

    Unlike a local, small station, the signal tower on the roof could be seen from a great distance away.

    North of here bordered Calexico, California, and northeast, Arizona¡ªpart of the US-Mexico Border area¡ªcountless African Americans managed to make their way into the United States through here.

    The annual flow of people hovered around 20 million.

    In such arge city, with its own security issues, whenever drug traffickers caused trouble, many snakeheads, vagabonds, and even illegal immigrants would start to riot.

    Drug traffickers provided them with weapons!

    And they promised them money if they caused chaos in the capital of Mexicali, ying a significant role in the Baja California riots.

    "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

    About 200 African Americans stood in front of the convoy.

    A young African American man, brandishing a knife, ran to the front of a Hummer, pulled down his pants, and twerked at the convoy.

    The other African Americans cheered, praising this warrior.

    Perhaps it was the vanity that egged him on, but he turned around and started making obscene gestures at the convoy.

    Laughing, he shook vigorously.

    biu!

    A gunshot rang out, and the African American man, clutching his groin, fell to the ground, screaming.

    The Commander withdrew his body from the window and, through the rearview mirror, saw the stunned expression on "Rookie" Carlos Prada''s face, shrugged and said, "I just don''t like people doing that to me, that''s all."

    Carlos swore to himself that the Commander was just being insecure!

    "Sweep forward, anyone in the way is to be treated as a drug trafficker!" The Director''s order came through the radio.

    The Commander patted the driver, who floored the gas and charged forward. The Hummer''s right tire crushed the African American whoy on the ground, while he himself climbed out the sunroof, mounted the heavy machine gun on top, and started firing indiscriminately at the African Americans!

    African American + Drug Trafficker + Riot + Assault on Police = BUFF maxed out!

    Did you really think Victor, with such a "generous" heart, would let you go just like that?

    12.7mm bullets were their ultimate fate!

    "They''re shooting! The police are shooting, run for it!"

    Male or female, anyone with a weapon was a drug trafficker.

    Apart from a few who hid behind, the rest of the group, the ck men, ally in pools of blood.

    A French-made AMX VCI infantry fighting vehicle''s tracks rolled over a downed African American drug trafficker, whose hair got tangled in the treads, and the sound of bones cracking was distinctly audible along with the sharp screams that abruptly ceased as brains burst out.

    The rest of the convoy followed suit, the blood and unidentified fluids trailed long behind under the pull of the wheels, adding a bloody stench to the already smelly air.

    It was like trying to stop a car with an insect''s arm!

    This scene was witnessed by many bystanders, who were horrified, hands over their mouths, but there were also isted reporters who captured the moment.

    The Mexicali TV Station covered an area of about 5000 square meters, making it arge station¡ªideal for use as a "base camp."

    The iron gate had been blocked from the inside with abandoned vehicles.

    EDM members got out of their vehicles, carried a "blowpipe" surface-to-air missile, and sted the iron gate open!

    Why bother with hands when you can blow half a wall to oblivion?

    Kennedy led the assault team inside, most of them modeled after the German GSG9 Special Forces, highly skilled in indoorsbat.

    From the outside, one could see the sparks flying from the gun barrels on each floor.

    Kennedy charged up to the third floor, colliding with a drug trafficker armed with an assault rifle. His scalp tingled as he rolled back, sliding down the stairs, and he didn''t forget to pull down two teammates who were about to charge up.

    Tap tap tap...

    Bullets hit the wall, scattering the lettering everywhere.

    And there was a lot of noise, perhaps from more than seven or eight people.

    "M34!" Kennedy shouted to his teammates behind him.

    Thetter quickly pulled one out from his pocket and handed it over to him.

    This grenade had been used by the U.S. Military, deemed "one of the most dangerous hand grenades."

    After Kennedy removed the safety, it instantly emitted a thick smoke. Lying on the steps, he tossed it into the corridor with a backhanded throw.

    This device... was known as the M34 white phosphorus grenade!

    Once ignited, the temperature could reach 2700 degrees Celsius, burning for no less than 60 seconds, with a spread diameter of up to 35 meters.

    Boom...

    The mes, due to the angle, grazed past their scalps and shot forward.

    The drug traffickers in the corridor weren''t so lucky.

    Once the mes touched them, they were instantly engulfed.

    Their screams sounded like demons climbing up from hell!

    A drug trafficker couldn''t take it anymore and screamed as he jumped straight down from the third floor.

    "Ahhh!!"

    A burning drug trafficker stood at the top of the stairs, his eyes shooting mes as he charged toward Kennedy and others, obviously a tough guy wanting to go down together.

    But his body...

    His ankle made a crackling sound, and the whole person just melted away.

    Kennedy swallowed hard.

    Sweat beads started falling from his head.

    "Move, move, move, enter from the other side!" even this battle-hardened warrior felt fear.

    Those who have seen death know that different ways of dying bring different kinds of shock¡ªhas anyone seen a hanging giant?

    Has anyone seen what a hanged person looks like?

    Has anyone seen someone struck by lightning?

    The cruelty of war is that it makes the ways of dying more diverse, extremely challenging the soldier''s sanity, morality, and values.

    This is also one of the reasons why,ter on, more than a thousand soldiers in the United Statesmitted suicide annually due to PTSD from the war.

    On the stairs, a charred corpse with hollow eyes watched the departing figures of Kennedy and others.

    The biggest difference between drug traffickers and regr army, besides weapons, isbat prowess!

    The EDM assault team moved forward, and those behind did not hesitate to build defensive fortifications right beside the vehicles.

    Indeed, it wasn''t long before cries and roars surrounded them!

    The TV station was at a triangr intersection, with hundreds of drug traffickers pouring out from all sides, taking high ground and shooting at the convoy!

    Ratatat...

    ng ng... the sound of bullets hitting the vehicle bodies.

    "Biu!"

    A rookie officer hiding behind a semi-trailer got a bullet in his temple and fell to the ground stiffly; an old soldier came over, took a look, then gestured to themander, "Sniper!"

    "FH70 howitzers! Damn it, blow them up!"

    Victor''s cursing voice came through the walkie-talkie.

    A few officers hurriedly turned the gun carriage, aiming the howitzer... did this thing... need to be aimed at an angle?

    As long as they found where the sniper was, they just had to shoot over there!

    The 155mm howitzer was aimed at a building approximately 900 meters away; with onemand, the ground shook backward.

    The shell passed under the cover of night towards its target.

    The drug trafficker sniper, looking through his scope at the distance, suddenly saw a shell charging toward him, and his mind went nk.

    I''m just shooting a gun?

    You''re bombing me with artillery?!

    The howitzer shell hit the wall, the massive shock wave along with the gunpowder directly copsed the building, and the sniper instantly vaporized.

    Half a floor was sted away...

    The enormous noise turned everyone''s attention over there.

    This...

    Damn, that''s not ying fair!

    A chill went through the drug traffickers'' hearts; the best way to instill fear was to have arger caliber and then annihte them, dead people can''t be afraid.

    "Rookie" Carlos Prada had been hiding on the side, adapting quickly and even daring to stick his head out to take a look; he pulled out his gun and fired at the drug traffickers.

    Shoot once, then move to a new ce.

    Keep your head down and hide.

    But clearly, his sense of direction was poor; running and running he realized something was wrong¡ªwhy had the sounds beside his ear diminished? He looked up to see that he had moved at least 500 meters away from the battlefield.

    Just as he was about to go back, he suddenly saw several figures, looking anxious and disheveled, running out from a building, with people around them looking like bodyguards, and a sturdy man in the middle looked like someone important?

    The "rookie" hiding on the side watched this scene nervously.

    On impulse, he pulled out a grenade.

    Explore more adventures at §Þ??

    And threw it right over!

    Boom...

    The walls copsed, and Carlos, wielding his gun, charged out, spraying a barrage of bullets into the cloud of dust at the figures standing there!

    Upstairs, Carlos felt his brain losing rationality.

    "Don''t, don''t kill me! I''m Zambada! Don''t shoot! I surrender!!"

    ...

 Chapter 104 Whose General is This! (Vote for monthly ticket!!)

    The drug traffickers besieging the convoy were quickly defeated.

    There''s no artillery coverage yet.

    It''s just that it''s inside the city now, not in line with Duke Victor''s "interests." After all, he''s here to kill drug traffickers. If civilians were to be injured, those reporters would definitely write nonsense.

    Should we¡­

    Kill the reporters too?

    And the cleanup inside the TV station was alsoing to an end. Seeing the "supporting forces" scattered, many drug traffickers simply surrendered.

    "Calling Number One!!" an excited voice came through the walkie-talkie.

    "What is it?"

    "We''ve captured Zambada!"

    ¡­

    The "rookie" Carlos blushed with a shy smile, but stood tall and proud. The captain was also dumbstruck, continuously patting his shoulder, "Kid, you''re going to be rich!"

    The officers beside him looked at Carlos with envious eyes.

    Behind him, next to the Humvee, many people were bound with ropes, squatting down looking disheveled, with bandages tied around them; those who were squatting were clearly still alive, and there were others lying beside them.

    "The Director is here!"

    An officer shouted from the outskirts, and everyone dispersed as Victor and his entourage walked in. He nced at the squatting drug traffickers, and Casare immediately grabbed a man in a suit by the hair, pulling him to his feet.

    "Boss, it''s Zambada!"

    The man was clearly frightened as well, "Don''t kill me, I can surrender, I know where Guzman is, I can help you catch him."

    Victorpletely disregarded this statement as if it were tulence.

    If every drug lord was easy to capture, would the Yanks offer so much money for them?

    "Who caught him?" Victor shouted.

    The captain hurriedly pushed Carlos forward, shouting, "Director, it was him."

    Victor turned his head and looked at Carlos''s epaulette, an intern officer¡ªa new "intern" who had just joined.

    He had thought it was a veteran officer from some EDM.

    Carlos, seeing Victor, was obviously very nervous, quickly stood at attention and saluted, "Hello, Director."

    "Not bad, not bad at all!"

    Victor happily patted his arm, "This is a great achievement. What do you want?"

    "Director, can I... can I get a house first?" Carlos asked boldly.

    Best, Victor''s "money-making tool," believed real estate was the most profitable.

    Moreover, as long as Mexico was stable, real estate prices would definitely rise, so Victor''s "Hope" Group took several plots ofnd in Dan Senada City and Guadalupe Ind at an extremely low cost.

    One of these plots was nned to be developed into "Officers'' Homes," where outstanding officers could receive a house with four bedrooms, two living rooms, and two bathrooms, about 170 square meters in size.

    Of course, they would only have usage rights, not exclusive selling rights.

    Both the Guadalupe Ind Police Station and the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) could enjoy this benefit.

    Though currently short on funds, uncertain about staff, andcking equipment, when this news was released, it caused quite a stir among the officers.

    Many people wanted to get a house there.

    This could be considered one of Victor''s methods of winning people over.

    People needed to see the benefits of following you; otherwise, why would they follow you?

    Those who fight for a belief are, after all, a rare few.

    Victor was taken aback and said with a smile, "Do you know how much the Americans are offering as a reward for this man?"

    Carlos shook his head, "I''m after drug traffickers with the Director; the American reward doesn''t concern me."

    This response was quite pleasing.

    You''re on a good path,d.

    "Alright, I promise you. Once the first phase isunched, you''ll choose first! Moreover, I''m not that stingy. Your younger brother can enter Guadalupe Ind Police Academy without any exams, and I''ll also reward you with 100,000 pesos!"

    "After returning, you can skip the internship and serve as a police officer!"

    Carlos smiled so broadly his face crinkled up and he shouted loudly, "Thank you, Director!"

    He might not even know the name of the current president, but Victor certainly holds a very high ce in his heart.

    Of course, Victor wasn''t thinking about amassing troops for his own power.

    That would be outright banditry!

    What he wanted was only "peace in Mexico," and how that peace would be achieved was for him to dictate.

    "Brothers, don''t be jealous. Once the upheaval in Baja California is quelled, everyone will make a fortune. I won''t be stingy with those who deserve it," Victor shouted, raising his hand.

    "Long live Director Victor! Kill all the drug traffickers!"

    That voice...

    Carried far.

    Full of morale.

    If there were to be a mutiny at the capital of Mexicali at this time, these men would carry Victor to the governor''s seat, but that''s unnecessary.

    He is a police officer!

    He needs to be reasonable.

    Victor squeezed through the police officers, and Casare quickly followed him, "Boss, what about Zambada?"

    "Do you think Guzman will save him?"

    "It''s unlikely. Zambada is the number three man in Sinaloa, no, the number two now that Palma is dead. But that doesn''t mean Guzman would want to protect him; he''d probably prefer him dead. With Zambada out of the way, Guzman would have total control," Casare said, following Victor with widened perspective.

    Victor nodded, "Then we''ll force him toe and save Zambada!"

    "In tomorrow''s phone interview, I will announce that Zambada is captured by us, and that he will be executed by firing squad in Mexicali Square in two days!"

    "Zambada has been in Sinaloa for longer than Guzman, and he has two brothers serving as significant figures within the organization. Thework there isplicated. If Guzman doesn''t save him, there will likely be infighting."

    In 2018, when Guzman''s son Ovidio was arrested, armed conflict erupted in Culiac¨¢n City in Northern Mexico, and this kid was only one of the Sinaloa leaders at the time.

    The Mexican Government wanted to extradite him to the United States, and that''s what caused the wholemotion.

    If it''s a live execution!

    It''s like pping the drug traffickers hard across the face.

    Out of pride or loyalty to their boss, Sinaloa will definitely react.

    Doesn''t it resemble the "Summit War" from One Piece?

    Casare swallowed hard, already imagining the repercussions of publicly executing Zambada. If that were to happen, opposition voices would rise, not only from drug traffickers but also from civilians and even from Mexico City.

    "Boss... with so muchmotion, there are bound to be people singing a different tune."

    Victor paused, then strode into the TV station, "Then let theme and talk to me. I''m a reasonable man."

    "Get all the Mexicali security department staff to see me. I really want to ask them why they are so ipetent that they can''t even handle a drug trafficker!"

    ...

    "What, Zambada was caught?!"

    In a house in Mexicali, Sinaloa leader Guzman furrowed his brow upon hearing the news; beside him, Alfredo, the fourth brother of the Beltran Leyva, stood up, "Cousin, isn''t this good news? With Zambada gone, you''ll be the true leader."

    Alfredo handled Sinaloa''s moneyundering business, his boss Arturo was in charge of security.

    As soon as "Shorty" took over, he promoted his cousins.

    This had caused dissatisfaction with Zambada and led to quite a bit of infighting. If it weren''t for external pressures, they would havee to blows by now.

    Guzman, smoking a cigarette and frowning, said, "What if Zambada''s people insist that we save him?"

    "Don''t forget, he''s got nearly a thousand men under him."

    This statement left the Beltran Leyva brothers looking at each other in consternation.

    "Why not bribe someone to kill Zambada and then pin it on the police?" Arturo, the oldest brother, was rather ruthless, immediately thinking of murder.

    "These neer cops can''t be easily bought," said Carlos, the third brother.

    Guzman scowled at Arturo as they exchanged nces.

    Both men thought of the same name simultaneously.

    "Senior Judicial Police Commander for Baja California: Jose Herrera Duarte!!"

    ¡­

 Chapter 105 Mr. Victors World is Black and White!

    Jose Herrera Duarte was busy!

    Busy collecting money.

    He had dealings with the Gulf Group, Ju¨¢rez, and Sinaloa.

    As the Judicial Police Commander of Baja California, he had held the position for a long time, all thanks to being "sensible."

    When the Tijuana Benjamin brothers were in power, he provided them with police anti-drug intelligence, indirectly or directly leading to the sacrifice of many colleagues.

    But his interests in Lower California were so entrenched that even Governor Rafael Max, who died in the "bathroom," had to yield to him to a certain extent.

    In his own mansion, after he had just gotten acquainted with the finer points of life with several female models, hey in bed smoking when he heard the phone ring.

    On the bedside table there were four or five telephones.

    Red was for Juarez, white for Sinaloa, ck for the Gulf Group, and the other colors were less important.

    The white one was ringing.

    He picked it up and said enthusiastically, "Hi, good evening, sir!"

    "We need a favor," the voice of Alfredo, the youngest of the Beltran Leyva brothers, came over gruffly. "Zambada''s been caught by Victor."

    The cigarette in Jose Herrera Duarte''s mouth suddenly seemed to get stuck in his throat, and he couldn''t help but cough in difort, "What?!"

    He spoke so loudly that the frolicking female models turned to look at him; he kicked at their butts with the tip of his foot and waved them away.

    Only after the models had left did Duarte toss the cigarette on the floor and sat up straight, "You want me to fish him out?"

    There was a moment of silence on the other end, "Kill him!"

    Duarte raised an eyebrow, then listened as Alfredo named the price, "600 thousand US dors!"

    "He''s your second-inmand in Sinaloa, that price doesn''t seem right." His mind raced, quickly understanding what Guzman wanted, and he couldn''t help but raise the price.

    Typically willing to do anything for money.

    "2 million US dors!" Duarte blurted out his own figure.

    "Deal, but you have to do it cleanly," Alfredo didn''t even pause, as if the money meant nothing to him.

    Damn!

    Undervalued!

    Inside, Duarte regretted his mistake immensely, but if he dared to haggle now, he might just get himself killed by the other side.

    "Don''t worry, haven''t you always trusted my work?"

    After hanging up, Duarte sat on the bed and started to think about how to kill Zambada.

    Victor...

    Duarte had never met him, but heard he was fierce, causing drug traffickers to cry out on Guadalupe Ind, quite the fighter, and he had some men under him.

    "But in Mexicali, fighting isn''t everything."

    He pushed his cigarette into the ashtray.

    What''s the use of being able to fight, one must have connections!

    Tomorrow he would take the Judicial Police to meet this Victor; it''s not like he could kill him!

    ...

    The sun was lightly scorching in the sky.

    Rare good weather.

    Victor had not slept at all the previous night; the first and second teams had sessfully taken the police station and the town hall, although they encountered resistance from drug traffickers.

    A couple of "Blowpipe" surface-to-air missiles fired.

    The drug traffickers shut up.

    So did the cops at the police station.

    "Let me... let me down!" Hanging from the gpole in the middle of the TV station, front and back, left and right, were four drug traffickers.

    Victor didn''t have time to find them a doctor; those who could endure did, and those who couldn''t went to die. Zambada''s status was different, after all, he deserved some "respect" ¨C if he died, who would face the firing squad?

    Standing in his temporary office, Victor felt drowsy. So, he stood up, made a cup of coffee, and listened to the screams outside, a different kind of pleasure for a "Military Leader."

    Just as he took a sip of coffee, his gaze sharpened, and he saw a dozen cars suddenly appear at the front gate, all from government agencies.

    It seemed that these people finally understood the need to pay their respects.

    "Boss," Casare knocked and entered, "the Mexicali Judicial Police andw enforcement are here."

    "Let them in," he said.

    "We''vee to Mexicali; we should meet the local big shots, right?"

    Looking around, Casare first checked the table to make sure there wasn''t an ashtray; seeing that the small cup only held cigarette ashes, he breathed a sigh of relief.

    Outside the TV station.

    Jose Herrera Duarte was stopped outside.

    No matter how much he pleaded, the gatekeeper officer just wouldn''t let him in.

    This angered him a bit, but considering his status, he kept quiet.

    Casare came out and nced at them, "Who here is the highest-ranking officer?"

    This first question stunned them, and they looked at each other, wondering who it was going to be.

    "I am Jose Herrera Duarte, the Judicial Police Commander of Lower California."

    "I''m the head of the inspection department..."

    "I..."

    Four people stepped forward, and Casare nodded, "Youe in with me. The rest of you, please wait in the room next door."

    The words instantly caused an uproar.

    "No, we all came together. Why only see them? Why?"

    "Exactly, we want to see Mr. Victor too."

    Casare looked at them coldly, motioned with his finger, and the officer behind him immediately shouldered his weapon, and everyone shut their mouths as if on cue.

    "What''s your status, talk to the police dog at the gate if you have something to say; it''ll report back! Keep messing around, and we''ll execute all of you!" Casare pointed to a Neapolitan Mastiff not far away.

    That was another "favor" Mr. Victor had asked for.

    Really just a trade.

    Dogs don''t count as part of the workforce.

    But they''re not much use in modern warfare; Victor exchanged for a dozen or so to catch ordinary criminals on Guadalupe Ind, and they were not bad at maintaining public order. Now, he brought them out to show some presence.

    Of course, it would be even better if dogs could decide the fate of drug traffickers!

    Jose Herrera Dutt took a deep breath, feeling a slight heaviness in his heart. He had nned to use his connections in the capital, Mexicali, to put a little "pressure" on Victor, but now he was left with only a few people, and it was uncertain if they could even argue against the other party.

    He exchanged nces with several other department heads, then followed behind Casare. The drug trafficker hanging from the gpole screamed miserably, and someone who recognized him even shouted out, "Dutt! Save me, save me!"

    Casare stopped walking and turned to look at him. "Do you know him, sir?"

    Dutt hurriedly shook his head. "No, I don''t."

    "It''s better that way. Mr. Victor detests evil and can''t tolerate a speck of dirt."

    The group entered the office.

    Victor gave them a casual nce and sighed. "Take him out and shoot him."

    ????

    Everyone waspletely bewildered.

    But the police officers outside responded quickly, dragging them out directly!

    "No! You can''t do this, Victor, I am the Judicial Police Commander, I am the Commissioner, I''m the one in charge. This is wanton killing of the innocent!" Dutt yelled, his face twisted with rage.

    You''re going to execute me without even letting me speak?

    "I won''t ept this!"

    Victor waved his hand dismissively. "Use a shotgun!"

    He didn''t want to waste his breath on these people.

    Just now, at a nce, he saw that all of them were reformed drug traffickers. Dutt was even worse, directly involving himself in the murder of two mayoral candidates and also participating in human trafficking.

    This was not mere smuggling; it was selling people!

    The United Nations published a report in 2020 stating that there were still about 50 million ves worldwide, meaning these people were bought to serve either as tools for venting or as low-levelborers.

    They deserved to die!

    In Uncle Victor''s eyes, there was no room for crime!

    The others were no good either, involved in smuggling drugs and providing protection for drug traffickers.

    "CNMD! Victor, you''re damned, you''re not going to die well!" Dutt''s mouth was foul.

    "Give him three shots!" Victor''s voice floated out effortlessly.

    Several people were dragged to the courtyard below and tied to the steps of the gpole where the drug trafficker was hanging.

    Dutt kept cursing, "I''m the Judicial Police Commander, I am the Judicial Police Commander!"

    An EDM officer, holding a Winchester Defender 1300 shotgun, stuck it in his mouth and decisively pulled the trigger.

    Bang!

    Gone... meaning his head was gone.

    Blood sttered on the others beside him.

    "Ahhh!!!" Even the grown men screamed.

    The EDM officer wiped the blood off his face, shot two more rounds into the chest of Dutt''s corpse; Director Victor said to give him three shots, and definitely not four.

    However, using a shotgun for the Mozambique Drill... that''s a first, I''ve heard.

    "I was wrong, I was wrong, have mercy on me."

    The remaining two had the shotgun barrels pressed against their chests, and the triggers were pulled.

    Their hearts were blown to bits.

    The execution waspletely painless.

    These people were drug traffickers!

    Just wearing police uniforms.

    Victor would not allow anyone to tarnish this profession.

    The drug traffickers above had literally been scared pissless.

    The urine streamed down noisily.

    This is what drugs do.

    Casare nced at the small house nearby and sure enough, saw the people who had followed Dutt in, all looking on with horrified faces.

    He sprinted upstairs and reported the situation to Victor, "Boss, should we kill them all?"

    "Kill them? Who will do the work? Will you do it?"

    Victor looked at him. "Let''s not be too violent, why don''t you learn from me how to cultivate yourself?"

    Casare: ????

    You''re one to talk about cultivating your nature.

    "First lock them up, we''ll interrogate them properlyter. Anyone who cooperated with the drug traffickers should be executed."

    In Victor''s eyes,

    his world was ck and white; color?

    That''s just bullshit in excess, deserving of Victor''s treatment.

    Drug traffickers are ck and deserve death!

    Mercy?

    Out of the question!

    Mr. Victor is the embodiment of justice walking among men!

    He stood up and walked to the window, gazing disdainfully at the drug traffickers hanging from the gpole. "Can''t even control their own piss¡ªaren''t they beyond saving?"

    Casare immediately understood.

    "Then let''s give the people a wake-up call before the televised speech; drag these few out and shoot them."

    "Let everyone see what happens to drug traffickers."

    "Boss, what gun should we use?"

    Casare had noticed that Victor chose a different caliber each day to execute the drug traffickers based on his mood.

    "What methods do drug traffickers usually use?"

    "Beheadings, dismemberment, burning..." Casare rattled off more than a dozen cruel methods in one go.

    Victor gestured for him to stop.

    "So, we will..."

    "Use an RPG!"

    ...

 Chapter 106 Dont stop me, Im going to play with my life with Victor!

    Alexandr Konstantinovich pushed open the door wearily, he lived in the slums, a ce exuding stench and chaos.

    With his unkempt beard, one couldn''t tell he was a 21-year-old man.

    Just as he had arrived home, three little girls rushed over to him¡ªthey all looked very young and emaciated due to malnutrition, with sparse hair.

    "Big brother, big sister hit me today."

    "Big brother, big brother, are you tired?"

    "Big brother, I''m hungry."

    The children mored, Konstantinovich patted their heads, "I''ll get you something to eat, you guys watch TV first."

    His smile was bitter as he turned on the TV for the children and walked into the kitchen.

    By his name, one could tell he was not purely Mexican; his father was Soviet. Back then his family was doing well with a farm in the countryside, but because the drug cartel wanted to cultivate DM, they demanded his parents sell at a ridiculously low price.

    But that was the livelihood of a family, and his father, a hot-tempered Soviet, refused toply at all costs.

    The drug trafficker let him really understand what it meant to be unreasonable.

    They just killed his father!

    When his mother went to report it to the police, she was beheaded by a drug trafficker in the police station.

    Konstantinovich could only survive by working odd jobs for others, but recently, with the Mexicali drug traffickers causing trouble, even the grocery store where he worked was robbed empty.

    The drug traffickers, however, were recruiting.

    300 pesos a day.

    He had seen his neighbors go to work for them, but in the end¡­ they disappeared.

    Money from the drug traffickers is not so easy to earn.

    Konstantinovich opened the food cab and saw two corn cobs inside, enough to fill their stomachs for a bit.

    "I am Victor, the head of Guadalupe Ind Police Station."

    "This here is the execution site for drug traffickers!"

    Just then, a strong male voice came from the TV,manding a convincing presence.

    Executing drug traffickers?

    Konstantinovich raised an eyebrow in curiosity and walked to the doorway, only to see his three sisters huddled together, ying with blocks, while on the TV screen, a rugged man stood with an empty space behind him.

    "We havee to Mexicali to restore local social order. Any action that dares to obstruct the Mexican people''s desire for a peaceful life is a provocation to us!"

    "Here with me, drug traffickers are only sentenced to death! Those few are core members of the Sinaloa Drug Cartel, and we will broadcast their execution live."

    Victor stepped aside slightly, and the camera swept behind him, showing a line of police officers escorting seven or eight drug traffickers, then binding them together, restraining their hands and feet.

    "We will use an RPG to send these drug traffickers to the skies."

    RPG!

    Many citizens had already widened their eyes when they heard about the execution of drug traffickers, as Mexico didn''t have the death penalty, and this did not align with their values.

    A police officer carried a rocketuncher and aimed it at the traffickers from a hundred meters away.

    Konstantinovich held his breath and tensed into a fist, his nails nearly embedding into his flesh, as he watched the kneeling officer pull the trigger.

    The rocket flew at a speed visible to the naked eye.

    And exploded right in the middle of the drug traffickers.

    Boom!!!

    Konstantinovich saw one man blown into the air, dismembering in mid-flight, and he actually felt thrilled!

    Drug traffickers deserve to die!

    Some of the traffickers weren''t dead yet, a number of themy on the ground, crying out in pain; Victor ordered someone to gather them up again.

    Fire another shot!

    Why should the death penalty be carried out only once?

    If they''re not dead, continue.

    Send their souls to Satan.

    Boom!

    The second rocket ensured even the toughest among them turned into a jigsaw puzzle.

    Many residents in front of the TV trembled with fear at the sight, yet some couldn''t help but shout out.

    Victor pointed to the camera, "Don''t be nervous. If anyone is dealing drugs, I''ll find you, then I''ll crack open your skull and piss inside it!"

    "Also, the Guadalupe Ind Police Station has officially arrested Zambada, the number two figure of the Sinaloa Group. His execution will be carried out on April 11, 1990, in Mexicali Heroes Square, with a firing squad using no less than a 120mm caliber, and it will be broadcast live."

    "The Guadalupe Ind Police Station reminds you, do not deal drugs, be careful not to wipe out your entire family!"

    "I am always watching you."

    Victor''s gaze made Konstantinovich feel frightened on the other side of the TV, like being stared at intently by a wolf.

    As if in the next second, the adversary could burst out and tear him apart.

    But then Konstantinovich was excited, his eyes lit up, and an idea burst into his mind.

    Follow Mr. Victor!

    Kill all the drug traffickers!

    He could take his revenge!

    Konstantinovich had also served in the military, but then he turned to look at his three sisters, his eyes filled with indulgence.

    His gaze turned to the prominent family photo beside the TV.

    A tall man embraced his wife, standing in his military uniform, while three younger sisters curiously hugged his legs.

    At that time...

    His family was still very happy.

    "Drug traffickers should all die!" Konstantinovich looked up and muttered to himself.

    ...

    "Drug traffickers should all die!"

    In a park on Guadalupe Ind, arge screen was set up.

    Victor did it so that whenever he wanted to speak, he could be heard and seen¡ªhe was a bit of a show-off.

    Watching those drug traffickers being blown to the skies.

    Santos, in the crowd, raised his hand and shouted loudly, his buddies cheering along.

    The whole of Guadalupe Ind was screaming.

    Only when there were no drug traffickers did people realize how good life could be.

    You wouldn''t have to worry about bumping into someone on the street, scared they would pull out a gun and kill you, nor fret about being caught up in a shootout while dining out at a restaurant.

    You wouldn''t have to fear that your parents, who were chatting with you today, would be forever parted from you by tomorrow.

    Peace and tranquility are the most precious things.

    "When does the police academy start? I can''t wait to join," his good friend Campos said, scratching his head. "But I''m worried I don''t have enough knowledge!"

    The other buddies around him sighed in response.

    Santos raised his hand, "Don''t worry, you guys cane to me, I''ll tutor you, and then we''ll enter the police academy together!"

    "Really?"

    "Thank you, Santos."

    Listening to his buddies'' thanks, Santos straightened the cap on his head and smiled happily, "Follow Mr. Victor, eliminate the drug traffickers!"

    His buddies also chanted along with him.

    Santos was known as a devout "Victor Believer," and he had gathered quite a fewpanions, advancing on the right path.

    Looking at this lively group of kids, the adults around smiled.

    Their own childhoods were filled with violence, intimidation, and drugs. Many hadn''t received an education, but they did not want the next generation to endure the same.

    Mr. Victor was the hero of Mexico!

    ...

    Cannon decision!

    120mm caliber.

    Guzman, watching Victor on TV, felt a shudder in his heart, even though he was as fierce as theye.

    Wouldn''t the air be filled with Zambada?

    "What are you doing! Get out of the way!"

    "You, Guzman''sckey, move aside, I want to see Guzman!"

    "CNMDB! Who are you talking to?"

    Amotion erupted at the door, and Guzman''s face darkened. He stood up to open the door and saw two groups confronting each other outside.

    One was the Beltran Leyva brothers.

    The other was two brothers from Zambada.

    Both parties had even drawn their guns.

    "What are you doing!" Guzman bellowed. "We''re all our own people, are you trying to start a war with each other?"

    "Guzman, I just want to ask you one thing. What about my brother? Are you going to save him or not?" The one with therge face opposite was Zambada''s second brother, nicknamed the "Sinaloa Wildcat": Ismail Zambada Wicks.

    He was quite hot-tempered and had butted heads with Guzman many times.

    "Watch your manners, you idiot!" Arturo, the eldest of the four brothers, pointed at him and said.

    Ismail red back, not willing to show weakness.

    Guzman''s temples bulged with veins, his face grim, "Save him! Of course, save him. Zambada is my brother; do you think I''m the kind of person who abandons his own?"

    Not saving him would mean real internal strife.

    "But we can''t do it alone, we need to contact Juarez and Gulf Group. To save Zambada, we definitely need their help."

    Ismail pointed at Guzman, "You''d better be telling the truth. Otherwise, I will take our men and break away from Sinaloa!"

    After saying that, he left with his people.

    "Cousin, shall I take men and kill him?" Arturo said in a low voice.

    "Act, act, act, all you know is action! We need to use our brains," Guzman cursed, frowning. "If you kill him, by tomorrow we''ll have to disband!"

    He inhaled sharply from his cigarette, then flung the butt on the ground, his face fierce.

    "If Victor won''t let us live, then we''ll make him suffer!"

    "First, we''ll contact Abrego and Agur; we''ll take on Victor!"

    Guzman''s eyes flickered.

    But merely being reckless wasn''t his style.

    He nned to...

    Surrender to the Mexican Government.

 Chapter 107 Heaven belongs to God, earth belongs to me!

    April 11, 1990.

    Drizzle.

    A fitting day to seek death.

    Three kilometers from Hero Square in the southern part of Mexicali, the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) had upied the supermarket since yesterday.

    This building was the tallest nearby, standing at over fifty meters.

    From the top, 16 PK machine guns were positioned, aiming down as if to shoot dogs; breaking through such a field of fire would be possible only if one blew up the entire building.

    In terms of heavy weapons, they were also equipped with rocketunchers, surface-to-air missiles, and more than 200 personnel.

    Besides this location, all surrounding floors and major buildings were also upied by the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV).

    They were responsible for a "chain-link" defense within five kilometers of the execution site, their role akin to the United States'' Beret Caps clearing the way for the SEALs.

    Meanwhile, EDM and other officers from Guadalupe Ind would be in charge of security inside.

    If Victor was to be sniped from five kilometers away, it would just mean his fate was sealed.

    Keep in mind that sniper records beyond two kilometers are things of post-Millennium battlefields. If drug traffickers had such skills, would they still be miserably oppressed by Victor here?

    At the center of Hero Square.

    A pole of three meters was erected; Zambada was tied up to it like a dead dog, the once active drug lord of several decades looking utterly pathetic.

    Before him stood a 120mm M1981 self-propelled howitzer!

    When it''s said 120mm, it is 120mm; Victor wasn''t one to skimp.

    Around, a dozen cameras were aimed at him.

    Broadcasting his likeness on television, along with loudspeakers proiming his "achievements."

    Early in the morning, there were already many people glued to their TVs.

    They watched intently, wanting to see how Zambada differed from the average person.

    But they were disappointed.

    Perhaps the biggest difference was that the man seemed to live afortable life usually.

    Alexandr Konstantinovich got up early, eyes bloodshot as he stared at the man on the TV.

    He would not forget!

    That man had led a charge into his home, shot his father dead, and standing on his father''s head, arrogantly dered, "To refuse Sinaloa''s kindness is to wee death!"

    He didn''t know why the man didn''t shoot him too.

    Maybe... out of disdain?

    Would you care about the hatred from a crawling insect?

    But that drug trafficker, who had once dominated Mexico, now looked more dejected than anyone.

    Meanwhile, in a box on the side of the square.

    Mexico''s Cardinal was continually urging Victor to give up the death penalty, iming it was a disrespect for life.

    The reason Mexico and many other countriescked the death penalty was their belief that everyone, even criminals, had the right to live. If a judge sentenced someone to death, the judge would also bemitting a crime; such was their ideology.

    It was sheer nonsense.

    "God''s purpose is to love everyone, and all can be forgiven." The Cardinal, quite aged, spoke as if reciting from a book.

    Victor felt sleepy just listening, "Then why did you burn those you thought possessed by Satan during the Middle Ages?"

    At that, the old man''s face turned green, "That was God''s will!"

    "God''s will is for you to make money off Indulgences? Or for you tomit evil under the guise of faith? Don''t think I don''t know what you do in private, Mr. Bishop!" Victor squinted his eyes, his gaze very unpleasant.

    A mere nce was enough to describe the Bishop: holier-than-thou!

    No wonder when the big names of "Liberation Theology" rose to power and apologized for many scandals within the church, they faced so many usations. It turned out this bunch had been dirty all along.

    Victor leaned forward, his stare oppressive with a mocking smile. He reached out and patted the man''s wrinkled face, which even trembled under his touch, "Don''t make me angry, or I won''t show respect for my elders."

    The Cardinal''s mouth twisted in anger, his face flushed. In Mexico City, countless people would tter him, and even the Pope had personally visited Mexico City to show respect for Mexico.

    But in front of this small-time cop, he faced repeated insults. Was this not an affront to God?

    "Victor! You''re walking the path of Satan!" These words were heavy, tantamount to ostracizing him in the "Western mythology"-driven mainstream society of Europe and America.

    Casare nervously wrung his hands on the side.

    Idiot!

    Why aren''t you running? What are you still doing here?

    Do you really think your skull can withstand a caliber of 120mm?

    The reason why the Cardinal stepped forward was that the Sinaloa Drug Cartel was one of the church''s donors, helping the church in Mexico build 11 churches nationwide.

    This thing...

    He''s giving money!

    This is their benefactor. If he dies, what will they eat and drink?

    "Satan?"

    Victor suddenly stood up, startling the bishop who involuntarily shuddered.

    "Heaven belongs to God, Earth to me!"

    "I judge drug traffickers, if I say they''re guilty, they''re guilty. You want me to release him? No problem, just be careful not tomit crimes in your next life!"

    "You can ask the Vatican how many divisions they can send!"

    "As long as the caliber is big, I''ll believe in God."

    Victor gestured, and several police officers rushed in at the door and dragged him and his two followers away. He wasn''t crazed enough to finish off his opponent right then and there.

    At the very least, he would need a force of nearly ten thousand men under him.

    He knew that his opponent hadmitted many crimes¡ªsmuggling, drug trafficking, coercing women, and even human trafficking, but...there was no choice, sometimes status and position also determined the timing of your death.

    "It won''t be long, the day of reckoning won''t be too far off!"

    Casare breathed a sigh of relief, thankfully... the old man thankfully hadn''t died.

    "Boss, it''s time!" he said quietly, ncing at his watch.

    Victor nodded, "Execute!"

    Casare picked up the walkie-talkie, ready to issue themand, when suddenly gunfire and the sound of explosions erupted all around.

    There were also deafening cries: "Kill Victor! Kill the tyrant!"

    "Kill the cops!"

    "Kill Victor!"

    Casare looked at his boss nervously, but Victor calmly took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, "Kill them all!"

    ...

    "Kill them all!"

    The supermarket standing on the essential route to Hero Square became the target of the assault, and the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) manned the PK machine guns and started firing.

    If one looked from the sky at that moment, one could see countless drug traffickers pouring out from the alleys around, looking nothing more than cannon fodder!

    The weapons in their hands were even old relics from World War II.

    The 8 PK machine guns in front spat out bullets.

    The unprotected drug traffickers were mowed down like rice, falling dead instantly.

    One of the fastest running drug traffickers, armed with a MAS Mle 1936, a relic frequently seen in the drug war¡ªdespite their age, the bullets in their barrels could still kill.

    He hadn''t run two steps when the high-speed burst fire: 658 rounds/min from the PK machine gun bullets pierced through his eyes, and after running two more steps by inertia, he fell heavily to the ground.

    The officer held down the cover of the machine gun with his left hand; the thing was a bit jumpy, the recoil quite high, his whole body shook with it, nearly losing control!

    The old Russian goods, though rough in appearance, but their power, was simply undeniable!

    Whether in the scorching Middle Eastern desert, the thin air of hignd teaus, the humid Subtropical jungle, or the conflict-ridden African continent, it never failed.

    Directly showing you what''s called the art of tough guys!

    In just 5 minutes, it spewed over 2000 rounds...

    ...causing the drug traffickers to scatter, clutching their heads.

    ...

 Chapter 108 The Wild Dogs Mad Barking!

    In fact, many people here should be said to be working as "temporary workers" for drug traffickers.

    It''s simr to rounding up numbers!

    But no matter who you are, once you pick up a weapon, you are a drug trafficker, an enemy, deserving to be eliminated. Bullets won''t fly up to your face and then check your ID card.

    A pickup truck smashed through the drug traffickers blocking the road, drifting suavely.

    At the back of the truck was a DShK heavy machine gun, with a drug trafficker standing behind it, even wearing headphones and sunsses, firing at the supermarket rooftop!

    Bang bang bang...

    Bullets hit the exterior wall, and the fragments of cement that sttered on one''s face were painful.

    This thing was meant to shoot down nes!

    The bullets were so thick (draw with your own pencil after taking off your pants).

    The cartridge cases fell from the side, clinking on the truck before dropping to the ground, still smoking.

    On the battlefield, machine guns like this don''t need to be aimed, just sweep fire in the general direction.

    If you get shot, you''re just in unlucky, bad luck.

    Bang...

    Suddenly, the head of the drug trafficker operating the heavy machine gun jerked back, and he was thrown off the pickup truck, half his face seemingly torn off forcibly.

    "Requesting support! Requesting support!" Themander on the rooftop shouted into the walkie-talkie as he saw more and more drug traffickers gathering below.

    After all, the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) had only trained for three months, at best considered as farmers armed with elite weapons. How can you developbat experience without going through several battles?

    In 1993, the U.S. Military stumbled in Somalia, ck Hawks went down, 19 died, but nearly 3,000 were killed!

    This casualty ratio is simply defying the heavens.

    Keep in mind, the Somalis back then had things like RPGs too.

    What does this show?

    Combat experience is really important. You can say the Yanks are bad, but you can''t say they''re ipetent!

    Simrly, under the "human wave tactics" of the drug traffickers, the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) was under immense pressure and could only call for support.

    "Understood!" came a reassuring reply from the other end of the walkie-talkie.

    Then I saw 4 AMX VCI infantry fighting vehicles bursting out from the garage on the side, all specially modified, equipped with Reactive Armor up to 100mm thick, effectively defending against bullets and regr artillery.

    The most important change was the primary weapon, switching from a 7.5mm machine gun to an M61A1!

    This thing is alsomonly known as the "fire god cannon"!

    Armored vehicles equipped with aircraft guns, damn, that''s quite sneaky.

    However, it seems the old Russians once mounted naval guns on tanks.

    Weapons are justrge building blocks for men, as long as you dare to imagine, you can fit anything on them.

    The 4 AMX VCI infantry fighting vehicles equipped with fire god cannons advanced like divine punishers descending from the heavens, charging into the midst of the drug traffickers.

    "Run them over! Run them over!" The gun controller inside the vehicle shook the shoulders of the driver vigorously, and thetter stepped on the gas, flipping a pickup truck, with the drug traffickers inside panicking, trying to run out.

    But they were quickly pulled into the treads.

    The fire god cannon fired rapidly and with formidable power.

    More than a dozen drug traffickers who couldn''t dodge in time were pierced through.

    "Ahhh!"

    Screaming loudly, clutching their wounds, but in the next second, their heads were crushed by the treads!

    How kind, not letting them suffer.

    The sudden appearance of the AMX VCI infantry fighting vehicles decimated the drug traffickers, leaving no one unscathed.

    "Blow them up! Use nes to blow them up!" Juarez boss Armando, who was remote controlling from a distance, saw this scene through his binocrs, furious and frenzied. While speaking, his long hair got into his mouth, making him constantly stick out his tongue in irritation.

    Mexican drug traffickers do have nes.

    However, they''re generally small aircraft. From 2006 to 2015, the Mexican Government intercepted 599 nes, all belonging to Guzman who had started an airline specifically for drug trafficking.

    But the title of "Sky King" now belongs to Armando!

    He currently has about 70 different types of aircraft under hismand. With just a little modification, they could even bring down the Mexican Air Force.

    Juarez, faced with the increasingly unfavorable situation, spent 700 million US dors to upgrade 20 trainer aircraft into an "air force" with attack capabilities.

    The weapons systems were all worked on by folks from the United States.

    As long as you have money, there''s always someone willing to help you.

    "Boss, there are a lot of tall buildings around here, our nes... can''t fly low, we don''t have that technology." The underling said with a woebegone face.

    Apart from those acrobats, who would fly a ne all over the city?

    Aren''t you afraid of crashing?

    Armando felt a surge of rage like old blood caught in his throat, drew his gun, and shot the underling dead with one bullet, then fired two more into the body.

    "I know! No need to remind me."

    All the other drug traffickers in the room shuddered, Armando was infamous for his vtile temper, see that, no more nonsense.

    Talk too much and you''ll lose!

    Armando, looking at the drug traffickers being crushed yet again, furiously threw his binocrs to the ground, swearing loudly!

    And the other drug traffickers elsewhere were alsomenting nonstop.

    They had just managed to break through the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit''s (EDTV) chain defense and before they could even celebrate, they were wiped out by the inside EDM!

    Vic had firepower, had the caliber, and nearly a thousand men, this kind of urban warfare was even more brutal, the drug traffickers scattered too quickly.

    Far away in Jalisco, El Mencho.

    Was chewing betel nut.

    His gaze firmly fixed on the live broadcast scene on TV, if it weren''t for the gunshots and screams being too direct, one might think it was a movie.

    "We need to change our thinking from now on." El Mencho suddenly spoke, drawing everyone''s attention in the room.

    "We have to start recruiting ex-military, ordinary drug traffickers just can''t enhance ourbat power."

    "Big brother, this will greatly increase our costs," his younger brother said, frowning.

    "Higher cost is better than being annihted in the future."

    El Mencho pointed to the retreating drug traffickers on the TV, "What can you do with that kind ofbat power? Bully civilians, that''s about it. What we need is to stand against Victor!"

    Everyone nced at the TV, knowing their stuff.

    The gap in weapons can be filled gradually, but the gap in personnel quality is indeed significant.

    "I n to pull in a bunch of soldiers from Guatem and Honduras, to turn Jalisco''s new generation into a military organization. Gentlemen, our business is not just business, it''s a war."

    El Mencho''s eyes narrowed, his face trembling, "A war that decides life and death!"

    ...

    "Victor!!"

    In Hero Square, the weakened Zambada suddenly raised his head, his eyes seeming to prate the ss to see the ce where Victor was.

    His voice was loud!

    Or it had been amplified.

    "You kill me, can you kill all the drug traffickers in Mexico? Can you kill all the drug traffickers in Latin America? Can you kill all the drug traffickers in the world!"

    "You can''t!"

    "You''re just a cop, you can''t change anything, you stinkin'' cop, those big-shots whose wealth you''ve cut off will all want your head!"

    Zambada was hysterical!

    "Fire!" Casare issued themand.

    The 120mm M1981 self-propelled howitzer bonged against him.

    "I am immortal! Desire will never die! Greed will never die."

    Boom!

    That shell exploded into a mushroom cloud, and the ground shook three times.

    Crowds in front of the TV leaned close, as the smoke cleared, not a feather remained, he was sted to nothingness.

    Quite a few people swallowed hard.

    This kind of artillery execution for drug traffickers...

    Some thought it was too much.

    Victor, having heard Zambada''sst roar, squinted and smiled, "The wild dog''s bark!"

    Immortal?

    sted you to nothingness with one shell!

    See if you still won''t die.

    ...

 Chapter 109 Los Zetas!

    Zambada''s curse-filled ranting before his death was broadcast across Mexico via television.

    At least 30 million people watched this "luxurious" show.

    When the 120mm M1981 self-propelled howitzer exploded, the decibel level in Mexico must have decreased by at least 50%, and everyone fell silent.

    Death by artillery!

    This was unprecedented in modern history.

    With one shot, it obliterated the "courage" of many Mexicans.

    From now on, people from Sinaloaing to pay their respects could just ce a couple of incense sticks anywhere in Mexico, after all, Zambada is everywhere.

    Guzman watched the huge crater on the television, the camera showing it several times. With such an amount of ammunition, not even blood could be seen.

    "Let peoplee back!"

    He leaned back on the sofa, "Tell our men to pull out of Mexicali."

    "Cousin, we''ve been fighting the Gulf and Juarez for so long, are we just leaving like this?" Carlos, the third of the four Beltran Leyva brothers, said with some reluctance.

    Such arge territory, with such a strategically advantageous location¡ªwasting it on anything other than smuggling drugs would be a shame.

    It could earn at least several billion US Dors more per year.

    "If we don''t leave, we might never be able to get out," Guzman sighed. He wasn''t someone ustomed to giving up; everyone who saw him gave the same assessment: he spoke little, was silent, and had fierce eyes.

    How could a desperate man easily let go?

    But they really couldn''t win.

    If they could, would they still be kvetching here?

    The boss Arturo pondered for a moment, "What about Zambada''s brothers?"

    "Sell them to the Mexican Government. Victor and his men will take care of it for us."

    Guzman was such a man; when he couldn''t beat others, he relied on betrayal. It was with this very tactic that he had killed off Los Zetas.

    "Victor, that mad dog, isn''t it good to make money together? A drug sweep? Sweep the damn drugs, with such a big market in Mexico, can he sweep it all up? I''m sure he''s the product of inbreeding, his head''s all messed up!" Hector, the most ipetent second brother, cursed.

    If Uncle Victor heard these words,

    would he not give him a chance to be reborn?

    Guzman nced at Hector. He had never held Hector in high regard because he indeedcked capability; he botched things several times due to drinking and womanizing. If not for his solid connections, he would have been fed to the fishes by Palma long ago.

    Yet this ipetent man happened to be thest survivor among the four brothers.

    Guzman looked at his security chief, the most trusted Arturo, and stared intensely, "I need you to do something right now!"

    "You say," Arturo said with his head bowed, naturally deferring to his cousin who he had trusted all his life.

    Guzman grabbed his neck, "Recruit some special forces from the Mexican Government Forces. You are in charge of forming a new group of gunmen, called: LosZetas!"

    Boom!

    A sound like thunder.

    The weather suddenly changed outside, and rain poured down in an instant.

    It''s chaos,pletely utter chaos!

    Los Zetas have emerged?

    And they''re under the Sinaloa faction?

    Victor''s butterfly effect had indeed set off a significant turning point.

    What connection does this Arturo have with the actual founder of Los Zetas, Arturo Desena, aside from their shared name?

    But with El Mencho already appearing, what else couldn''t happen?

    The world is just a grand farce.

    Everyone is dancing upon it.

    But what would the enforcer groups for the Gulf Group be called afterward?

    "I want true violence!"

    "I will give you any support you need, money, weapons, it''s not a problem. I want gunmen capable of changing theyout of Mexico. Do you have the confidence?"

    Arturo looked into his cousin''s eyes and nodded forcefully, "Leave it to me."

    Guzman patted his face and stood up, "All right brothers, let''s go. Clean this ce up and leave it to Mr. Victor!"

    The real reshaping of Mexico''syout was beginning!

    The group quickly packed up and left. As Arturo was leaving, he even threw two grenades inside.

    The mansion was sted into a mess.

    This scene urred in several other ces; a leader had to be perceptive enough to understand that when there''s no turning back, the only option is to abandon the location.

    Leaving only the low-level drug traffickers running for their lives throughout the streets.

    Victor adhered to the principle of seizing the moment to strike when you''re weak.

    He immediately ordered an assault!

    Divided into groups, they began clearing out the drug traffickers.

    "Rookie" Carlos followed the captain in a group of 17 into a residential area to search. This ce... was an absolute mess.

    The stench of urine was everywhere.

    "?Mierda! (Shit!)" A teammate leaning against a wall suddenly screamed out. Carlos was startled and quickly aimed his gun at him, only to see him passionately rubbing a shoe against the wall.

    "People are actually defecating and urinating everywhere." He looked constipated.

    "Hey, hound, are you hungry?" a teammate joked.

    The captain "Tank" frowned, "Enough, cut it out..."

    Carlos sighed in relief, but then suddenly spotted a gun barrel pointing out from the second floor above. He quickly pulled his teammate aside, "Watch out!"

    Ratatat...

    Bullets hit his bulletproof vest.

    The captain reacted quickly, firing his gun at the second floor and pulling Carlos behind a corner for cover.

    "Are you alright?"

    Carlos was gasping for air, his face red from the shock wave of the bullets. He touched his body, "I''m okay, I''m okay."

    To avoid paying heftypensation, Victor generously equipped his direct officers with level IV bulletproof vests, capable of protecting against 7.62mm bullets¡ªof course, a headshot would be another story.

    "You''ve broken a rib." The captain reached into his shirt, touched his bones, and frowned, "Hound, Ant, take him and get out of here."

    "The rest split into three teams and continue the search!"

    "Understood!"

    Carlos also obeyed; breaking his ribs and still remaining on the battlefield? Wasn''t that just dragging everyone else down?

    The captain, with four EDM members, rushed up the stairs in abat formation. Standing at the doorway, he signaled with three fingers. At the count of one, a teammate beside him kicked the door open.

    "EDM!"

    The captain shouted as he charged in, only to see that the living room was empty. In the adjacent kitcheny a man shot dead. He walked over, kicked the weapon away from the man on the ground, and then administered another shot to the man''s head.

    That finally put his mind at ease.

    Bang bang~

    At that moment, a noise suddenly came from inside the house.

    The group raised their weapons and slowly approached. The captain took a deep breath, slowly turned the doorknob, and the teammate behind him readied his shotgun, aiming to spray the room.

    "Ah!!"

    But who would have thought that upon opening the door, they would encounter a woman wearing a bikini?

    She had a nice figure.

    Yeah, a really nice figure!

    This woman could naturally provide a BUFF, which was to lower everyone''s guard.

    "Ma''am, ma''am, don''t worry, you''re okay..." A team member tried tofort her with a pat, but the captain''s eyes narrowed, "Be careful!"

    He kicked the team member aside and emptied his magazine into the bikini-d woman!

    0XX0 ¡ª He shot a couple of extra rounds because of therger impact area.

    The woman fell to the ground, coughing up blood, holding a remote control in her hand.

    The team member who had been kicked away was furious as he aimed his shotgun at the woman''s head and fired another shot.

    He swore, it was definitely not out of revenge.

    The Director always said: one must cultivate one''s mind and nature!

    "Next room."

    ...

    All of Mexicali was under chaos.

    The scattered drug traffickers started to flee in panic, bursting into the homes of the innocent and shooting at the people inside.

    A city...

    Was actually more bloody than a battlefield.

    To deal with this, Victor had repeatedly ordered announcements over the city''s loudspeakers: drop your weapons and surrender, the Guadalupe Ind Police Department guarantees your safety!

    There were stubborn elements, and of course those who were truly scared to tears.

    They surrendered en masse.

    From morning until 4 pm, a total of more than 600 people surrendered.

    And there were a lot of people they really couldn''t catch; there were just too many people in Mexicali. The drug traffickers would just disappear into the crowd and Victor didn''t have enough men to fill the gaps in the slums.

    About 2 kilometers outside Mexicali city center.

    This ce was turned into a temporary prison, with drug traffickers detained here.

    They squatted on the ground, holding their heads, looking at each other with fear still in their eyes.

    "When... when can we leave?" A young drug trafficker squatting on his tiptoes asked hispanion, his eyes teary with fear.

    He had only taken 300 US dors from the drug traffickers.

    Hispanion spoke in a low voice, "Soon, I guess. We''re just assisting drug traffickers, nothing serious, there shouldn''t be any problem."

    "?Fuego!?"

    "?Fuego!?"

    Fire!

    Before the men could react, they saw machine guns mounted on the wall start firing relentlessly.

    Drug traffickers!

    Was there a distinction between one execution or two?

    Caught meant killed.

    "Murder! They''re killing people!!" An old hand, an experienced drug trafficker, sensed something wrong and turned to run, only to see a pipe extend from the side and then... mes shot out!

    The drug trafficker was directly sprayed with fire, screamed in agony, and then crashed into the crowd, causing many others to instantly ignite.

    "Woo woo! Woo!"

    The military dogs, picking up the scents in the air, became restless, baring their teeth which dripped with saliva, and scratched the ground uneasily with their paws.

    Victor never had the tradition of keeping drug traffickers overnight.

    The sound of gunfire continued until after nine in the evening, then gradually lessened.

    Mexicali City Hall.

    The ce was bustling with activity.

    Victor neverid a hand on the lower-level civil servants; otherwise, who would do the work?

    Seeing their "spirited" appearance fully illustrated one point: it wasn''t that he was useless, but that the people at the top were ipetent.

    Lucky for them Rafael Max died in the bathroom, otherwise, who knew how they would have executed them.

    "Boss, here''s a rough casualty report, and the seized materials will be counted by tomorrow," Casare handed the list to Victor, yawning.

    "You''ve been working hardtely," Victor said, looking at him.

    "Thank you, boss. Your approval is my biggest motivation, and I will continue to be actively diligent," he replied.

    He was born in the wrong country; with such emotional intelligence, he would''ve achieved great things elsewhere.

    Victor smiled, opened the report, and his eyebrows shot up.

    It read: Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) lost 41 personnel, Guadalupe Ind Police Department lost 17 personnel (in urban securitybat), drug traffickers killed: 2174 (excluding prisoners).

    Together with the drug traffickers, the total was close to 2800 people.

    Victor closed the report, shook his cigarette pack, but found it empty. Casare offered his own cigarette and lit it for him.

    It didn''t matter if you didn''t smoke, but you had to be prepared at all times, and with the same brand the boss smoked. Otherwise, what if the boss wanted a smoke and you didn''t have any? Wouldn''t that be awkward?

    Victor exhaled a puff of smoke; only the two of them were left in the office.

    "Casare, Mexicali is ours now!"

    "Baja California is spreading its legs, weing us!"

    ...

 Chapter 110 If God has forgotten Mexico, then Victors soldiers will carry out justice!

    Late at night.

    The calls of birds and the roars of unnamed animals were chilling.

    A sentry post about 3 kilometers from Mexicali.

    There were six soldiers on guard here, but they didn''t belong to any unit under Victor''smand, they were Government Forces sent by the Mexican Government, the same squad whose boss had been beheaded in the "massage parlor."

    They hadn''t been disbanded but were instead assigned to keep watch over the area.

    As they were hiding inside, drinking.

    "Hey, do you think the cop from Guadalupe Ind is an idiot? Drug prohibition? Is it that easy to ban drugs? Even if he killed so many drug traffickers, I admit he''s tough, but can he kill off the 7 million drug traffickers in Mexico?"

    "Would he dare?!"

    A soldier who had drunk too much clearly looked flushed and inebriated, "After today, I''m joining my cousin tomorrow. He''s in Juarez, living the good life, which is far better than being a grunt here."

    "Shut up!" the lieutenant frowned, "You''re drunk."

    "Am I wrong? Prohibition! Without drug money, what do we eat, how do we support our families, with just the 300 pesos monthly sry? How much more do you, a lieutenant, make than us?"

    Before the soldier could finish, hisrade covered his mouth, "Stop talking, don''t spout nonsense, lieutenant, he''s like this when he''s drunk."

    The lieutenant''s expression became grim, but suddenly his ears twitched, and he grabbed his weapon and dashed out, not forgetting to shout, "Someone''sing!"

    The other soldiers hurriedly took up their weapons, as for the drunk one...

    Hey on the ground like a lump of mud, still breathing through his nostrils.

    Just as the lieutenant and his men ran out, they saw a ck off-road vehicle approaching. He ordered someone to turn on the spotlight and shouted loudly in Spanish, "Stop! Or we''ll shoot!"

    The off-road vehicle stopped 20 meters away, and the driver got down from the driver''s seat, hands raised, holding a bag, "Don''t shoot."

    He slowly moved to within a dozen meters and threw the bag directly over.

    Itnded right in front of the lieutenant and the others.

    Out fell US dors.

    "Here''s 100,000 US dors, we''re just borrowing the road."

    This was a drug trafficker!

    Who else would bribe a checkpoint with moneyte at night?

    Other than a criminal?

    The soldier''s eyes lit up next to him, his breathing became rapid, and he looked at the lieutenant, who took a deep breath, "Get out of the car for a check!"

    The driver''s face darkened, and he looked back at the off-road vehicle.

    In the vehicle was also a big shot.

    Zambada''s brother, nicknamed "Sinaloa Wildcat," Ismail Zambada Wicks, was quite ferocious on the battlefield, leading the charge against the first line of defense, but he also died quickly.

    His brother was directly blown apart by an anti-aircraft machine gun!

    "Sinaloa Wildcat" became like a wild boar, running wild, lucky for his quick escape, that''s how he saved his own life.

    "200,000 US dors!" the driver said loudly.

    "Get out of the car!" the lieutenant yelled.

    The several soldiers looked at each other and then swallowed hard, at the same time, they moved to pin the lieutenant to the ground, vigorously pressing down on his head.

    "toon leader, why are you standing in the way of our fortune!"

    "toon leader, you''re the one who has to die now!"

    The soldiers shouted loudly, then one of them took out a bay and viciously pierced the lieutenant''s neck, the de sticking into the ground.

    The lieutenant''s eyes bulged, he struggled desperately, but his strength gradually waned, his body jerked, and then he was dead.

    The soldiers rushed to pick up the US dors on the ground, looked at the money in their hands, and looked up at the driver, "Where''s the rest of the money?"

    The driver sighed with relief, indeed, Mexico was still the same Mexico, with only a few people like those at the Guadalupe Ind Police Station.

    Most people still loved money!

    The driver went back to the vehicle to get the money and threw it to them, the soldiers then opened the barrier and watched the off-road vehicle disappear into the darkness.

    "The lieutenant is dead, what do we do now?" one of the soldiers said.

    The others looked at each other.

    "Let''s go join the drug traffickers! We''re fighting for someone anyway, right? With this money, we can live it up for a while," someone suggested.

    This n immediately got everyone''s approval, and after dividing up the money, they ran off.

    On the deste outpost, the solitary body of a junior officery, his eyes wide open, staring into the distance towards the direction of Mexicali.

    The liquor in the outpost was also purchased by him.

    At the edge of the sky, darkness was gradually fading away, but... Darkness had also swallowed a great deal of splendor, with some falling before the sun rose the next day.

    When the soldier who came to relieve the shift saw this scene, the body had already been cleaned by scavenging dogs, and he hurriedly reported the incident up the chain ofmand.

    When Victor received the news, he was also shocked.

    "Are you saying that the fallen junior officer was from the Grosteta family?"

    Casare nodded gravely.

    In Baja California, that surname represented ''heroes''; they were a famously heroic police family, battling drug traffickers ever since drug traffickers emerged in Mexico over a hundred years ago.

    In total, 17 had fallen.

    "In 1985, when Camarena fell there were actually two other Mexican Police officers with him, one of whom was Pietra Grosteta. He had 71 knife wounds on his body at that time, and it''s estimated that seven shots of adrenaline were administered. And this junior officer was his only adult child."

    Casare''s voice was somber, "Back then, he was a university student whoter joined the anti-drug unit in Baja California."

    "There''s only the youngest brother and sister left in their family now, but they''re not of age yet, and life is rather difficult. It''s said they still live in the slum and neither has had the chance to go to school."

    Victor took a deep breath, feeling a tightness in his chest, "Fucking Mexico!"

    How could the heroes of this countrye to such a pass, is it a tragedy or a matter of regret?

    Where''s thepensation?

    What about the post-incident care?

    All of it, damn garbage!

    Suppressing his inner roar, Victor took a deep drag of his cigarette, "Take someone with you and bring them over. At the most luxurious ce in Mexicali, I want to host those heroes and the families of the fallen heroes."

    "Make sure the still-breathing officials in Mexicali alle over."

    "If they don''te."

    Victor squinted his eyes, "Then we''ll crush them with armored vehicles!"

    ...

    Milia Mires Grosteta struggled to carry a wooden bucket, within ity her brother''s tattered clothes.

    She was only 9 years old, but she knew all too well her brother''s hardships. Ever since their father died and their mother passed away due to illness, her brother had taken care of their upbringing.

    She had to do whatever she could, within her power.

    Her small body held therge basin beside the river, looking utterly deste.

    Smack~

    A stone hit the water not far from her, startling Milia as she cried out, withughter and teasinging from nearby.

    Milia turned her head to see several hooligans standing there, pointing and jeering at her, appearing to be around 18 or 19 years old.

    "Hey! Where''s your soldier brother? Did he die today?" a young man with dyed yellow hair shouted.

    Milia kept her head down, silent. They often bullied her. Supposedly, their parents were drug traffickers, but not in Mexicali, rather, up north.

    "He isn''t dead? Tell your brother not to go out, or else many out there will want to kill him. Do you know how many people died yesterday?" someone cursed, "He''s bound to be killed sooner orter!"

    Milia remained silent, ustomed to enduring the torment.

    But this only made the thugs more insolent. One of the 18-year-old youths rushed up and kicked over Milia''s basin, scattering her brother''s clothes into the river. As she frantically reached out to retrieve them, she slipped and fell into the water.

    Instantly, all the river water rushed into her mouth as she iled her arms, frantically screaming for help.

    The young men on the shoreughed loudly, even throwing stones.

    "Typical!"

    "The offspring of drug traffickers can only be scum!" a voiceden with long-suppressed rage rang from behind them.

    "Rookie" Carlos, his eyes red and bandaged, red at the few thugs in front of him, then pulled out a gun and aimed it at them.

    "Even if justice is sacrificed, it shall not yield to darkness that hangs in the sky!"

    He fired the gun, pop, pop, pop!!

    If God had forgotten Mexico.

    Then Victor''s soldiers would carry out justice!

    ...

 Chapter 111 When I, Victor, speak of reason, it becomes reason!

    Milia Mires Grosteta had a very long dream.

    She dreamed that her brother grabbed her hand, then touched her head, and told her that he had to go to a ce very, very far away.

    "Will youe back then?"

    "Where there is light, I will always be there."

    "Despair is what defeats us, live on, live better!"

    Milia suddenly felt that her brother was lying to her, she clung to him, crying and begging him not to leave, but he walked further and further away, and she saw her parents, grandparents, all waving at her with smiles.

    "Brother!"

    Milia spat out a mouthful of water and slowly opened her eyes, in a daze, she saw a silhouette also in uniform, with equally clear eyes; she murmured, "Brother."

    "Awake! She''s awake!" The officer beside her eximed joyfully.

    "Rookie" Carlos took a deep breath, took off his jacket, and put it on her, "Feeling better? Are you still cold?"

    Milia, her face drenched with water, nced at the adults in front of her, obviously a bit nervous, but still nodded, "Thank you."

    She looked around anxiously, "Have you¡­ seen my brother''s clothes?"

    The little girl was close to crying.

    "That''s thest piece of clothing my brother has, he won''t have anything to change into when hees home tonight."

    Carlos squatted down, his eyes slightly reddening upon hearing this; he had never seen her brother, but when a child is so sensibly heart-wrenching, it always touches the softest part of one''s heart.

    "Brother, do you happen to know my brother?" Milia suddenly asked, raising her head, her eyesrge and bright, she was well taken care of.

    "Do you want to see him?"

    Milia hesitated, then nodded, "I do."

    "Then let''s go change clothes, and take your little brother with us," Carlos said, patting her head.

    Milia nodded happily, picked up the wooden basin, and led them back home.

    The world of the wealthy ys differently, but the world of the poor lives the same.

    Everywhere there was the stench of urine, evenrge rats the size of a forearm could be seen running across, stopping to look around boldly when they heard footsteps.

    Milia and her family lived in a very secluded corner, surrounded by piles of trash, and at the doorstep, a skinny figure stood timidly, barefoot, wearing a short shirt, eyes eagerly watching the distance. When he saw Milia, he ran over quickly, calling with a babyish voice, "Sister."

    "You haven''t been good, have you? Didn''t I tell you to wait for me at home?" Milia, 9 years old, was just like a big sister.

    Her little brother nodded, pulling out something shaped like jerky from his trouser pocket, ready to take a bite.

    "You can''t eat that." Carlos hurried to stop him, squatting down, he took out chocte and handed it to him. The boy, clearly afraid of this stranger, hid behind Milia.

    "He''s very timid."

    Milia said with a smile, patting her brother''s head, "Get dressed, we''re going to find brother."

    Brother!

    The little boy''s eyes lit up at the mention, and he ran into the house.

    "Aren''t you going to change your clothes?"

    Milia tugged at her dress, smiling, her eyes beautiful like crescents, truly beautiful, "This is a gift my brother bought for me, I really like it."

    Carlos looked at her faded dress, lifted his head to hold back tears, thinking girls, they all like new clothes.

    When her little brother ran out, he too was wearing clothes that had seen better days, the cartoon characters on them slightly aged.

    "Let''s go! We''re going to see your brother."

    Carlos took them to the car, their first time riding in a Hummer, both of them were happy, the wind brushing past their temples, their faces finally showing the innocence of children.

    But as the Hummer turned a corner, Milia suddenly felt her heart in pain, a vague sound of crying hitting her like a hammer.

    It grew closer.

    Finally, she saw it, an open-air wake with dozens, even hundreds of coffins, with many people copsed on the ground, eyes red from weeping.

    "My... my brother??" Milia had an ominous feeling, but still lifted her head to ask Carlos, who pursed his lips and led them to the very back where a coffiny.

    Inside was a lieutenant, dressed in his favorite military uniform, covered with the Mexican g, his face peaceful.

    "Brother!" Milia trembled all over, tears streaming down uncontrobly.

    The young her understood death, Mexico had made her bear it far too many times from too young an age.

    "Brother, get up, brother."

    The little brother wept too, perhaps not understanding the meaning of death, but knowing he seemed to have lost the most important person.

    In the wake.

    Milia cried out loud...

    But the brother who loved her most could no longer respond.

    Milia cried with her head flung back, her tears falling into the coffin, crying until her voice was hoarse and her eyes swollen red.

    Carlos, fearing for their wellbeing amidst their sobs, wrapped them in his arms, "Your brother is watching over you, children who cry don''t grow up."

    Milia clung to his neck, hearing these words, she paused, the memory echoing of when she fell and scraped her knees, the time she cried uncontrobly, her brother had said the same thing to her.

    "Children who cry don''t grow up."

    Milia clung to Carlos tightly, biting her lip, but her shoulders shook with sobs.

    "Brother, I''ve been very good."

    ...

    "Vaquero mexicano (Mexican Cowboy)"

    This could be considered the most luxurious hotel in Mexicali, previously a property of the Tijuana Cartel, now... it likely belongs to Victor''s "Hope" Group.

    The downfall of Tijuana brought Victor quite a bit of "enterprise," including 7 hotels, 4 resorts, 171 shops, and 7 mansions in Mexicali alone, not to mention countless more.

    Just think about how much there must be in Baja California State?

    This further cemented Victor''s determination to take over the entire territory of the original Tijuana, but for now, hecked the necessary forces.

    What?

    Anyone interested?

    Lean in and let me see your face, see if your shoehorn is stuck on it.

    The victors have the right to divide the cake.

    It''s like the world is a makeshift theater, but not everyone gets a chance to be on stage.

    Victor''s face (caliber) is still substantial; having to host the families of the sacrificed police and military, nobody in Mexicali dares not to give face.

    Outside the hotel, luxury cars everywhere.

    Directors from whichpany have arrived, whose mistresses are here.

    The men are in suits, looking like gentlemen, while the women are adorned in gold and silver, quite the image of wealth and prosperity.

    Casare is greeting guests outside.

    Victor sits in the seat of honor, puffing on a cigar, surrounded by the heads of various departments who are still alive.

    "I''m quite open-minded; if you want a seat at the table, vote for Mr. Alejandro to be the Governor of Baja California State," Victor says, pointing to his old superior while addressing the others.

    Alejandro had been called over. The cake was being divided!

    The others looked at each other, unsure of how to respond.

    "Mr. Victor, Alejandro has just been promoted to head of security in Baja California. Jumping straight to Governor goes against the rules... and besides, several departments are involved here, and the people who have the say are in Mexico City... we... don''t have that kind of authority," a silver-haired middle-aged man said with a wry smile.

    Even promotions need to follow the rules!

    Unless you can really punch the rules to smithereens.

    But...

    He is a policeman now, and to raise troops and challenge authority would make him a rebel, and then the nation''s 200,000 troops would be no joke.

    Victor simply didn''t have enough "usable" people under him.

    He sat in his chair, fingertips tapping lightly on the table, as the officials around him sat stiffly, not daring to move.

    "The mayoral position shouldn''t be a problem, right?"

    Victor spoke, and those people nced at each other. It was still the silver-haired middle-aged man speaking, "As long as the election procedures conform, it''s possible."

    "Then for Lower California, I want four spots! The rest you can divvy up."

    There are only six cities in total...

    But being able to im a say in the remaining two cities left those present rtively pleased, thinking Victor wanted it all to himself.

    "That''s fine, thank you, sir," the middle-aged man eagerly nodded, standing up to bow with his ss raised.

    Victor reached out without moving from his seat.

    No matter the situation, the one with the bigger fist is the one who''s truly big.

    ng!

    Just then, a loud crashing noise followed by a stream of cursing grabbed the attention of everyone in the hotel.

    They saw a drunk middle-aged man holding a ss, kicking over a boy, cursing at him, "Squeeze squeeze squeeze! Haven''t you eaten before? The stench on you is disgusting me to death."

    "Brother!" Milia ran over and hugged the other, the boy shivering with fear in his arms.

    "Scum!"

    The drunken middle-aged man looked at his suit, dissatisfied, and sshed the drink in his hand onto the faces of Milia and the others.

    "What are you doing!"

    "Rookie" Carlos and his three teammates rushed out, with Carlos pushing the man down and ring, "Are you looking for death?"

    The man was too drunk to get up and kept belching.

    Everyone ridicules the racial system, but where is there no discrimination?

    "Ricole!" an old man ran over, looking at his disgraceful son, hurriedly apologizing to Carlos.

    "Damn scum!" The middle-aged man struggled to stand up, pointing at the little boy, until his father backhanded him with a p and angrily shouted, "Shut up!"

    The old man looked towards the head table and saw pairs of eyes looking back, making him wail in distress. In no time, he saw Victor speaking with ''Fatty Tiger'' Casare, who then stood up and approached.

    "If he''s drunk, sober him up. Making a scene in the boss''s ce, drag him out and break his hands and legs. He won''t drink so heavily next time," Casare said.

    Hearing that, the old man was frantic, his one and only son. He raised his hands pleadingly; seeing no reaction from Casare, he cried out to Victor, "Sir, my son didn''t mean it, please spare him."

    "My son is still young."

    Almost everyone could hardly restrain themselves; with him looking to be over forty, yet still young?

    Victor also walked over with a smile, bent down to look at Milia and her sister, thetter looking up at him as well.

    "Then do you know how old they are?" he asked.

    The old man was suddenly at a loss for words.

    "I know you both, Milia, Ruskinia," Victor said, patting their heads, "Your brother is a Warrior; he is a true soldier."

    "Disrespecting the family of a sacrificed police or military man under my watch is the same as disrespecting me!"

    "If I die and go down there to see the brothers, and they ask me, how can I answer them?"

    "Drag him away, pull all his teeth out, cut off his tongue. I want him to live disabled!"

    So ruthless?!

    Everyone shuddered inside; the old man grabbed Victor''s arm, "Sir, sir, he''s my only son. We''ll pay, you have to be reasonable!"

    "Be reasonable?"

    Victorughed, "Talking fists to the weak, reason to the strong?" His smiling face suddenly turned stern as he delivered a fierce kick to the middle-aged man''s chest, sending him flying.

    "I''ll tell you, I, Victor, am the reason!"

    "When I want to be reasonable, that''s reason. When I don''t, it''s just a pile of garbage. Old man, go make another one; this one is a lost cause."

    ¡­

 Chapter 112 Their Names Should Be Sung!

    Carlos violently dragged the middle-aged man out by his hair, thetter desperately struggling on the ground, his drunkenness long scared away.

    "Save me! Save me!"

    The old man frantically looked around for someone to help, but no one wanted to invite trouble onto themselves.

    "Take people to search his house, if he can raise such a brazen son, he must also be ustomed to arrogance in his daily life."

    Victor nced over, the man''s family owned a logisticspany and had once been senior partners with the Tijuana drug syndicate.

    I hadn''t even settled scores with the father, and the son had jumped out on his own initiative.

    Not to kill you, would I still be Victor?

    Casare nodded his head.

    Victor looked at Milia and her brother, took a towel from a waiter, and personally wiped their faces, crouching down and gently saying, "Don''t worry, no one will be able to bully you."

    "Tha-thank you!"

    The two children, bereft of adult protection, were like dust floating in the air, in a world that was civil but also truly cruel!

    Could people like them really protect themselves?

    Too many cases of human smuggling, organ trafficking, and even more disgusting dealings stemmed from these orphans.

    Victor patted their heads, stood up, and pped his hands.

    Everyone fell silent, set down their utensils, and watched him speak.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, I am honored to introduce to you these two, Milia and Ruskinia. Perhaps you have heard of their surname Gorostiza. Their entire family has sacrificed a total of 17 people for the cause of Mexico, no! 18 people!"

    "Their beloved brother, Nikos Gorostiza, died heroically in battle at the young age of 23!"

    "He fell on the front lines of Mexico''s anti-drug campaign."

    Chapter Stay:

    Milia bit her lip, trying not to let her tears fall, while her brother cried out loud.

    "Nikos Gorostiza is not the only one; there are many like him. They love Mexico, thend that nurtured them, and they are willing to sacrifice for it. They have departed from this world, but they left as heroes, unwavering and undaunted. Their names will forever be etched in the honorable record of Mexico''s anti-drug history."

    Victor spoke with emotion, "But, I will not allow any person or organization to trample or insult their rtives. This is a mockery of Mexican society!"

    "My officers and I will provide shelter for the families of all who have sacrificed themselves for Mexico. Orphans and the elderly will be provided for free, and over ten welfare homes will be established in Mexicali. Any external harm they suffer is the greatest hostility towards me, Victor!"

    "In the cause of justice, someone always falls. We lift their g high, shout their names, and charge forward. Mexicans never fear sacrifice!"

    Thunderous apuse echoed throughout the hotel.

    The gentlemen anddies, afraid of his influence, disyed various expressions; some even exchanged looks, their eyes filled with indescribable meanings.

    However, the family members of the fallen military and police were crying.

    Victor hugged and consoled them, surrounded at the center.

    At that moment, he had a lot of people standing behind him!

    "He really can act." At a table near the corner, a young man with a watch worth tens of thousands of dors on his wrist scoffed to hispanion.

    But he was pping earnestly with his hands.

    "Does he want to be the President of Mexico?" someone asked with a sneer. Everyone wasn''t a fool; Victor''s TV speeches about anti-drugs, treating martyrs well, and equality for all¡ªweren''t these concepts just to appeal to certain people?

    "Him?" The young man who spoke firstughed disdainfully, possibly with a hint of jealousy, "Just a lucky cop."

    "Let him be arrogant for a bit ¡ª his days are numbered."

    "Do you have some news?"

    The young man lowered his voice, "He wiped out Tijuana; the whole Baja California is under his control. Do you think the Colombians will agree to that?"

    "Each year, they have 15% of their goods shipped by sea from Mexicali Port into California, USA, and there''s over two billion dors in profit involved. Pablo''s Medellin Cartel won''t let him off easily."

    The words had some logic to them, but on second thought, they were nonsense.

    The Medellin would have to cross through Panama, Costa Rica, Salvador, Guatem, and other countries to get here.

    "Sending a small team over here, what''s the use of that?"

    "It would be more believable to trust in Duke Victor descending south with his Anti-Drug Force."

    The young man''s words made hispanions nod subconsciously, inting his vanity, "Just wait and see, his doom is imminent!"

    After the banquet, Victor had arranged for officers to escort the family members of the officers to the hotel where they were to stay.

    Who could guarantee there were no drug traffickers left in Mexicali?

    The collusion was too deep.

    Even the stray dogs on the street could be the eyes and ears of the drug traffickers.

    Victor washed his face and found Alejandro in the room, smoking a cigarette.

    "I can''t stay in Mexicali much longer."

    Alejandro raised an eyebrow, nodded, and said with a smile, "I thought you were going to be stationed here, this is much better than the ind."

    "I am still the Director of the police station on Guadalupe Ind, but I think you can move the security department here now. The Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) should also be deployed here, and I will continue sending officers to ''study and train'' here in turns."

    "There are still plenty of troops in Mexicali that could be retrained. Provide enough sries, improve their benefits, and soon, Mexicali will be under our control."

    Victor had worked hard to take over, how could he just give it up?

    At worst, he could control things from behind the scenes.

    Alejandro nodded, "On the path to drug enforcement, I think we need more like-minded people to join us!"

    "Especially in the public eye."

    "Then call on them to serve in Mexicali, and after we take back all of Baja California, we can deploy these people to serve as local officials."

    "With a poption of 2 million, Mexicali is not easy to manage," Alejandro eximed.

    "Hard to manage? We''ve thrown out all the hotheads, now we''re just dealing with small fries. You can employ mass tactics, encouraging mutual surveince. Offer material rewards for informants; many will do it for the money."

    "If necessary, you can even recruit some people in the streets or rural areas to form militia self-defense groups. We will supply them with weapons and ammunition, but control must be strict, forbidding private ownership. Add some subsidies, and they will be the peripheral members of our drug cleansing system."

    Victor was virtually transferring all the ideas in his head.

    Actually, around the year 2010,rge-scale militia organizations would emerge in Mexico because they didn''t trust the government, and groups like the Jalisco New Generation and Los Zetas were even more brutal.

    Mexican drug gangs would extort money from almost any legal or illegal enterprise, sometimes attacking or burning down ranches, farms, or stores that refused to pay. Many people would rise in resistance, but they would be ughtered for it!

    So they formed their own defense organizations, the so-called militias.

    Buying their own weapons, protecting their homes, and then... forming new drug gangs, since buying supplies without money meant having to join the drug trade.

    But Victor wanted to keep the militias within a controble range, which would be different.

    Ah!

    This outfit, add a bit of yellow when appropriate.

    Meanwhile, on the Hummer heading to the hotel,

    Carlos tenderly stroked Milia''s hair. She looked out the window into the distance, while her little brother in the back seat held chocte, the sweetness temporarily making him forget the pain of losing his brother.

    "Brother Carlos."

    Suddenly, Milia turned around, her eyes looking at him, crying, "Can you... adopt us?"

    "I can wash clothes, I can mop floors, and I can cook."

    Carlos opened his mouth halfway, softened by her hopeful gaze, "Following me, you may have to endure hardship."

    Milia shook her head, "I''m not afraid of hardship."

    Carlos sighed and, smiling, hugged them, "Okay, then from now on, follow me, and I''ll be your brother."

    ¡­

 Chapter 113 Erect a Statue for Victor!

    ```

    Boom~

    Confetti scattered.

    Apuse thundered.

    In the central square of Mexicali, a grand award ceremony was being held.

    Victor and Alejandro were rewarding individuals who had performed exceptionally during the "Mexicali Drug War."

    "Congrattions, young man, I hope you keep up the good work!"

    Carlos, nicknamed Rookie, excitedly took the "First ss Mexican Combat Hero Medal" and a check for half a million Pesos from Alejandro''s hands. His thighs were so stiff that he could hardly move as he descended the stage.

    "That''s awesome! Let me take a look." His teammate quickly "snatched" the medal from his hands¡ªit was about the width of two fingers, with Victor''s portrait on the front and a phrase on the back that read: "??Siempre leal a V¨ªctor! (Always loyal to Victor!)"

    "This is real," his teammate said, surprised at the heft of the medal.

    ...

    "This is real, Director Victor, are these made of gold?" A female reporter shouted.

    What did she mean by that? Did she look down on Duke Victor?

    During the raid on the drug traffickers in Dan Senada City, they had found several hundred pounds of gold. Victor had taken a portion of that gold to be forged into medals, as rewards for those with outstanding contributions.

    Plus half a million Pesos!

    Combining faith with material rewards was sure to yield unexpected results.

    Victor smiled at the camera, "I know that for certain reasons in Mexico, the policing profession is looked down upon by everyone. This is a societal tragedy. Law enforcement should be upholding thew and justice, but the reality is often that policemen be theckeys of drug traffickers."

    "I will not allow this!"

    "I will significantly improve the welfare and honor of the police officers and ensure that any officer fighting for Mexico will not bow down to material needs!"

    "I also sincerely invite people of ambition to join us and help create a better life for the Mexican people!"

    The reporter nced at the cameraman who nodded, so she put away the microphone, "Thank you for the interview, Mr. Victor."

    "It''s the least I can do."

    Watching the reporter walk away, Alejandro came over, "Are you really nning to reform the government departments?"

    "We need a strong government, not ax organization!"

    "Artillery can solve fundamental problems, but it''s the system that resolves conflicts!"

    Victor was dissatisfied with the extremely fragmented current state of the police department. Mexicocked a unified civil servant examination system, with recruitment done locally, which led many big drug traffickers to be police officers in their country when they couldn''t make it in the United States.

    Gardo, El Mencho, Guzman had all damn been policemen.

    Was the Mexican Police Department a "Drug Lord Creation Camp"?

    With the recruitment of mixed-quality police officers and the corruption within the Mexican Government, did you thinkw and order could be good?

    During the telolco Massacre of 1968, riot police got paid thirty Pesos to knock down a student, which led to the subsequent world-shocking massacre.

    What Victor wanted was loyal, faithful officers who fought ceaselessly. Chapter Find:

    inly speaking, he needed centralization!

    "As soon as I return to Ensenada City, I will hold a selection and eliminate all the unfit civil servants."

    Victor lit a cigarette with a match, "Alejandro, the new struggle has already begun!"

    ...

    After the "Mexicali Drug War" that would surely be recorded in history, the major drug trafficking groups vanished for a few days.

    But just when everyone thought they would lick their wounds for a while,

    Juarez officially announced its merger with the Michoac¨¢n Family!!!

    They proimed to the outside world, "Juarez¡ªMichoac¨¢n" Group.

    And on the television stations under their actual control within their territories, they released a propaganda film.

    Under the morous lights, more than a dozen brightly dressed women danced, revealing glimpses of grandeur in their movements, whilerge amounts of US Dorsy on the carpet beside them.

    Stack after stack...

    There had to be over a hundred million dors.

    In another scene, a group of police officers wore shabby uniforms and carried outdated weapons as they nibbled on corn. Smelling the aroma from the mansions, one of them couldn''t stand it any longer, threw down his weapon, and ran to the door to join the drug traffickers.

    He transformed in an instant¡ªhis worn police uniform became an expensive suit, and his destitute appearance turned into that of a "sessful man."

    He smiled at the camera, "Join the Juarez¡ªMichoac¨¢n group, and add vor to your life."

    Thismercial was then looped across the eleven states under their joint control.

    Yes...

    ```

    There are a total of 32 states in Mexico, and they control 11, surpassing Sinaloa to be the current number one drug trafficking group.

    The director of a television station in Hidalgo State under their control refused to air the short film.

    This angered Agur, who sent more than a dozen drug traffickers armed with submachine guns charging into the television station and opening fire on the innocent staff inside.

    By the time the police arrived, an hour had passed since the rm was raised, and it seemed as if there was an unspoken agreement between them, "Youe, I leave."

    This resulted in the death of 19 television station employees.

    The director of the television station was kidnapped.

    Three dayster, his head was found at the entrance of the police station, but his body had vanished into thin air.

    This kind of behavior clearly frightened other television station heads, who had no choice but to hold their noses and loop the broadcast.

    Looking at the piles of US Dors and the women dancing erotically, who could resist?

    A local force of 1200 in Juarez surrendered on the spot...

    Turning from the regr army into the ranks of gunmen for the drug traffickers!

    Damn!

    Seeing this, other organizations thought, oh, it''s possible to do it like this, and each started to y the public opinion game, some hiring young models, some adult film stars, and others nning on hiring Hollywood directors to make films for them.

    It really was...like the old sparrow puckering its butt¡ªtasting the sweetness.

    It fully demonstrated one point: as long as drug traffickers are willing to spend money, in the short term, many people can be drawn into their ranks.

    Throughout April and early May.

    Approximately 20,000 active duty soldiers and police officers in Mexico were "reorganized" by drug traffickers.

    One really wonders, is Mexico still a country?

    At that time.

    Murders erupted all around!

    Public security plummeted rmingly.

    Of course, there were those who did not wish to surrender to the drug traffickers, and these people took their families to seek refuge in Baja California, but the drug traffickers would not allow them to run.

    The drug traffickers also knew that poption was an important asset¡ªwho would do the nting? Who would handle the transport?

    So they tried by all means to stop them from escaping.

    For a time, the border area of Sonora State adjacent to Baja California became a frontline of confrontation.

    The scent of gunpowder was unbelievably thick in the air.

    And at this time, Victor was at his stronghold¡ªGuadalupe Ind.

    Hosting the unveiling ceremony for the "Victor Statue."

    That''s right, his beloved inders had spontaneously raised funds to erect a statue in honor of their beloved police chief.

    It stood about three meters high!

    And was ced at a high point in the center of the newly opened "Victor Park."

    Standing there, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, he seemed to be blessing the peace of Guadalupe Ind.

    "This was an unnecessary expense; the public shouldn''t have to spend their money on this,"

    Seeing the boss''s happy expression, Casare knew what to say, "The per capita disposable ie on Guadalupe Ind for the new quarter is 600 Pesos a month, which is a whopping 120% higher thanst year. You''ve improved people''s lives, so they''re willing to chip in a bit."

    Victor was utterly pleased by these words, looking at his right-hand man thinking, indeed, he was a confidant, "How would you like to be the first mayor of Guadalupe Ind?"

    "???" Fatty Tiger waspletely baffled. Could ttery really propel someone that fast?

    "This... Mayor?" Casare stammered, "Is that possible?"

    Victor patted his shoulder, "Here, there''s no question of possibility, only whether you''re willing or not!"

    The role of mayor involved managing lots of trivial matters, and Casare was perfect for it; it would serve as good practice, and Victor nned to propel him up when the time was right.

    With Victor''s support, even if you were a dog, you''d be able to hold a high position.

    "As long as the boss wants me to be mayor, I''ll be mayor!"

    "Then take office tomorrow."

    A smile crossed Casare''s face.

    Indeed, choosing the right person to follow was more important than any other choice.

    "So what should I do first, boss?"

    "Go to Mexicali and apply for tax autonomy for Guadalupe Ind!"

    ...

 Chapter 114 Public opinion is nonsense to Victor!

    Ensenada City and Guadalupe Ind jointly applied for local finance management rights, and the proposal met no obstacles and was quickly approved.

    Mexico City?

    The general elections were approaching, and they hardly had any energy left for local affairs, as they were having a tough time themselves.

    Anyone who understands Mexican history knows that the period from the ''70s to 2000 was a time of political upheaval, when all sorts of demons and goblins emerged, which also meant their control over local regions was minimal. (For detailed information, please refer to other sources¡ªthis text will not be expanded further.)

    In 1989, Ensenada City''s tax revenue was 1.06 billion US Dors.

    Less than drug trafficking... but it was sustainable and legal.

    Starting in May, Ensenada City Hall invested 15 million US Dors in the "Port of Ensenada" expansion, which would be thergest export harbor in Northern Mexico.

    They nned to impose a "container tax" on the harbor, charging 25 US Dors per container!

    Approximately 250,000 containers would pass through this port to the United States every year, so the investment would pay for itself in three to four years.

    The first proposal under Casare''s leadership in Guadalupe Ind was the "Friendly Cities Assistance Program," wherein Ensenada City would allocate 200 million US Dors annually to support the ind''s construction and development.

    Casare took this money and directly increased police wages!

    Doubled for everyone!

    The lowest-paid "Auxiliary Intern Officer" sry jumped from 500 to 1000 US Dors!

    And the sry for a regr EDM officer increased from 2500 US Dors to 5000 US Dors.

    After all, this was all local finance.

    Victor''s move was simply "brilliant!"

    Victor also took advantage of the situation to establish his anti-drug military force with the Mexican Government''s consent, named: ??equipo de emergencia nacional de m¨¦xico! (Mexican National Emergency Squad), abbreviated as EDN.

    It was the third troop under hismand, a legally permitted direct squad, and although consisting of 1500 people, who says it''s just a squad?

    He recruited 900 young people aged 18 to 21 from Guadalupe Ind, and the rest would be supplemented by veterans in time, training them in skills such as armed swimming, survival in harsh environments, and parachuting.

    The sry was on par with EDM (Mexican Lion).

    Of course, training couldn''t bepleted in a short time, but after a year of intense training, followed by actualbat, by the mid-''90s, they would definitely be drug eradication vanguards!

    This move brought the number of his forces close to 3000 people.

    Are they still considered police?

    Why wouldn''t they be?

    These clever moves greatly reduced Victor''s military expenses, essentially using government finances to support his "private army"¡ªa very familiar strategy.

    With so much money, which could not even be spent annually, there was even enough to develop infrastructure.

    "Director."

    Just as Victor was idly sipping his drink in the office, his secretary burst in, "There''s been a fight!"

    "?? Where has the fighting broken out?"

    This girlcked Casare''s conciseness; she never got straight to the point.

    "Patrol officers near the Baja California border have exchanged fire with the troops stationed in Sonora State!"

    Police and soldiers in a firefight?

    There''s likely somethingplicated going on here.

    "Get me on the phone with Mr. Alejandro."

    ...

    Actually, the eastern side of Baja California and Sonora State is just a vast open space, full of drug trafficker hideouts, ntations, andboratories.

    To maintain local security, there was a contingent of over 700 Mexican Army personnel stationed there, designated as the 36th Battalion.

    Positioning troops in a drug trafficker''s hideout is like sending sheep into the tiger''s den.

    Behind the scenes, this unit had long been "recruited" by the Sinaloa cartel.

    They were aiding drug traffickers in harming the local residents.

    Recently, due to the war, many people fled toward Baja California, and this unit was also responsible for intercepting them, often using brutal methods and killing on the spot.

    Kayshal Hamis drove his car, sweating nervously with his wife, children, and elderly mother inside.

    He worked as a government employee in Hermosillo, Sonora State, but he was rather honest and held a low-ranking position, with little deep involvement with drug traffickers, just muddling through life.

    However, when the son of a local drug lord took a liking to his beautiful wife and attempted to force himself upon her, Kayshal Hamis, being a man, struck and killed him in a fit of rage and, in a panic, hurriedly fled with his family.

    They aimed for Baja California.

    It was said to be very safe there!

    Thump...

    Suddenly, the tire burst, the steering wheel jerked, and, frightened, Kayshal quickly stepped on the brakes, nearly crashing into a tree.

    His wife, holding their child, was tense with nerves, "Is everything all right?"

    "Stay in the car, don''t get out!"

    He unbuckled his seatbelt, pushed open the car door, got out, and kicked the front tire, which waspletely t, cursed quietly, and ran to the trunk to change the tire. Just then, he heard a heavily ented Spanish voice, "There''s a rabbit here!"

    Kayshal looked up to see a dozen or so soldiers in uniform emerge, tauntingly eyeing him.

    He hurriedly raised his hands and was about to speak when they immediately opened fire.

    Ratatatat...

    Bullets riddled him with holes, blood sttering on the rear window of the car. Kayshal Hamis gazed wide-eyed as hey over the trunk, soldiers bashing his head with the butts of their rifles.

    This terrified the family inside the car, who cried out.

    The wife quickly covered the child''s mouth, tears swirling in her eyes, but how could they possibly hide?

    The soldiers, bought off by the drug traffickers, seeing there were more people inside the car, sneered at each other and sprayed the car with bullets.

    The bullets pierced through the metal doors, leaving them riddled with bullet holes.

    These bastards were still howling.

    Because for killing someone escaping to Baja California, they could earn 20 US dors.

    The Sinaloa Drug Cartel was truly insane.

    Just as they were preparing to cut off the heads to im their reward, police officers, hearing the gunfire and patrolling nearby, arrived at the scene and immediately opened fire.

    Both parties started calling for reinforcements.

    A Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV), approximately 150 members strong and on border patrol, received the support request and quickly arrived at the battlefield, engaging in a firefight with the 36 soldiers who''d just arrived.

    Thanks to their fierce firepower, they killed 47 of the enemy, suffering 6 casualties themselves.

    This incident instantly topped the "trending" charts.

    All television stations in Sonora decried this act, calling it "the Tyrant''s troops'' cruel treatment of soldiers!"

    And they called on the Mexican Government to remove Victor from his post.

    Seeing their chance, other drug traffickers also began to wave their gs and cheer.

    Even a male television host spoke directly to the audience, saying, "Victor is nothing but a warlord indulging in his own lusts; he cannot possibly be considering the welfare of the Mexican people. It is said that he owns over 21 luxury cars and 73 mansions, and he has a billion US dors in a Swiss bank. Please, where did all this moneye from!"

    He even pointed at the camera and cursed, "A greedy, disgusting fool!"

    "The new Tyrant of Mexico!"

    The show''s viewership skyrocketed immediately.

    The host, seeing the fire he had stoked, had his program extended by the TV station with one goal each day: smear Victor.

    And every day, there was "new information."

    Victor had 8 mistresses in the United States.

    He had fathered 16 illegitimate children in Guatem.

    He even had a mansion in Baja California where he kept 17 women just for his own desires.

    It was as if...

    In 32 states, the narrative in 31 states changed instantly, and Victor''s positive image was on the brink of copse.

    Casare watched the gesticting male host on the television, listened to his obscenements, and sighed.

    "Why does everyone always think Boss Victor will y by the rules?"

    ...

 Chapter 115 Spreading Rumors, Will Lead to a Rotten Mouth!

    Guadalupe Ind, Morelos District.

    "Let me go! I''m going to kill this bastard!" Santos roared, his face contorted with rage, as he held a stick in his hand and burned with fury watching the satisfied look on the man''s face on the TV, boasting smugly.

    "Santos, cool it, cool it! It''s just TV," his good buddy Campos restrained him from behind.

    But the guy had been on a growth spurt recently, hitting almost 15 years old and shooting up to around 1.7 meters, his body getting more and more solid with nutritional supplements.

    Valentina was also soothing him at his side.

    Talking about Mr. Victor in front of Santos, wasn''t that like singing "Sunshine, Rainbow, White Pony" in front of a ck person?

    The television show was still going on.

    "Are you saying Victor is a psychologically twisted, mentally ill patient?" a woman''s voice was heard as a sidement, with an incredulous tone.

    The male host Kevin Carletree smiled, nodded, and held a document in his hand, "Here I have a 210-page report by expert authorities, analyzing Victor''s behavior, actions, and speech."

    As he spoke, he opened the first page, which read: Victor meets the criteria for psychological illness.

    He didn''t turn the page further; it would be embarrassing if the nk pages were seen.

    The sidement came at just the right moment, with a gasp.

    Then the camera gave the audience their screen time; they all wore looks of shock, right in line with the show''s intended effects.

    "Maybe Mr. Victor is doing these brutal things because he feels too empty inside?" Kevin Carletree said with augh, "Having a person with mental illness as the director of a police station is a joke in itself. I call on the Mexican Government to revoke his position and let him rest at home. And if Mr.

    Victor can''t find a ce, he cane to me; I''d be more than happy to be his psychological support."

    "Now let''s take a hot-line call, hello, you''re on the air."

    "I have a tip-off. I know Victor. When he was young, he was always up to no good, even fought with him because he spied on women bathing. I couldn''t stand it and fought with him."

    Kevin Carletree eximed in shock and then sighed, "You truly are a good person."

    The person on the phone got even more outrageous, suggesting that Victor sold favors to be a police director. It had to be favors he sold.

    Indeed, favor literature thrives everywhere.

    "Let me go!"

    Santos suddenly broke free from Campos and, with a dark look, locked himself in his room. In the living room, everyone exchanged bewildered nces.

    "These people are too abominable!" Stephanie, whose personality had grown more extroverted, frowned as she watched Kevin Carletree on TV with disgust.

    "The ugliness of human nature is that: it''s harsh on justice, yet too tolerant of evil," her father Dexter said, patting her head and sighing, "Bully the weak and fear the strong. That''s it."

    Inside the room, Santos held his father''s medal, looking at the brightest Morning Star in the sky.

    "Dad, please look after Mr. Victor."

    ...

    Sonora TV Station.

    After his program, Kevin Carletree nonchntly tossed the press release aside. Now a big shot, he looked at the "sidement" woman''s curvy figure, felt aroused, and went straight to touching her behind, "Hey, Maracia, want to grab a drink tonight?"

    The woman threw him a nce, "I''m afraid I can''t tonight, my husband ising back. Tomorrow, tomorrow I can apany you."

    Kevin Carletree swallowed, his Adam''s apple bobbing, "Then tomorrow morning, I''ll wait for you at the usual spot."

    The woman smiled, kissed him on the cheek, grabbed her bag, and left.

    Humming a tune, Kevin Carletree left the studio and headed to the parking lot where his Maserati was parked with a ck bag on the hood.

    As if he expected it, he threw the bag into the back seat. When he opened it, stacks of US Dors rolled out.

    The money was from the local drug traffickers.

    All to smear Victor on air!

    To cool down the high-flying Victor from all sides.

    They used to pay him per appearance, but now it was based on viewer ratings.

    The drug traffickers were quite principled; they never shorted the money.

    Spreading rumors was easy.

    Kevin Carletree, a minor program host, would have been satisfied just not to starve, would do anything for money, and he couldn''t have imagined his show getting so popr. Now he was a hotmodity in Mexico.

    The whole country knew who he was.

    Carletree started the car, intending to head to a bar to find a woman to vent his frustration. But as soon as the car moved, a ck van smashed into him from the side, pushing the Maserati into a bearing pir.

    Bang...

    The hood was sent flying, and smoke began billowing out.

    Four strong men got out of the van, masked, they wrenched open the ttened car door, dragged him out by his hair while he struggled, andnded two solid punches, instantly copsing his recently surgically-enhanced nose.

    "Kevin Carletree?" the lead man muttered.

    "Don''t kill me, the money, the money''s on the back seat." The host raised his hands, his face covered in blood, his voice trembling with fear.

    With a sneer, the man took a javelin from hispanion''s hand?

    "Nonsense, someone''s going to die!"

    As he spoke, he violently thrust the javelin into Kevin Carletree''s mouth, causing him to scream in pain.

    "What the hell! Who?"

    Hearing the noise, a security guard came over, but no sooner had his head appeared than he was sent back by bursts of gunfire from the man''spanion.

    "Uuuuuh... Aaah!" Kevin Carletree let out all sorts of screams, but the man continued to hammer the javelin into a load-bearing wall.

    It was not over yet, grabbing a chainsaw from the van, pulling the cord, it buzzed to life, "Next life, don''t grow a mouth."

    Kevin Carletree''s eyes bulged, reflecting the terror within his pupils.

    Meanwhile, Maracia, who had left earlier, drove her own car barefoot, with her heels off, driving in stockings.

    Noticing a burger joint on the side of the road, she felt a pang of hunger and stopped the car to get out, but just as she reached the middle of the road, she was blinded by intense high-beam lights and instinctively turned her head only to see a cement truck charging towards her.

    Crash...

    It ran right over her, dragging her body for a long stretch, as customers and staff from the burger joint hurried outside upon hearing themotion and saw on the ground... nothing but flesh and blood.

    They screamed in terror!

    "Call the police, call the police!" The manager understood what had happened upon seeing the departing cement truck¡ªhe was a seasoned Mexican.

    The customers covered their mouths vomiting, their appetites lost.

    This night was destined to be unsettled.

    As dawn broke, a hanging body was found on the bridge at someone''s front door, its scalp yed off!

    Someone also discovered unidentifiable ashes in the boiler room.

    In a roadside trash biny a body, chopped into pieces.

    The Capital''s Hermosillo Police Department received reports of 21 murder cases, all on the same night, and all the victims had been tortured before they died.

    They found twomonalities among these people.

    Their ounts had multipleplex money transfers, and most had deep connections with the local drug traffickers.

    Second, they had all insulted Victor on a TV show!

    Their identities were also exposed: local TV producers, directors, hosts, and some journalists.

    Upon receiving the report, the head of the Hermosillo Police Department felt his head swell.

    "Are you saying all this was Victor''s doing?" the Director asked the young officer in front of him.

    The other nodded, "There''s a lot of evidence to corroborate it!"

    The Director nodded, "Very good, sir, why don''t you start guarding the reservoir this afternoon? They could use your bravery there."

    The officer was taken aback, only to see the Director tear up the file supplied by him, crossed his arms, and ced them on the desk, "I''ve investigated this matter thoroughly¡ªit was suicide."

    "How is that possible?!"

    ...

    "Suicide! How is that possible!"

    In the security department office of Mexicali City Hall, Alejandro said loudly to Victor.

    Thetter scratched his ear, "Why not? In Mexico, nothing is impossible."

    Alejandro took a deep breath, saw someone peeping at the door, and red, "What are you looking at?"

    The government employee retracted his head, frightened.

    Alejandro closed the door.

    "Victor, no need to hide our rtionship from me, right?"

    "I didn''ty a hand on them."

    Right, he hadn''t "personally"id a hand on them.

    "The locals are a bit rude, perhaps someone couldn''t stand it anymore."

    Alejandro''s eyelids twitched, but he also knew that if the other party staunchly denied it, there was nothing he could do. He picked up a document from the table and handed it to him, "The security department of Sonora State is demanding we hand over the culprit who killed their soldier."

    Victorughed, looked up, and pointed to the phone, "Call him and ask if he wants to eat shit!"

    ...

 Chapter 116 We lost two people in your camp!

    Alejandro, of course, hadn''t made the call.

    How impolite.

    And from such a distance, who would send him shit.

    "Sonora State has already dispatched troops to the border area, and official documents have also denounced us as murderers."

    "Public opinion relies on someone''s word, don''t we have lots of refugeesing over? Start a show, let them go on one by one to speak out and expose the conditions in Sonora State. Everyone can cry, can''t they?"

    "What matters on the battlefield is firepower. Just wait till I park the cannons at the doorstep of their TV stations; all they could do will be to cheer!"

    Victor tossed away his nail clippers and blew off the shavings from his hand, "Give a TV address, we condemn the collusion between the Sonora State government and drug traffickers and lower our gs to half-staff across the state to mourn for the lives lost."

    Alejandro wasn''t yet a mature politician.

    How does that saying go?

    Politicians don''t love their people; they love the microphone.

    But he was a man of delicate thoughts, lowering his voice, "I''ve discovered that several major families from Baja California might also be stirring things up from behind the scenes."

    "They sent people to me, hoping to increase their say in government institutions, and moreover, they wish for no changes to happen in the state-owned enterprises."

    In Mexico now, it could be said that the country was brimming withpradors.

    In other words, the major families controlling the economic lifeline were sucking the marrow out of everything, hogging the rice bin and gobbling up rice enough for hundreds of millions of people all by themselves.

    If they weren''t in cahoots with drug traffickers, Victor would eat shit standing on his head. Maybe they wouldn''t dare confront them head-on, but they were always up to little tricks in the shadows.

    There were even rumors that several officials, who had stood up to announce drug bans, met their deaths because of these families.

    "They wanted to hold some positions in the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit but were rejected by me," Alejandro said, sparking Victor''s interest. Sitting up straighter and smiling, he said, "Is that so? They wanted to meddle with the police force?"

    Alejandro shivered.

    "Perhaps it''s time for their blind eyes to be opened wide, to let them see who the real master is."

    "What do you n to do?"

    Victor was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes, "Do you think we might need an intelligence agency?"

    ...

    "This conduct is disgraceful! Which country''s government forces in the world would collude with drug traffickers to kill their own civilians? I have a few photos from the scene right here, showing clearly the government forces in military attire greeting the drug traffickers, and they are very friendly! Since when can justice consort with evil?

    The Baja California government does not agree, millions of people do not agree, and justice does not agree!"

    On television, a news spokesperson for Mexicali''s security department was shouting fervently.

    At the border of Sonora State, within the 36th Battalion.

    Battalion Commander Mark Antonio Bar, Major,ughed at the fervor being disyed on the television.

    Civilians?

    Do they have a voice in Mexico?

    They''re just walking "Peso".

    Drug traffickers can extort from them, so can the military. It once happened in Nuevo Laredo, a northwestern city close to the United States border, where five locals went to work in town and were stopped by Mexican soldiers on their way home, demanding a protection fee.

    That''s right, a protection fee.

    And they refused since they didn''t make much money from a hard day''s work.

    The soldiers opened fire and killed them!

    Their bodies were covered up with the help of local drug traffickers, and it was only when their families realized they hadn''t returned home that they found their dposing corpses seven dayster on a small hillside.

    This was just one example, but it adequately demonstrates the point.

    For Mexican civilians, sometimes death is a form of release.

    "Commander,mander, people from Baja California are here!" a duty soldier ran in shouting at the entrance, "Right at the gate."

    Major Bar immediately stood up, "Let''s go, take a look!"

    When he anxiously reached the camp entrance, he saw about twenty Baja California police officers outside, with the gun barrels on their Humvees pointing his way and some even carrying rocketunchers.

    His own men cowered behind cover, afraid, which made Major Bar feel disgraced.

    "Get up, all of you get up! What are you holding in your hands, firewood? What are you afraid of!"

    Major Bar went up and kicked the closest officer, who let out a ng as his rifle hit the ground and a few US dors fell from his embrace. Thetter hurriedly scrambled to his feet and stuffed the money into his pocket with an embarrassed smile.

    That money was from the drug traffickers.

    You could still smell the stench of drugs on it!

    Major Bar had a dark expression on his face, but he was also afraid of being shot in the back, so he took a megaphone from the hands of an orderly. "What the hell are you doing!"

    "We have two police officers missing on your side, and we demand to search!"

    "????"

    Upon hearing this, Major Bar was dumbfounded. They were lost, what did that have to do with me, am I a GPS? (which was put to use in 1964).

    He dismissed them irritably with a wave of his hand, "Roll back, there''s no one you''re looking for here."

    The police chief from Baja California turned to look at the officers behind him. "Have you marked it out?"

    Thetter was marking positions on an urate map, reporting to the rear through the carried AN/PRC-88 personal radio, and gestured towards the police chief.

    "Move, let''s pull out!" The police chief and his men ran without leaving behind a single word.

    This left Major Bar a bit baffled.

    Hey, my reputation is that big? Or is it my aura so powerful that after scolding them, they just left? Looks like those from Baja California are all cowards.

    "Commanding officer, you are so formidable, none of them dared to talk back," the officer who was kicked came over to bootlick. Although Major Bar found it strange and couldn''t figure it out, hearing his subordinate''s words, he couldn''t help but crack a smile.

    ...

    Meanwhile, ten kilometers away in an open field,

    neatly arranged were A-19 howitzers, with dozens of police officers crouching behind them. Receiving the marked location from the front, themander hastily got them into position.

    A total of 21 A-19 howitzers, attached to the Mexicali garrison of Baja California, were now simply "borrowed" for use.

    "Target east 0-70. Close to 23! Ready!"

    "Fire!"

    After themand from themander, he quickly covered his ears with his right hand.

    bengbengb~

    The A-19 howitzers, born in 1927, were still strong in 1990, their recoil shaking the ground three times.

    The shells flew towards their destination like arrows released from their bows!

    This thing, you just have to give an approximate, anyway, the lethality of the shells is within a radius.

    122mm caliber!

    Enough to clear all the surrounding trees and such.

    Just as Major Bar returned to the board house and was about to take a nap, a whistling noise screeched in his ears. It was very harsh.

    The Mexican Army had not been inbat for a long time, and there were no drills either, so naturally, they did not recognize this as the sound of a shell whistling.

    While he was bewildered, a shell happened to smash down right under his board house.

    Andnded just 2 meters in front of him.

    Boom...

    Major Bar''s eyes bulged as he was instantly blown away by the st, his body torn apart!

    The 36th Battalion faced catastrophic destruction!

    The entire garrison was blown to bits.

    The trees within the vicinity suffered the same fate, cut down at the waist.

    Such heavy firepower directly created a barren clearing.

    Meanwhile, 2 kilometers away from the 36th Battalion was where the drug traffickers were gathering. Many heard themotion and quickly ran out to witness the billowing smoke and the sounds of explosions nearby.

    "Quick, contact Bar! Ask him what happened," the drug lord demanded, his face ashen.

    But if anyone answered that call, it would turn into a horror movie.

    ...

 Chapter 117 Judgment lies with Victor! (Vote for monthly tickets!)

    Lower California. Mexicali TV Station.

    Midday prime time.

    As the host with a finely made-up face had just finished reading the news, and the camera began to pull back in preparation for her to deliver the closing remarks, a crew member rushed in from outside the broadcast booth, handing a document to the director.

    The host immediately understood that some new material had suddenlye in.

    The director nced at it, motioned for someone to hand it to the host. When she received it, her eyebrows furrowed, but being a professional, sheposed her face.

    "We interrupt with an important message!"

    "Armed drug traffickers have attacked a military base in Sonora State, just six kilometers from the Lower California border region. There are many casualties, and artillery fire has even fallen within Lower California territory, causing 17 civilian casualties. I, the Security Forces, strongly condemn this act and will make the drug traffickers pay with blood for blood debt!"

    "The Secretary of Public Security for Baja California, Alejandro, stated there will be a new round of crackdowns on drug traffickers!"

    Major Bare: What exactly was I attacked by?

    But this thing wasn''t settled by who spoke first.

    Before the shelling was even over, the town hall press release was already damn well written.

    If you''re half a step slow, not even shit would be left for you.

    ...

    After two rounds of continuous shelling from 12 A-19 type cannons.

    The fully armed 500 members of the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) stormed into a ce in Sonora State called Cambra Valley.

    This ce was home to the drug traffickers and their rtives, including about 2000 hectares of ntations, a significant industrial area for Sinaloa.

    Behind the ground troops, there was a battalion of artillery formed by 12 BM-13 type rocketunchers.

    "Direction of ground troop attack!"

    "Maintain 300 meters!"

    "Advance with barrage!"

    "Fire!"

    12 BM-13 type rocketunchers lined up, and upon themander''s order, 192 rockets were fired at the target!

    Boom boom boom boom boom!

    At 200 meters where the ground troops were charging, a series of explosions urred, and smoke obscured the vision of both friend and foe.

    This tactic was invented during the Battle of the Somme in World War I and has been referred to by infantry as "pre-charge piano music," capable of protecting the lives of one''s soldiers within an effective range.

    In the Humvee, the driver sped along, charging toward the valley. The machine gunner nearly bounced off, fingers mped on the trigger, not letting go, but the smoke was really choking. The driver, covering his nose, didn''t notice a deep, about 40cm hole, the right tire bumped, and the vehicle lost control.

    It flipped...

    Infantrymen relying solely on their legs buried their heads and charged forward.

    When the explosion happened at Camp 36, the drug trafficking leaders in the valley sensed something was wrong. It must''ve been Victor attacking.

    This damn bastard, couldn''t he rest for two days?

    He yelled at the drug traffickers to push out the heavy weapons.

    "Quick! Aim toward that smoky area!" At themanding heights of the valley, about a hundred drug trafficking members were quite orderly, seeming busy but not chaotic, even drawing out artillery positions.

    Many cannons could be seen, but their models couldn''t be identified, looking more homemade. The barrels were quite thick, though, big enough to stick your head into.

    At least the caliber was over 100mm.

    Actually, these were cannons the drug traffickers used to unch" drugs, when, at times, they encountered inspections at the U.S.-Mexico Border and couldn''t deliver the goods. They thought to stuff the drugs into the barrels and fire them across.

    With such brains, what couldn''t they do?

    However, in Mexico, apart from being drug traffickers, it seems the only other option is to be done in by drug traffickers.

    These DIY cannons, after being modified by "external experts," at least could match the mortars from World War II.

    "Standby!" The drug trafficker''s lieutenant raised the banner, but then saw one trafficker still bent over. He went over and kicked him, "Damn, standby already!"

    The other man scrambled up, grenade in hand, nervously awaiting for the leader to drop his hand, then hastily stuffed the grenade into the barrel.

    Pop~

    A soft noise, and the grenade flew out, exploding in the smoke.

    As long as it explodes, it causes damage!

    A grenadended right in the middle of a police squad of about seven or eight people. The leading police sergeant''s pupils shrank, he screamed, "?Refugiarse! (Take cover!)"

    He went to kick the grenade away.

    But before his foot could touch it, the grenade exploded, flipping the sergeant¡ªand nearly 200 pounds, including equipment¡ªinto the air. As he fell, he was a bloody mess, his right leg sted away from the shin down.

    His face was also severely injured, gasping with blood seeping from his nostrils, looking like he wouldn''t survive.

    The st and flying shrapnel also took down the nearby policemen.

    This...

    Is it war or drug enforcement?

    "Artillery! Artillery! Covering fire ahead!"

    The officer responsible for the EDTV was an old EDM soldier, also Victor''s second man next to Kennedy, nicknamed "M4" Zolf Sherman!

    Hearing this nickname, you''d know he had a towering physique.

    He saw the drug traffickers had cannons and hurriedly called out to the artillery battalion behind him.

    "Copy that!"

    The Katyusha artillery crew crisply raised their angles¡ªthey didn''t know the exact coordinates, so just bomb away!

    Never mind precision, just pound them.

    The old Russians'' weapons were designed without much thought for coordinates, as long as they could cover the area with fire, it was enough.

    Whoosh whoosh whoosh...

    Zolf Sherman watched hundreds of rockets fly over his head, and the valley even shook twice from the sts. He grinned, "Blow the damn thing up!"

    But just as he was ready for the second round of artillery fire... it ceased.

    In a hurry, about to press his radio, the voice from the other end came first, and it sounded very rushed, "We''re under attack! Repeat, we''re under attack, damn it, they''re all drug traffickers, glory to Victor! Long live Victor!"

    At the very end, the voice carried a mix of despair and madness.

    Zolf Sherman was baffled; were the drug traffickers... starting to employ nking tactics?

    Damn it!

    ```

    These fuckers are actually starting to use tactics?

    The drug traffickers are getting smarter?

    After all, they''re human too, not so dumb; they won''t just stupidly stay in one ce and get bombed. Drug trafficker operations move fast, and they''re well-suited to guerri warfare¡ªit''s damn hard to find dozens of them when they just scatter.

    Zolf Sherman was very calm as he switched the radio frequency, "Pilot, the artillery support team is under attack, please head over for support."

    "Understood!"

    An MI-8 helicopter took off from Lower California border, seating 20 soldiers within, all from the EDM elite squad, dressed in uniform ckbat fatigues, DEM characteristic masks, emzoned with the team''s insignia.

    A soaring eagle above, and below it, a bust of Victor.

    Huh, a new design, cool or not?

    "Gentlemen, our job is toplete the mission! Fear nothing at any time, in any ce, or through any suffering!"

    Themander was a Senior Police Sergeant, with a prating gaze and a deep voice.

    The helicopter flew towards its destination, the sound of gunfire already audible. Hovering a few hundred meters from the battlefield, all personnel rappelled down. Just as they were about to retract the ropes, the radar sounded an rm.

    "Fast-moving ground target approaching!"

    The pilot executed a slick maneuver, but after the missile flew by, it continued tracking them.

    "FIM-92!! (Stinger!)" the pilot nced back, cursed, his face grim as he evasively maneuvered the helicopter, even diving into the forest below.

    "May Victor bless him, gentlemen, let''s go!" the Senior Police Sergeant said, leading his squad toward the artillery support team, after witnessing this scene.

    At a small high point opposite to them, two blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigners were d in camouge, one spotty-faced man who looked quite tender, but with a rough voice said, "Hey, missed!"

    The other man, carrying a Stinger, frowned. "We''ve got ratsing."

    The spotty man blew his bangs out of the way, with a grin like an old friend, "Brave, what''s there to fear? You scared of the Mexican Police?"

    "I''d be surprised if they had helicopters; you''ve trained with the Mexican Special Forces, haven''t you? They''re absolutely terrible."

    Brave knitted his brows, "My gut tells me, these guys are no joke."

    This sounded like a joke, but it made the spotty-faced man''s expression stiffen, "You sure?"

    Seeing his affirmation, he was straightforward, "Then let''s bail!"

    They were "advisors" hired by the drug traffickers, their appearance made it clear they had served in the U.S. military, and they had extensivebat experience.

    Brave''s "gut feeling" had saved them many times on the battlefield.

    "Look out!" he suddenly pulled the spotty man down, as a burst of bullets struck the dirt wall behind them, making piupiupiu noises.

    "Fuck, they''re fast!" the spotty man shouted, lifting his head just to see a group of policemen approaching, clearly they had been spotted from afar.

    No shit!

    You''re standing there with your blonde hair, trying to be Super Saiyan or what?

    Who wouldn''t see you?

    "Kill them!" ordered the Senior Police Sergeant leading the team, catching a glimpse of the attackers and realizing they didn''t look Mexican.

    Capture them alive? That only leads to unnecessary risks; let''s see if they can survive.

    Brave was fierce, "Fight our way out, fuck! Fuck!"

    Before he could finish talking, he saw the enemy fire a rocketuncher directly at them.

    Brave and his lot target nes, these policemen target people!

    He dragged the spotty man and jumped off the knoll, as the massive shock wave from behind "blew" them away, mming them hard on the ground.

    This taught one lesson.

    Rambo is fake!

    Who could possibly not be sted away?

    Brave felt like his internal organs had shifted, struggling to stand using sheer willpower, he supported the spotty man and ran into the forest.

    ...

    "Take up arms! Protect your fields, pick up weapons and kill the cops outside!"

    "Raise them, charge out! These cops want to destroy your wealth, kill them and besides protecting your fields, you''ll get a 100 US Dor reward."

    In the valley, the drug traffickers also armed the farmers, distributing weapons to them, continuously brainwashing them.

    "All of this is thanks to Mr. Guzman, he lets you have food so you don''t starve to death. But now someone''sing to take yournd, what will you do?"

    "Kill them!" someone shouted, and what followed was a suppressed roar of rage.

    Zolf Sherman, leading the "Infantry Policemen," was about to rush into the valley when he heard a shout from inside!

    Then hundreds emerged... Farmers? Drug traffickers?

    Carrying scythes, dung forks, and sticks?

    This scene baffled the officers of the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit. Those at the forefront instinctively lowered their muzzles, but then a woman, with a fierce expression, hacked at one of their heads with a scythe. The helmet took the hit; the scythe slid down, embedding itself into his shoulder.

    The policeman screamed, kicking the woman away, trembling as he saw the scythe in his shoulder.

    These fuckers, using their own families as weapons?

    There were 2000 hectares of ntation in the valley sustaining tens of thousands of farmers, they too were stakeholders in the drug traffickers'' business. When the police conducted anti-drug operations, these folks were actually the most resistant.

    Sometimes...

    They just wanted something to eat.

    The drug traffickers very well knew this, so when recruiting, they also emphasized this aspect.

    And most importantly... the Mexican authorities themselves were unreliable; they removed the section regarding farmers'' rights to theirnd from the constitution.

    And then...

    You know how it goes!

    Zolf Sherman''s gaze changed, but he quickly recovered, holding down hismunication device, he calmly gave the order, "Open fire!"

    "Anyone who takes up arms and resists is a drug trafficker!"

    "Our job is to clean them out."

    Civilians? Drug traffickers?

    Judgment is in Mr. Victor''s hands.

    ...

    ```

 Chapter 118 Any treaty without the gentlemans signature is just a pile of scrap paper!

    "Fire!"

    Zolf Sherman''smand was merciless.

    But such was the nature of the drug war.

    In a 2017 anti-drug operation in Chiapas State, drug traffickers did just that, arming the farmers who worked for them and sending them charging at the military and police.

    They even prepared cameras on the side.

    This directly resulted in the death of 19 military and police officers.

    Pick up a weapon, and you''re a drug trafficker!

    But the members of the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit weren''t recruits from the system; they were starving paupers just a few months ago, given food by Victor.

    Facing these people, they couldn''t bring themselves to pull the trigger; they even started stepping back.

    Zolf Sherman''s face changed, he kicked a gunman out of the way, snatched the Ultimax machine gun from his hands, and swept it across the approaching crowd.

    "They''re drug traffickers! Drug traffickers! Drug traffickers!"

    As the bullets fired, the muscles of Zolf Sherman''s face quivered with each shot, his voice turned into a roar.

    A middle-aged man with red eyes plunged a manure fork straight into the neck of a trainee officer, the stench of blood and dung instantly filled the officer''s nostrils as he stared, eyes wide, at the person in front of him...

    Those who grow drugs for drug traffickers are drug traffickers themselves, aren''t they?

    An officer who had survived the "Mexicali Drug War" nowy dead beneath a manure fork.

    The sound of screams made all the officers shudder in an instant.

    Finally, someone picked up their weapon and fought back.

    Bullets swept through.

    "Drum!" Zolf Sherman shouted to his machine gun assistant, who quickly pulled out a drum from his tactical vest and handed it to him.

    The former expertly tapped slightly; the empty drum fell, and the new one snapped right into ce.

    "Charge! Annihte the drug traffickers!" Zolf Sherman cried out as he led the charge into the valley with the machine gun.

    Seeing his sinister trick was useless, the drug lord turned pale with fear upon seeing the police charge and hurriedly signaled the artillery position to fire!

    "Boss, this is going to blow us up too," a subordinate said, eyes wide, voice trembling.

    There were a lot of rtives out there.

    The drug lord, long stripped of his humanity, kicked the subordinate away and snarled, "If we lose the valley ntation, do you think any of us can survive?"

    The subordinate shuddered, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

    Guzman was famously cruel to his enemies and even more brutal to his own people. During Godfather Gardo''s era, he was known for his ruthlessness.

    In charge of Sinaloa logistics, anyone who failed to ship the goods would be personally killed by him, along with their families.

    If they lost such arge ntation, damn it, wouldn''t Guzman kill them without a chance of rebirth?

    The drug-trafficking artillery forces, having received the order, the leader busily directed the traffickers to load, but the guy he had kicked earlier was obviously a bit... stupid.

    That guy... loaded the shell upside down!

    And then, damn it, the chamber exploded!!!

    If it had been a "regr" mortar and "regr" mortar shells, then even if jammed in upside down, they wouldn''t explode.

    But if they were early mortar shells without inertia safety or even homemade shells, then it was a different story.

    The shells led to a chain explosion, wiping out all the drug traffickers at the artillery position.

    That made one thing clear.

    A crap teammate can really kill you!

    Looking at the artillery position that had been blown to bits on the high side of the valley, the leader was dumbfounded. Suddenly he felt light-headed as a stray bullet pierced his head.

    "The boss is dead! The boss is dead!"

    The subordinate felt warmth on his face, eyes wide in horror as he dropped his weapon and fled.

    "M4, respond if you receive, this is fire support group, we''ve repelled the drug traffickers, do you need support?"

    "Fire white phosphorus shells at the target area!" Zolf Sherman, furious, watched the valley still resisting and clenched his teeth as he spoke.

    He had wanted to charge in without resorting to "dishonorable" methods, but the drug traffickers had no bottom line.

    To show them "respect" was to disrespect the cause of drug enforcement.

    Since the drug traffickers liked to y dirty, then let them all die!

    The other side went quiet, then the sound of people swallowing could be heard, "This... this vites The Third Protocol."

    "What crap protocol, does it have Mr. Victor''s signature on it?" Zolf Sherman cursed. "Without the boss'' signature, every protocol is just a pile of trash."

    Indeed, they all disliked that Victor had never been to jail.

    After all, in Mexico, are you even a boss if you haven''t been to jail?

    But in fact, this convention merely restricts use, and as stated in "The Third Protocol" of the convention, white phosphorus shells are actually illumination rounds, smoke grenades, tracer rounds, and the like. They are excellent for creating smoke and marking targets, and burning is just a secondary effect.

    So, why the f*** can''t I fire illumination rounds?

    What?

    You''re saying during daylight? Who says you can''t use white phosphorus rounds during the day?

    The artillery support group on the other end of Zolf Sherman''s order fell silent for a moment but still epted themand, "Understood!"

    "Please fall back."

    Zolf Sherman pressed themunication device, "All squads, execute a bounding withdrawal."

    The Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (TDTV) officers were all taken aback, not understanding why such an order was given, but after all, the first thing they learned during training was: Obey!

    They covered each other as they retreated.

    Once Zolf Sherman saw the situation was right, he called for the artillery team to fire.

    Two minutester, whoosh whoosh whoosh~

    Sonic booms sounded overhead, and as he looked up, he saw the shells flying towards the valley and then exploding in midair.

    360¡ã of white, ky stuff burst forth.

    After waiting a few seconds, mes instantly ignited in a sh.

    Within the valley...

    Screams of agony erupted all at once.

    A civilian helicopter appeared in the sky, its side emzoned with: Grupo de peri¨®dicos mexicanos (Mexican Newspaper Group)!

    Someone was seen holding a camera and filming from above.

    Beneath them, the valley floor was scorched ck.

    Hundreds of drug traffickers, their bodies engulfed in mes, screamed as they rolled on the ground; but the mes eagerly invaded their mouths, burning them from the inside out.

    "This is too cruel!" The photographer, unable to hold back, began to vomit, his headphone cord dangling amidst the foul smell in the air.

    However, the female reporter beside him remained calm. She swallowed hard, "This... this is a massacre!"

    "Against whom?" a colleague asked.

    The female reporter was at a loss for words. She certainly couldn''t say it was against drug traffickers, but still, she pointed down and said, "There must be many drug traffickers'' rtives down there. Are they guilty? These police killed them without a trial; isn''t that a crime?"

    Her colleague looked at her as if she was an idiot.

    Has she been f***ed silly by sleeping with the bosses?

    "Can you go use Victor of this?"

    The female reporter was so angry that she trembled, snatching the equipment from the photographer''s hands to capture the scene¡ªshe felt a responsibility to show it to everyone.

    ...

    Brave and hispanion, Freckles, were bound. Seeing the white phosphorus in the sky, both men''s eyes bulged.

    "Damn it, Brave, they have white phosphorus rounds. Is this the police? Or the army?"

    Brave''s face was a mixture of ck and blue, and the pain from his body made him groan involuntarily.

    "You see that''s white phosphorus rounds?" The Senior Police Sergeant holding them came over, squinting at Freckles.

    Brave sensed something was off with the man''s mood.

    "No s***, I have eyes!" Freckles, his hands bound, spat.

    The Senior Police Sergeant chuckled.

    He drew his dagger and plunged it straight into the Freckles'' eye!

    "Aaaaahhhhhhh!!!!" The intense pain made Freckles scream uncontrobly, rolling on the ground.

    "F***! F***! What are you doing?" Brave was shocked by the scene, listening to hispanion''s howls of pain, "We are Americans!"

    "Americans?"

    Following the incident with Qiqi, Americans indeed received a certain special treatment in Mexico.

    "But you also are drug traffickers, aren''t you?" The Senior Police Sergeant said with a smile, stepping on the writhing Freckles, his gaze fixed on Brave, "What was that you said it was just now?"

    Brave''s face turned green.

    F***ing madmen!

    This was more terrifying than any armed fighter he''d seen in the Middle East.

    "What is it! Answer me! Idiot!"

    Brave trembled and blurted out, "Pepsi!"

    ...

 Chapter 119 Military Advisor? Pepsi?

    The Senior Police Sergeantughed at once and pulled the Dagger out of the freckled man''s eye, causing the man to scream in agony again.

    Brave''s face turned ugly, his legs growing weak.

    "Who are you? CIA? FBI? DEA?"

    "We''re just military advisors hired by drug traffickers!" Brave regained his senses and quickly shook his head.

    The Senior Police Sergeant stared at him, then suddenly grabbed his clothes and dragged him toward a Humvee.

    "What are you doing! What are you doing!" Brave yelled in terror.

    The other man shoved his head under the tire and gestured to the policeman in the car, who hit the gas, and the engine roared violently.

    "I''ll ask again! Who are you!" the Senior Police Sergeant shouted loudly.

    "Advisors, we''re just ordinary advisors!"

    The Senior Police Sergeant let go of his hold on his head, slowly stood up, and Brave gasped for air. Hey prone on the ground, his hands tied behind his back, directly biting into a mouthful of mud as his chest heaved rapidly.

    "Kill that one. Keep this one," he ordered.

    "Understood!"

    When Brave heard the police officers'' conversation, he froze, then violently turned his head, just in time to see an officer pull the trigger of his submachine gun, firing a burst at the freckled man.

    He was shot into a damn sieve.

    The freckled man''s eyes bulged as his head turned just in time to meet Brave''s gaze. A chill spread through his body. Were these police really executing prisoners?!

    The Senior Police Sergeant nced at him. Idiot, it''s convenient that you''re iming not to be an official from the United States. If you had said so, it wouldn''t have been so "justifiable" to deal with you like this. Since you''re not, then you''re just a drug trafficker.

    You deserved to be shot to death!

    He picked up themunicator on his shoulder. "M4, do you need additional support?"

    After waiting five minutes, Zolf Sherman led the officers into the valley, pressing themunicator: "No need, keep the line open, over."

    "Understood!"

    A White Phosphorus Shell can almost instantly reach 2000 degrees. When they entered, the ground had been ckened, and a foul stench permeated the air, prompting the officers to put on their gas masks.

    "Click~"

    Zolf Sherman didn''t notice his footstep, and his boot crushed down on a corpse, breaking the arm just by stepping on it.

    Is it... carbonized?

    His eyes flickered, and he quickly looked up, leading his men toward several unburned buildings. Kicking down a door, he saw two men hiding inside. Seeing him, they knelt on the ground in terror, raising their hands and begging for mercy in pidgin Spanish.

    Ratatat!~

    Zolf Sherman pulled the trigger, gunning them down. "Sorry, gentlemen, please speak Spanish."

    The officers swept through, taking no prisoners.

    "Boss! We''ve found the goods!"

    Zolf Sherman hurried over to see a dozen officers surrounding a small room with a cer door pried open. He crouched to look inside.

    Piles of drugs were neatly stacked up like mountains.

    "Report to Mr. Victor, Cambra Valley has been annihted!"

    ...

    In Hermosillo, the capital of Sonora State.

    In the wealthy district, a mansion worth 700,000 US Dors.

    Elite armed militants patrolled back and forth.

    By the poolside,

    Guzman, wearing pajamas, sat under a parasol, leisurely sipping orange juice.

    "Cousin." Arturo, the eldest of the Beltran Leyva brothers, walked in from outside, his eyes briefly ncing at the bikini-d women in the water.

    Many Mexican actresses were present.

    On television, they were the fantasies of many, but here, they were nothing more than the private entertainments of Sinaloa''s big drug trafficker Guzman!

    "Looking at you, I fear you''re not bringing me any good news," Guzman said with a smile as he turned around.

    His mood was quite good...

    What could be more upsetting than being beaten by Victor several times?

    "Our Cambra Valley ntation was destroyed by Victor''s people," Arturo said, taking a deep breath.

    Guzman''s smile froze on his face.

    There was indeed something even more infuriating, being held down and beaten by Victor!

    "Fuck! This bastard, bastard, bastard!" He cursed furiously, and the women in the water all looked up at him, not sure if it was his own sensitivity, but Guzman felt they were mocking him.

    He lost his temper in an instant, took an assault rifle from his bodyguard, cocked it, and sprayed bullets at them!

    "Ahhhhh!"

    The panicked women scrambled to get up and run, all of them shot dead, with two lucky ones managing to get up, only to be kicked back down by armed militants nearby.

    Arturo''s eyelids twitched at the sight.

    Lately, his cousin''s mental illness had been getting worse, bing increasingly violent, even frequently scolding his own sons.

    In the pool, over a dozen corpses floated, their blood instantly reddening the water.

    A drug trafficker, that''s how unrestrained they are.

    They dare to go after presidential candidates; what wouldn''t they dare to do?

    Guzman tossed the assault rifle into the swimming pool, took a deep breath, his voice hoarse, "What''s the loss?"

    "15 tons of goods, as well as 2,000 hectares of ntations and over 1,300 members and their families."

    Guzman felt a pain in his heart; this direct loss was at least 6 billion US Dors!

    "This is the merchandise that several gangs in Arizona were waiting for, they''ve all paid deposits." Arturo said softly, ncing at his boss''s expression.

    "Shift some from other ces first."

    "Find someone to get this batch back."

    Arturo frowned, "I''m afraid it won''t be so easy to take from Victor''s hands."

    "30 million US Dors! Whoever brings it back, I''ll give them 30 million."

    Throw enough money at the problem, and someone will figure out a way.

    From 1985 to 1990, the United States and Mexico carried out dozens of joint drug raids, but where did those drugs go? There''s no clear record, and even if there were, there was no one to supervise.

    It wasn''t until around 2000 that a righteous journalist exposed the truth, these drugs were "bought back" by the drug traffickers, and those direct Mexican departments received quite a bit of US Dors.

    Sometimes, Mexico seems almost like a fantasy!

    Another saying goes, due to low sries, over 90% of kidnappings that ur each year nationwide aremitted by the police.

    "I''ll make the contacts." Arturo, seeing his cousin in such a state, understood that persuasion was futile, indeed the 15 tons of goods were enough to cause heartache.

    Guzman looked down at the bodies in the pool, "Clean it up!" he said, before walking inside the house.

    Arturo looked at the women, shook his head, "What a waste."

    ...

    "Hahaha!"

    In the Mexicali security department office, Victor''s heartyughter rang out, Alejandro also lookedpletely at ease.

    "Victor, this time we really hurt Guzman."

    "Hurt? This is nothing, I won''t feel good until they''re dead, I want to tell them, in the ce Ie from, they need to back off!"

    "Get some more journalists, and at the press conference, show off all these drugs and seized guns, let everyone understand thatpared to this corrupt government, I, Victor, am the one who can protect them, protect this country!" Victor pounded the table.

    He almost added, "I am the legitimate one."

    "Should we pull our people back from the Cambra Valley?" Alejandro asked.

    "I''m nning to send another 100 officers over there, to be stationed."

    The Cambra Valley is just too perfect, cutting across the territory from the east, with Baja California to the west and south, bordered by the sea, no worries at all, just by controlling one passage, it''s almost like establishing sovereign rule!

    "That''s Sonora State territory¡­"

    "The drug traffickers aren''t wiped out yet, and the local security departments there are so stupid, I don''t mind cleaning up for them, they don''t dare to do it, I''ll do it, and I haven''t even asked them for a cleaning fee yet."

    "Can we even ask for that?" Alejandro suddenly said.

    Victor looked at him, and he joked in response, "Not wanting money when you can is stupid, I think Sonora State should pay us a protection fee!"

    "After all, the officers'' attendance fees are quite high."

    The phone on the table suddenly rang, rudely interrupting their conversation. Alejandro picked up the phone, answered, and his expression changed slightly.

    Then he handed the receiver over, "Raul Salinas, brother of the President."

    As if afraid Victor wouldn''t understand, he specifically added a word of exnation.

    ...

 Chapter 120 In my eyes, I am the evidence!

    "Raul Salinas?"

    The bald president''s brother?

    That idiot who stands in the busiest bars of Mexico and loudly deres, "There''s nothing in Mexico I can''t handle"?

    Seems like he has a pretty good rtionship with a few drug trafficking groups.

    He squinted, unwilling to bother, but seeing the look in his old boss Alejandro''s eyes, he reluctantly picked up the phone.

    "Good afternoon, Mr. Victor," the man on the other end tried to sound gentlemanly, but his voice was truly fucking annoying.

    "What do you want, Mr. Raul?" Victor was talking nonsense with the man on the phone in his left hand while he spoke carelessly.

    "I heard you guys attacked a drug trafficker''s camp on the border of Sonora State??"

    The moment Victor heard this, he knew the bastard was looking for trouble. He sat up straight and cut him off, "Raul, I need to correct you. It''s not called an attack, it''s called a drug raid!"

    "Please don''t misuse your words! You should have been to school, right?"

    Victor had no interest in being nice to such scum.

    Anyone who works with drug traffickers deserves to fucking die!

    Extreme?

    Victor will show you what extreme looks like with a caliber.

    Alejandro held his forehead; there was definitely something wrong with Victor''s character, but actually, he was easy to get along with¡ªas long as you weren''t drug trafficking.

    You deal drugs, what fucking business of yours is it to talk to me?

    Raul Salinas was also confused by Victor. Doesn''t he realize he''s the brother of the president, basically royal?

    He was so angry his nose was crooked as he yelled, "Victor! I came to you to mediate the conflict."

    "With whom? Drug traffickers? Mr. Raul, you''re a citizen of Mexico, not a Mexican drug trafficker, and what are you shouting for? Who the hell do you think you are to raise your voice at me? Watch your fucking back when you walk at night and when you sleep, don''t sleep too soundly.

    Keep your eyes open."

    Victor cussed him out and then hung up the phone, looking at Alejandro, who was stunned. "In the future, don''t let me take calls from such trash. I''m afraid I won''t be able to resist smashing his fucking head in."

    I have so many people under me; if you have the guts, let your brother bring you to stand in front of me and talk.

    Alejandro gave a wry smile and poured him a ss of water. "The president''s brother is said to have a violent nature, killed a maid when he was a child, and hasn''t changed since growing up."

    Victor squinted, "Such scum, living is just unfair to everyone else!"

    It''s not just drug enforcement that is the duty of a police officer, but also maintaining social order and protecting the rights of civilians.

    Let a murderer roam free?

    That''s trampling on thew!

    He is "The Vanguard of the Law" in Mexico.

    He''ll have to find someone to drag that bastard in. Victor is not one to offend people and then let them strike first.

    Either don''t offend at all, or if you do make an enemy, then go all out against them.

    Do you think Victor was just scaring him by telling him to sleep with his eyes open?

    "I have a bad heart. Him shouting at me is like looking down on me."

    Meanwhile, in a luxurious mansion in Mexico City.

    Raul Salinas listened to the dial tone on the phone, stunned, with Victor''s curses still ringing in his ears.

    "Fuck! Fuck!" He snapped back to reality, yanked the phone off and smashed it to the ground, his shoulder-length hair iling in anger¡ªa stark contrast to his bald brother. Makes you wonder if they''re even rted.

    The servants who heard themotion hurried in, uncertain what to do at the sight of the broken phone on the floor.

    "Get out! Get out! Who let you in?" Raul Salinas grabbed an ashtray from the table and threw it, hitting the maid right on the forehead, causing her to cry out in pain.

    But it was as if that scream only fueled his rage more, as he grabbed the maid''s head and started mming it against the wall!

    "Does it hurt! Does it?!"

    The maid was screaming in agony at first, trying to block the blows with her hands, but eventually, she lost her strength. Her face was covered in blood, and when Raul Salinas finally let go, she copsed limply on the floor.

    The bastard!

    Raul Salinas sat down on the sofa with red eyes and heavy breath, he picked up the ss of red wine beside him and gulped it down, his eyes fierce and vindictive.

    He always enjoyed ying underhanded tricks. In the past, when someonepeted with his brother for a position, he was the one to deal with them¡ªand that person''s entire family was burned to death!

    Being ustomed to using violence, he wanted to solve problems with violence, but... Victor''s fists were even harder.

    "I simply cannot believe that there isn''t anyone who is tempted by money, Victor! If you don''t like money, then I''ll just buy off the people beside you!"

    Raul Salinas smashed the ss on the floor and, looking at the maid lying there, a vicious smile shed across his eyes.

    ...

    The next day, May 20, 1990.

    Cambra Valley.

    Police were everywhere!

    About 37 television station reporters from all of Mexico were invited for a media press conference here, and ordinary citizens were allowed to visit, but the number was capped at 200 people.

    Everyone had been searched.

    If someone brought dangerous weapons, it would cause chaos¡ªthe drug traffickers'' bottom line was filthier than a roadside sewer.

    The valley was scrubbed clean, the corpses? They were long gone, even the soil ckened by the incident was dug up overnight.

    On the left, there was 15 tons of drugs; on the right, confiscated weapons.

    Many reporters did not cease pressing their shutter buttons, exmations spilling out from their lips.

    "It''s starting, gentlemen, please take your seats, you will have time for photoster," the police who were maintaining the order called out to the reporters to sit down.

    Victor, dressed in his police uniform adorned with rows of medals on the left, walked up on stage from below.

    These medals¡­ handed out by the Guadalupe Ind Police Station.

    Mexico City was really stingy.

    Victor looked down at the reporters sitting below, gently smiled, adjusted the microphone, and was about to speak when suddenly he saw four or five people standing up below, taking off their clothes to reveal their bodies painted with the words: "Using White Phosphorus Shells is a sin!"

    The leader was a woman, with size X00X big enough to write on, hysterically screaming, "Boycott the police use of lethal weapons! There are only civilians in the Cambra Valley, no drug traffickers!"

    She is about to rush up.

    Victor calmly and from on high watched this unfold.

    The police maintaining order immediately gave her a buttstroke with their guns, no, one for each person, then dragged her away by the hair just as if they were dragging a dead dog, while she continued to howl, "This is ughter! Not the maintenance of stability!"

    The reporters, upon witnessing such a scene, eagerly lifted their cameras to take pictures.

    "Chief Victor, do you not think it is too much to treat a protesting woman in such a way?" A female reporter stood up righteously indignant, her colleagues forcefully pulling at her.

    "In Mexico, the only people who plead for drug traffickers are the drug traffickers themselves! The woman just now, her husband is a drug trafficker who killed 17 people, and she herself is a drug addict and involved in trafficking. Guadalupe Ind Police Station has had a warrant out for her for a long time; I didn''t expect her to show up on her own," Victor nced and knew what that woman was.

    "Where''s the evidence! Where is the evidence!" the female reporter persisted.

    Victor narrowed his eyes, "If you don''t believe what I say, you are free to leave, madam, but here, my word is the evidence!"

    "Please do not throw a fit here, otherwise... I will have the officers escort you out."

    She tried to speak again, but her colleague covered her mouth and pressed her down, smiling apologetically at Victor.

    "Idiot!" Victor said with disdain.

    Some people like to discuss humanity, believing that drug traffickers are human too and should be "respected." Then they are influenced by some ideas from the United States, thinking all life should be respected, and they extend this "respect" even to criminals.

    This kind of issue would only growrgerter on.

    Isn''t that what happened with "Breivik" in 2011? He killed 77 people in 135 minutes, and then said in court that he should either be sentenced to death or ced in the best prison.

    As a result...

    The victims from Norway chose to forgive him.

    QNMD!

    Anyway, egregious crimes should be met with the death penalty, in Victor''s opinion, drug traffickers aren''t human, it''s just that now isn''t the right time, someday he must broadcast a "burning of drug traffickers!"

    To deter everyone.

    Thew is meant to deter, not just to judge.

 Chapter 121 Boss Victor, someone wants to buy me out!

    If it wasn''t for the camera, Victor would have had this female journalist thrown out long ago.

    However, the camera was the only thing determining how much Uncle Victor could tolerate.

    He ced his hands on the table and smiled, "I am pleased to inform everyone that the Baja California Security Department has busted a drug trafficker''s den. They seized 15 tons of drugs, more than 900 firearms and ammunition, 13 homemade cannons, and killed or injured over 1200 drug traffickers..."

    "Among them, 17 were wanted individuals by the Mexican Government, and the amount of drugs seized is the highest in a decade."

    A decade ago, when the Guadjara Cartel was at its zenith, nobody dared to crack down on drugs.

    He paused deliberately at this point, and the journalists below very sensibly apuded.

    Victor nodded with a smile, ready to speak, when suddenly the female journalist who had just been pulled away by her colleague stood up abruptly and asked loudly, "Chief Victor, what about the prisoners? The drug traffickers'' prisoners?"

    Damn it!

    Are you here to pick a fight or what?

    Vic''s expression tightened slightly, "There were no prisoners. The traffickers had no intention of surrendering, and that''s something else I want to say. Today, when drug abuse is rampant, not only do traffickers possessrge-caliber weapons, but they''re also more militarized, which means our war on drugs will face even tougher challenges."

    "Are there none, or did you kill them all?" the female journalist challenged, pulling out a CD from her bag, "This contains evidence of your use of White Phosphorus Shells and the indiscriminate killing of innocents!"

    "You''re lying. They wanted to surrender, but you and your men killed those people, and some of them were even civilians."

    This statement caused a stir among the surrounding journalists and the public.

    It''sughable how some journalists make a big fuss. They never question why drug traffickers produce drugs; they only stand on their high ground to questionw enforcement.

    Perhaps they know drug traffickers will actually kill them.

    While government agencies willpromise!

    It''s also about creating buzz and hot topics.

    Even if there had been hosts who died in Sonora State before, and some med it on Victor secretly, you can''t stop some people from really being foolish.

    "My officers couldn''t possibly make a mistake! If you think there''s a problem with myw enforcement, you''re wee to lodge aint against me with the police department."

    Just don''t send it to my phone.

    "As for killing drug traffickers? That''s absurd! I feel like you''re sympathizing with the traffickers, which is an insult to the sacrifices police officers make in the fight against drugs.

    In fact, I have reason to suspect you''ve taken money from the traffickers, and they''ve asked you toe here to stir up emotions, to smear and even insult our officers!" Victor mmed his hand on the table, "I absolutely won''t allow such behavior!"

    "I suspect you have under-the-table dealings with the traffickers, search her bag," Victor said, looking at Casare, who immediately understood, rushing over with two officers, and went straight to grab her bag.

    "What are you doing? These are my personal belongings!" the female journalist yelled, then looked at her colleagues, but they quickly got up and moved aside.

    "Are you refusing to cooperate?" Casare asked.

    "I''m a journalist, I have the right to ask questions."

    "We are the police, and I have the right to suspect you!"

    Casare had the officers pry her hand open, then snatched the bag to rummage through it, pulling out a photograph from the lining. Looking at the photo, his eyes lit up, "This must be Quintero, number two in the Guadjara Cartel."

    "I recall the Americans offering a bounty for him, so why do you have a photo with him?"

    The female journalist panicked, "I am a journalist, I interview many different people."

    Casare shrugged, stuffed the photo into his pocket, "Sorry, miss, but I''m afraid you''ll have to go to the police station to exin this."

    The officers handcuffed her, and she struggled, "This is persecution! Tyranny!"

    Seeing she still didn''t know better, an officer smacked her across the face, then yanked her hair and dragged her away. That hit clearly baffled her, and her face instantly swelled.

    "Apologies everyone, that was just a little intermission, but let me reiterate, any act of sympathy towards drug traffickers is a disrespect to the drug enforcement officers, and we will retain the right to pursue this matter."

    "Thank you, everyone, please feel free to carry on."

    Victor was so agitated by the female journalist that he was out of sorts, frowning as he came down. He truly wasn''t making baseless ims; that woman had an affair with Quintero, who had given him quite a bit of money while he was around.

    Now, she was specifically writing "soft content promotions" for the traffickers.

    "Put her in a cell with some traffickers, I want to see just how much she sympathizes with them," Victor said harshly.

    Not sorting you out already counts as good, and here you are, jumping out, thinking I''m big-hearted?

    I have the smallest heart!

    If you sympathize with traffickers, you''ll spend time with them.

    Casare nodded in acknowledgment.

    "Director, you have a call, Mr. Best," the secretary jogged over, handing him therge mobile phone. Victor answered with a smile, "Hi, Best, good morning."

    Casare saw the boss''s expression slowly stiffen, then his brow furrowed, but soon it eased up.

    "Interesting!"

    ...

    Mexico City.

    Paseo de Reforma, this street built in the 19th century crosses the whole city.

    It is filled with elegant fountains and historic bronze statues.

    As well as birdsong and bees.

    If it weren''t for the violence and drugs, this country would absolutely be the most attractive ce in the entire Latin American region.

    In a caf¨¦ wrapped in greenery, the staff yawnedfortably, joking with colleagues.

    And in a corner, sat two men.

    One was Raul Salinas, and the other was one of Victor''s underlings responsible for the "Hope" group, Best.

    Thetter was looking for business in Mexico City, but got invited to the caf¨¦ by Raul Salinas. Seeing that his brother was the president, he thought there might be some business opportunities, but after nearly forty minutes of rambling, Raul still hadn''t gotten to the point.

    Best stirred his coffee, ncing at his watch.

    Raul Salinas across from him understood immediately. He smiled, pulled a check and pen out of his pocket, and pushed them across the table.

    "What''s this supposed to mean, sir?" Best was thoroughly confused.

    "Fill in whatever you want. I know you work for Victor, get me his criminal records."

    "??"

    Best was taken aback, then looked up at him, smiled and said, "Are you trying to bribe me?"

    Raul Salinas just shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and with a smile said, "Victor is too high profile. I asked him for a favor, and he wouldn''t budge. Who does he think he is?"

    "The world can''t solely be resolved by violence. Our Salinas family has been in Mexico for over 150 years, Mexico is us, we are Mexico!"

    This statement was emphatic.

    The customers nearby heard it but quickly averted their gaze, reminding themselves of an important lesson: in Mexico, don''t be too curious.

    Mexico has its own way to deal with "what you lookin'' at?"¡ªthree shots, just like that.

    Best wasn''t the pushover he once was. Relying on Victor''s "influence," he was not exactly financially free, but his life had definitely improved. The "Hope" group was still growing. You think a word from you can make me join your side?

    What are you worth?

    On his first day in Mexico City, he heard that this president''s brother was somewhat naive, loved to use his brother''s influence to collect money, and now seeing him in person, he was not only na?ve but alsocked tact.

    But Best was clever. He knew you couldn''t argue with such people; if he lost face, he might really kill someone in the street.

    Instead, he nodded in agreement, asionally expressing dissatisfaction with Victor, then looked at the check, picked up the pen, wrote down three million US dors, and pushed it back to him.

    Raul Salinas''s heart skipped a beat after seeing the amount.

    Damn! You really dare to demand such a price.

    Best was observing his expression the whole time, and seeing Raul''s reaction, he couldn''t help but smirk. You say you have no money, but who are you fooling?

    Raul Salinas swallowed hard and signed beneath the check, "You''ve made a very wise decision."

    "Can you hand over the check to me?" Best said directly.

    Raul Salinas''s mouth hung open, he really wanted to say he''d hand over the check after getting the "evidence," but that didn''t fit with his persona. He practically gritted his teeth as he handed over the check.

    As long as Victor was dead, he would be able to get thirty million US dors for that 15-ton shipment from Guzman.

    It was a profitable deal.

    "When can you get it for me?"

    Best fell silent for a moment, furrowed his brows, "In three days? I need some time to contact my people."

    "No problem, meet here in three days," Raul Salinas said joyously, then grabbed his bag and stood up. Suddenly he asked, "You''re not going to take the money and run, are you?"

    Best was stunned, thenughed, "Of course not. If I cheated you, I probably wouldn''t be able to mix in Mexico anymore, right?"

    Raul Salinas nodded at this, his brother was the president after all!

    Never underestimate his foolishness!

    This guy once stormed into parliament and physically assaulted his brother''s opponents, and after his ties with drug traffickers were exposed by journalists, he personally chased them down with a gun.

    The incident caused quite a stir.

    It was only because his brother had enough clout that he didn''t have to step down prematurely.

    Of course, Raul Salinas wasn''t aplete idiot either. After leaving the caf¨¦, he ordered his bodyguard to have someone tail Best, "Contact me the moment he leaves Mexico City."

    Best finished thest of his coffee; he had been too poor to afford such luxury before, a single cup costing seven US dors!

    He even licked up every bit of the residue beneath the cup.

    This scene caused all other customers in the caf¨¦ to stare in disbelief. Wasn''t that a bit too low?

    But to Best, this was considered virtuous.

    The big boss Victor always said, "Wasting is shameful!"

    He walked into the restroom with his bag, found the furthest stall, locked himself in, then called Victor.

    He recounted everything that had happened.

    The bossughed on the other end.

    "Interesting!"

 Chapter 122 I know where Jintelo is!

    Mexicali Prison.

    Leanna Lazaro Cortes was dragged along in handcuffs, nked by two police officers.

    "I''m a journalist, where are you taking me? This is personal vengeance!"

    She began to panic. Previous scenarios were not like this, whether it was an anti-drug mayor or governor, as long as she spoke from a standpoint of "humanity" and "dignity," she was unbeatable.

    They could only be rendered speechless by her questions.

    But why wasn''t it working this time with Victor?

    Dammit!

    Let me out!

    The police officer on the left looked at her and sneered, "You sympathize with drug traffickers, don''t you? I''m taking you to meet them so you can brainwash them."

    Offended Director Victor and still think you can leave?

    Directly sending you to paradise!

    Upon hearing this, Leanna Lazaro Cortes was stunned. I was just saying it, do you really mean it?

    "No, don''t!"

    She struggled fiercely.

    But adults must pay the price for their actions.

    The police officers dragged her to the innermost cell.

    Drug traffickers were locked on both sides, they all stood up when they heard themotion, grabbed the cell doors tightly and shook them, especially when they saw a woman, howling loudly.

    "Quiet! Shut the hell up! Keep yelling, and I''ll smash your mouths!" the leading officer yelled.

    The drug traffickers instantly fell silent.

    These were not people caught by Victor''s men; they were imprisoned before and luckily for them, they were still alive. If they were outside, they might already have been turned into fertilizer by now.

    But to keep them from causing trouble, Victor had 30 drug trafficker leaders pulled out and executed in front of them as soon as he secured his position in Mexicali!

    "If you want to die, go ahead and make a fuss!"

    "Officer, what''s the deal with this woman?" a bold drug trafficker asked with a sneer.

    "They want to preach to you, make you believe in Jesus," the officer jokingly said. "Whose cell is empty?"

    "Come to mine, I love to hear about God the most,e on in!"

    "Get lost, both my parents are religious, and so am I, sister where are your stockings?"

    "Come here, I have a Virgin Mary tattooed on my back,e over, and check it out, also my bed is quite spacious."

    As soon as the drug traffickers heard this, they became excited, daringly reached out to grab her, scaring the female reporter into crying out loud, her legs trembling so much she knelt on the ground and even urinated out of fear.

    A bunch of drug traffickers, their bodies covered in all sorts of tattoos, then fiercely pulling at you, anyone would be scared, right?

    "Don''t, don''t leave me here."

    She grabbed onto the leg of a nearby police officer, crying a river.

    This disy of ugliness...

    You want drug traffickers to "have dignity," but they want to rape you to death.

    "I know where Quintero is hiding, I know where he''s hiding!" Leanna Lazaro Cortes shouted loudly. "I can tell Victor, don''t send me to prison."

    The cell block went quiet for a moment, and the noisy traffickers also shut their mouths, looking at each other.

    "Bitch! Shut your mouth, believe it or not, I''ll kill you!" Suddenly an angry voice erupted, and a tall drug trafficker, about 1.9 meters tall, red at her. "Say it again, I''ll kill your whole family!"

    "Shut up!" the officer retorted with a serious expression, pointing at the trafficker.

    "I''ll remember you, I''ll remember you, you damn bitch!" he continued to rage, eyes fixed on the female reporter.

    Infuriated, the officer let go of Leanna Lazaro Cortes'' arm, pulled the submachine gun, and started firing at the cell of the muscr man!

    Ratatata...

    Directly killing more than a dozen drug traffickers inside.

    "I told you to shut up, do you think I''m farting, TMD? Do you all want to taste some lead?" the officer scanned the other cells with his gaze, and they immediately became as docile as puppies, pulling their hands back.

    Shit...

    Victor''s soldiers are indeed violent.

    These are EDM''s men, the Director said it himself, killing drug traffickers doesn''t matter.

    Granting them one more day of life was the greatest mercy of Mr. Victor.

    Who said you can''t kill in prison?

    Leanna Lazaro Cortes''s eyes were vacant as blood oozed out from the corpses in the cell, mixing with her urine.

    The officer furrowed his brow, pped her face back and forth, and grasped her chin, "Do you know where Quintero is?"

    This was the United States'' most wanted fugitive at the moment.

    On April 4, 1985, a month after Camarena was tortured to death, Quintero was captured in Costa Rica andter extradited back to Mexico, confined in Jalisco Prison.

    But four yearster, in 1988, he sessfully escaped!

    It was discovered that prison guards, the courts, and even the Mexican Government yed different roles in this escape.

    That greatly displeased the Americans, who offered a 20 million US Dor reward.

    DEA absolutely loathed him!

    They almost came to blows with the CIA because of him.

    If they could catch him, the Guadalupe Ind Police Department would definitely earn a badge of honor with the DEA, and even gain influential standing within the DEA.

    But the guy was slippery; the Mexican Government couldn''t catch him at all.

    Nobody knew where he was hiding.

    There were rumors that he was already dead.

    "You''d better not be lying to us!" the officer pointed at her and said, "Otherwise, we''ll show you the consequences of making false rms!"

    The two men dragged the weakened female journalist outside; her legs gave way amid the stench of a cloudy mix of urine and blood on the floor.

    See, the best way to deal with self-righteous bitches is to send them to prison to preach.

    In this ce, if you want them to believe in God and reform, the best method is to beat them to death and let them be more cautious in their next life.

    The Cambra Valley.

    Vic hung up the phone with Best and couldn''t help butugh, murmuring, "How interesting."

    Casare, very curious, leaned over and asked, "Boss, what happened?"

    "Best said Raul Salinas is trying to bribe him to get my criminal record, even gave him a nk check to fill out as he wishes."

    "That bastard is out of his mind. Boss, you don''t have any criminal actions! This is an insult! Absolute defamation," Casare expressed righteously indignant.

    Victor squinted, "Threatening and intimidating government officials, who does he think he is? Capture him and bring him to Guadalupe Ind; I want to prosecute his crimes!"

    Casare nodded, "Such scum must be purged, otherwise, they''ll tarnish the environment and reputation of Mexico."

    "Make sure it''s done cleanly."

    "No problem."

    "Director, could youe over for a photo, please?" A reporter rushed over and asked nervously.

    Victor smiled amicably, "Of course, no problem."

    He stood in front of drugs and weapons with a group of reporters, and as the shutter clicked, this photo was destined to be recorded in history.

    And when the reporters left, Casare personally handed each a red envelope, varying the amount given depending on the reporter''spany affiliation.

    The cheapest was 200 US dors.

    No worries, after all, there was plenty of money!

    The reporters who took the money knew the drill; they would write something nice in return.

    "Huh? Where''s the Mexico News Group?" Casare held thest big red envelope, surprised that no one came to im it, which gave him pause. He grabbed a reporter and asked.

    The reporter looked at him with an odd expression and said, "That female reporter from earlier was from the Mexico News Group."

    Casare raised an eyebrow and shoved the red envelope back into his pocket.

    Great, saved 3000 US dors.

    As for whether the Mexico News Group would seek revenge?

    Hahahaha...

    Be careful of a bomb going off in your trash can at the door!

    By then, it will definitely be the drug traffickers'' doing.

    ¡­

 Chapter 123 DEMs men are still so crude in doing the dirty work!

    The officer was holding a high-pressure water cannon at Leanna Lazaro Cortes.

    The immense force mmed her frail body into the corner of the wall.

    She closed her eyes, letting out sounds of pain.

    After about four or five minutes, the water cannon was turned off, and two female jail guards came in, rudely wiping her hair dry and changing her into decent clothes.

    "Damn it, dress yourself, how can you meet Director Victor smelling like that," one of the jail guards, seeing her lying there like a dead person, couldn''t help but p her.

    Having grown up in a wealthy family, she had never suffered such hardship. The thought that she was being tormented like this just for a few extra words brought tears to her eyes.

    The female jail guard red at her, raising her hand, "Swallow those tears back, or I''ll pop your goddamn ovaries if you cry again!"

    Leanna Lazaro Cortes clenched her teeth, and could onlyply like a kite being manipted by the guards.

    "Are you ready?" An impatient inquiry came from outside the door.

    "Yes, ready," they replied.

    The policewoman escorted her out by her arms.

    At the entrance, an EDM officer nced at her and led the way to the prison administration building, surrounded by a number of officers.

    A Neapolitan mastiff lying on the ground picked up the scent of the lingering odor in the air, his eyes lit up, and he stood up growling low. The nearby officer hastily grabbed it and stroked its head to calm it.

    Leanna Lazaro Cortes shivered with fear.

    Especially since the dog''s eyes were so terrifying.

    They walked up to the second floor, to an officebeled "Warden," and the officers knocked on the door, waiting for a response before they entered.

    There was the sound of a news broadcast from the TV.

    "Sonora State vehemently protests the illegal cross-border action by the Baja California Security Department and will take all necessary measures to protect its interests. They also im that the Cambra Valley has no drug traffickers, only peace-loving farmers, and that the drugs were transported from other ces by Victor."

    Victor couldn''t help butugh out loud at this ridiculous statement, then turned his head to look at Leanna Lazaro Cortes, who was shivering from the cold.

    "Miss Leanna, I heard the gospel you''ve been spreading in prison doesn''t sit well with the drug traffickers?"

    She learned her lesson and kept her head down without speaking.

    Victor smiled, "Where''s Quintero?"

    "If I tell you, can you protect me and my family?" Leanna struggled to lift her head and ask.

    "Of course, my officers and I will absolutely guarantee the safety of any citizen. It''s our duty and obligation."

    Leanna nodded as if resigning herself to her fate, "He''s hiding in the Presidential Pce."

    "What!?"

    The office instantly went quiet.

    "What nonsense are you spouting!" Casare cursed.

    Leanna, on the other hand, lifted her head, "I''m not talking nonsense. Why is it not possible?"

    "His escape was orchestrated by Raul Salinas. Jintelo gave him 27 million US dors, annually!"

    This revtion was shocking, but on second thought, it didn''t seem absurd at all. This was Mexico, after all.

    A ce of magical realism.

    It''s not so far-fetched for a drug trafficker to live in the Presidential Pce, have breakfast with the country''s highest authority, and watch his own wanted notice on TV.

    Fuck!

    Really fucking ridiculous.

    No wonder even the FBI wrote this about the state of corruption in Mexico, "They think every day about how to spend yesterday''s money because... it''s about to expire."

    Casare looked at the boss.

    "You have a way to contact him, right?"

    Victor could see Leanna''s resume and her connection with Quintero, but couldn''t delve into many more detailed matters.

    It wasn''t possible to glean from him what time Quintero got up or went to bed, how many lovers he had, or even how many illegitimate children.

    What was clear was that Leanna had been on the phone with Quintero the previous night.

    "Catch him, and I don''t want the 20 million US dors America is offering as a reward. It''s all yours. Then you can take your family and that money to a safe country, enough for you all to live out your lives."

    Leanna''s eyes brightened, but she was still struggling.

    "You don''t have the chance to refuse. If you walk out from here, the whole of Mexico will know you''ve betrayed Quintero. Then, your body will turn up in a refrigerator, a sewer, or a deste wilderness¡­" Victor reached out and stroked her hair, whispering softly, "That would be a pity."

    You can say drug traffickers are trash, but you can''t say they have no taste.

    As a journalist, Leanna LS Lazaro Cortes was still quite tough.

    It takes two hands to p, not one!

    "I''ll cooperate with you," Leanna knew she had no way out and could only hope that Victor and his people would protect her.

    "Very well, but there''s no rush. Take Miss Leanna down for some rest first."

    The officer took her by the arm and left.

    "Boss, do you really believe what that woman said?"

    "Why not bring Raul Salinas over for a chat and find out?" Victor flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground, "His brother might be tough to deal with, but him? Easy."

    Victor had wanted to kill Raul Salinas already, this guy dared to bribe Best to set him up, and now he''s also involved with Quintero. Fine, fine, fine, Victor couldn''t be bothered to jot it down in his notebook anymore.

    He was the kind of person who preferred to ask the involved parties directly.

    "And if we catch Quintero, are we really going to give Leanna the 20 million US Dors in reward money the Americans are offering?" Casare suddenly asked a question.

    Victorughed, "A man''s got to have integrity, but sometimes integrity depends on one''s mood. If I''m not in a good mood, she won''t even get a fart out of me."

    As expected!

    Boss, you still want something for nothing.

    20 million US Dors, how could you possibly let Leanna have it that easily, given the boss''s "hatred of evil" nature? Surely, you could find something on Leanna.

    A woman who sleeps in the same bed as a drug lord without any issues?

    Looking down from upstairs, Victor saw Leanna being led away by the officer and exhaled, "Quintero, Raul Salinas!"

    ...

    Three dayster.

    Still in the coffee shop on Paseo de Reforma.

    Best stirred his coffee.

    Listened to the sound of birds chirping.

    Car brakes screeched at the entrance, and turning his head, he saw two cars parked one behind the other at the door.

    A pricey Porsche from which Raul Salinas alighted, followed by a Toyota SUV with four bodyguards stepping out.

    Quite an entrance.

    Raul Salinas stood outside and, upon seeing Best sitting by the window, waved in greeting before pushing the door toe in.

    "Hi! Best!" he shouted loudly.

    It was noisy in this quiet ce.

    Best frowned, but quickly stood up and waved back with a smile.

    "Did you get the stuff?" Raul Salinas was excited. He seemed to foresee the TV sting all the negative news about Victor, enough for his brother to push Victor down a notch.

    That Guadalupe Ind, they say it''s well-developed!

    Later on, ce someone up there, and it bes the "private property" of the Salinas Family!

    Best took out a disc from his bag. Raul reached for it, but Best held it back and looked up at him.

    "Mr. Raul, have some coffee first. Don''t rush it, can he run away or what?"

    Raul Salinas exhaled with relief, thinking that the other party was trying to jack up the price, and nodded smilingly, "Waitress, a cup of coffee please."

    Best nced at his watch, the hands just reaching ten o''clock!

    The wall clock started ringing too. A wooden bird burst out of the clock and chirped loudly twice.

    Suddenly, gunfire erupted at the entrance. Five men with masks on, holding submachine guns, got out of a van across the street and opened fire on the bodyguards at the door.

    They were down before they could react.

    The caf¨¦ was filled with screams.

    The bandits even fired additional shots at the downed bodyguards'' heads, handling it very viciously. They barged into the caf¨¦ and sprayed bullets at the walls.

    "Sorry, this is a robbery, everyone down!"

    Best curled up and ducked immediately, his first thought was:

    "Fuck!"

    "DEM''s dirty work is still so crude!"

 Chapter 124 EDM Causes a Stir in Mexico City!

    These "bandits" were well-trained. Two stood guard outside while one went to the cash register with practiced ease.

    The remaining two scanned the crowd lying on the floor.

    They spotted Raul Salinas right away, mainly because he loved to unt his wealth so much that even his leather shoes shone.

    His suit, an immacte white Armani, was custom-made.

    You''re lying there like a big bear. Who wouldn''t see you?

    The two "bandits" grabbed Raul Salinas by the hair, and Best, who was watching from the corner of his eye, nodded subtly. One covered his mouth while the other grabbed his feet, and they carried him straight out.

    "Mmmph... Mmmph!" Raul Salinas struggled.

    At the door, a bandit injected him with a sedative in the arm, and the drug acted swiftly, causing him to go limp almost immediately.

    A few men hoisted him onto a van and drove away.

    Best dusted off his clothes, stood up, downed his coffee in one gulp, then took out a 50-dor bill, tucked it under the cup, and adjusted his clothes before heading outside.

    Compared to the EDM crowd, you have to be a bit more graceful.

    ¡­

    "Director, Director!"

    Mexico City Police Department.

    A Senior Police Sergeant burst into the director''s office in a panic, startling two people inside who quickly separated. The female officer hurriedly pulled down her skirt, her cheeks flushing as she grabbed some papers and fled.

    The director was somewhat overweight and had only a few strands of hair remaining. He frowned and said, "What''s all this panic? What''s the matter?"

    "Director, a robbery took ce on Paseo de Reforma. Five people were killed, and one person was kidnapped," the officer stammered.

    "Isn''t it just a robbery? Happens all the time in Mexico. How is this an emergency? Are you going to guard a pond instead?"

    The director, frustrated by the interruption of his rendezvous, gritted his teeth. At his age, it was hard enough to get excited, and now this...

    "The one kidnapped is Raul Salinas, and his bodyguards were killed."

    The director, who had just sat down, leaped up again. "What! Why didn''t you say so sooner? Quick, call the officers to intercept."

    "Request support from GAFE Special Forces!"

    ¡­

    Mexico City suddenly became busy¡ªnot that the governmentcks efficiency, but it depends on whom the efficiency serves.

    Even drug traffickers were mobilized.

    Drug traffickers could be seen sitting in pickup trucks everywhere, with the police standing below, chatting and arguing with them.

    If a pedestrian passed by, they''d even extort a few coins.

    "Target vehicle spotted on Michael Street!" came a voice from the radio. "All units converge on Michael Street!"

    Upon receiving the message, the drug traffickers and police hurriedly rushed toward the location.

    The Director (drug lord) himself dered that whoever could rescue Mr. Raul Salinas would be promoted.

    Who wouldn''t go crazy for that?

    The van sped through the streets with more than a dozen cars in pursuit, some even sticking their heads out through sunroofs, shouting through megaphones at them.

    "Open the trunk!"

    The leading EDM sergeant took off his mask and said to the driver, who nced at the button and pressed it, cracking open the trunk.

    He kicked the opening wider.

    The drug traffickers and police saw the van''s trunk open and then...

    A Browning M2HB .50 caliber machine gun was mounted!

    The drug trafficker driving the leading vehicle saw this and his pupils shrank. Bullets swept over, smashing the ss and prating the driver''s skull, blowing away the upper part of his head.

    The vehicle immediately lost control, crashing into another car before rolling into a nearby shop.

    Boom!

    A massive explosion erupted, followed by mes leaping into the sky.

    Several police cars were also caught in the st and piled up on each other.

    The cars behind swerved around the ident scene, still in hot pursuit.

    The sound of heavy machine gun shell casings rolling on the ground was crisp.

    Another member of DEM was equally active, bundling a bunch of hand grenades together, pulling the pins, and daringly counting a few seconds before tossing them onto the ground just as a pickup truck drove by.

    It was sted in half right through the middle.

    "Number 2! Number 2! Cover! Cover!" the police captain yelled into themunication device, pressing it firmly.

    Victor, of course, wouldn''t just have a few men; Kennedy deployed 20 people, and the others were all in support.

    The action was nned thoroughly beforehand.

    "Roger that!"

    As the van drove through an intersection, a 20-meter-long semi-trailer truck that had been lying in wait drove over and blocked the road directly.

    "Aaaaahhhhh!!!"

    The pursuing vehicles were mostly doing 130 to 140 mph, practically drift-driving. With the sudden appearance of the semi-trailer, some instinctively mmed on the brakes, and those not wearing seatbelts in the passenger seats were thrown right through the windshields, their faces filled with shards.

    Before the drivers could even catch their breath,

    The cars behind couldn''t stop in time and crashed into the vehicles ahead, pushing them under the semi-trailer; the roofs of the cars were gone, and needless to say, so were their heads.

    Someone got off the semi-trailer and, not forgetting to toss a hand grenade towards the ident scene, ran to the mouth of an alley, hopped on a prepared motorcycle, and sped away.

    "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

    The bossesmanding from behind listened to the heavy losses, all with grim expressions.

    "Send the Special Forces with helicopters!"

    An OH-58, produced by Bell Helicopter Company and nicknamed "Kiowa," took off from the roof of the police department, carrying 4 GAFE Special Forces members.

    This helicopter...

    Donated by the Sinaloa Group.

    For this, they poached 30 people from GAFE and also signed "employment contracts" privately with certain individuals. This team would retire 20 people every year, all of whom would join the armed wing of the Sinaloa Group.

    For this, Sinaloa had to pay them more than 1.2 million US dors every year; who took that money is anyone''s guess.

    The OH-58''s propeller noise was loud, cutting through the steel city, spotting the speeding van.

    Simrly, the police captain inside the van also heard the sound, looked up, and saw the armed helicopter overhead, "Take it down! Damn it, I hate the sound it makes!"

    In a building the van passed, two young men in in clothes raced upstairs, found the water tank, lifted it and fished out a deep green box.

    Upon opening the box, there it was¡ªa FIM-92 Stinger.

    The two men silently assembled it, then stood on the roof aiming at the OH-58 in the sky.

    Aim!

    Shoot!

    The missile flew straight out.

    The pilot of the OH-58 saw a red dot on the radar and was puzzled; what the...? Is there a traffic jam in the sky?

    Reality proved why the Stinger was so popr¡ªit wasn''t easy to evade.

    At the time, during the "Valley of Death" battle, a Mi-8 belonging to Victor''s forces managed to avoid being hit by hiding under the forest canopy, but the propeller hit the trees, resulting in a crash, though not an explosion.

    How could the OH-58 possibly escape?

    Boom...!!

    A fireball exploded in mid-air, then crashed down.

    This scene shocked everyone.

    Bandits...

    And they had anti-aircraft missiles?

    "You''re telling me these are ordinary bandits!!!"

    Carlos Salinas received the news and arrived at themand center, just in time to witness the scene with a somber face.

    "Deploy the troops! We must stop them."

    He paused, then as if having made a decision, "If necessary, take them all out!"

    The secretary understood the boss''s intention immediately.

    It was to prevent Raul Salinas from falling into others'' hands, as he knew too much.

    This was truly ruthless.

    Although unknown who the assant was, the target was Raul; it was definitely an attack on him, Carlos Salinas!

    ...

 Chapter 125 Not that it wont be repaid, but the time for Victor has not come!

    After briefly shaking off their pursuers, EDM drove into the slums of Chimalhuac¨¢n. The locals who were basking in the sun there were startled by the noise and saw a van driving in.

    A few individuals dressed like bandits emerged from the vehicle, brandishing submachine guns.

    But the civilians seemed to be used to such sights; they didn''t even flinch, only some children curiously gnawed on their fingers as they watched.

    Mexicans are indeed different.

    They scale walls at the sound of gun battles and relieve themselves amidst mines.

    EDM''s leading captain whistled and then threw a set of car keys to a man, carrying the unconscious Raul Salinas with his team as they ran towards the next location.

    The man looked at the car keys in his hand, then at the van, and let out an exmation of surprise!

    Fortune had smiled upon him!

    How lucky, to be given a car!

    He had just settled into the driver''s seat, delighting in fiddling with the steering wheel¡ª even selling the vehicle would bring in a fair amount of money, enough to cover his family''s expenses. But before he could revel in his euphoria for more than a few minutes, a group of armed men stormed in and pinned him to the ground.

    "Don''t kill me, please don''t kill me!" the man howled.

    "Where''s the driver?" A drug trafficker pped him across the face and pulled his hair, interrogating him.

    "They ran that way, I don''t know them." The man pointed down a narrow alley while cradling his head.

    The drug trafficker''s boss waved his hand, "Chase them!"

    Before leaving, they shot the man on the ground twice.

    It was just a matter of convenience for them.

    The man''s eyes were wide open in death, a look of astonishment frozen on his face. After the traffickers had pursued their quarry, his rtives emerged, clutching the corpse and wailing, his wife looked helplessly around, and the children were bewildered.

    In fact, who could have anticipated...

    Could the EDM captain who had given the car know that his actions inadvertently led to the death of the main breadwinner of a family?

    In an unstable society, you never know when you might be shot dead by a passing drug trafficker.

    In Brazil, the situation''s even worse. Slum dwellers returning home from work might encounter a shootout between the police and drug traffickers¡ªyou''re expected to join the traffickers'' ranks purposely; otherwise... the traffickers will kill your entire family out of anger for your "indifference."

    To me, only this screwed-up society!

    They don''t live in a peaceful country!

    The captain led his team into an unremarkable house, lifted a section of the floor, and there was a passage underneath.

    Which went straight out of the city.

    Mexicans are probably the world''s best tunnel diggers. ording to estimates, as of 2020, there were approximately 17,189 underground passages in Mexico City alone, not including other areas.

    The entire country...

    Was like a ho''s nest underneath.

    No wonder it all damn copsed during the big earthquake!

    "Wait," the captain said. After everyone had descended, he climbed back up and tied a booby trap by the door, with four grenades tied to a string¡ªanyone pushing through from the outside would trigger... Boom!

    Sneaky!

    God knows who he learned it from.

    When they finished setting the trap, they all quickly entered the tunnel and hunched over as they alternately dragged the unconscious Raul Salinas forward, calcting that they were almost out when an explosion sounded behind them.

    Clearly, the pursuers had arrived.

    "Hurry, move it!" The captain, covering the rear, shouted and climbed for several more minutes until they saw light outside, where people were already waiting¡ªover a dozen fully armed EDM members and four Humvees.

    Those crawling out of the tunnel sat on the ground, gasping for breath.

    The air was too thin below.

    When Guzman escaped from prison, his son even had oxygen tanks and a doctor with him...

    Fearing dying inside.

    The captain, drenched in sweat, struggled to get up, "Move! Don''t stay here."

    The group got into the vehicles and hastened away.

    Just a few minutes after they had left, an OH-58 helicopter flew overhead, but they couldn''t find anything¡ªnot even a trace.

    Bang! Bang!

    "Ipetent fools, all of them!" Carlos Salinas mmed his fist on the table, shouting aggravations upon hearing the news from ahead.

    Everyone in themand center could only look at each other, none daring to utter a word.

    "Where was Raul when he was taken? Who saw himst?" Carlos Salinas suddenly asked.

    But everyone looked around in confusion, all at a loss.

    "Find out! Are you all idiots?" Carlos scolded.

    Themand room became chaotic as people started contacting drug traffickers and eyewitnesses. After about half an hour, they finallypiled the information.

    "Best?" Carlos had no recollection of this person.

    "Sir, ording to a summary from CISEN (Mexican intelligence agency), this person is the president of the Hope Group, and he''s also one of Victor''s men," the secretary exined, presenting a dossier with Best''s photo.

    CISEN began collecting intelligence on Victor''s entourage as soon as he rose to power in Baja California, so Best, a man who had been by Victor''s side since teau Prison, was naturally listed as "the number three person in the Victor Group!"

    Nickname: Jewry!

    "He vanished right after Mr. Raul was kidnapped."

    Carlos Salinas took a deep breath, being 80 percent certain that Victor was behind this¡ªwere there any soldiers in the whole of Mexico more elite than those under him?

    He scowled, gave everyone a sweeping nce, and stormed off, then spoke to his secretary in the car, ''Contact Victor."

    The secretary nodded and hurriedly took out his phone to make the call, dialing several times without reply. He looked towards Carlos awkwardly. "Sir..."

    "Call Alejandro!"

    ...

    Raul Salinas had a long dream.

    He dreamed he was beating a maid with a baseball bat, exhrated by her screams of agony as shey on the ground. He kept shouting "I''ll kill you," and upon seeing her lifeless body, his animalistic instincts took over!

    Whoosh~

    A bucket of water sshed onto his face, interrupting his "dream."

    Raul Salinas slowly opened his eyes, about to observe his surroundings, when a beam of light shone directly onto his face. His pupils shrank instantly, and he couldn''t help but turn his head, but he found that his head was fixed in ce!

    Moreover... his clothes had been stripped off.

    Cold air blew from both sides, causing his hair to stand on end.

    "Good evening, Mr. Raul," Victor said as he stepped out of the darkness, holding a tape recorder, which he ced on a table nearby. "May I ask you a few questions?"

    "Vic... Victor?" Raul stuttered, not knowing whether to feel fear or shiver, his voice quivering.

    "Does the Salinas Family have any financial dealings with the drug trafficking group? Or should I say, are you providing them with protection?"

    "Let me go! This is illegal! I''m Carlos''s brother!"

    Victor knitted his brows, then rxed them, "It seems our Mr. Raul is not very cooperative. I''m sorry, but I''ll have to resort to some methods."

    No sooner had he spoken than an officer brought over two electrical wires, touched them together, and they emitted a flickering blue light.

    "What are you going to do!"

    The officer ced the wires directly on his chest. All at once, Raul Salinas''s body shook uncontrobly, his eyes began to roll back, and his tongue stuck out.

    When the officer let go, he copsedpletely.

    "Didn''t you always like electrocution? Among the servants you killed, two were electrocuted to death. How is it? Now that it''s your turn, can''t you withstand it?" Victorughed, walking up to him. "Rest assured, I will use all the methods you''ve used on you."

    "Then you''ll know if you enjoy it."

    Another officer came out with arge pair of pliers, moved them with both hands, making a click-ck sound. Raul looked on in horror as the pliers went around his hand and then... were forcefully twisted in the opposite direction and snapped!

    "Aahhh!!!!"

    His screams, and the foul stench¡ªhe had soiled himself.

    Victor calmly smoked his cigarette.

    Perhaps it was the abuse of servants from an early age that had bred in Raul Salinas a very perverse impulse; approximately 31 servants had disappeared from his household.

    No one knew where they had gone.

    When the families of the servants came to demand an exnation, he would shamelessly use them, saying their daughters had stolen his possessions and then disappeared.

    And because of his status, the local police department dared not intervene.

    He even acted as the facilitator for drug traffickers; for 5 million US dors, one could have dinner with his brother.

    His Crime Value was as high as 3100000!

    Perhaps... Golden Finger believed he had caused far more damage than some drug traffickers.

    Victor was also a policeman. The very Mexico City Police Department that dared not touch him, he would handle, no matter who''s royal or noble rtion.

    To kill in return for life, to pay debts¡ªit''s only natural!

    All ten fingers were broken, twisted the wrong way...

    Victor nced at his watch, walked over, and asked, "May I ask if you''re willing to talk now?"

    Raul screamed through his mouth, the young master born with a golden key had never suffered this torment before, ceaselessly howling in pain.

    Victor repeated the question, but the other party still ignored him. Heughed, took the cigarette from his mouth, and stuffed it into the other''s mouth, "Take a puff and it won''t hurt."

    "Pff..." Raul spat out immediately, nearly spraying Victor.

    That made him furious.

    Taking a metal rod from an officer, he yelled, "CNM! I give you face you don''t want face?"

    Raising the rod, he smashed Raul''s arm into a 90¡ã angle. Still not satisfied, he broke his leg, picked up the cigarette from the ground, grabbed his mouth, and stuffed the cigarette butt inside.

    "Swallow it! NMD!"

    The me burned as Raul shook his head vigorously in struggle.

    Casare swallowed, standing in the background...

    Truly NMD ruthless!

    But who let Raul coborate with drug traffickers? And to abuse others.

    Some things aren''t left unreported.

    It''s just that Victor hasn''t arrived yet!

    Just then, the phone rang. Casare quickly answered it and after a few words, he handed it to Victor, "Mr. Alejandro."

    "Ptui."

    Victor spat on Raul''s face, handed the rod to Casare, and took the phone.

    "Is Raul Salinas with you, Victor?" Alejandro asked urgently.

    "No, what''s up, he got lost?"

    Alejandro was almost amused by the shameless response, feeling unsettled, he hurriedly said, "The Salinas Family says that everything will be forgiven if you release Raul."

    "But I''m a petty man, he wanted to mess with me! You tell me, he could''ve stayed hidden in Mexico City but he had to pick on me, isn''t that forcing me to kill him?"

    "Tell the Salinas toe and collect his body."

    After Victor finished, he hung up. Raul Salinas looked at him, uttering a pleading sound.

    "There''s one way out for you, I have 32 methods you haven''t experienced yet, which I''ll use on you before killing you. Alternatively, you can confess that the Salinas have dealings with drug traffickers, and then... I''ll let you leavefortably."

    "Make your choice."

    All of them lead to TMD death!

    But the processes are not the same...

    Death isn''t scary, it''s living a fate worse than death that''s terrifying.

    "Is Quintero hiding in the Presidential Pce? What exactly is your transaction with the drug traffickers?"

    The pain in his body made Raul unable to bear it any longer, as he trembled and quivered, "Yes."

    ...

 Chapter 126 We Are Not Dead Yet, Theres Still Hope for This World!

    He emerged from the interrogation room.

    Casare''s face still bore a look of shock.

    The information divulged by Raul Salinas was utterly mind-shattering.

    He pressed the button on his radio.

    Zzzzt~

    After some interference, Raul''s voice came through.

    "The Salinas Family had been cooperating with Aviles, the very first drug lord of Mexico, 50 years ago, when my father was still a member of parliament."

    ¡­

    "We were getting more than 1.6 million US Dors a year in revenue back in 1967, and with that money, we bribed other officials and steadily expanded the family''s power."

    "We weren''t the first to coborate with drug traffickers, but we won''t be thest either, Mexico is beyond saving! Beyond saving! Beyond saving!"

    ¡­

    "We never care who is in charge of the Mexican Drug Cartels, as long as our cut doesn''t decrease each year. Whoever can make money for us is the leader!"

    ¡­

    "And do you really think it''s only us behind this drug trafficking group? Impossible! Ha ha..." Raul Salinas''s mockingughter emanated from the radio, like a duck''s quack, "Besides us, there are Americans! We work for them...the CIA is..."

    He didn''t finish his sentence when a series of thuds were heard.

    That was the boss knocking him out.

    The General''s voice, detached, came from the radio, "Cut out thatst line."

    Casare''s brows trembled intensely as he remembered Raul lifting his head, staring at them with dead eyes ¡ª he knew then that he must be telling the truth.

    His own family had also been farmers.

    As a child, he watched his father sigh over their fields, unable to understand why the golden, appetizing corn couldn''t fetch a good price.

    As he grew up, he came to realize ¡ª Mexico serves as America''s dumping ground, and local farmers could only nt other cash crops. Yet, he still harbored aspirations for that country.

    Because...

    It was paradise.

    He had naively hoped to live to 100 to receive the insurance payout, then emigrate to the United States, where his descendants could be Americans. But now you''re telling me that the country of my dreams is engaging in such deeds?

    Suddenly, it felt as though the entire sky had copsed.

    "What are you thinking?"

    A cigarette was passed to him.

    Casare, with tears on his face, turned, and saw Victor holding a cigarette, "Boss, is Mexico beyond saving?"

    "Are we dead?" Victor looked at him and said with a smile, "Not yet."

    "The world is just like this, some are lost in the night, while others reach for the light. We are not dead, so we can still fight. But when the enemy is too powerful, you have to y along at first. Nobody sleeps with their eyes open every night. One day we''ll take a bite out of it, a piece called ''freedom''!"

    Was the CIA''s involvement in drugs really a secret after the Millennium?

    Its ties with narcotics trace back to the Cold War, when to counter pro-Soviet regimes in Latin America, the CIA conducted extensive activities abroad, thus starting to support groups including armed drug traffickers.

    In Latin America, traffickers oppressed by pro-Soviet governments began using drug money to buy arms from the CIA, eventually turning it into a simple exchange of drugs for arms.

    The CIA workforce consisted of roughly 20,000 employees, but even with an annual budget close to 50 billion US Dors, it wasn''t enough for their expenses, so some individuals resorted to "dishonorable" means to gain their share.

    This issue was blown wide open only in 1996, when an American named Gary Webb tore away the veil, revealing the CIA had set up a drugwork within the United States, secretly hiring traffickers to sell vast amounts of narcotics to the public.

    On December 10, 2004, Gary Webb, who never ceased to talk, died under mysterious circumstances, shot twice in the head.

    After an in-depth and fair investigation, the police determined that Webb''s death was suicide, using a police-issued .38 caliber revolver.

    Suicide...with two shots.

    That seemed all too familiar.

    Moreover, it was said that when DEA agent Camarena was killed by drug traffickers, there were CIA operatives by his side. This matter can''t be verified, but it was quite obvious the atmosphere between the two departments turned sour after 1985.

    "They will eventually reap what they sow!"

    But to say that the entire US upper echelon is involved with drugs, that would be an exaggeration; after all, the drug market is only highly profitable, not highly beneficial, a market capped at a few hundred billion US dors at most per year.

    Some sell shoes, reaching a market of over a trillion US dors per year, and most importantly, they control a sufficient weapon market.

    For the real top dogs, dealing in drugs is just too low.

    But it can''t be denied that there are still many involved, and these people, to the present Victor, are simply colossal!

    "In the war on drugs, we are never fighting alone, pal! Mexico needs us, Latin America needs us, the world needs us!" Victor gently patted Casare''s shoulder.

    "While life endures, the fight goes on!"

    The CIA may want to mess with me now, but I stand on the side of drug enforcement. They can''t possibly say that they would start a war for my trivial part, can they?

    The Russian Bear might be copsing, but it''s not dead yet.

    This is the best time to expand one''s influence.

    Victor wants to gather more strength for himself before the fall of the Russian Bear.

    ...

    Raul Salinas was kidnapped in broad daylight at a Mexico City caf¨¦, an incident known by almost all the important figures.

    And three dayster.

    On the outskirts of a small vige near Mexico City, someone discovered a male corpse tied to a tree, with a message written on it: Please respect thew! Respect the civilians!

    The farmers were terrified and hastily called the police. When the police arrived, they realized the corpse was none other than Raul Salinas.

    They reported the matter immediately.

    Carlos didn''te, but his secretary did. Looking at the nearly dposed body, even the secretary couldn''t help but hold his nose.

    "He''s been dead for about three days, and he obviously suffered abuse before dying," the forensic examiner said.

    The Secretary-General sighed deeply. Things were really going south.

    Just as he was about to leave, the police captain stopped him and handed him a letter, "This was found on Mr. Raul''s body, I haven''t looked at it."

    Provocation?

    The secretary raised his eyebrows, but being a germaphobe, he took out a disposable glove from his briefcase and epted the letter.

    Upon returning to the Official Residence.

    In the office.

    Carlos Salinas, with his back to the door, eyes fixed on the family portrait on the wall where the three brothers were shoulder to shoulder, smiling happily. Back then, Carlos Salinas still had hair.

    "Sir," the secretary called softly.

    "What is it?" Carlos Salinas asked, voice trembling despite trying to suppress it, clearly clutching at straws of hope.

    "It''s Mr. Raul Salinas."

    Carlos let out a long sigh...

    "There''s also a letter, found on his body." The secretary ced it on the table, and seeing no response, slowly retreated out.

    As the door closed, the office darkened.

    Carlos Salinas looked up, he was actually in tears? He walked to the desk and opened the envelope, his hands trembling.

    On it was written a single sentence: Please die along with your drugs, don''t cry, you''re next. ¡ª Nemesis!

    Only an idiot would leave a real name.

    "Victor!" Carlos clenched his fist, crushing the piece of paper, feeling the mockery washing over him, clenching his teeth.

    ...

 Chapter 127 The Beast We Supported... Is Out of Control!

    The secretary, listening to the subdued sobs inside the office, felt a bit distressed herself and took out a cigarette to light for herself. Just after a couple of drags, a thick voice sounded from behind her.

    "Is Mr. Carlos in?" Ajit asked.

    The secretary quickly turned around and saw a man in his forties standing behind her, with unkempt hair, a very thin physique, and sharp, prating eyes that seemed capable of scrutinizing the soul of another.

    "Mr. Quintero." The secretary called out in a hurry.

    This was none other than Rafael Caro Quintero, one of the three leaders of the Guadjara Cartel, nicknamed "Doctor."

    A cultivation expert and a farmer by origin, he was born in a vige of Sinaloa State in 1952, known as the "Cradle of Drug Lords."

    Quintero liked to show off; he was fond of disying wealth and exotic animals. He specifically raised 17 hippos in his private zoo, but after the "Camarena" incident, he fled, and those hippos were left unattended.

    In 2020, news even broke out about a surge of hippos in some part of Mexico, which were, in fact, the descendants of those 17 hippos.

    Perhaps topensate for hisck of formal education as a child, his official girlfriend was Sara, the daughter of the then Minister of Education, Cossio.

    Luckily he nevercked milk as a child, or else he would have gone looking for a cow.

    The reason for his arrest in Costa Rica was precisely because this woman made a phone call home that gave him away.

    But having a girlfriend didn''t prevent him from having mistresses.

    Mexican drug traffickers were certainly not affectionate...

    Quintero nodded, "Has Mr. Raul been found yet?"

    The secretary shook her head, "He has been murdered; his body was found in a vige outside of Mexico City."

    Quintero wasn''t too surprised. As a drug lord, he obviously knew what the consequences of being kidnapped in Mexico were. To have an intact body meant that those who kidnapped you were arguably good people.

    "Do you know who did it?"

    The secretary nced towards the office and lowered her voice, "Vic from Baja California."

    Quintero was all too familiar with that name!

    If one had to choose the most famous person in Mexico in 1990,

    the first on the list would certainly be Victor Carlos Vieri.

    He executed Quintero''s old friend Zambada in front of the entire nation of Mexico.

    He''d never seen such a fierce man before.

    Confronting all drug trafficking organizations in Mexico and now provoking a powerful family like the Salinas.

    "He really knows how to stir up trouble," Quintero sighed involuntarily.

    The secretary nodded in agreement beside him.

    It would be nice if everyone just made money together. You want to fight drug trafficking, so what are you? You''re just a little cop. Isn''t it just that you have more men under you, and your weapons are better? What else do you have?

    What else are you?

    Squeak~

    The office door opened.

    Quintero and the secretary both looked over and saw Carlos Salinas walking out, his eyes red and bloodshot.

    "Mr. Carlos," Quintero said, speaking with great seriousness, "if there''s anything I can help with, just let me know."

    The secretary nced at him, now what do you have aside from the hundreds of millions in assets you''re still hiding away?

    Those little brothers who used to hang around with you are now big bosses themselves, so what are you going to do if you go out?

    Sweep floors and do odd jobs?

    Carlos was really staring right at him, his voice hoarse, "Quintero, if there really is a need..."

    "Sir! Sir!"

    Suddenly, there was the sound of hurried footsteps, and then a member of the Presidential Pce''s staff came running over, his face etched with solemnity and a hint of panic.

    Carlos furrowed his brows, "Calm down! How many times have I told you, you need to be calm at all times!"

    The staff member stopped, took a deep breath, "A recording has just been broadcast by the Baja California television station, featuring a conversation where Mr. Raul admits to a transaction between the Salinas Family and drug traffickers."

    Carlos almost cked out on the spot, but Quintero quickly caught him. A group of people rushed into the office, and the secretary hurriedly turned on the TV, switching to the Baja California channel.

    There were no images, only sound.

    "Are you saying there''s some kind of transaction between Salinas and Gardo?" a man''s voice, clearly processed, came through.

    "Yes."

    The voice of Raul, weakened, reached their ears, "Gardo used to be a bodyguard for the Governor of Jalisco, and that governor is a member of the Salinas Family. We provided protection to his drug trafficking group and introduced him to the Minister of Defense, Grqui."

    "We get over two and a half billion US Dors from the Guadjara Cartel every year!"

    "This money is enough for us to meet more upper-ss individuals."

    "But Quintero, that bastard, he destroyed everything! He brought Guadjara to ruins, and those new Drug Lords in power have no manners at all¡ªthey only give Salinas superficial respect."

    "Mexico''s drug order...has spiraled out of control!"

    Raul spoke in a low tone, "We''ve unleashed even fiercer beasts, and the evil order has been shattered¡ªMexico has ultimately fallen!"

    The office was eerily silent, and even Quintero felt a chill run down his spine.

    It''s over...

    If Carlos doesn''t survive this, he''ll have to step down.

    The entanglement of Mexican Drug Officials with the cartels is a fact, but you can''t just go around saying that¡ªdo we or do we not care about saving face?

    Even when Netflix was filming "Narcos: Mexico," during the ninth episode of the first season when the kidnapped DEA agent Qiqi was being tortured, the Mexican officials conducting the interrogation mentioned several "censored" names, and suddenly, a "beep¡ª" sound effectmonly used for muting was heard in the scene.

    Why is this?

    It''s because they fear it won''t pass censorship.

    Some of the colluders even climbed up to high positionster on.

    In Mexico, officials can sometimes be Drug Lords!

    "Contact Aragon and have Baja California''s satellite signals jammed, and immediately issue a statement iming that such events are purely fictional and the Mexican Government will investigate thoroughly."

    Carlos still wanted to struggle a bit; he wasn''t ready to step down just like that, nning to rely on his prestige and influence in Mexico for onest stand.

    The secretary acted immediately upon receiving his orders.

    If the boss falls, they all suffer.

    "Our trouble...has arrived!" Carlos muttered to himself as he sat on the sofa.

    ...

    Even though the powerful Aragon Media Mogul Family in Mexico blocked the entire Baja California signal right after receiving Carlos''s request, it was futile!

    The storm was brewing.

    And it was rapidly unfolding.

    Countless eyes watching Carlos were pushing the situation to new heights.

    May 27, 1990!

    10 AM.

    Mexican Gendarmerie za!

    The crowd swelled, a sea of people from above, at least over ten thousand strong!

    "Gentlemen! Ladies!"

    A man wearing sses and dressed in traditional Mexican attire stood on the stage, waving his arms vigorously, shouting with voice cracking in emotion, "We must always muster the courage, we cannot let drug traffickers take over this country, this world!"

    "A drug trafficker is leading us!"

    "He''s a liar, Carlos Salinas is a liar! He is leading Mexico to ruin!"

    "We want to live, we want peace, we do not want drugs, we don''t want our next generation to live life tethered to urine bags."

    "We don''t want our young people to lose their ideals; they should be healthy, happy, and full of hope!"

    "Survive! Survive! Survive!"

    His shouts ignited the crowd''s emotions, and people around waved their banners, cursing the drug traffickers.

    "Kill the drug traffickers!"

    Clearly, the Mexican people truly detested drugs.

    Suddenly, there was a scream from the outskirts, and the man on stage stood on his tiptoes¡ªseeing the outer crowd frantically dodging.

    Two dozen...pickup trucks charged in!

    Mounted with machine guns, they opened fire on the crowd!

    "Run! Run! Run!"

    "The drug traffickers are killing people!"

    The man on stage waved his hands and shouted aloud, his scalp numbing at the sight.

    Hearing his cries, a drug trafficker directly aimed the gun at him and pulled the trigger. The man fell from the stage, his sses flew off, trampled by the panicked crowd, as he stared up at the sky.

    At the sun obscured by dark clouds.

    "Justice can never be killed!"

    He shouted loudly and died!

    ...

 Chapter 128 The True Warrior Is Never Alone!

    "The 5.27 Gendarmerie za Massacre shocked Mexico, as well as the entire world."

    But Carlos had already thought of a countermeasure.

    He med the massacre on the drug traffickers and dered, "In response to this act, the Mexican Government willunch a nationwide crackdown on drug traffickers!"

    "To bring justice to the deceased."

    Carlos, appearing on television with a face full of grief and seriousness, said, "I offer my condolences on behalf of myself and the Mexican Government to the victims'' families. I harshly condemn the violent acts, as they are inhumane and uneptable!"

    "I will personally donate two years of my sry, a total of 200,000 Pesos, to provide humanitarian aid to the families affected by this incident."

    The Department of Public Security, Mexicali State.

    Victor, holding a coffee, watched this scene and couldn''t help butugh, "I remember the servant who wipes his ass gets paid 200,000 Pesos a year, right?"

    Alejandro also felt disgusted!

    Casare and Best exchanged nces.

    What does it feel like to live in a country where every corner is infested with drug traffickers, where even the cobwebs above your head areced with drugs?

    Disgust!

    Naked disgust.

    All of these people deserve to die!

    "Do you think the chances of him stepping down are high?"

    "Given how thick his face is, what do you think? When the timees, he''ll just sacrifice a few scapegoats. Unless he resigns himself, truly no one can make him step down," Victor said, his expression bing somewhat solemn.

    The power of Salinas was too great. Victor had heard several names from Raul''s mouth, individuals who monopolized oil, telmunications, media, and so on.

    This was the equivalent of Victor VS the Mexican financial oligarchs + drug traffickers!

    He checked his points: 1197892118!

    Over a hundred million!

    It was time to unleash the troops!

    "He must be hiding in some corner now, gathering hisrades, nning to snipe at us. I don''t have that much time to y political games with them. If Mexico is full of evil, then we use our fists to knock everyone down!"

    "And then tell them, ''The fist of justice has arrived!''"

    Victor put down his coffee on the table, "Cut down thepositions of the state and local police, rename it to: Lower California National Guard, 15,000 recruits. I propose that I take the position of Secretary of Public Security for Baja California, Mister Alejandro as Governor, and Casare as the Senior Assistant to the State and as Mayor of both Dan Senada City and Guadalupe Ind City."

    "All military units in Lower California must either leave or be automatically incorporated into the Lower California National Guard!"

    Alejandro and the others widened their eyes, feeling that Victor had gone mad. His Adam''s apple bobbed as he struggled, "Carlos and the others won''t agree to this."

    "Then let them send someone over to rece us, if they dare!"

    Alejandro didn''t know how to respond to that.

    Everyone knows you have a bad temper; who would dare toe?

    They feared they might step on andmine along the way, and then you would announce: The new Governor... has been eaten by a tiger.

    Your mouth is good for nothing but spewing crap.

    "Are you nning to¡­" Alejandro still didn''t dare to speak the words of secession. The matter was far too grave.

    Victor, looking at them, suddenlyughed, "How could that be possible?"

    "This country isn''t just Carlos''s. We have enemies, and they too have enemies. I remember you said his opponent was called¡­"

    "Cuauht¨¦moc C¨¢rdenas!"

    Alejandro even showed a hint of a smile when mentioning this name, "He''s the cleanest politician I''ve ever seen; he never cooperates with any drug traffickers and even lives with his wife in a rental house."

    "?? There''s someone like that?"

    "His father is the greatest man in Mexico to this day, L¨¢zaro C¨¢rdenas del R¨ªo!"

    Casare and Best suddenly had a realization.

    In contemporary polls, Cardenas is considered one of the most popr Presidents of Mexico, and the public''s admiration for him is extreme.

    "Because of his father''s legacy, many drug traffickers wanted to bribe him, but the money they sent was donated by him to orphanages, and the gold they brought was handed over to charities. He only drew a modest sry from the government every month, and his children even had to drop out of school several times because they couldn''t pay the tuition.

    When drug traffickers paid his children''s tuition, he pulled his son back home directly,"

    "He is a true warrior in every sense of the word!"

    "His anti-drug ideology made many people despise him to the bone, even the brutal Gardo considered him a close friend and mentor. When drug traffickers held a gun to his head and demanded he join their organization, he said, ''Death has never been what I fear; it''s the filth!''"

    "Butter on, the methods of the drug traffickers became more vicious. His wife was left disabled by a car ident, his son was kidnapped, and he himself was once shot three times in a row but fortunately unharmed. He was never afraid, just like his father."

    Hearing Alejandro''s words, everyone was filled with respect!

    "Victor, Mexico is not just you alone, and you have never been fighting alone. There are many people willing to sacrifice for their country. They may not have rifles, grenades, or soldiers, but their love for their country is no less than anyone else''s."

    Victor nodded, "Please invite him and his family to Baja California, let him see a ce without drug traffickers."

    "After he has finished visiting, we''ll talk to him about the position. I believe he will support our ideas."

    For a true anti-drug warrior, he was respectful!

    This is called having amon cause with someone.

    Alejandro nodded vigorously.

    The office atmosphere became a bit heavy due to the topic of Cuauht¨¦moc C¨¢rdenas. Victor stood up, stretched his neck, and looked at Best, "Buddy, you probably can''t stay in Mexico for the time being."

    You might just get killed at any moment.

    "I want you to take a trip to the Soviet Union."

    Best was taken aback: "What for?"

    Victor found the coffee too bitter, not asfortable as smoking, "That huge Russian Bear is dying, maybe this year, or maybe next year, but I have a feeling it''s going down!"

    Everyone present was startled by his words.

    In fact, in the 20th century, there were only three countries: the United States, the Soviet Union, and the countries of the Third World. Those two superpowers tugged at each other for decades, affecting the global structure.

    And now the big boss was suddenly saying, the Russian Bear is about to die, and that joke was not funny at all.

    Seeing the disbelief in everyone''s eyes, Victor didn''t say much more, just smiled, "Maybe it''s just my illusion, but it must be tough over there right now. Take the money and go recruit people."

    "I need a lot of veterans withbat experience, you can try to recruit them, Alpha, Signal g, even the KGB."

    Victor needed them to serve as junior officers in the soon-to-be-established "Lower California National Guard."

    And the KGB personnel would be the backbone of the intelligence department.

    Uh-huh!

    The police force of Duke Victor was bing more and more "militarized." Of course, don''t think too much. This was just to deal with the increasingly arrogant drug traffickers!

    To be able to strike them more effectively.

    Victor leaned forward, "If you have the chance to meet the person in charge with actual power, you might ask if they are willing to sell the Tupolev Tu-160."

    Best''s face stiffened.

    Seeing his expression, Victorughed, patting him on the shoulder, "Don''t be nervous, I''m just joking."

    The Tupolev Tu-160 is also avable for exchange in Golden Finger.

    But the price is too high, at 150 million points, those points are enough for Victor to form an army of several thousand men.

    Later, India even nned to spend 10 billion US Dors to purchase six, at an average of 1.6 billion each, which was still expensive.

    But now that the Russian Bear is dying, there could always be installments, possibly cheaper.

    Canned food can be exchanged for two nes; I could always trade coats if needed!

    ...

 Chapter 129 Intelligence Department!

    Victor was the type to "do as he said."

    Alejandro directly ordered the reduction of state troopers and local police to form the National Guard!

    This was like throwing a huge rock into a water tank, causing a violent reaction.

    "Why fire us? We won''t ept this!"

    "Protest! Protest! Protest!"

    "We demand Victor give us an exnation!"

    Hundreds of police officers protested inside the Mexicali Police Department, shouting beneath the office building, making the director extremely nervous.

    After all, Mexican Police had a tradition of insubordination.

    Especially in Mexicali, there had been an incident where city police arrested a senior officer on the street under suspicion of providing protection to drug traffickers.

    "Brothers, Victor won''t let us eat. Grab your weapons, and let''s ask him why he''s treating us like this," someone shouted loudly among the police. "If he doesn''t exin, we''ll turn to Sinaloa!"

    In fact, many police officers had been nursing grievances for a while.

    Victor''s drug crackdown had wiped out their "God of Wealth," costing them a significant amount of extra ie every month.

    Who would be pleased about that?

    They were dependent on the drug traffickers'' "blessings" to support their families. With no increase in sry and an abundance of work every day, they had long been full ofints.

    Not all officers wereid off during the cut. Those above 40 were all transferred to civilian roles, and those above 55 were retired in ce, receiving a retirement sum. Those under 40 who had obvious tattoos, criminal records, or bad habits wereid off.

    But they would also receive a severance pay, about 4000 Pesos per person.

    These terms were written out clearly for all to see.

    But many were dissatisfied not because they loved the job but because... they loved the power that came with wearing the uniform.

    "Let''s go!! Move out!"

    Hundreds, armed, started heading out, but before they reached the door, they saw four AMX VCI armored fighting vehicles blocking the entrance.

    40 officers of the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) descended from the carriers, eyeing them with a predatory gaze.

    "Get back inside!"

    Zolf Sherman, nicknamed "M4," frowned darkly.

    The machine guns on the armored vehicles were aimed at them.

    "Put down your weapons, step aside. Anyone who disobeys will be shot on the spot!"

    As soon as he finished speaking, the machine guns fired, the bullets whizzing over their heads and hitting the wall behind them.

    The officers were so frightened that they immediately ducked, and some eveny t on the ground.

    They were really firing!

    Everyone looked at each other, and in the end, reason prevailed; theyid down their weapons to the side.

    Lurking inside, the agitators not content with the situation.

    "Don''t listen to them! They just want to take away our livelihood and starve us to death. Let''s turn to Guzman!"

    Zolf Sherman''s gaze swept over everyone, instantly spotting the ringleader trying hard to conceal himself. With a wave of his hand, several officers rushed in and dragged the person out.

    "What''s happening? What is this?"

    The man had a shady look, the rank of Senior Police Sergeant on his uniform, looking like a rat caught in a trap as he was pulled out.

    He was a pawn the drug traffickers had ced in the police department, identifiable by a Sinaloa LOGO around his neck.

    Utterlywless.

    Uncle Victor had been around for so long, yet he hadn''t removed it; wasn''t it equivalent to openly mocking?

    Zolf Sherman nced at him, drew his gun, and shot him dead!

    Decisive, direct, no beating around the bush.

    "Don''t take my words for tulence, gentlemen. Please line up!"

    The effect of making an example was good.

    Everyone quietly stood aside.

    Zolf Sherman nodded towards four clerks from city hall; they walked over with a list to confirm names, and one of them carried a suitcase full of Pesos!

    "Domenico Borges Harry!"

    A Police Junior Sergeant with his hand raised ran out, looking to be in his thirties and limping on one leg.

    "Age."

    "37, no, 36," the Police Junior Sergeant said nervously.

    Two city hall officials wearing masks checked his exposed skin.

    "No apparent tattoos, leg disabled."

    "You have two choices, transfer to a clerical job or retire on the spot?"

    The Police Junior Sergeant eyed the cash in the suitcase and tentatively chose, "Retire."

    The city hall officials nodded, and a colleague counted out 4000 Pesos and handed it to him, "Sign here."

    Seeing real money being distributed, the crowd behind him lit up with eagerness.

    "I... I can''t write my name," the Police Junior Sergeant said, embarrassed.

    "Then leave a fingerprint."

    The man inked his thumb and firmly pressed it onto the register.

    "Next, Radho Lansley!"

    The Junior Sergeant with the cash grinned, limping to the side.

    ...

    Of course, Victor wouldn''t fuss over such a small amount of money.

    Aside from streamlining the police force, he aimed to enhance the credibility of the Baja California government, making everyone aware that Victor delivered on his promises.

    The Mexican Government was so corrupt that even its own people didn''t trust it; sometimes it seemed pitiful to hear about it.

    "Director, a total of 972 were cut from Mexicali city and Ensenada City, leaving 419. Among them, there is one Senior Police Sergeant, seven Sergeants, and the total cost was 3.88 million Pesos," reported the secretary as he handed the file to Victor, who nced at it and signed his name.

    He transferred two seasoned officers from his own trusted force, EDM, to be the new chiefs of the two city police departments, both of whom had been injured in action and could no longer undergo intense training.

    To rapidly build up the National Guard in both cities, Victor also relocated 50 members from EDM and the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit to serve as the backbone, slowly recruiting locals with clean backgrounds into the police force.

    After all, Victor''s intended uses for the National Guard were internal defense, patrols, prison guards, and emergency rescue, among others.

    Once they expanded their territory, their authority would be even greater.

    Of course, the decision for the head of the National Guard was made through an internal meeting of the Baja California Security Department, followed by Alejandro''s signature, appointing Victor for the role.

    There were only two people in that meeting, Alejandro and Victor.

    After adding another title, the number of people he could exchange in the system directly jumped from 200 to 400!

    This had Victor thinking he''d found a bug, considering adding some "empty titles" for himself, but it was obviously to no avail, as it seemed that Golden Finger had its own standards for judgment.

    Just like Xunzong, not all titles could be valuable.

    Out of the additional 200 people, Victor didn''t exchange them all for police officers. For him at this time, what he needed more were other types of talent.

    He exchanged for 160 municipal talents of various levels, making Dan Senada City and Guadalupe Ind progress more quickly on the right track.

    As for the remaining 40 people, Victor established an office named: "Mexico International News Department," abbreviated as MDIN!

    It was outwardly imed to be a newspany.

    In fact, it was an intelligence agency.

    With Victor''s abundant resources, these 40 people were molded after MI6''s model. Only a few knew of this department, and that didn''t include Alejandro.

    They would be responsible for intelligence gathering.

    On the very day of its establishment, they had been dispatched on missions.

    Originaly, he wanted to name it "La Gestapo," but then thought better of it.

    "Director, City Hall is indicating that the prison has admitted quite a few inmates recently. Should we consider expanding it?" the secretary asked.

    Victor thought for a moment, "Drag the drug traffickers out to build roads. Prison isn''t meant to befortable. Give them the most dangerous and difficult tasks. Tell them, anyone who performs well will have their sentence reduced."

    To get rich, build roads first.

    Mexico''s infrastructure is quite poor.

    "What about their sry?"

    Hearing the secretary ask this, Victorughed, "I''m already lenient for not having them shot. You''re asking about sry? Go ask them if they''re willing to eat shit."

    The secretary chuckled awkwardly, taking the document and walking out, just in time to see Casareing in. He hurriedly greeted him, and Casare nodded and rushed into the office, "Boss, I''ve made contact with Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc C¨¢rdenas."

    ...

    Mexico City. Guadalupe District.

    Only a few kilometers away from the slums.

    Most residents here are low-ie, grassroots public servants.

    At not even 40 years of age, Cuauht¨¦moc''s hair was already greying, and wearing sses gave him a schrly appearance. As he rode his bicycle, acquaintances he passed would greet him, and he returned the greetings with a friendly nod.

    Arriving back at his public housing unit, he locked up his bicycle and entered the home with groceries in hand.

    Medicine upied the cab near the door.

    His son was concentrated on drawing at the table, while his wife sat by his side. When they saw him, the son ran over and called out, helping lift the groceries in an obedient manner.

    "I''m back." Cuauht¨¦moc kissed his wife, "Today''s your birthday, and I bought your favorite fish."

    The wife smiled gently. She had lost both legs and relied on a wheelchair for mobility.

    Drug traffickers had crushed her legs with a vehicle.

    The doctors said she would have died if they had been anyter.

    Cuauht¨¦moc donned an apron and got busy in the kitchen.

    The dinner was simple: a fish, corn tortis, a soup of chicken, corn, and hominy, plus a small cake.

    He inserted a candle into the cake.

    "McClure, go turn off the lights," Cuauht¨¦moc told his son, who obediently switched the lights off.

    The candle''s faint light illuminated the faces of the family of three.

    They were smiling.

    "Make a wish, Mom," McClure urged.

    With a smile, the woman sped her hands together, "God, I hope my husband stays safe always, I hope my son grows up smart, I hope the three of us stay together forever."

    Cuauht¨¦moc felt a pang in his heart.

    This woman he had been married to for ten years hadn''t made a single wish for herself; her words were all for her family.

    "God will answer you, my dear," Cuauht¨¦moc kissed her and said with a smile.

    "Come on, McClure, help Mom cut the cake."

    The boy happily climbed down from the chair.

    Just as the family was savouring this rare moment, the doorbell rang.

    "I''ll get the door," Cuauht¨¦moc stood up and walked over, opening the door to find four or five burly men standing outside.

    The tattoos on their necks belonged to a local Mexico City drug trafficker.

    The man in the lead with a nose ring looked frivolous, "Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc, I heard it''s your wife''s birthday. We came to celebrate with her."

    It was clear they were up to no good!

    Cuauht¨¦moc''s face stiffened, "I''m sorry, I don''t know you, and my wife doesn''t need it." He said, ready to close the door, but the man pped his hand on it, "Don''t be nervous, we''ve juste to visit."

    He pushed the door open forcefully, stormed in with his group, saw the cake on the table, sneered contemptuously, and smashed it onto the floor with a p.

    The little boy, furious, wanted to rush forward, but his mother held him back.

    "Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc, this is hardly fitting for your stature. My boss sent me to deliver something," the man with the nose ring gestured to ackey, who ced a briefcase on the table and opened it straightaway.

    Inside, arge amount of US dors was revealed.

    "All you have to do is keep quiet about the incident in the Constitutional Army Square on the 27th and cooperate with us, and this money is all yours."

    "You work for Carlos?"

    "Of course not, we work for Mexico," the man with the nose ring said, staring at him.

    Cuauht¨¦moc shook his head, "Impossible! Take this money back, I won''t take a cent of it!"

    The man with the nose ring stared him down hard, "You''re making this very difficult for me, Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc!"

    He turned his head, his eyes fell on the woman in the wheelchair, and a cruel smile appeared on his face, "Then I''m afraid you''ll have to find yourself a new wife."

    "Throw her over the railing!"

    ...

 Chapter 130 Victor is Watching Mexico

    "Throw her down the stairs!"

    Hearing the boss''smand, the thugs rushed over with wicked sneers, grabbing the woman''s wheelchair and preparing to toss it downstairs.

    This public housingplex was on the 7th floor; a fall from here would mean certain death.

    The woman struggled, shouting loudly.

    "Let her go! Bastards, let her go!" Cuauht¨¦moc tried to rush forward, but he was firmly pinned to the ground, his face turning crimson, his veins visible.

    Her son, McClure, also charged forward, but was kicked away by a drug trafficker with a swift move.

    The neighbor, hearing themotion, opened their door but, seeing the situation, quickly shut it again.

    "Throw her down! Throw her down!" the man with a nose ringughed boisterously.

    Thud, thud, thud...

    Just then, a knock at the door echoed; everyone turned to look outside.

    They saw a man standing at the doorstep, wearing a suit, with short hair, looking quite spirited with a Mexican face; not particrly handsome, but he appeared neat and clean, probably in his twenties.

    He seemed like a salesman.

    "Is this Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc''s residence?"

    "Get lost!"

    The man with the nose ring red at him and cursed, "If you don''t wanna die, scram."

    The man, looking at the scene before him, was also taken aback for a moment, but scanned everyone quickly, allowing a smile to appear at the corner of his mouth, "Sorry, it seems I arrived a bitte."

    "CNMD!" A drug trafficker near the door frowned and was about to teach this guy a lesson.

    Who knew the other party would pull out a handgun from inside his suit and shoot him in the head; the bullet entered through the eye socket and lodged inside the skull.

    The muzzle turned, spraying bullets at the other traffickers in the room!

    A military-grade Pistol88B!

    An automatic pistol with a 31-round magazine.

    This guy had a steady hand, the recoil didn''t even make him shake.

    Most importantly, nobody could dodge his sudden gunfire at close range.

    Within seven steps, the gun was fast and urate!

    The man with the nose ring had a quick reaction, reaching for the pistol at his waist, only for a bullet to pass through his neck.

    Clutching his neck, he fell to the ground, convulsing.

    The man walked in calmly, looking at McClure, covered his eyes with one hand and, with the other hand, delivered coup de grace to the fallen traffickers.

    This move...

    Was executed seamlessly!

    It was just like¡ª007 in the movies!

    The man tucked his handgun back into his clothes, leaned in close to McClure''s ear, "Go inside and rest, boy."

    Cuauht¨¦moc grabbed his son, covering his eyes, and watched the stranger warily, "Who are you, sir?"

    "Oh, sorry, you see I forgot again, my name is Ethan Hunt, here''s my business card." The man tapped his head, felt around his pockets, and took out a business card from his jacket, handing it over with both hands.

    Cuauht¨¦moc grabbed it quickly, lowering his head to take a swift nce.

    "Director of the Mexico International News Department Office?"

    What was this?

    Why had he never heard of it before?

    "I''m a reporter," Ethan Hunt said with a wide smile.

    NMD! A reporter with shooting skills this good?

    And carries a gun with him?

    "I came from Baja California; Mr. Victor invited you to see a drug-free Baja California."

    "Victor?" Cuauht¨¦moc raised his eyebrows, a sense of relief unconsciously washing over him at the sound of the name. There was likely no one in Mexico who didn''t recognize it. He turned to look at his wife and hurried over to help her up.

    "How does he know me?"

    Ethan Hunt smiled, "Victor is watching over Mexico."

    Cuauht¨¦moc opened his mouth to speak; surely that line should be delivered by the Yanks.

    "He wanted me to ry a message to you. A true Warrior never fights alone, and a pride of lions is never solitary. Saving Mexico requires the effort of many."

    "He hopes you will see his results and share in his joy."

    Upon hearing this, Cuauht¨¦moc fell silent. As a smart man, he understood what Victor meant. He had heard about Raul Salinas, and he knew what the recent turmoil was about.

    You see, he was universally recognized as Carlos''s sessor.

    His status was significant, yet this era did not belong to him. Perhaps aware of the threat he posed to Carlos, Raul had warned him several times to abandon any illusions.

    There was even an asion where Raul furiously berated him in the office area, arrogantly dering, "Mexico is the Salinas Family''s, and no one can take it."

    The level of arrogance was clear for all to see.

    Fortunately¡­ he''s dead.

    Cuauht¨¦moc hesitated while his wife tightly squeezed his hand, "Go, you should have someone to help you."

    She hesitated, "All I wish is for our child to grow up safely."

    Her words struck him deeply, and he looked down at his wife, who gazed back with a plea. She always tried hard to appear strong.

    But in truth, she was very fragile.

    Had she not cried? When drug traffickers broke her legs, she cried long and hard under the covers, but in the presence of her husband and child, she gathered her strength andforted them instead.

    She was just a woman, in need of protection, yet she also knew the sacrifices her husband had made for Mexico, and she was prepared to endure for the sake of her family.

    More than once, she prayed, hoping that God would bless and keep them all safe.

    This time they had escaped harm, but what about the next? Or the time after that?

    Cuauht¨¦moc sighed and lifted his head to look at Ethan Hunt, "Fine, I''ll apply to inspect Baja California tomorrow."

    "Wee, and don''t worry, we will be by your side to protect you during this period," Ethan Hunt replied, ncing at the bodies around him before picking up the cash box that the ring-nosed man had brought.

    This was called spoils of war.

    He took out a stack of US Dors and ced it on the table, "Mr. Victor once said that even a righteous cause needs to eat, get paid, and live. You may despise US Dors, but you cannot do without it, as it makes our fight all the stronger."

    Having said that, Ethan Hunt left.

    Completelycking manners.

    The least he could do was help dispose of the bodies.

    Cuauht¨¦moc looked around. The wallscked even a high-end clock, and the carpet was from a second-hand market. His father had never been a man to umte wealth, and upon his passing, he left nothing behind.

    But the most valuable thing, he always believed, was integrity!

    The charm of his father was such that even though he had been dead for over a decade, his aura still protected him. Only... times had changed, and drug traffickers no longer yed by the rules.

    "Tonight, we''ll stay at a hotel," Cuauht¨¦moc dered as he pocketed the money and embraced his wife and son, "Don''t worry, I will always protect you."

    Ethan Hunt went downstairs and got into a red sedan.

    Four people were sitting inside.

    Of course, he couldn''t havee alone.

    "Protect them well, without any mistakes," Ethan instructed.

    His colleagues nodded in agreement.

    Cuauht¨¦moc was an important step for Mr. Victor.

    Politics had to be solved with political means.

    Violence was just a byproduct of politics.

    ¡­

 Chapter 131 If You Cant Beat Them, Join Them.

    On the rugged mountain road.

    A convoy of a dozen vehicles was driving, winding along the mountain.

    The windows were open, and afortable breeze blew through.

    Victor, with a cigarette in his mouth, stretched out his hand and, looking at Casare beside him, said with a smile,

    "Politics is a bunch of people dividing interests at a table, violence is flipping the table over! Violence is never loyal to politics."

    "Do you know why I''m seeking Cuauht¨¦moc?"

    Casare shook his head.

    "If I can''t beat them, I y politics, but if I can¡­ I make them ''speak the caliber''!"

    Victor took a casual draw on his cigarette, then snuffed it out on the car door and threw it away carelessly.

    Brother, don''t bring any sources of fire up the mountain!

    Set a fire, and you''ll be seated in prison for life.

    "We still don''t have the strength to strike against all the Mexican drug traffickers across the territory, Carlos won''t allow it, those high officials in Mexico City won''t allow it, and even¡­" Victor paused, "The CIA won''t allow it."

    "Whenever we want to destroy all the drug traffickers, the CIA, who have already taken bribes from them, will absolutely not sit by and do nothing. Maybe, by then, what we''re facing on the battlefield won''t be the advisory team but U.S. Military soldiersing down from the front lines."

    The CIA is not just a simple intelligence agency.

    Why did the United States invade Panama?

    Although nicknamed "pineapple face," Noriega waved the "anti-American" g, but this guy had been with the CIA for decades. After returning from the United States in 1968, he immediatelyunched a military coup with his superior and friend Torrijos, establishing Panama''s military government, which ruled for over 20 years.

    Then¡­

    Seeing big drug trafficker Pablo Escobar earning billions a year made him envious. So, Noriega connected with the Medellin gang, agreeing to help them establish a drug trafficking route, disguising drugs as cargo to pass through Panama and head directly to the United States, which was far more efficient than smuggling drugs on small nes or by body.

    Of course, Noriega''s cut was substantial, but the Colombians, adhering to the "small profits, quick turnover" principle, worked happily with him, and Noriega earned tens of millions of US dors a year from this business.

    And it doesn''t take a genius to figure out what role the CIA yed in all of this.

    Actually, the most, most, most important thing is¡­

    Quite a few high-ranking U.S. officials havee out of the CIA, all with connections.

    To Victor, they were a massive presence.

    He sighed, took a piece of chocte out of his pocket, put it in his mouth, and said, "So, we need to find allies in the United States for ourselves. The DEA is quite good; at the very least, we share the same ideals."

    And, they have a grudge against the CIA.

    Sometimes making enemies is simple. You fight drugs, the CIA traffics drugs, that''s the feud. Many seemingly unrted institutions can even be allies.

    "Apprehend Quintero as soon as possible."

    Unable to defeat them¡­

    What can be done? The only choice is to join them. Later, with the help of the DEA, press the CIA to the ground and beat them.

    Victor wasn''t worried that they wouldn''t make good use of him.

    Compared with the CIA, what does the Drug Enforcement Administration have? It''s not like they don''t have enough backbone. If they were more ruthless, would Camarena have had to suffer such a tragic fate?

    But what would happen if the CIA mobilized drug traffickers from all over the world to encircle him?

    The convoy drove for about an hour or so.

    They finally reached their destination.

    A vige called San Miguel.

    As a leader, one must always go to the mountains and the countryside, right¡­

    Most importantly, Alejandro was going tounch a "vige militia" pilot program here. This vige was about 90 kilometers away from Mexicali, right on the border with Sonora State.

    Small-time drug traffickers oftene to collect what they call a "cultivation fee" because they think the farmers should have used theirnd for nting drugs instead of crops like corn. To them, this is a form of disruption.

    They need money for that.

    But the vigers of San Miguel are tough; they have shed with them several times. Not every vige is willing to grow drugs.

    The vige has around 400 people, mainly living off hunting.

    When Victor arrived, a team of EDM had alreadye up first. They always had to scope out the ce for the boss.

    As he got out of the car, an elderly-looking old man approached him, "Wee, Mr. Victor!"

    "This is the Vige Head, Anwar." The secretary whispered the introduction at his side.

    Victor, quite at ease, struck up a conversation with him, a smile on his face, as if he were one to smile by nature.

    The majority of the roads in the vige were muddy tracks, where one could see timid children standing not too far away, their clothes stained with what looked like a mixture of snot and mud.

    They had no shoes on their feet, their big toes cracked and exposed.

    Victor waved at one of them, and surprisingly the child boldly waved back.

    "That boy''s name is Ainival; his parents were both killed in a conflict with drug traffickers. He''s been living off the charity of the vigers," said the Vige Head with a sigh.

    "Ainival, let''s go! It''s time to study."

    At that moment, a teenage girl called out to the little boy, who nodded, and very sensibly waved goodbye to Victor.

    "You have schools here?"

    "Yes, just one teacher, but he''s a top graduate from the National Autonomous University of Mexico."

    Upon hearing this, Victor grew interested, "Let''s go take a look."

    The National Autonomous University of Mexico is the oldest andrgestprehensive university in Mexico and Latin America and one of thergest institutions of higher education in the world.

    It was established in 1551.

    The Vige Head led the group to the westernmost part of the vige, which was a bit deserted, where they could hear the sound of lively readinging from a y house nearby.

    Walking into the school, they could even smell the scent of pig manure in the air.

    Peering through the window, they saw 20 to 30 students seated below, with a middle-aged teacher standing at the podium, sses on, hunched over, looking very tired.

    "ss, today let''s talk about the dangers of drugs. Does anyone know what they are?"

    A student raised his hand, and the teacher called on him.

    "Drugs can make a person lose their reason, sap their spirit, and cause illness," said the student.

    The teacher smiled and nodded, "Anything else?"

    Ainival, the little boy who had greeted Victor, stood up. He looked much smaller than his peers. "Drugs can take away my mommy and daddy."

    The innocence of a child''s words, they didn''t even understand what loss meant, but he knew he wouldn''t see them again.

    His words silenced the adults.

    The teacher at the podium forced a smile, walked over, patted his head, and said with difficulty, "Your parents have gone to heaven."

    "Heaven? Teacher, there aren''t any drugs there, right?" Ainival asked innocently.

    "No, no, it''s very beautiful there."

    Victor just looked on, then turned away, his heart heavy.

    All those involved in drug trafficking, whether they transport, produce, or sell, they all damn well deserve to die!

    And those who sympathize with drug traffickers.

    Wipe them out!

    The world would be so much clearer.

    ...

    Journalist Leanna Lazaro Cortes sat in the chair, trembling in fear.

    Two men stood beside her, handing her a phone and a sheet of paper filled with densely packed words.

    "Call Quintero, and say what''s written here."

    "I believe Miss Journalist promised to cooperate with us and wouldn''t break her word, right?"

    Leanna, shaking, took the paper and scanned it. It was full of phrases designed to turn men on.

    Many were even explicit invitations to bed.

    No man could resist such a lure.

    You tell a man there''s a concert, and he might not go, but the moment you say your period stopped, he''ll drive hundreds of miles overnight to be with you.

    "And the 20 million US dors that Mr. Vick promised me, will I get that too?" Leanna suddenly raised her head and asked.

    The two "reporters" from the "Mexico International News Department" looked at each other and both nodded, "Of course! Victor never breaks his word!"

    Leanna nodded, took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed.

    Once connected...

    She quickly swapped to a smile on her face, and it seemed as if her fear had disappeared as she cooed.

    "Pap¨¢! (Daddy)"

    ...

 Chapter 132 Arrest Quintero!

    Mexico City. Presidential Residence.

    Quinteroy in bed, watching the "pay channel" on TV, his eyes shining brightly.

    His face was flushed red, of course, because of "shyness."

    Carlos was busy dousing his own fires everywhere and couldn''t show his face, which made Quintero, who was still nning on revitalizing his second career spring, very anxious.

    His girlfriend was not by his side, either.

    Moreover, since this was the Official Residence, it wasn''t convenient to call for prostitutes; otherwise¡­ why would he need to use his inherited skills?

    Just as he was about to reach the right spot, the phone on his bedside table rang.

    Itpletely interrupted his mood.

    "Fuck! Fuck!" Quintero cursed with a grimace, but his private phone was a new number he got after his jailbreak, not many people knew it.

    If someone was looking for him, it had to be important.

    He took his hand out from under the covers, propped himself up, and grabbed the phone. As soon as he answered, a seductive voice came through, "Pap¨¢!"

    "Leanna?" Quintero shivered.

    "Don''t you recognize my voice anymore? Or is there another woman calling you that?"

    Quintero forced augh, "Where are you?"

    "I''m in Mexico City on a business trip. Will youe out? I brought the stockings you love the most."

    Upon hearing this, Quintero sat up straight, swallowed hard, but remained cautious¡ªafter all, he had been caught before and needed to be careful.

    "How did youe back to Mexico City?"

    Leanna looked at the prepared script, "Thepany has some business to handover here. I might be transferred to Mexico City."

    "That''s why I wanted to see you on my arrival, isn''t it?"

    Leanna smiled and lowered her voice, "And... don''t you want to tear off my clothes? ya Hotel, room 303."

    This was too much to handle.

    Even the dog author couldn''t take it.

    Quintero had been going crazy inside the Official Residence and replied, "I''ming right now!"

    Then he got up, hurriedly put on his pants, nced at his underwear, decided not to bother with it, and just put on a pair of jeans¡ªmore convenient forter.

    When he was leaving, he happened to run into Carlos''s secretary, Ajit. The secretary saw him in an orange shirt, wearing sunsses, stepping in leather shoes, and looking dashing, which left him a bit startled, "Are you heading out, Mr. Quintero?"

    "Going to meet an old friend."

    Ajit hesitated for a moment, "Your identity is a bit special, it''s best not to run around."

    Quintero had long grown weary of such warnings. He was a drug trafficker after all. Frowning, he said, "Ajit, I''m a person, not an animal. Being cooped up here for so long, I need to rx. Don''t worry, I won''t cause trouble."

    "If I have to stay here all the time, what''s the difference from being in jail?"

    Hearing this, Ajit responded, "Then pleasee back as soon as possible."

    Quintero waved his hand dismissively, "It''ll be quick."

    If he didn''t getid thrice today, he wouldn''te back at all.

    After hanging up the phone, Leanna looked at the two men in front of her, "...I''ve finished, when can you let me go?"

    "Soon, once we catch Quintero."

    One of the men suddenly leaned in close to Leanna, his gaze calm, "Miss Leanna, you wouldn''t deceive us, would you?"

    Despite his gentle tone and expression, there was something about it that made one shiver involuntarily.

    "No... I won''t."

    "Thank you for your cooperation."

    After Leanna was taken away, they reported the news to their colleagues in Mexico City.

    They hoped they could catch Quintero.

    ...

    Quintero was speeding through the streets in his showy red convertible Ferrari, with Elvis''s ssic "Can''t Help Falling In Love" ying on the stereo, different from Gardo''s old-fashioned style.

    He really liked the Europe and America vibe, having attended concerts in the United States more than once. In current terms, he had a strong capacity for assimtion.

    Red light ahead.

    Right at the pedestrian crossing, people were walking by.

    Quintero didn''t even think about stopping, he just drove straight through, frightening the pedestrians into shrieks, as they kept cursing his mother in his wake.

    That''s how brazen a drug trafficker can be.

    He didn''t finish off the other party without getting out of the car, which already showed he had learned to keep a low profile.

    Hiss~

    With a suave parking job, he directly blocked the entrance to the ya Hotel. The security guards outside recognized the car''s value and didn''t dare to approach, only to watch helplessly as Quintero went upstairs.

    The security guards could only sigh.

    Humming a tune, Quintero, too impatient to wait for the elevator, took three steps at a time as he ran up the stairs¡ªin front of women, everything else was trivial.

    302¡­

    303!

    He looked up at the door number, smiled, and knocked on the door, but the door swung open on its own.

    Although it was strange, Quintero didn''t pay it much mind. As soon as he stepped inside, a figure rushed out from the door, covered his mouth with a hand, and flipped him over onto the ground.

    Then three or four people ran out of the bathroom, some injected him with an anesthetic, others tied him up.

    Quintero''s eyes widened as he made muffled cries.

    "Be graceful, don''t kill him," someone said.

    Ethan Hunt, chewing gum, looked at a drowsy Quintero with a smile and patted his face, "Sir, just sleep for a while, and by afternoon you''ll be in Baja California."

    Quintero didn''t know who the other party was, but he knew he had been set up!

    That bitch betrayed him.

    He would definitely sell her off to Africa.

    Quintero silently cursed, feeling his eyelids getting heavier until everything went ck.

    At that moment, there came the clinking sound of a cart in the hallway.

    A man dressed as a janitor and wearing a mask pushed a cart over and stopped at the door. He looked left and right, knocked on the door, and pushed it open, and the agents stuffed Quintero inside.

    "Put a pillow under his head to make his sleep morefortable," said Ethan, still considerate.

    The group left in turns.

    "Hey!"

    Just as the janitor was about to leave, suddenly a door nearby opened, and a man waved, "Come help me tidy up."

    The janitor nced at him, nodded, and walked into the room. After about twenty or thirty seconds, he came out and as he closed the door, he saw the man lying on the bed, even covered with a nket.

    It''s good to be young, able to fall asleep instantly.

    The best way to deal with a nuisance is to deal with the numbing person causing it.

    ¡­

    Seven o''clock in the evening.

    Carlos, tired from a busy day, was just preparing to have dinner.

    He had gone to great lengths to suppress the scandal. The Salinas Family had paid a high price, and it was something he could not swallow.

    "Where''s Quintero?" he suddenly asked while gnawing on a steak.

    Ajit, his secretary, was startled, "I''ll go call him."

    He hurried to Quintero''s room, only to find it empty. He felt a sense of dread, and urgently asked the guards at the Official Residence entrance, but they said Quintero had not returned.

    A knot of anxiety formed in Ajit''s stomach, and he felt dizzy. He rushed back to Carlos, his tone bitter, "Sir, Quintero... is missing!"

    "What? How could he be missing?" Carlos eximed.

    "He said he was going out to meet an acquaintance today. I was too busy in the afternoon to ask more, but he said he would be back, and now he''s nowhere to be seen."

    "Go find him! Idiots! All of you, go look!"

    Carlos was about to go insane. He had told that idiot countless times not to run around aimlessly, and he never listened. And now the man was missing.

    Ajit''s face was also unsightly.

    ncing at the steak in his hand, Carlos tossed it aside, his expression grave.

    Quintero...

    He was like a bomb. Carlos had been the one pulling strings from within to get him out of prison, with the Yanks oblivious that he was in his Official Residence. And now, shortly after Raul''s incident, he too had disappeared.

    If¡­

    If he ended up in the hands of the Americans.

    Carlos shuddered at the thought.

    ...

 Chapter 133 Mr. Victor likes camera presence.

    After visiting the school, Victor finally checked out the militia self-defense team of San Miguel vige.

    Their ages were uniformly between 19 and 25, in their prime.

    There were about 40 of them.

    They held AK47s issued by the government, which didn''t require much skill; just pull the trigger, no grenades,ndmines, or bulletproof vests.

    One word: Fight!

    The drug traffickers whoe to such a vige could not be on arge scale. A dozen or so, or even twenty-something, wouldn''t they be pinned down and beaten?

    Never underestimate the blood of Mexican vigers.

    In 2012, a minor leader of the Knights Temr Cartel, with 30 drug traffickers, went to collect a "cultivation fee" and ended up shing with the local vigers.

    The vigers brought out RPGs, blew up the pickup trucks brought by the traffickers, andid down suppressive fire with machine guns. The video was viral on the foreign inte.

    Most importantly, they executed the drug traffickers from the Knights Temr Cartel, beheading them one by one!

    The drug traffickers, of course, would not let this slide and soonunched an attack on the vige. But the Vige Head had already rallied other nearby viges, resulting in a fierce "war."

    The battle raged for three days, and the police did note to break it up.

    About 70 drug traffickers and more than 20 vigers died.

    This was also a result of the "Mexican Militia Self-Defense" system. In this country, even hunting dogs be as brave as lions.

    Cowardice only brings death closer to you.

    Mexicali City Hall had sent people three weeks in advance to train them, so they had a basic grasp of tactics, knew at least about crossfire.

    With further training, these militia would make for excellent soldiers.

    Consider it an early investment.

    However, to prevent serious incidents or reduce idents, firearms could not be carried privately. They were the responsibility of the Vige Head, the primary person in charge of the vige. Each vige was allocated 2000 rounds of ammunition per month, with remote areas getting 3500, but there was always someone checking monthly.

    Even one round missing had to be ounted for.

    Victor''s current policy was, "Do not control the cirction of firearms, but the bullets must be in control."

    Anyone illegally possessing firearms and ammunition had to go to jail.

    It was precisely because of such a high-pressure situation that Baja California could gradually be peaceful and stable.

    "Not bad, having this level of techniques and tactics in such short time is great, but you still need good training. In a while, Baja California will recruit arge number of police officers, and they will preferentially select from among you. When that timees, don''t bring shame to your vige," Victor said with a smile, pping his hands.

    Hearing this, the militia''s eyes all lit up.

    Joining the police force now meant a high sry, at least no more hungry days.

    The welfare and benefits for Mexican police were gone after Carlos Salinas adopted IMF''s low-sry civil servant system; things like ammunition, weapons, and bulletproof vests had to be bought by themselves.

    That was one reason why police in different states had different models of weapons.

    But under the governance of Victor and Alejandro, Baja California waspletely different. Police became highly paid, and families of fallen military police received a monthlypensation of 1800 Pesos, which was equivalent to 800 US Dors.

    During Calderon''s drug ban in 2006, he provided a monthly sum of 10,000 Pesos to families of the fallen, equivalent to 483 US Dors.

    The years were 1990 and 2006, and the exchange rates were different.

    At that time, the Peso was quite resilient.

    One of the reasons Victor wanted to finish off Salinas was that this guy directly signed the humiliating North American Free Trade Agreement, which robbed Mexico of any chance to rise again.

    The people became nothing but tools for production, and likewise, with the economy flourishing, the ugly underbelly was the poor and the hungry amongst the lower sses.

    Many believe that the increase in the number of drug traffickers after 1990 was due to the signing of the North American Free Trade Agreement.

    Of course, that''s a story for another time¡­

    Two more years¡­

    And then, Victor would not agree to this crap!

    "When I go back, I''ll discuss with Mr. Alejandro about providing support to rural schools throughout the state and offering schrships to outstanding students, so they don''t have to miss school because of poverty."

    "We also want all children to understand that knowledge can change fate!"

    "Education is useful!"

    Upon hearing this, the Vige Head''s eyes welled up with tears, grasping Victor''s hand, "Sir, we''ve suffered so much!"

    Victor gently patted his shoulder and spoke softly, "Don''t worry, with me here, the times will be different."

    Click!

    The apanying journalist hurriedly captured this moment.

    The sunlight behind Mr. Victor, the aged Vige Head with a hunched back, and the mud houses in the background told of the destion of the ce.

    The headline was ready.

    "Mr. Victor¡ªThe Hope of Mexicans!"

    Victor even nced at the camera.

    Without a camera¡­

    You can''t summon the spirit in your speech.

    Uncle Victor was naturally camera-friendly.

    ...

    Quintero had a long dream.

    In the dream¡­

    He was arrested.

    Ha ha ha, how could that be possible?

    Who would dare to arrest him in Mexico now!

    He was in line with Salinas, and even with the DEA searching the world for him, what could they do but cry?

    Bang~

    Suddenly, he heard a faint sound by his ear, like tapping on something. It gradually grew louder, as if a hand gripped his neck and yanked him up.

    "Ow, ha..."

    Quintero suddenly opened his eyes, gasping heavily, with sweat dripping down his forehead, his pupils filled with panic. Subconsciously, he moved his hand, and the pain from above immediately spread to his brain.

    He turned his head and saw his left hand¡­ nailed to a wooden board.

    And he himself was literally nailed to a cross.

    "Aaaaahhh!"

    The excruciating pain made him scream out loud.

    "Sir, don''t yell. Here, you could scream your throat raw and no one would respond," a shadow emerged from the darkness, wearing a mask, d in a whiteb coat, "Wee to Mexico International News Department, oh no, wee to Mr. Victor''s hell, you can call me B2, that''s my nickname."

    As he finished speaking, the lights around lit up, revealing what looked like an ordinary factory hall.

    "I''m sorry, time was too tight, we couldn''t recreate it one to one. Does this ce seem familiar to you?"

    Quintero''s mouth trembled with pain as he saw a photo hanging directly opposite and suddenly began to scream and struggle.

    "It seems you recognize it, but let me introduce it to you anyway." B2 said with a smile, pointing at the photo, "Mr. Enrique Camarena, the famous anti-drug hero and also our idol. You tortured him and his colleagues for nearly an hour in a simr farm."

    "The coroner found a total of 179 wounds on his body. Rest assured, we will leave an extra one on you."

    B2 pointed to a box piled up to the side, "Inside there are a total of 78 tubes of adrenaline and 2000mm of type A blood, the same type as yours. If that''s not enough, you''ll just have to grit your teeth."

    "Now let''s begin with the first step¡­"

    B2 picked up the scalpel with a smile, "Cutting off your ear."

    Enrique Camarena''s photo on the wall stared intently at Quintero, and he couldn''t help but cry out as B2 advanced towards him.

    "Don''te over... don''te over!"

    How strong could the psychological defenses of a drug trafficker be?

    Their bones...

    had long been rotted away by drugs!

    Quintero himself was a user, for him, it was a way of "enjoying life".

    B2 brutally cut off his ear with a single slice.

    Quintero let out a scream, his whole body trembling in pain.

    ...

    At this moment in a dark room nearby, one could clearly see everything happening inside although those within couldn''t see them.

    Casare involuntarily touched his own ear, which felt chillingly cool, as he nced at the boss.

    Victor was very calm, still holding a cigarette in his hand.

    With the recent stress, he had started smoking more than usual.

    "Boss, could he be killed by this?" Casare hesitated to ask, "If the DEA receives a corpse, its value will be greatly reduced."

    "Death is not so easy. A human can withstand 18 atmospheres of pressure, survive 26 minutes at 104¡æ, and the lowest temperature limit is about 14.2¡æ. A shot of adrenaline and as long as his blood loss isn''t too severe, wanting to die? Heh, heh." Victor chuckled.

    He looked around and threw the cigarette butt into the trash can.

    Above the wall read: Littering fines five yuan.

    You see, Uncle Victor follows the rules quite well.

    "Missing a few parts won''t matter, let''s coax some secrets out of him first."

    The methods of the CIA are even more "crude" than these.

    Let''s put it this way...

    Some actions of the CIA, if performed on their own soil, would have the public believing they should be shot,pletely heartless.

    Who in the intelligence work had clean hands?

    "Later, have Leannae to see his lover. Let them talk intimately." Victor suddenly said.

    Casare understood the boss all too well.

    When the two met, wouldn''t Quintero be done for, physically done for, and then wouldn''t they possibly forgo the bounty?

    Leanna''s list of crimes was long, using her journalist status to cover for Quintero multiple times, even using journalist vehicles to help the Guadjara Cartel transport drugs.

    Victor kept his word only for two types of people, one who had never trafficked drugs, and one who he favored.

    Unfortunately, Leanna was particrly displeasing to him.

    An informant?

    This woman only had value because of her connection to Quintero, she was no longer useful.

    Casare nodded his head, looking inside at Quintero, suddenly feeling a bit sorry for him. If you had died earlier, how nice would that have been? You would have been extradited by the Yanks and at most spent a few decades in prison.

    And now look...

    Your body is not even intact anymore.

    It is best to leave professional matters to the professional "Mexico International News Department." He''s been in a good moodtely, cultivating his character.

    As he walked out of the interrogation room, he saw the secretary hurriedly jogging over, "Boss, Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc and his team have arrived in Mexicali."

    "Let''s go meet them."

    Victor had already encountered Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc, the father known to Mexicans as President "LS Cardenas."

    Here''s a way to describe him.

    "The macho man of Latin America, Mexico''s most dazzling eagle, a global asset!"

    If he formed an association with him, Victor would no longer worry about Mexico''s political issues, and he could stop worrying about backstabbers.

    ¡­

    Cuauht¨¦moc stared out at the bustling streets, lost in thought.

    He was a man of action, swiftly taking leave and arriving in Baja California with his family under the protection of a few agents. The agents handed them over to a policeman waiting in the border region and left.

    The apanying officer was a Senior Police Sergeant named Carlos.

    This man had captured Zambada with bravery inbat, earning a well-deserved promotion, essentially being pushed forward as an "exemr".

    "What is that?" Suddenly, Cuauht¨¦moc''s wife pointed to a tform nearby and asked.

    "That''s a gallows, ma''am," said Carlos, ncing at her with a grin.

    "Every day a drug trafficker is hanged there!"

    No sooner had he finished speaking than the sound of a gong rang out, and the people around started to gather to watch the excitement.

    A drug trafficker with his head covered was led by police officers up to the gallows.

    "Hang him! Hang him!" the crowd shouted.

    The drug trafficker shivered in fear.

    Helpless against the police officers fitting his head in the noose, then a lever was pulled.

    The tform below him opened, and he was left hanging in the air, desperately struggling, but much like a fish on a chopping board¡­

    It appeared ratherical.

    All the people cheered, shouting, "Kill the drug trafficker!"

    "Wee to the drug-free city: Mexicali!"

    ¡­

 Chapter 134 Why Didnt You Call Me When Voting?

    Cuauht¨¦moc''s wife''s face tightened instantly as her fingers involuntarily clutched her husband''s arm, with her left hand covering her son''s eyes.

    But the youngster was curious about many things after all.

    He peeked through the gaps at the floating corpse. Was that... a drug trafficker?

    So, drug traffickers could be killed?

    "This... could this be a bit inhumane?" Cuauht¨¦moc''s wife asked with a furrowed brow, "Doesn''t Mexico not have the death penalty? Was it ordered by the court?"

    Carlos looked at her curiously, "Ma''am, in Mexicali, Ensenada City, and Guadalupe Ind, drug traffickers caught don''t need a trial; they can be executed directly!"

    "Of course, now Mr. Victor doesn''t allow the arbitrary execution of drug traffickers because we need them to build roads and nt green belts, and there are many dangerous tasks that we also need them to do."

    "That one just now..."

    "However, to remind the public not to get involved with drugs, onezy drug trafficker is caught and hanged every day."

    Well...

    Laste, first served system.

    To be a drug trafficker and not be killed by Victor, you should be singing his praises; instead, you ck off, which is just wasting food while living.

    Carlos, aware of their family''s status, softened hisnguage a bit, "Drug traffickers can''t change. Believing they won''t traffic drugs again is even less likely than believing Mr. Victor is God..."

    "Once drug traffickers understand how easy it is to make money, they won''t settle down. Do they want to be farmers? Are they willing to endure the monotony of daily life?"

    "They''re beyond saving; greed has devoured them. The best we can do is send them off to be reincarnated."

    Cuauht¨¦moc nodded with knitted brows; he was not a hidebound man. He sat quietly in the car, observing.

    Street vendors hawking their wares, women with children, students running about, and armed officers patrolling.

    Everything seemed to be in perfect order.

    How familiar...

    When his own father was the Governor of Michoac¨¢n, it was like this too. No drug trafficker dared to show their face, and there was a smile on everyone''s face.

    He was sitting on his father''s shoulders, looking at the churches of Michoac¨¢n. He was 5 years old then, and in the blink of an eye, over thirty years had passed.

    His father had died, the church had been burned down, and Mexico, to which he had devoted his life''s work...

    ...had be a notorious drug den known all over the world!

    The car drove through the central street, where one could see walls of houses marked everywhere with red paint:

    "Violence against drug traffickers!"

    "Kill the drug trafficker, skip the trial!"

    "Drugs suck away your life. Do drugs today, face a firing squad tomorrow!"

    ...

    This somewhat high-pressure approach had clearly reversed the drug situation in Mexicali in short order.

    Even due to Victor''s methods, other crimes had been significantly reduced.

    Even the most troublesome ck groups had freaking started to keep their heads down.

    The vehicle entered the Mexicali City Hall guarded by police officers.

    Carlos took the wheelchair out of the trunk, helped Cuauht¨¦moc''s wife to sit downfortably, and covered her with a nket.

    The clothes on Cuauht¨¦moc''s entire family, weren''t even as expensive as one dinner for a drug trafficker.

    Victor came down the steps with his people, warmly embracing Cuauht¨¦moc, who was baffled by the gesture.

    Are we that familiar?

    Victor also shook hands with his wife and child, smiling, with a gentle tone, "Wee."

    "I greatly admire your father; Mr. Cardenas is my idol. He was a great man."

    Casare listened expressionlessly from behind.

    Boss...

    You didn''t even know who Cardenas was before.

    Idol?

    Since the other party doesn''t know, just say anything.

    Everyone likes to hear their forebears praised, and indeed, seeing him say this, Cuauht¨¦moc rxed significantly.

    Victor is very astute; he wouldn''t neglect anyone, asionally interacting with his wife and son as well, making everyone feel as if bathed in a pleasant spring breeze.

    Those who are leaders, they naturally have personal charm.

    Like Lincoln, many people cursed him, but no one could deny his charm in some aspects, he even remembered the janitors'' names.

    Back then, he could recognize and call out the names of hundreds of staff members in the White House.

    This is a skill and a knack.

    "Santos, Stephanie, can you help me entertain our new friend?" Victor asked with a smile as he looked at his foster children.

    Not wanting to let McClure, Cuauht¨¦moc''s son, feel bored, he also called over Santos and others, had he a wife, they could''ve engaged in some "firstdy diplomacy."

    "Of course!" Santos extended his hand towards McClure with a smile.

    Thetter nced at his father, and Cuauht¨¦moc patted his head with a smile, "Go ahead."

    McClure dashed off immediately.

    He had no friends in Mexico City.

    No one wanted to y with him...

    When everyone else was wallowing in a murky world, his father''s integrity sometimes seemed "funny" to others.

    "He hasn''tughed like this in a long time," Cuauht¨¦moc said, watching his son and sighing deeply.

    Victor spread his hands out, "Isn''t this exactly our neglect?"

    "A weak and ipetent mediator can''t bring benefits to our country, he makes women afraid to wear skirts on the street, he robs the smiles from children''s faces, he makes men face death at any moment, what''s the use of keeping such a person around?"

    Cuauht¨¦moc''s eyelids twitched.

    He had not expected such a strong attack from Victor as soon as he sat down. Wasn''t he talking about Carlos?

    "It was the choice of the people," he said after a moment of silence.

    "Then why wasn''t I called during the vote?" Victor said with a smile, "That''s like looking down on me."

    Cuauht¨¦moc looked up at him.

    You bastard were still a jail guard when Carlos took office.

    Who could have known you''re not possessed by an alien, bing so fierce all of a sudden?

    "Sir, Mexico cannot continue to sink any lower; we must change. Drug traffickers should be in the sewage system, in graves, not on the streets. Look at my... the people''s Mexicali, isn''t the air here much better than in Mexico City?"

    Cuauht¨¦moc''s brows raised; had he just heard "my"?

    But he didn''t dwell on it.

    "Mexicali is indeed like that, I saw hope," he affirmed.

    Victor smiled happily, his achievements being praised, "Then we should extend this model throughout all of Mexico, everyone should benefit from it."

    Cuauht¨¦moc shook his head, "Carlos will not agree."

    "What about you?" Victor countered, spreading his hands open, "Since he''s useless, let''s put someone willing in his ce."

    "The political legacy your father left for you wasn''t meant to be wasted."

    "Is there anyone more suitable than you to take over Carlos''s position in Mexico now?"

    Victor''s gaze was fixed on him; he saw Cuauht¨¦moc involuntarily clench his fist; his heart was surely not at peace.

    "If you''re willing, me and my officers will all back you. When the timees, if you tell us to aim our guns at God himself, we won''t hesitate."

    Cuauht¨¦moc hung his head, knowing his advantage as soon as he arrived¡ªVictor''s willingness to help him was definitely out of some political need.

    After a long silence, he asked, "What do you need?"

    Victor''s expression became serious, "My demand is simple: the government must go to war with the drug traffickers full-scale!"

    ...

 Chapter 135 Victor is my dad!

    "Is this what you call a simple demand?"

    Quintero''s face stiffened.

    An all-out war against drug traffickers would mean overturning the entire existing order in Mexico, after all, even an evil order is still an order, and it''s certainly better than Haiti.

    To a certain extent, the interests of theprador and bureaucratic sses wouldn''t change, and the drug traffickers had no intention of rebelling, they were just sucking blood from themon people.

    "They control 90% of the national wealth," Quintero said in a low voice.

    Victor knew who "they" were in his mouth.

    When Calderon announced the drug war in 2006, on December 13th, he sent naval,nd, and air forces, 19 nes, 38 helicopters, a maritime patrol fleet, 246 vehicles, 29 drug-sniffing dogs, and over 5000 soldiers to surround and suppress the Michoac¨¢n drug trafficking organizations.

    Do you know how many were ultimately eradicated?

    A total of 5023 ntations destroyed, 127 firearms confiscated, 120 drug traffickers arrested.

    What the hell kind of results are these?

    That''s called a pic!

    Don''t be fooled by the number of ntations, they''re worthless. Drug trafficking organizations after the Millennium had long stopped getting rich by cultivation alone, they had shifted to trafficking new types of drugs like KKY, which offered higher profits for lower costs.

    In other words, these operations were just a "face" thrown to Calderon by someone else.

    Whether or not Calderon died of anger is unknown, but when he dered the drug war a failure, he said something profound, "The drug traffickers are being nourished very well in thisnd."

    "Are you afraid?" Victor suddenly asked.

    "Of course not!" Quintero quickly replied.

    "Then you''re still worried, without confidence?"

    Now, the other side was silent.

    "They control 90% of Mexico''s wealth, and I control a police force of nearly 4000 men, and Baja California will establish a 15000-strong National Guard, I also have 6 armed helicopters, a maritime patrol boat, 17 armored cars, 117 artillery pieces of various calibers, and countless firearms!"

    "I just want to ask!"

    "How much US dors can stop my 150mm artillery!" Victor''s eyes were aggressive.

    Warlord!

    NTM, this is a warlord!

    But when a gun is pointed at your head, there will always be apuse: "Wow, what a badass feeling."

    Shock was also written on Quintero''s face.

    4000 men in the police force?

    With the kind of weapons and equipment he had seen on the streets, it wasn''t an exaggeration to say that no army in Mexico could face him in directbat.

    Did Quintero not know what a sorry state the military was in?

    Punching the clock in the army by day, being a drug trafficker by night.

    It''s all about working two jobs.

    "Sir, I don''t understand politics, but I''ve always believed, fist = right, what''s mine should be fought for, don''t worry, if anyone dares to snatch our food at the table, I''ll smash their mouth," Victor spoke with a defiant tone.

    "Your name should be hung in Mexican history just like your father''s, your statues should stand forever in front of the Mexican Official Residence, your names are Mexico!" Victor''s voice wasced with seduction.

    Sitting beside, Alejandro: ????

    You said the same thing to me back then! What a scumbag, giving the same line to two different people.

    Quintero''s heart thumped wildly.

    What is life for?

    Nothing but fame and fortune!

    Although he was eager to agree immediately, Quintero, who had struggled for decades, understood one thing, "There is no love without reason, and no hate without cause."

    "What else do you want?"

    Victor almost responded with: "I want tomand all the soldiers in the world."

    Of course, that was absolutely impossible. What country would let a person who wasn''t even 30 years old in a few months be in charge of the military and police?

    You''d think this was Africa!

    Unless he led a military coup, but look at Victor, with loyalty and love for his people written on his forehead, and heroic integrity etched on his chin, could such a man rebel?

    He himself was the hero of drug prohibition, a pioneer of drug eradication, His Majesty Victor (delete that!)

    Actually, the most important thing was, he needed a title. Right now you''re high on drug prohibition, the Yankees won''t do anything to you. The Yankees of the 90s were still very proud in their bones, they hadn''t be almost indulgent towards drugs like after the Millennium.

    You prohibit drugs, sometimes they''re even eager to agree.

    That''s the American political system for you, two parties, what you agree on, I definitely disagree, what you disagree on, I definitely agree.

    If there''s a military coup...

    Today they''d shout "Mexico is dead, Victor should stand," and tomorrow you''d be pinpointed for elimination.

    ```

    The Latin American region is but Uncle Sam''s backyard; who do you think can just stand up like that?

    Victor smiled, "I am doing it for the Mexican people, and of course, I have found that Mister Alejandro is unwaveringly standing with us on ourmon path. We should give him more responsibilities and power; he''s very suitable for the role of Governor of Baja California."

    You see, this is the art of speaking!

    Upon hearing this, Alejandro straightened his back and, looking rather tense, turned towards Cuauht¨¦moc. The other man turned his head, looking him up and down, then nodded with a smile, "I can feel Mister Alejandro''s integrity."

    "I will facilitate the progress of this matter."

    Alejandro rxed.

    He swore!

    The most correct decision in his life was to cling to Victor''s coattails!

    In less than a year, he went from being the Director of the Prison Administration Bureau to possibly bing a Governor. With only 32 states in Mexico, this meant he was almost achieving a feudal lord status.

    Long live Uncle Victor!!

    The conversation between them was quite pleasant, at least they reached a consensus on basic understanding.

    After the conversation ended, Cuauht¨¦moc made a personal request; he hoped his wife and son could stay in Baja California.

    "I don''t want them to continue to walk into danger with me."

    Victor nodded, "Of course, no problem. I''ll arrange for him to go to a school in Guadalupe Ind, and I''ll find a job for your wife in the city hall. About your safety, don''t worry; leave your Guard Corps to us."

    Cuauht¨¦moc sincerely said, "Thank you! Thank you!"

    The matter with the Guard Corps wasn''t about Victor trying to nt his own people close to him; besides himself, who else did he trust?

    During Calderon''s time, there were 15 people in the Presidential Guard who had connections with drug traffickers, and some even attempted poisoning.

    Sometimes the struggle does not pick means!

    ...

    Mexico City. Presidential Residence.

    Carlos had barely eaten in almost two days.

    Quintero had disappeared!

    And he knew far too many of his secrets.

    Even, one could say, scandals.

    Thump thump thump.

    The sound of footsteps approached as the secretary Ajit ran in. He had been busytely and still looked flustered. ncing at Carlos''s back, he took a deep breath, "Sir."

    "Speak."

    "ording to the investigation by the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen), he is likely to have been abducted by some ''professionals''. Reviewing his contacts, we found that before disappearing, he was in touch with a female journalist named Leanna Lazaro Cortes."

    And that female journalist had been investigated by Cisen too; she was arrested by Victor while interviewing in Baja California!

    Carlos whipped around, "Victor?"

    Ajit nodded.

    It''s just that Spanish swear words are too scarce, Carlos''s old face turned red with effort, and atst, he could only say two words, "Bastard!"

    Ajit looked up at him, then dropped another piece of news, "Cisen found out that Cuauht¨¦moc took a leave iming a family emergency, but... we discovered he took his entire family to Baja California."

    "Cuauht¨¦moc?!!"

    If Victor was a "jumping grasshopper" in Carlos''s eyes, then Cuauht¨¦moc was a thorn in his side, a nail in his coffin.

    In the factions of Mexico, Cuauht¨¦moc had always been a challenger to his position.

    And Carlos, wanting to be re-elected, always guarded against him.

    Even some of the "methods" of the traffickers were sanctioned by him, and his wife''s injured leg was the result of him ordering a car hit!

    It was all to sabotage his reputation.

    Many opportunists, seeing no future in following him, changed their stance.

    But to see the man he''d kept down struggling to rise up, and not only that, nning to join forces with another "Bastard"?

    This just couldn''t be.

    Carlos''s bald head was radiating a menacing aura.

    "Kill him! Get someone to kill him!"

    His voice echoed hysterically in the office.

    I can''t beat Victor...

    But I sure as hell can''t lose to you, can I?

    ...

    ```

 Chapter 136 Victor Makes Everyone Smile.

    Secretary Ajit shuddered.

    Assassinate Cuauht¨¦moc?

    Another assassination?

    Humans, when reason fails, always think of resorting to violence first.

    Carlos had ascended to power through fraud, forcing voters to change their ballots to his favor with drug traffickers'' armed threats, and if that didn''t work, he would escte his actions and kill his rivals!

    During his time in politics, Quintero had taken out more than 70 opponents for him, otherwise why would the media joke about him being "the luckiest president in Mexico''s history"?

    When he ran for legitor, an opposing candidate had drowned in a bathtub at home... A big guy of 189 centimeters tall, and then drowned at home.

    There was also a politician who had used him on TV of having ties with drug traffickers who was run over by arge truck on his way home one night... all four members of his family were killed.

    Such incidents were numerous.

    Eliminating opponents meant no morepetition for him.

    Raul Salinas, who was executed, was also involved in many murder cases.

    Secretary Ajit swallowed, "Sir, who should go? It''s probably not easy to make a move in Mexicali."

    Carlos frowned, trying to calm himself, "He must be seeking Victor''s help and will definitely return to Mexico City. Let him die on the road, contact Guzman and Valdis!"

    Valdis was themander of the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen) and was also Carlos''s brother-inw, the blood-rted kind.

    "I don''t want him toe back alive."

    "Understood, sir," Secretary Ajit replied with his head bowed, waited for a moment to see if there were any further instructions, then slowly walked out, closing the door behind him.

    He didn''t rush to carry out Carlos''s orders.

    Instead, he stood in the hallway to catch a breath of fresh air.

    Mr. Victor... seems like he might not make it.

    As a secretary, Ajit could sense the storming. If Cuauht¨¦moc lived and came back, with Victor''s support outside and the backing of big party heavyweights inside, he would surely take the position.

    Would he, as a confidant, be purged?

    Ajit panicked and suddenly thought, "Should I betray Carlos?"

    He didn''t even call him "sir" anymore.

    But he quickly shook his head; his own hands weren''t clean, and he was bound by mutual interests with Carlos.

    Maybe...

    Escape?

    ...

    Mexico International News Department, interrogation room.

    Quintero... both ears gone, no nose, the flesh of his face meticulously peeled apartyer byyer, and then honey ced in between.

    B2 was like a psychopath from the movies, smiling, "Don''t be nervous, it needs to be spread evenly to really bring out the vor."

    His fingers coated with honey, he smoothed it over the victim''s face.

    Quintero no longer had the strength to resist and could only stare with his eyes, emitting feeble sounds from his throat.

    They hadn''t damaged his eyes and throat, since the DEA would need them.

    After all, they had to leave some ce for them to cut, right?

    B2 saw that his face waspletely covered with honey and nodded with satisfaction, licking his sweet fingers.

    Quintero looked on in horror. Were all the people under Victor like this monster?

    B2 took out four tubes, filled with teeming ants, "These are ck Pear Bullhead Ants, very aggressive, with sharp, saw-toothed mandibles and a hard stinger, powerful venom, and they love sweets."

    As he spoke, he opened the tubes and poured them onto Quintero''s face.

    The man''s eyes rolled desperately downward, watching as the ants scurried across his face before viciously biting into the rotten flesh!

    "Aaaahhhhh!!!!"

    His screams were heart-wrenching.

    "B2, inject an adrenaline shot," a colleague''s voice came over the speaker.

    "No worries, Mr. Quintero still has a strong voice, seems in good spirits, let him witness his own torture," B2 responded.

    On the wall, Camarena''s photo seemed to be watching this unfold.

    It was as if he were smiling.

    "I''ve told you, I''ve told everything! I''ve given the specific amounts and dates for the bribes I paid to Carlos on theputer at my Sinaloa mansion."

    B2 burst outughing, "Are you kidding me? Expecting us to run off to Sinaloa? Do you think we''re fools? Find some other evidence!"

    Sinaloa is Guzman''s stronghold, heavily guarded for sure. The Mexico International News Department is made up of agents, not superheroes.

    You''d get riddled with bullets.

    "I tattooed an address on a prostitute in Mexico City; it''s my residence in Tijuana. Inside, you''ll find what you want, the US Dors Carlos left with me."

    B2''s eyebrows raised, "Why would you tattoo the address on a prostitute?"

    Quintero hung his head, and B2 pped him thinking he''d fallen asleep, sending a few ants flying off his face.

    "I... I have too many houses, I can''t quite remember them all." Quintero said.

    B2 looked up...

    The colleagues in themand center also stared at each other, speechless.

    Damn!

    Does that sound like something a person would say?

    Ask for a raise, demand a raise from the boss.

    Drug traffickers are really loaded, no wonder so many people get into this business.

    When the Chinese-Mexican drug lord Ye Zhenli got arrested, the Mexican government investigated his assets: approximately 177 mansions and over 300 luxury cars just in Mexico, almost 500 residences worldwide.

    Hmm...

    He mainly dealt in importing ephedrine, purchasing it for a thousand per kilogram. Once off the ships at Mexican ports, Sinaloa would snap it up at 30,000 US Dors per kilogram.

    Can one really live in so many mansions?

    However, Victor has quite a few mansions now too, all spoils of war. He ns to give these residences as rewards to his subordinates who perform well.

    "What''s the name of this prostitute? What does she look like? Any distinctive features? How much does she cost?" B2 asked meticulously before synthesizing the information Quintero provided.

    Operatives will go to verify this in due time.

    If it''s a lie.

    At the very least, Quintero will lose two legs.

    ...

    After finishing negotiations with Cuauht¨¦moc, Victor treated them to a dinner and even specially prepared a cake.

    "My colleagues tell me it''s your son''s birthday today."

    Cuauht¨¦moc looked at the cake in front of him, "You don''t need to be so polite."

    "This is nothing, we''re partners on the same front,rades in arms. Your son is like my child. Come on, make a wish!" Victor stood up and said.

    Thetter nced at his father; from the look in his eyes, Cuauht¨¦moc saw longing.

    Cake...

    It had been a long time since he''d tasted one. The cake they had on his mother''s birthday was just a regr pancake.

    Cuauht¨¦moc smiled and patted his head, "Thank you, Uncle Victor."

    "Thank you, Uncle!" McClure said, lifting his head with a smile.

    "Make a wish! Make a wish!" Santos was always the mood setter, chiming in from the side.

    McClure closed his eyes, pressed his hands together, "I wish my family is always happy, and that Mr. Victor is always safe, and that Santos and Stephanie are forever happy!"

    A child''s heart is simple.

    He doesn''t differentiate whether people are nice to him for some ulterior motive; he just knows he''s happy.

    Perhaps, that''s the innocence that needs to be protected.

    "You have to be happy too, McClure!" Santos embraced his new friend, his expression resolute, "Don''t worry, under Mr. Victor''s leadership, everyone in Mexico will be happy."

    "You have to believe in us, the path we''re on is definitely the right one."

    Cuauht¨¦moc looked at Santos in surprise, then at Victor. Were these words that a child could say?

    Was Victor already training the next generation?

    He was preparing for a long battle!

    ...

 Chapter 137 Reputation is Not as Good as Caliber!

    Sinaloa. Leavenworth Town!

    This small town, known by the charming name "Dandelion," usually had a poption of around 1300 people and was peaceful due to its distance from the noise.

    But a burst of gunfire shattered the tranquility!

    Followed by the sound of an explosion¡­

    A group of armed individuals was storming the police station.

    They drove a pickup truck with a DIY front end fitted with a steel te, mming into the police station''s doors. Once they had broken through, the gunmen already lying in wait outside rushed in, coordinating their attack.

    The badges on their chests read "Cartel de Sinaloa," and on their left arms hung: Los Zetas!!

    The equipment of these guys seemed to be top-notch.

    Pure American gear!

    With a Colt submachine gun in hand, the weapon, with a total length of 730 millimeters and a 9mm caliber, wasmonly seen among the U.S. Military''s drug enforcement departments!

    There were also those wielding Mossberg M9200A1 shotguns.

    The newly formed group of gunmen from the Sinaloa Group!

    Guzman really was willing to spend a fortune.

    "Grenade! Grenade!"

    The gunman at the forefront took cover by a wall, gestured to apanion behind him, who swiftly pulled a grenade from his tactical vest, yanked the pin, and tossed it into the hallway behind him.

    beng!

    A cloud of ash billowed out, shaking the ster off the ceiling.

    A drug trafficker, wielding an HK21 machine gun made by Germany''s Heckler & Koch, stood at the entrance, firing into the room to suppress the police''s gunfire!

    Bullets continuously chambered from the drum magazine, and shell casings ttered onto the ground.

    The drug trafficker''s hands were trembling, his facial muscles twitching.

    "Charge!"

    The gunmen stormed the building, a few gunshots rang out, and then the exchange of fire ceased.

    In a matter of minutes, the drug trafficker dragged out the heads of several men, pulled them in front of a Rolls-Royce, the window rolled down, revealing Guzman''s face.

    "Mr. Mayor, long time no see."

    "Ptooey!" The mayor spat a thick glob of phlegm, which stuck directly onto the car.

    Seeing this, Arturo next to him kicked him in the head and grabbed his head, pressing it hard against the phlegm and rubbing it back and forth.

    "Father!" a young man being held down by the drug trafficker shouted, "You bastards! Bastards! Drug trafficking bastards! Mr. Victor will wipe all of you out!"

    "Chop off his head, I don''t like him!" Guzman said grimly, his face quivering with disgust at the mention of Victor''s name.

    When he heard from an informant that there were people daring to discuss surrendering to Victor within his jurisdiction in Sinaloa, he was filled with rage and led the "Los Zetas" to attack directly.

    The mayor?

    Who cares about your title!

    Anyone who''s thinking of surrendering to Victor will end up dead.

    Upon hearing Guzman''s order, Arturo grinned sinisterly, took a knife from the drug trafficker''s hand, and shed at the young man''s neck.

    "Long live Mr. Victor! Long live Mexico!" The young man let out a hoarse scream as his head rolled off,nding at the feet of the mayor.

    Blood sprayed from the severed neck.

    "Ah! Ah!!" The mayor cried out agonizingly, weeping and wailing as he saw the head just a few centimeters from his feet, the drug trafficker holding him down firmly on the ground, his eyes red as he looked into his son''s eyes.

    He remembered his son, who had studied in Mexicali, returned home unexpectedly a month ago, excitedly pulling him aside to tell him about the greatness of Mr. Victor.

    He told everyone they didn''t have to be threatened by drug traffickers.

    He gave all the poor people jobs.

    Where he stood, there was light.

    Back then, his son''s eyes shone brightly as he excitedly said he wanted to follow in Mr. Victor''s footsteps.

    To struggle and bring all Mexicans out of the mire!

    beng!

    A loud bang sounded in the sky, and suddenly it began to rain.

    "Kill him and hang him in the center of town on the streetmp," Guzman instructed, preparing to close the window when he spotted a drug trafficker nearby recording everything. His expression changed, and he said to Arturo, "y the recording throughout Sinaloa."

    "Tell these lowlifes who is the Emperor of Sinaloa!!"

    Arturo nodded, sensing his cousin''s hatred for Victor, and if it weren''t so outrageously shocking, he might have even killed everyone in the Sinaloa Drug Cartel named after him.

    They were frightened, "The Battle of Mexicali" was entirely Victor''s one-man show, and it left these drug traffickers uneasy. Yet, they were also proud; they wouldn''t allow anyone to see their fear or cowardice.

    They had to tough it out!

    No way, surrender to Victor?

    Could they even continue in this business after that?

    It was said that the mortality rate for drug traffickers building roads in Baja California was very high, even higher than during wars between cartels.

    As Guzman closed the car window, a white brick phone beside him started to ring.

    Guzman answered it; it was Carlos''s secretary, Ajit.

    Arturo stood outside and saw his cousin inside on the phone, his expression visibly ferocious.

    An underling brought an umbre to shield him from the rain.

    "Arturo!"

    The window rolled down again, and Guzman called out, with Arturo quickly leaning in.

    "Tell them to coordinate with the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen) to take out Cuauht¨¦moc!"

    Though this sentence might seem innocuous, it was charged with the magical reality of Latin American political systems.

    Drug traffickers and a national intelligence agency teaming up for a hit on a politician.

    But Arturo seemed used to it, seeing his cousin''s expression, he surely had received a satisfying reward.

    It was just a killing.

    Drug traffickers are professionals at that!

    Guzman left, and as Arturo looked at the mayor, he frowned, "Drag him behind a car, then hang him up."

 Chapter 138: Chapter 137: Reputation is Not as Good as Caliber!_2

    The town mayor was lynched alive, his neck caught in a rope and hung from a streetlight.

    Only after all the drug traffickers had left did the braver residentse out, and upon seeing the mayor''s body they all hung their heads and wept.

    The old mayor had always been good to them, helping anyone in trouble, even washing cars to help support families.

    He would give money to sponsor orphans and elderly rtives of those killed by drug traffickers.

    In the localmunity, his reputation was always good.

    But reputation... doesn''t match the caliber of a gun!

    When the drug traffickers were around, the people didn''t dare to rebel, but as soon as they left, they ran out to collect the mayor''s body.

    The small town had lost the person who loved it the most.

    ...

    "Isn''t it just about managing drug traffickers? It''s quite simple," Victor said as he stood on a solid rock, pointing at the mine ahead and speaking to Cuauht¨¦moc, "You just don''t have to treat them as human!"

    "Don''t let them rest at all, work them for 19 hours straight in a 24-hour day, feed them enough so they have the energy to work."

    Upon hearing this workload, Cuauht¨¦moc was stunned, "Won''t they drop dead?"

    "If they die, just grab some more, drug traffickers are consumables, why treat them as humans, who told them to traffic drugs? They lived carefree lives before, now I''ll make them suffer just as much!"

    "Rockslide! Rockslide! Watch out, watch out!"

    Suddenly, an exmation rang out, and Cuauht¨¦moc hurried over to see a section of rock had copsed, crushing many drug traffickers, with many unable to escape in time.

    Officers watching nearby went over and saw several people crushed on the ground, beyond help, while one drug trafficker had a broken foot twisted at a 90¡ã angle. When he saw the officers approaching, his pupils shrank, he struggled hard on the ground, reaching out to the other drug traffickers, "I can still work, I can still work!"

    "Pull me up! Pull me up."

    "ke, pull me! Mude ke!" He reached out to arade from the same drug trafficking organization, with whom he had a good rtionship before being caught.

    They used to go to the red-light district together, searching for the same girl.

    Hisrade nced at him with hesitation, but upon seeing the officer approach, he hurriedly ducked aside.

    The officer came over, looked at the injured man''s leg, frowned, "He can''t work anymore."

    "No, no, no! I can still work, I can still wor..."

    Before he could finish, the officer drew his gun and shot him!

    Hearing the gunshot, Cuauht¨¦moc jumped, his mouth half-opened in shock, looking at Victor, who was craving a smoke and puffing on a cigarette.

    "If they''re injured, they can''t work anymore, and then we would have to get them medical care, wasting money. It''s easier to just kill them."

    "They... they don''t have any objections?" Cuauht¨¦moc choked out after a long moment.

    "Of course they do, just eliminate a few and it''ll do."

    Victor smirked, "I love dealing with troublemakers the most."

    Cuauht¨¦moc nodded, watching as the officers dragged away the body, leaving a trail of blood on the ground.

    It was no wonder that no one dared to traffic drugs in Mexicali with such treatment of drug traffickers.

    Victor, looking down the road, stepped off the rock, "In some time, I n to reim the entire Baja California region!"

    Indeed, he used the word reim.

    In Victor''s view, drug traffickers were the enemy, and this was a war.

    "I need many, many drug traffickers, I n to build a highway from the Baja California region to the southernmost part of Mexico, Oaxaca State, breaking through the transportation bottleneck between north and south."

    "By then, the port throughput of Baja California will certainly increase manifold, and it will be more convenient for goods from Panama, Guatem, and other ces to enter Mexico."

    "At the very least, it could create hundreds of thousands of jobs, making themon people wealthier."

    "Besides highways, we should also have our own railways, our own industries, Mexicans have been in decline for too long."

    Cuauht¨¦moc listened to Victor''s grand ns, feeling shocked.

    The internal contradictions in Mexico were severe, and the economic conditions of each state varied widely; a national highway was sheer "folly."

    "This will take a long time," mumbled Cuauht¨¦moc.

    "Of course, I have a long time, I am young, and even if I die, there are others like Santos, generation after generation, we will definitely fulfill our dreams."

    "I''m afraid some won''t allow Mexico to rise."

    Victor smiled, "If one gives up their efforts just because the other side doesn''t allow it, isn''t that in itself a form of cowardice?"

    If the Yanks are powerful, then we just give up developing, what''s the point of that? Might as well just lie down and ept it. How many valiant heroes in the world rose from the bottom?

    Did they think about giving up when they looked up at those on the throne?

    Those who gave up, are not heroes!

    As one slowly climbs to the top, gritting their teeth, eventually they will stand before the throne and burst that disdainful stare!

    Being unyielding is what makes a hero!

    You think being tough is just a title?

    If you don''t agree, then fight, and if you die, so be it.

    Victor''s eyes burned passionately as he looked at Cuauht¨¦moc, "Of course, we must first eliminate the drug traffickers who disrupt the peace!"

    The drug war itself is a war.

    Cuauht¨¦moc nodded vigorously.

    He saw in Victor the shadow of his father, that slender figure standing before the army, the one who liberated Mexico, shouting loudly to his people, "Mexicans, no longer ves!"

    He was hailed as: "The Aztec Eagle!"

    Could Victor be the next one?

    "Director, there''s news from Sinaloa State..."

    Just as the two men were having their "tender moment", a man stepped out from behind them; he was the person in charge at the Mexico International News Department¡ªJason Bourne!

 Chapter 139: Chapter 137: Reputation is Not as Good as Caliber!_3

    A man who didn''t look handsome or attractive, but his eyes were as t as a pool of water.

    Ethan Hunt was the chief; he was the one who called the shots, and there was no conflict in that.

    He was more like a shadow standing beside Victor, protecting him.

    "I think I should have some work to keep me busy now," Victor said with a smile, looking at Cuauht¨¦moc.

    ¡­

    Sinaloa State, Capital Culiac¨¢n!

    A group of drug traffickers stormed into a local supermarket, and the security guard hurried to flee but was shot dead from behind by the traffickers!

    The civilians, upon hearing the gunshots, were terrified and tried to run.

    But the drug traffickers pulled down the shutter and brandished their weapons at them!

    The drug lord burst into the manager''s office, scaring the other party into raising his hands and shouting, "Don''t shoot, we''ve already paid this month''s protection money."

    "Don''t worry, sir, we''re just going to have you show a film, we won''t hurt any of the customers, but... if you don''t cooperate, I''ll cram a grenade into your mouth!"

    The manager had no way to resist and could only do as he was told.

    Suddenly, Arturo''s face appeared on therge supermarket screen that was hanging up.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, I''m terribly sorry to interrupt your time, I just want you to watch a video clip," he said.

    All the customers looked up to see on the screen, a group of armed militants bursting into a police station, dragging several men out, and from their conversation, it seemed there was even a town mayor.

    "Chop off his head, I don''t like him!" a cold male voice said from off-camera, and then Arturo was seen raising the knife and chopping off a man''s head

    "Ah!"

    Many female customers let out cries of shock, hurriedly lowering their heads, not daring to look any longer, leaning into their husbands'' arms.

    The video scrolled down, showing the town mayor being dragged to death by a pickup truck, and then hung on a streetmp, with the setting sun''s afterglow shining upon him.

    The body slowly swayed.

    The camera also stopped abruptly at this moment.

    "This is the mayor of Leavenworth Town, who nned to betray Mr. Guzman, an act of idiocy. Mr. Guzman wants to remind everyone that Mexico belongs to Sinaloa, belongs to Guzman!"

    After the video finished ying, the drug lord patted the manager''s face with his gun,ughing and saying, "Thanks for your cooperation!"

    On the way out, he didn''t forget to help himself to a pack of cigarettes.

    The manager slumped into his chair, his body covered in sweat, wiping his forehead.

    The supermarket was not the only target; drug traffickers stormed into TV stations, government agencies, and even schools, circting this short film in the states controlled by the Sinaloa Group.

    Everyone was frightened by Guzman''s methods.

    A Canadian journalist even said on a show that same evening that it was an inhumane act, and called Guzman a devil.

    Then¡­

    He was shot dead on his way home with 17 bullets.

    That was in Canada.

    Such was the arrogance of the Sinaloa Drug Cartel.

    Mexicali. Security Department.

    Victor, Casare, Alejandro, and others had watched the short film, and hearing the young man''s cries before his death, they felt deafened!

    They turned their gaze to the boss.

    Victor''s expression was very grave, "Ourrade has been sacrificed."

    "But he shall not have died in vain!"

    "Randomly pick one of Guzman''s sons, kill him!"

    Jason Bourne took note on the side; the Grim Reaper had already begun marking, just waiting to see which son would be unlucky.

    "Gentlemen, we need to speed up, Mexico is full of wails, we have to go save them. I propose starting today, all male citizens of Mexicali, Dan Senada City, and Guadalupe Ind over the age of 18 undergo military training, six days a month, and no institution is allowed to impede it,"

    "And each person is to be given a sry subsidy of 6 US dors a day."

    Universal conscription, huh!?

    This proposal was so startling that Alejandro even stammered, "This..."

    "Don''t worry, I''ve named the n: the Strong Body Movement. Encouraging young people to be fit and healthy, what''s wrong with that?"

    No matter what, as long as it''s given a high-sounding name, it''s legal.

    Worstes to worst, we can call it military training.

    What can we do if the big shots in Mexico City don''t agree?

    Seeing Victor speak like this, Alejandro understood that whatever he advocated would be in vain and obediently shut his mouth.

    "Our propaganda department needs to create momentum for Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc. When he returns to Mexico City, he will initiate the impeachment of Carlos, and by then I want to see slogans calling for Carlos to step down everywhere!"

    "Including in front of the Presidential Pce."

    "That will require a substantial amount of money," Casare stated frankly.

    "Don''t be stingy; we''ll get much moreter."

    "Carlos is backed by the Aragon Family; they control all the TV stations and newspapers in Mexico. It might be very difficult to bypass them," Alejandro said softly.

    If you want to take down your opponent, you must know who stands behind them, right?

    Just hearing the surname Aragon, you can understand their former glory, or perhaps their roots with Spain. It is rumoured that the royal family has been controlling Mexico''s wealth through this family.

    Just like the Brits giving up many colonies but supporting puppets to speak on their behalf.

    Mexico was once a colony of Spain.

    Victor narrowed his eyes, "They''re not fools. Seeing that Carlos is about to fall, perhaps they are already desperately seeking a new partner. Maybe, before long, we can berades in the same trench."

    Families are just like that, I''ll side with whoever has the stronger fist.

    They stand untoppled, all thanks to their ability to see where the wind blows.

    "Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc is our most important banner!"

    And at that moment, in a heavily guarded mansion.

    This was the ce Victor provided for Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc and his family to settle in.

    "Do you want to hear a bedtime story?" he asked, looking at his son McClure lying in bed, touched his forehead with a smile.

    "I want to hear ''Hero Victor''!"

    Cuauht¨¦moc was taken aback, looking at his wife holding a book, "Is this some new story?"

    "Santos told me about it," McClure, wearing his pajamas, leapt from the bed, his eyes shining. "Santos said Mr. Victor is a hero who saved Mexico, he defeated drug traffickers entrenched in Guadalupe Ind!"

    "He threw those drug traffickers into the sea to feed the sharks."

    "He hung them from bridges, pointing at the drug traffickers he told people, ''This is the fate of a drug trafficker!''"

    "They are singing songs about him!"

    McClure waved his hands and shouted, "Hey! Mr. Victor!"

    Cuauht¨¦moc''s scalp tingled and he looked at his wife, hugged McClure, and said with a serious face, "Do you really think what he''s done is right?"

    He felt a strong sense of personal worship.

    This might be attributed to "charm," but it also transcends "charm"!

    "I asked Santos, too."

    "What did he answer?"

    "He said, we don''t have to be bullied by drug traffickers, we have our own house, we can move around at night, we can enjoy our happiness; Mr. Victor is just right!" McClure imitated Santos''s words.

    "Father, isn''t that what you hope for?" McClure asked curiously, looking at him.

    Cuauht¨¦moc looked up, heaving a long sigh.

    Mexico...

    Has weed a true strongman!

 Chapter 140: Chapter 138: Mr. Guzman, Your Son is Gone!

    The next day.

    Cuauht¨¦moc nned to leave Mexicali city.

    He was heading to Mexico City to raise the banner of drug enforcement!

    "Please take care of the two of them for me," he said, still worried about his wife and son, as he firmly shook Victor''s hand.

    "Don''t worry, I will take good care of them, and I won''t let them suffer any grievances."

    Cuauht¨¦moc looked at his wife''s worried face, walked over to embrace her, and whispered softly, "Wait for me toe back."

    "God bless you, dear."

    Cuauht¨¦moc got into an armoredbat vehicle, apanied by four troop carriers, more than a dozen Humvees, and five more troop carriers, equipped with a 140-member guard corps, selected from EDM and the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV).

    Why hide when escorting people back to Mexico City?

    If you have the strength, show it off.

    Bring out the anti-aircraft machine guns, and if anyone TMD dares to block the way, simply gun them down.

    On the contrary, hiding makes you vulnerable with no chance to fight back if caught.

    Of course, there was no sign of Victor, but instead, they were painted with the insignia of the Mexican military.

    To return to Mexico City, they must pass through areas effectively controlled by drug trafficking groups such as Sonora State, Chihuahua State, and Durango State. If they were to disy a bust of Victor...

    NMD, they would take the tires off!

    Traveling by air, there''s always the fear Carlos might shut down the airport and arrest you under some pretext, don''t think this guy wouldn''t do it.

    He would even dare to shoot you down with a missile.

    The 1980 incident where France shot down an Italian airliner causing 81 deaths is still vivid in memory, and supposedly Colonel Ka was meant to be on that flight.

    Don''t overestimate the integrity of politicians.

    Watching the convoy depart, Victor lowered his hand, patted McClure''s head, and nced at Cuauht¨¦moc''s wife, "Tatiana, if you need anything at all, you can contact me."

    She looked a bit pale, her body feeble, but she smiled, nodded and after onest look at the departing vehicles, she turned her gaze away. A female agent from the Mexico International News Department pushed her away.

    "Director, we''ve located the whereabouts of Guzman''s eldest son, Francellino, in Mexico City," Jason Bourne leaned over to say.

    Victor''s expression immediately turned cold, "Record it, I want to send it to Guzman."

    You release a video, I also release a video; you kill my believers, I kill your son.

    With that TMD short and stocky figure of yours, how many sons can you have?

    Anyway, I don''t have any sons...

    It won''t hurt me if one dies.

    No!

    All the citizens of Mexico are his children.

    He aims to be the "Godfather of Mexico."

    After the convoy left Mexicali, it quickly entered the territory of Sonora State through a side road.

    Compared to Baja California...

    The air here was clearly exceeding DM standards, and Cuauht¨¦moc could feel a strong difort in his stomach.

    "Sir, our journey will take approximately 28 hours, and ording to the n, we should arrive in Mexico City around eight o''clock tomorrow evening."

    Carlos, known by the nickname "Rookie" in Cuauht¨¦moc, was sent for two months of internal further training after his promotion.

    Victor ran a small internal academy where he served as the main speaker, and Casare, Kennedy, and others were deputy speakers, serving as a training ground for police officers.

    The reason he was chosen to be the Guard Captain was that he had scored full marks in the tests after ss.

    The questions were somewhat¡­ biased.

    For example, what date was Victor''s statue on Guadalupe Ind built?

    Who is Mr. Victor''s idol?

    Please describe in 500 words Mr. Victor''s mental state during his time as a jail guard at teau Prison.

    Hmm¡­ Carlos got a full score.

    How could such talent not be reused?

    Hearing his words, Cuauht¨¦moc smiled and nodded, perhaps because he had caught a coldst night, his throat was a bit itchy, he coughed and was about to speak when suddenly he heard the voice from the walkie-talkie ced on the side.

    "Szzzt~ Unit 1! There is a white Buick obstructing ahead of us."

    Carlos quickly raised the observation mirror mounted on the side of the armored vehicle and peered out through it, squinting his eyes.

    Sure enough, he saw a white Buick convertible weaving back and forth between twones, deliberately blocking them, with a man and three women in the car. The man driving wore sunsses and even arrogantly raised his middle finger.

    The three women had a look of experience about them as they stood up and waved their scarves. Why don''t you wave your sanitary pads?

    One of the women sitting in the back even made an obscene gesture.

    "They have logos around their necks that signify they''re part of the local drug trafficking group in Sonora State," reported an officer from another vehicle over the walkie-talkie.

    The Mexico International News Department had already thoroughly investigated the neighboring state; money had been invested, and they had a plethora of external informants. They had listed every drug trafficking group, including their leaders, logos, annual business (very important); they had doneprehensive research.

    And this intelligence was alsopiled and distributed to the various police squads, with weekly updates, to ensure smooth operations.

    Carlos watched as the Buick appeared to tire of the game and decided to hit the gas and attempt to run away. You provoke us and think you can leave?

    Picking up the walkie-talkie, "Blow them up!"

    "Understood!"

    Cuauht¨¦moc looked out from the small window of the armored car and saw an officer rise from behind a Humvee and operate a Browning M2HB 0.50 inch machine gun to fire directly at them.

    The bullets were erratic and the trajectory unstable¡­

    The woman sitting in the back seat had her head blown off, sttering blood all over herpanion''s face.

    "Ah! Ah! Ah!!"

    Herpanion screamed in terror, eyes wide.

    Now you realize how brave Jacqueline was back then? She even turned around to pick up the skull.

    The man driving turned his head, saw that half of a head, and his hand shook. The steering wheel jerked and the car veered off to the side, rolling over three times, throwing all the upants out.

    The officer atop the Humvee turned the gun barrel and swept it directly at the car,

    Perhaps hitting the gas tank, Boom! The car exploded!

    "I hate Buick cars!" the shooting officerughed loudly.

    "Satisfying!"

    Carlos let out a breath of relief, and seeing Cuauht¨¦moc looking over with a strange gaze, he smiled, "Our Director said, what kind of drug trafficker scum can get ahead of us?"

    "If they drive, we blow them up!"

    "If they try to walk, break their legs."

    As Cuauht¨¦moc looked at Carlos, he really wanted to ask if their boss was a bandit.

    It seemed he truly was!

    ...

    Mexico City, La No. 20 Cantina!

    This was one of the locally famous tequ bars!

    And of course, there were some rather indulgent activities going on.

    You could see many Mexican celebrities milling around here.

    "Tonight, the entire round is on Mr. Ainsley Guzman!" the DJ shouted into the microphone, with the lights conveniently shining on a man seated in a booth. He was short and burly, wearing a Rolex Bao Dai on his wrist¡ªoriginally sold to thest emperor of the Nguyen Dynasty in Vietnam in 1954 andter snapped up by him for 6 million US dors.

    The man was surrounded by women, a green emerald ring on his finger.

    unting wealth had been this drug lord''s son''s habit since childhood.

    He was the son Guzman had at 19 with a waitress,ing of age just as his father made a fortune. Now 22, he was mainly responsible for the Sinaloa cartel''s business in Mexico.

    Ainsley Guzman loved the attention, and what was more joyous than throwing money around?

    He partied until 2 in the morning when he staggered out of the bar, drunk.

    Surrounded by bodyguards and... agents from the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen) to protect him.

    Once, wanting to test the power of a grenade, he blew up a mansion worth 2.12 million US dors. At the time, the police merely took a nce and left.

    Climbing into his red Porsche, he drove home, drunk, with a woman in tow, ready for an after-party!

    The faster he drove, the harder his bodyguards pressed on the gas pedal to catch up, eyes glued to the speedometer reading: 147!

    Terrified that Ainsley Guzman might flip his car.

    Buzzing sounds...

    shing police lights appeared ahead, a ck van emzoned with police insignia was parked across the road, with four or five officers in reflective vests standing and waving batons.

    "Darling, someone''s stopping cars," the woman in the passenger seat said, lifting her head and touching Ainsley Guzman''s chest.

    "Stopping? Plow through them! Who would stop me?"

    He floored the elerator!

    He failed to see the spike strip on the ground...

    This thing wouldn''t flip a car.

    Biu... a crisp sound, and the tires began deting. After several meters, the car came to a halt right in front of the police vehicle.

    "Damn it!" Ainsley Guzman looked at the tires, furiously waving his hands, "Idiots, don''t you know who I am? Don''t you recognize this license te?"

    "Of course, I know, Mr. Ainsley..." Ethan Hunt tipped his police cap, smiling, "We''re specifically here for you!"

    "In the name of justice!"

    "What nonsense are you talking about!" Ainsley was startled.

    Is there even justice in Mexico?

    At that moment, the cars of the bodyguards and agents also arrived.

    Meanwhile, a bodyguard driving a Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen was grumbling, "Driving so fast, finally caught up, we should thank the police."

    "But I think he''s going to throw a fit soon, maybe even kill those who got in his way," the bodyguard in the passenger seat said with augh, reaching down for a cigarette.

    "Be careful!!" a bodyguard in the back shouted with a shrill voice.

    The man in the passenger seat looked up, only to see a missile? flying straight at them!

    Ainsley saw an officer open up the ck van and hoist out a... FIM-92 Stinger missile?!

    He aimed decisively at the bodyguards'' vehicle and pulled the trigger.

    Since when can''t a surface-to-air missile be used against ground targets?

    Ainsley, his brain still fuzzy from alcohol, twisted his head around just in time to see the Stinger hit the front of the Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen.

    Boom!

    It erupted into a fireball on the spot!

    The unexpected explosion terrified the remaining bodyguards and agents. They violently turned the steering wheels and some mmed on the brakes, resulting in a chain collision.

    Ethan Hunt slipped a ck bag over Ainsley''s neck and pulled him forcefully from the car toward the van, with Ainsley''s face turning red.

    "Record this! Record everything! Start now," Ethan Hunt shouted maniacally at his colleagues.

    "Let Guzman see how his son gets kidnapped!"

    The officer in charge of recording gave Ainsley a close-up.

    The others provided covering fire, brandishing their guns and firing at the bodyguards, who dared not leave their vehicles.

    "Fire another Stinger! Then let''s get out of here!" Ethan Hunt bellowed.

    "OK!"

    A colleague yelled back loudly.

    The voice wasn''t hidden at all, and the Mexican agents heard it.

    "Be careful, they still have missiles!"

    "Take cover! Take cover!"

    A group scrambled away in embarrassment, some diving to the ground, even clutching their heads.

    But after a moment of silence and raising their heads, they just saw the van door close and a middle finger raised at them, taunting, "Idiots, you think Stingers are free?!"

    Mr. Victor had said not to fire missiles just anywhere.

    That was too dangerous.

    The bodyguards, infuriated, stood up and cursed loudly.

    "Get in the cars! Pursue them!"

    But the vehicles were wrecked, so they could only watch helplessly as the van drove off.

    A breeze blew by.

    It was over!

    Guzman''s son was gone!

    ...

 Chapter 141 Chapter 139 God Bless Victor!

    Guzman was exerting himself on top of his mistress!

    Then...

    He received word that his eldest son, Ainsley, had been kidnapped?

    He was so startled he nearly shriveled up.

    "Get out! Get out! Get out!" Guzman cursed at the seven female models on the bed.

    Scared witless, they ran out the door without even putting on their clothes.

    Arturo nced away, but soon withdrew his gaze; Guzman didn''t like others touching his things.

    It was like a dog marking its territory by pissing on the ground.

    "When did this happen?"

    Once Guzman calmed down, he asked with a gloomy face.

    Arturo checked his watch, "Four hours ago."

    "Fuck! After four hours, Ainsley would''ve be a dried-up corpse! Kill those bodyguards!" Guzman swore angrily.

    In fact, he could understand those bodyguards, as they too wanted to find Ainsley first; everything would be fine if they could find him.

    It''s like when you make a mistake, do you know what''s the first thing to do?

    Find a way to push the me onto someone else if you can''t push it off, you can only dy it. This was also because Guzman was so vtile normally that all the subordinates were afraid.

    Arturo closed the door, "The opposing force was very coordinated, and even employed Stingers. It''s definitely not amon power. In Mexico, it''s either Juarez, Gulf Group, Michoac¨¢n Family, or..."

    "Victor!" Guzman blurted out the name.

    There were only so many names that could be called!

    Thump thump thump!

    Just then, there was a knock at the door.

    "Get lost!" Guzman bellowed.

    From outside came the voice of Hector, the second of the Beltran Leyva brothers, "Boss, there''s a package at the door... it has news about Ainsley."

    Squeak¡ªbang!

    Hector, standing outside a little petrified, suddenly saw the door forcefully flung open from the inside, and he retreated in fright.

    "B-boss!"

    The word "cousin" could be used by the other three brothers, but not by Hector, because Guzman thought this cousin was truly ipetent.

    "Where is it!"

    Hector pointed to the outside living room, and the other person hurried up; Arturo was about to follow when Guzman grabbed his hand.

    "What are you doing?!"

    Hector frowned, speaking in a low voice, "I''m afraid cousin might go crazyter?"

    Arturo''s eyebrow twitched, he hesitated for a moment, but then slowed his pace.

    Guzman ran to the living room only to see a refrigerator in the middle?

    The servant and bodyguards beside it all dodged to the side, shing anxious looks at him.

    Guzman suddenly had a bad feeling, trembling as he opened the upper part of the refrigerator, and a head with its mouth half open appeared!

    The face was frosted over, the tongue missing from the mouth, the eyeballs gouged out, and the face etched with: The fate of a drug trafficker!

    This was, undeniably, Ainsley Guzman!

    "Aaahh!!"

    In agony, Guzman clenched his fists and screamed, kneeling down, pounding the ground, opening the second and thirdyers like a madman¡ªAinsley''s body had been dismembered!

    Seeing him like that, he clearly had suffered "humanitarian" treatment before his death.

    Any method against a drug trafficker is humanitarian!

    Hearing Hector''s words, Arturo deliberately slowed his steps, seeing Guzman howling in pain.

    This expression...

    was just like the kidnapped policeman''s family before; in front of him, he raped the policeman''s wife, killed his daughter, and Arturo clearly remembered the policeman kneeling on the ground, whining like a wounded dog.

    Enjoy exclusive chapters from empire

    So, Guzman could cry like that too.

    Arturo looked at Ainsley in the refrigerator with a furrowed brow, turned his head away, and felt a chill in his own heart. After Guzman had nearly finished crying, he finally moved to help him sit down on the sofa.

    Thetter wiped away his tears.

    Hector came over, nced at his elder brother, and then said to Guzman, "Boss, there''s also a videotape here."

    He appeared nervous, afraid his cousin might kill him in his frenzy.

    Guzman gestured towards the TV, meaning "y it," and Hector rushed over to y the videotape.

    The TV showed a shaky camera scene.

    "Record! Record! Record! Starting now."

    "Let Guzman see how his son was kidnapped!"

    You couldn''t see the person''s face, but you could hear that brazen mocking voice; the camera was fixated on Ainsley''s face, who was struggling for air with a stic bag over his head.

    Arturo felt Guzman tightly grab hold of his wrist!

    A face appears, hooded, "Mr. Guzman, greetings! Is this your son? Hahaha! He''s like a dog!"

    "Not loud enough, break his hand, make him scream." The personmanded arrogantly, as his aplice took a hammer and forced Ainsley''s hand down.

    "Wait!" The hooded man shouted, removing Ainsley''s watch, kissed the Rolex, pocketed it and said, "Continue!"

    Bang!!

    With a forceful strike of the hammer, Ainsley''s scream could be heard as his pinky ttened.

    "See this? This is the fate of a drug trafficker!"

    "We''ll cut him into three pieces, then cut off his tongue. This is what you do to cops, we will retaliate. You must be curious about who we are."

    "We are MDIN! Lord Victor¡ª"

    "Idiot, address him as sir!" Another man off-camera loudly said, the apparent leader.

    The hooded man looked up, "So, what I said was okay? Should we edit that out?"

 Chapter 142 Chapter 139 God Bless Victor!_2

    ```

    "No need!"

    "Oh shit, we are Mr. Victor''s Imperial Guard, Guzman, next it''s your mother''s turn, she took your money, and then lived in the house you gave her, she''s an aplice to a drug trafficker, we''ll definitely kill all the closest people around you, a drug trafficker must suffer more than anyone else!"

    The hooded man saluted and, with a straight swing of his right hand, yelled, "Long live!"

    "Daddy save me!" On the screen, Ainsley finally seemed like he had "freed himself" from the stic bag and was shouting loudly.

    "Ahhh!"

    Guzman couldn''t take it anymore, he picked up a baseball bat beside him and charged to smash the TV and the apanying sound system worth tens of thousands of US dors to pieces.

    Arturo stood beside him, not daring to move.

    Who the fuck could bear being mocked like this?

    Especially since Guzman was a well-known big drug trafficker in Mexico?

    The electronics were smashed to bits.

    Guzman stood there, the baseball bat falling to the ground from his hands, head raised, reminiscing about the chaos when he became a father at 19.

    He remembered how poor he was back then, just running errands for a drug syndicate, and Ainsley''s mother was his favorite girl.

    When he held little Ainsley in his arms and reached out to his face, the baby clutched tightly to him, his eyes still closed.

    Even though he had many children afterward, Ainsley was always the one he handpicked as his sessor.

    He was so young back then.

    Guzman, head held high, hands covering his face, started bawling.

    In the living room...

    There were echoes.

    Arturo and Hector stood there, softly exhaling.

    ...

    "Ha ha ha ha! Very good!"

    Victor, watching the video on TV, stood up from the couch with a cigarette in his mouth, apuding, "That''s right, kill the drug traffickers, make them childless!"

    "Boss, that gold Rolex..." Jason Bourne whispered at his side.

    "Give it to Ethan Hunt and his team, they also work hard on missions outside, consider it a bonus." Victor was quite generous!

    In fact, maybe, he possibly didn''t quite understand the price of that Rolex, which was auctioned by Ainsley for 6 million, mistaking it for a regr Rolex.

    Jason Bourne nodded in agreement at his side, "Guzman''s mother is in a rural area in Sinaloa, I''ve already located her, we''ll blow her up when the timees."

    Guzman had great respect for his old mother, she didn''t like living in the city, so Guzman spent a fortune to build a mansion for her, and even assigned his men to watch over it.

    How could an olddy not know her son was trafficking drugs?

    In Mexico, the only sudden fortunees from drug trafficking.

    In 1997, the police arrested his mother, then coerced Guzman to appear, that night... the police station was bombed, killing 17 people.

    He even delivered a TV speech, condemning the inhumanity of the police force, believing that harming family members was a shameful act.

    Then... the Mexican Government released his mother.

    Yes!

    But unfortunately, he''s now met Victor, who himselfes from a bandit background, who cares for what face, not killing your entire family would make him ufortable.

    Explore more adventures at empire

    Thinking of living a peaceful life with the money made from drug trafficking?

    You wish.

    Victor took a puff of his cigarette, casually tossing it towards the ashtray, but missed, once a man passes 25, his kidneys get weaker.

    Jason Bourne went over to pick up the cigarette butt and threw it into the ashtray.

    Hmm... this man is very much like Casare.

    Victor nodded in satisfaction, "We don''t need to keep watching Guzman''s mother, we killed Ainsley, the tape has a message left on it, he''ll be cautious, we can keep an eye on his other sons."

    This is called feinting to the east and attacking to the west.

    Jason Bourne nced at his boss, he was determined to wipe out Guzman''s lineage.

    "Did you find that prostitute that Quintero gave up?" Victor turned off the TV, pushed open the patio doors, and walked outside.

    This was his mansion in Mexicali.

    A huge estate covering 3,000 square meters, the old den of the Tijuana Benjamin brothers,pletely renovated, as for fear, Victor who could kill him once could kill them twice!

    The surrounding walls were lined with electric fences, and bodyguards in suits with earpieces patrolled everywhere.

    "Still looking, the target is too big, but while searching, we found others are looking for her too."

    "ording to our informants, we are the third party looking for her."

    ```

    "Oh?"

    Victor''s eyebrows raised, a strong interest piqued, "Who does that include, do you know?"

    "Seems like one group is from CISEN (Mexican intelligence), and there''s another group that''s not very certain, but should be Americans."

    Jason Bourne paused, "The snitch said some of them are rednecks, their scent is just too strong."

    "Americans?"

    "CIA? DEA? FBI? It can''t possibly be the IRS."

    Names circled in Victor''s mind, not sure which agency, but he was certain the stuff on that prostitute was extremely important!

    "If you need help, get Ethan Hunt to contact Cuauht¨¦moc''s Guard Corps or Harris at teau Prison, we must snatch those people away!"

    Suddenly, Victor seemed to think of something and looked down at his watch, "Has there been any news from Carlos yet?"

    Jason Bourne was startled, then his brows furrowed, "No."

    Victor instantly felt something was wrong. It had been such a long time; why hadn''t he arrived? Even a phone call would havee through.

    Something had happened!

    ...

    Boom!

    A grenade was thrown into a Humvee, just as the officer wielding a Browning M2HB .50 caliber machine gun lowered his gaze and felt a chill.

    The officer behind quickly picked up the grenade intending to throw it back.

    Little did he know it would explode immediately!

    His arm was blown off, fragments piercing the neck of the officer controlling the machine gun, severing his throat in an instant.

    "Aaaah!!!"

    The officer with the severed arm fell from the Humvee, screaming in agony, yet still clenched his teeth, desperately moving behind another Humvee, panting heavily. He reached into his side pocket for a bandage, bit open the package, but then the bandage fell to the ground as his hand loosened.

    "Zzzz~" Carlos''s calm voice came through the walkie-talkie, "Gecko! Gecko!"

    The wounded officer was about to respond, "I''m here¡­"

    Before he could finish, bang...

    The helmet exploded!

    The entire head was blown apart, the body went limp.

    200 meters away, under a protruding tree, a sniper in camouge calmly pulled the bolt, ejecting the spent case.

    Barrett Light Fifty M82A1 Sniper Rifle!

    The sniper collected the casing, then picked up the rifle and moved to a new position.

    The insignia on his sleeve was conspicuously that of Los Zetas!

    Carlos didn''t pause. When no response came through the walkie-talkie, his heart sank, bullets whizzing outside.

    They''d entered Sonora State without issues, but an ambush had struck them on a rural mountain road in Durango State!

    The lead vehicle hit andmine first?

    It was sent flying.

    Then a rocket came from nowhere, targeting their armored vehicle. Luckily the reactive armor was solid and it didn''t blow apart¡­

    "Get out! Get out! Don''t stay here long."

    "Zzzz~" The walkie-talkie crackled as if it was being interfered with?

    Ankalos banged on the walkie-talkie forcefully, but no one responded. These attackers were well-prepared, and... very methodical, unlike the messy drug traffickers before.

    Sometimes you couldn''t even see where they were.

    Not knowing how many people there were, they had to retreat quickly.

    He took off his bulletproof vest and put it on Cuauht¨¦moc who was shaking, a natural reaction for anyone facing such a scene, right?

    "Don''t worry, Victor will protect you!" Carlos held his hand and said.

    Cuauht¨¦moc forced a smile, nodded, and as he saw Carlos heading out, he suddenly called out. When Carlos turned back, Cuauht¨¦moc took a deep breath, "You should give me a weapon. I don''t want to be captured by drug traffickers!"

    Carlos looked at him.

    "You''ll be fine! You won''t fall until after I''ve died."

    After saying that, he shut the door of the armored vehicle. In the sealed space, listening to the artillery fire outside, Cuauht¨¦moc''s hands clenched into fists in nervousness.

    "Victor... God bless!"

    He almost misspoke.

    ...

 Chapter 143 Chapter 140 Only the Name Victor Represents Justice!

    Carlos crouched at the side of the armored vehicle.

    He calmly observed the surroundings.

    The situation on the battlefield wasn''t bad after all; the Guard Corps, beingposed of elite soldiers, quickly established a counterattack position, relying on the convoy to strike back.

    "Retreat! Retreat!"

    Carlos shouted as loud as he could, "Cover each other in turns, pass the message down."

    If there were nomunication tools on the battlefield, then they could only rely on shouting, and the officers nearby who heard his voice passed the message on.

    Suddenly, Carlos''s gaze sharpened as if he saw something.

    He grabbed the handrail of a Humvee and jumped on, where a Type 75 105mm recoilless gun was lying across!

    "Turn around! Turn around!" he yelled to an officer who climbed into the vehicle, gesturing for him to make a turn.

    He quickly took a seat, adjusted the angle, aimed at a distance, and called for an officer to load the gun.

    "Incendiary Bombs!"

    The shell was chambered!

    Fire!

    Boom...

    The Humvee moved back several dozen centimeters, the shell whistled toward its destination.

    He had seen a figure just now, obviously hiding behind the trees.

    Burn you [expletive]!

    As the name suggests, Incendiary Bombs are professional arsonists, the patch of grass instantly caught fire, and with the wind blowing, the mes quickly spread.

    Four drug traffickers were seen scrambling out of their hiding spots, frantically running, but they were quickly overtaken...

    Trapped within a circle of fire.

    They could vaguely see the drug traffickers inside, desperately struggling and screaming incessantly.

    You hide, and I''ll burn you to death!

    Fire is actually very difficult to control.

    Especially in dry and explosively mmable ces.

    The whole valley woods caught fire in an instant, a huge plume of smoke dispersed above, indiscriminately invading everybody''s nostrils.

    Carlos coughed violently, covering his nose, "Retreat! Retreat! Retreat!"

    All officers hurriedly got into their vehicles, and the lead armored vehicle cleared the way, ramming through the destroyed Humvees.

    At that moment, on another mountaintop, the third brother of the Beltran Leyva, Carlos, saw this through binocrs and, unable to ept it, pounded the earth with his fist.

    A person from CISEN next to him nced over, clearly looking at him as if he were an idiot.

    Doesn''t that hurt?

    Carlos Beltran Leyva''s face twitched, he silently stuffed his hand into his pocket, unable to shout, saving face.

    "We couldn''t predict that Victor would send armored vehicles and Guard Corps to protect Cuauht¨¦moc, unless the military forces were mobilized to encircle him," the head of intelligence operations said.

    Damn, they even have a 105mm recoilless cannon, which I''ve never even seen before!

    Who can afford such luxury, equipping a hundred or so people with this kind of gear?

    Do you have a phobia of insufficient firepower?

    You''d dare to use incendiary bombs now, what about next time? High-explosive bombs? Aerosol Bombs?

    The Mexican Army doesn''t get paid as quickly as you rece your weapons and equipment.

    "Then send the military!" Carlos Beltran Leyva interrupted him, "If we really can''t manage, call in the air force to bomb them."

    Does Mexico even have an air force?

    Seems like all they have left are antiques.

    The other looked at him with an expression reserved for fools. Why share the same name and surname? One is a drug trafficker, the other bes president; he understood it was a matter of intelligence.

    "I''ll reconsult with the sir."

    If Cuauht¨¦moc''s identity blew up, the old guard in the party would surelye out to stop it, as many were personally promoted by his father.

    If it goes public, everyone would be disgraced.

    Carlos Beltran Leyva was furious, but what could he do against their greater mobility? If you can''t beat them, run.

    Damn it!

    Can''t you be more stubborn and fight to the death?

    Are Victor''s soldiers all so spineless?

    Carlos pressed the walkie-talkie, left the jamming area, and it finally worked, "No rest after this; we go directly to Mexico City."

    "Understood!"

    "Understood!"

    ...

    The walkie-talkie echoed with responses from each squad.

    Carlos exhaled.

    That was thrilling!

    The drug traffickers and Carlos must be insane; they would surely be waiting ahead. They wouldn''t stop until they killed Cuauht¨¦moc.

    Cuauht¨¦moc is known as the "Drug Eradication Pioneer," having expressed his opinion of the drug traffickers on the public stage more than once. If you go back to taking office, wouldn''t they be disgusted to death?

    Meanwhile, Cuauht¨¦moc, sittingfortably in the armored vehicle, hearing no gunfire outside and feeling the car moving, knew they had sessfully "escaped." He let out a sigh of relief and leaned back.

    But just then, an abrupt sound arose.

    Cuauht¨¦moc sharply looked up to see the phone lying on the opposite seat,ughing at himself for being too jumpy.

    He reached over, picked up the phone, and answered it, "Hello!"

    ...

    "Director, we''ve got a connection!"

    A secretary shouted, holding up a phone.

    Anxious, Victor hurried over, "Hello, Carlos!"

    "He''s outside, Victor."

    Victor was taken aback, "Cuauht¨¦moc? What''s happening? Why couldn''t any calls get through?"

    The person on the other end quickly exined everything that had happened and then finished with a wry smile, "It seems Carlos doesn''t want me to enter the city alive."

    Victor''s eyebrows were knitted together.

    Jason Bourne nced at the boss''s expression and thought it looked like someone was about to get whacked.

    "Actually, I think we can make a bigger scene," Cuauht¨¦moc suggested after a moment, "If a TV station broadcasts my return to Mexico City, even if Carlos and his men dare to make a move, they won''t be able to do it openly, at most it would be an assassination."

    Victor thought that made sense.

    "I went to school with Jonathan Aragon from the Mexican News Group, and now I''m confident I can get his support."

    "You know each other?"

    Jonathan is the decision-maker at the Mexican News Group and the eldest son of the Aragon Family.

    "We''ve known each other for over 30 years, we even shared a dorm room. He''s been helping me in private, but he can''t go against the situation. Carlos has more power than I do; he has a major drug trafficking group behind him, and Jonathan must look after his family."

    Cuauht¨¦moc added, with a hint of divinity, "But now it''s different. Carlos has been making mistake after mistake, and, moreover, Victor, now I have you. You are my voice, and Jonathan will see the situation clearly."

    This sounded nauseatingly sycophantic.

    "Any words must be backed by strength. We''re not mere observers at the dinner table; we''re participants. If Jonathan refuses to cooperate, you can send a threat, Victor. Right now, your name is bigger in Mexico than any drug trafficker''s."

    A military leader should act like one.

    Victor thought his reasoning was sound.

    Being brazen and arrogant? Who couldn''t?

    "I will make a televised speech from San Luis Potosi denouncing Carlos''s actions, and announce the formation of a new party! Colluding with drug traffickers'' Protection Umbre is the greatest insult to me!"

    "I hope you will join us."

    Cuauht¨¦moc was walking the same old path as in his previous life; he broke with Carlos and indeed re-established a party, nning to use politics to clean up Mexico.

    But heter discovered everything was new except the old problems of collusion with drug traffickers and corruption, which became even worse. He even encountered a drug lord in his own office.

    The trafficker sat in his chair, mocking his "stupidity" and thinking he was just an inflexible fool.

    Cuauht¨¦moc felt tired and eventually resigned, disappearing from the political stage.

    "As long as you uphold the g of fighting drug traffickers, I will always be there to help you, Cuauht¨¦moc!" Victor said with a grave look.

    You fight drugs; we''re friends.

    You traffic drugs...

    We can only be enemies. Victor didn''t care about past friendships when it came to enemies.

    Cuauht¨¦moc also caught the hint in his tone, fell silent for a moment, and then spoke seriously, "The children of the Cardenas have never been criminals!"

    The son of the Aztec Eagle must also soar.

    "teau Prison is under my control; the Jail Guards there can be armed. If necessary, I can direct them to storm the Official Residence. Within 24 hours, my troops will reach the city!"

    Victor was pleased with his response and after a moment said in a deep voice.

    The secretary nearby turned away quickly, with aplex look in her eyes.

    The boss... doesn''t care!

    Loyalty!

    He''s fighting drugs; all rotten branches on the trunk must be chopped off to stand a chance, as drug pration has reached the vitals of Mexico.

    Politics isn''t just dinner parties; it''s life and death, and so is the fight against drugs.

    No stepping back!

    In the hall, everyone was silent, even the brazen head of the Mexico International News Department, Jason Bourne, was holding his breath.

    The conversation between the two men was deciding the direction of an era.

    Perhaps failure, perhaps sess?

    "There''s no need for that, Victor," Cuauht¨¦moc said, his tone bing more moderate as he was rmed by Victor''s audacity, "You''re a policeman, I''m a politician. What we need is drug eradication, not rebellion. Drug eradication is our primary goal, and the public will stand with us."

    "We should rally every force we can!"

    "There are still many enlightened people in Mexico."

    Victor thought for a moment, "Then I''ll send more people to protect you."

    This time, Cuauht¨¦moc didn''t refuse; he agreed.

    "Thank you, Victor."

    "No, it''s ourmon ideal we should thank!"

    After hanging up the phone, Victor handed it back to the secretary. Seeing everyone looking at him as if they were survivors of a disaster, he smiled and said, "What''s the matter? Are you afraid I''ll act on impulse?"

    The secretary shook her head quickly.

    "If we fail, it''s treason; if we seed, it''s a GM!" Jason Bourne suddenly interjected.

    Victor was startled and looked at him, "I''m a policeman, and I stand for justice. Fighting drugs is justice."

    "But if Carlos suddenly deres drug prohibition, would you support him, boss?"

    Victor raised an eyebrow, "Of course not."

    "In Mexico, only the name Victor stands for justice!"

    Well then...

    You''ve said it all.

    Victor didn''t want to get too involved in politics; he just wanted to fight drugs.

    ...

 Chapter 144 Chapter 141 The Love-Hate Relationship Between the CIA and the DEA!

    Mexico City''s night was drizzled with a fine rain.

    The loneliness of the slum, solitary as a dead city hidden in darkness, wrapped itself around the child crouched in the corner who hugged his arms, sitting on the moss-covered steps at his house''s doorway, gazing at the distant glimmer of nightlife.

    His eyes were filled with longing.

    Behind him at the entrance to the alley stood a woman, dressed in cheap ck stockings, leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette for herself, taking a drag to fight the fatigue, looking towards the bustling district with a gaze full of helpless sorrow.

    "Miss."

    A gentle voice interrupted their thoughts, the woman turned her head to see a man in a suit with a smile on his face, "Excuse me, do you know Genesis?"

    "Genesis Daniels!" Ethan Hunt emphasized the surname.

    He was looking for the "prostitute" that Quintero had mentioned!

    The woman eyed him, her gaze flicking to the watch on the man''s wrist, and said directly, "Money, I want money."

    Ethan Hunt took out a hundred-dor bill from the lining of his suit and handed it to her, her eyes lit up, and she snatched it directly, very professionally pointing to a spot not far away, "Genesis is over there."

    "Thank you!" Ethan Hunt thanked her gentlemanly, took a few steps, then doubled back. In the woman''s surprised gaze, he reached out and extinguished her cigarette, "Smoking is bad for you,dy."

    "Mexico City isn''t weing to themoners, go to Baja California, Mexico''s hope is there."

    Ethan Hunt took out three more bills and handed them to her, ncing at the child sitting curiously on the steps, looking their way.

    "Mr. Victor does not like to categorize people into sses, he wants to ensure those who love him have food, that children can learn for free, that the elderly are taken care of, everyone should be treated with kindness."

    "May Victor bless you."

    Ethan Hunt cradled the woman''s face, kissed her forehead, and strolled away coolly.

    Watching the figure that disappeared into the night, the woman stared nkly.

    "Mommy..." The child timidly called out, lifting his head.

    The woman looked down at the child, his face covered in grime, but his eyes shone like the stars in the sky; was she herself just as clear-eyed in her childhood?

    Since when did she start standing here?

    What did she dream of bing as a child?

    A teacher, a scientist, or an athlete?

    "Do you want to study?" asked the woman suddenly, her voice trembling a bit.

    All the men liked the way she smoked, only that man put out her cigarette and warned her of the dangers of smoking.

    The child''s eyes sparkled at the mention of studying, but quickly dimmed, shaking his head, "I want to grow up fast so I can carry big loads at the docks, so Mommy doesn''t have to be so tired."

    Those words pierced the woman''s heart like a knife, and she held the child, tears raining down.

    When has this world ever been kind to the poor?

    She didn''t want her child to end up at the bottom of society, taking his hand, she said, "Let''s go! To Baja California, to study!"

    Ethan Hunt (part-time policy promoter), following the woman''s directions to the destination, happened to see four sturdy men dragging a woman out from a house.

    Very rough!

    Even a man pped her across the face.

    "Stupid bitch! Keep it up and I''ll send you to a sea brothel at the US-Mexico Border!"

    "Gentlemen..." Ethan Hunt stepped out of the darkness, his mouth splitting into a smile, "please be a little gentler with thedies."

    The men were taken aback, and they quickly drew their guns, but Ethan Hunt was faster, pulling out a military-grade Pistol88B and opening fire on them.

    Pop, pop, pop...

    But the gun wasn''t loaded with 31 bullets, only 10. His marksmanship was urate, and after taking down three men, he tossed the gun aside, took a quick step forward, and grabbed the wrist of another man, trying tond another one.

    Bang!

    The bullet flew into the sky.

    Ethan Hunt pulled out a butterfly knife from his pocket and stabbed the man''s belly repeatedly, a dozen times. The final thrust went straight into his neck, and after pulling out the knife, he wiped it clean on the corpse''s face before turning around with a smile back on his face.

    He looked at the woman sitting on the ground, paralyzed with fear.

    Ethan Hunt asked in a very gentlemanly manner, "Ma''am, may I see your behind?"

    ...

    "No! No! No!" the female reporter Leanna Lazaro Cortes screamed loudly, her voice carrying through the office building of the Mexico International News Department.

    Her voice was apanied by sobs, "I don''t want to see Quintero."

    "This is just a kind of... um? End-of-life care," the staff member struggled toe up with the phrase, prying her fingers open forcibly.

    They dragged her into the interrogation room.

    B2 was sharpening his scalpel, nning to drill into Quintero''s bones today, a procedure Camarena had previously endured.

    Hearing themotion, he turned around and saw Leanna, raising an eyebrow, "What? Are you going to give her a few cuts too?"

    "The Director wants her to see Quintero, after all, they were close," the staff replied.

    B2 nodded, stepping aside to reveal Quintero in the chair, "Miss Leanna, feel free to look."

    Quintero, who had been sitting there with his head down, heard the familiar name and voice, and mustered the energy to lift his head, straining to open his eyes. When he saw Leanna, his eyes widened instantly, and from somewhere he found the strength to let out a roar like a wild beast.

    "I''ll kill you! Kill you!"

    B2 pulled her closer, "Come on, take a good look. This is what a drug trafficker looks like, although this one was a boss. Next, our boss ns to bring over Gardo to see how many days he canst."

    Leanna, clearly having overdosed, couldn''t control her dder, and urine began to flow out onto the floor.

    Just then, the door was pushed open, and Jason Bourne walked in, frowning at the scene, "Gentlemen, let''s wrap this up. Take Quintero away; DEA and CIA are sending people."

    Upon hearing this, several agents hurriedly unfastened the handcuffs on Quintero, who kept his gaze fixed on Leanna.

    "Quiet!" B2 gave Quintero a hefty p and dragged him out of the interrogation room.

    Jason Bourne looked at Leanna, "Have you taken drugs?"

    The woman was too scared to answer,pletely overwhelmed.

    Jason Bourne shrugged, pulled out his gun and fired away, pew, pew, pew!

    "Sorry, junkies need to die too, no trade, no harm."

    ...

    Mexicali Security Department reception room.

    Victor sat on the couch with his legs crossed, while Alejandro beside him seemed a bit anxiously at a loss.

    Because of the two Americans in front of them!

    One is the DEA''s man in Mexico, Jonathan Pannier, built like a tank with biceps as big as Stallone''s and a bald head, looking fierce and intimidating.

    The other is a CIA overseas agent, Tulio Walters, with a refined appearance and wearing gold-rimmed sses.

    The two of them started picking fights the moment they met.

    The hatred between the two departments was even deeper than that in serial dramas about feud between mother-inws and daughter-inws at the 300th level.

    The CIA is on the same hierarchical level as the DEA''s parent Department of Justice, but in reality, it ranks above the DOJ because it is only ountable to the President, unlike the DOJ which is regted by Congress in various ways.

    To support the CONTRA anti-government forces in Nicaragua, the CIA hired some unofficial pilots to fly weapons to them...

    And these pilots would smuggle some drugs on the side.

    Then they were caught by the DEA.

    The issue even reached Congress, but many people believed thatpared to the Anti-Soviet efforts, what''s a little drug trafficking?

    The DEA was always in a position where neither "mother" nor "uncle" showed love.

    On a deeper level, the two departments represented two different systems (not to be discussed in detail, as that would be a waste of words).

    As for the DEA being suspected of drug trafficking, that would be an issue after the Millennium; after all, there are always people singing in hope and others sinking in despair.

    But regardless, throughout the 20th century, the DEA could still be called a "beacon of humanity."

    "Put your paws away, Jonathan, do all of you DEA guys like solving problems with your fists?" scoffed Tulio Walters, pushing up his sses.

    "We use our fists to fight drug traffickers, not like some who attract traffickers to do their bidding like whores, doing disgusting deeds with their bodies and souls," retorted Jonathan from the DEA, obviously notcking in fighting spirit.

    His words angered the other party, "Watch your behavior! Musclehead!"

    "What''s it gonna be? You wanna fight? Bastard, don''t think I don''t know you were right there when Camarena died!"

    Jonathan dropped a bombshell, ring fiercely at the CIA agent in front of him, "I swear, I''ll blow up your head!"

    Victor sat up straight; he loved hearing gossip.

    Tulio Walters''s face twitched, and he inhaled deeply, "I don''t know what you''re talking about."

    "You know exactly, bastard."

    Tulio Walters didn''t want to talk about this topic, but he was obviously a bit guilty. He turned to look at Victor, "You know why I''m here, Mr. Victor, our intel says that Quintero is here with you, hand him over to the CIA."

    "Why should I? Quintero is a drug trafficker; hand him over to us DEA!"

    "Mexico doesn''t have an extradition agreement with the United States," said Victor, spreading his hands.

    "This is a document signed by President Carlos." Tulio Walters handed over a document.

    Casare hurried over to take it.

    Victor nced at it andughed, "I don''t acknowledge someone who cooperates with drug traffickers as the President of Mexico."

    Theplexion of Tulio Walters changed at once.

    "This is an order from the CIA!"

    Victor casually cleaned his ears, calm, "You clearly don''t know who you''re talking to. Let me give you a hint, Tulio, I''m not a dangerous man; I am the danger. Do you underestimate me that much? If I''m not happy, I''m the kind of person who feeds others bullets."

    The CIA?

    That''s a big name!

    Not to mention the current global situation, does the CIA have the authority to deploy hundreds of thousands of troops to besiege me?

    Or are you going to drop a big ''shroom over Mexico''s head?

    Neither of these are realistic.

    If it were so easy to take out a person, why haven''t you taken out Fidel Castro?

    "I have no intention of harming American interests, but the CIA doesn''t represent America!" Victor narrowed his eyes, "Who gave you the authority to order me around?"

    The CIA and FBI are both loathed by the public in the United States, regarded as T0 entities within the country, filled with malignancy.

    It was the death of Camarena that started adding more weight to the DEA''s image in numerous American series, gradually being epted by the public.

    The drug prohibition cause is still something humanity strives toward.

    Unlike after the Millennium, when a boomerang flipped the United States upside down; isn''t there a joke, a DM dealer was sentenced to 20 years in prison, and when he got out, he saw a sign by the road that read: "For DM purchases please contact XX."

    Latin America is always full of magical realism, and so is the United States.

    Just an ordinary CIA agent?

    Why be a coward?

    It''s not like the Yanks have invaded.

    Tulio Walters looked at Victor with a morose expression, to be honest, Victor didn''t like that look at all.

    He really wanted to kill the guy!

    But ncing at Jonathan from the DEA beside him, he was also an American¡­

    "You can get lost, idiot,"ughed Jonathan with mockery, "Don''t you know you need to humble yourself to ask someone for a favor?"

    "You CIA people are always so arrogant."

    "Sooner orter, you''ll end up dead on the streets."

    Tulio Walters didn''t even get up, just kept looking at Victor, "No one can refuse the CIA."

    Victorughed.

    Casare sighed.

    Why the hell do you talk so much crap?

    ...

 Chapter 145 Humanitys Greatest Endeavor, Long Live!

    Tijuana. Algas (Seaweed) Street.

    Mexico likes to name streets and districts after animals or nts, a sort of "quirk" in their daily lives.

    Mana Rodlin Edith was cooking when she heard the loud sound of the televisioning from the living room. Unable to bear it any longer, she red disapprovingly and said, "Svet! Turn it down!"

    But her words received no response.

    Angry, she tapped the cooking spoon next to the non-stick pan and stormed out, only to see her husband Svet engrossed in watching TV while holding their child.

    On the screen was the famous Mexican television star, Edith Gonzalez, with her flowing hair, dressed in a ck dance skirt, standing in Mexicali Square.

    Singing a song with deep emotion.

    "Life is like a journey in search of something, it''s only after braving the winds and rains that it bes stronger."

    "But it denies life, rejects the sunlight¡­"

    "What kills isn''t just weapons, but also drugs."

    "Everyone''s wailing, crying, but he stood out, Victor! Victor!"

    ¡­

    Svet heard the noise, turned his head, and saw his wife, still humming along, "This song isn''t bad, Edith Gonzalez, your favorite idol."

    Mana Rodlin Edith''s eyebrows twitched, "What song? When did she release a new song?"

    "Sounds like¡­"

    "''Victor is with us!''"

    "It''s said to be an anti-drug song."

    Svet lightly pinched his daughter''s cheek, smiling easily, "The melody really is catchy."

    In Mexico, releasing songs was verymonce.

    After all, being close to the United States, there was a cirction of all sorts of cultures, even drug traffickers hadposed "rap" songs and heldpetitions.

    Songs could indeed bring about an exhrating mood to some extent.

    Mana Rodlin Edith nodded, about to say something, when she heard a loud bang!

    Boom!

    It was like something exploding, the couple exchanged a look and hurried to the roof, where they saw a mushroom cloud rising in the distance.

    And suddenly, the channel on the TV changed.

    "Residents of Tijuana, please stay calm at home, do not run around at will, the Anti-Drug Force is currently carrying out an operation to encircle and suppress the drug traffickers in the city!"

    "If you''re outside, please find a safe ce to take cover!"

    Svet looked at his wife, his eyes widening in shock, "Victor... he''s moved in?!"

    He handed his daughter to his wife, ran to the bedroom, and she followed only to see him pulling out a long gun from under the bed.

    There was tape on it.

    A De Lisle carbine!

    "What are you going to do?" his wife asked anxiously.

    "Don''t worry, I won''t do anything stupid. I''m just taking it out to protect you," Svet assured her with a smile, and then ran to the living room to call his childhood buddy.

    "Victor, that''s right! Victor hase in, the drug traffickers are going to die! Hurry, bring your submachine gun, we''re going to kill those bastard dogs!"

    Seeing Svet also taking out a police-issue bulletproof vest, his wife anxiously tugged at him, "Please, don''t go!"

    "I''m a police officer, darling. I used to be powerless to kill drug traffickers; I could only watch them wreak havoc on our turf, and it pained me. But now the opportunity hase. Victor is here; Tijuana has hope!"

    "The scales of victory tip in our favor; wait for my return."

    "Love you guys!"

    He kissed his wife and daughter and raised the gun, "Long live the great cause of drug elimination!!"

    Then he rushed out the door.

    ...

    Barouk''s ears were ringing slightly as he stood up, trembling and looking around. Many bodies were lying on the ground, and the painstakingly piled sandbags had been blown... blown sky-high.

    "Run... run..." the refugees who were employed by the drug traffickers were frantically yelling in terror, running around headlessly like scared chickens, knocking Barouk to the ground.

    He saw a row of... small tanks?

    Whizz whizz whizz~

    Several missiles with tails flew past!

    He didn''t recognize the model, but he knew he had to run!

    Barouk''s pupils constricted; he wanted to see his kids, wanted to see his wife. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards the city.

    But how could he outrun a missile? One hit in the midst of the crowd.

    Tearing them to shreds!

    This was a TOW anti-tank missile!

    Using it on people was simply extravagant.

    The 3.6 ton "Weasel" 1 airborne armored vehicle crushed the defensive positions, almost mocking the drug traffickers'' delusions of grandeur.

    The tracks made sure to roll over the dead bodies back and forth!

    They didn''t care who you were; resistance meant you were a drug trafficker!

    With the "Weasel" leading the way, armored vehicles rushed into the city, transporting soldiers who moved ording to assigned districts.

    Sitting in themand vehicle, Zolf Sherman led 260 men and 6 "Weasels" towards Street of Hell, where drug traffickers gathered.

    It was a name given by tourists.

    Everyone knew that among the most dangerous cities in Mexico, Tijuana could certainly be listed, and in 1989 alone, over 200 tourists went missing here, with most of them concentrated on Street of Hell!

    Even after the 21st century, many people traveling to Mexico were warned by local guides not to go near Street of Hell. Your next read is at empire

    But sometimes people really are masochistic; the more you tell them not to go somewhere, the more they want to go!

    In 2012, a family of four from the United States went missing on Street of Hell during their vacation, but because the father was an executive at an Intepany with considerable influence, the local police went searching.

 Chapter 146 Declaring Victor a Rebel!

    Svet was an ordinary police officer at the Tijuana local police station.

    But he was also a member of a local society called "Pescador mexicano," which was not about fishing, but rather a rather extreme Drug Enforcement Organization.

    There are many such organizations in the Latin American region, with strong connotations.

    For example, the Aryan Brotherhood in the United States advocates for white supremacy.

    The organization had about seven members, all of whom had deep vendettas against drug traffickers. It wasn''t that they didn''t n on recruiting more people, but this was Tijuana.

    One and a half out of every three people were involved in drug trafficking.

    The half were the undecided ones, swayed by whatever was in their best interest. If the money was right, they could also be members of a Drug Enforcement Organization.

    To prevent idents, they rarely took in new members.

    Their main goal was to hunt down lone drug traffickers!

    Even Svet''s wife was unaware of this.

    He gathered his team members, most of whom were carrying antiques ¨C they had no source of funding and had to settle for weapons from World War II.

    "Mr. Victor has made his move!" Svet looked at his team members with shining eyes, "When I was at the police station, I once apanied the Director to a mansion. There, I saw someone."

    "Who?" a short and chubby team member replied. He was Svet''s childhood friend and colleague Piet, holding a PPSH-41 submachine gun.

    "Armando Carrillo Fuentes!"

    At that name, the team members were taken aback, looking at each other in disbelief.

    "The guy with a 2 million US Dor bounty on his head from Guadalupe Ind Police Department, nicknamed the ''General Killer'' Armando?" Piet raised an eyebrow and asked.

    This nickname came from him having killed two Mexican generals in Mexicali, which had made him infamous.

    Sky King?

    Just because you have a few nes, you dare to call yourself that?

    You don''t even have bombers, yet you call yourself the Sky King? You''re more like the Sky Turtle!

    "Let''s go take him out!" Svet had guts.

    "With these¡­old relics in our hands?" Piet looked incredulous.

    "Who says old relics can''t take lives? Don''t you still prefer the older ones in the red-light district?"

    Piet''s face turned red.

    "Are we doing this or not? If we take him out, we might also get to join Victor''s forces."

    The team members nced at each other.

    "We''re in!"

    Svet certainly knew the principle of seeking wealth amidst danger.

    "Let''s go!"

    Tijuana was bustling with intense activity.

    Meanwhile, the city of Tecate was having an easier time of things.

    That''s mainly because Victor''s recently acquired underling, the local police chief Guillermo, was verypetent and had kept a tight grip on the situation until Victor announced the crackdown on drug traffickers in Baja California.

    He suddenly "rose in rebellion!"

    Leading the police officers right into the city hall, he arrested the mayor and several deputy mayors who were in a meeting.

    "What are you doing, Guillermo?"

    "Please, call me Officer! You drug trafficking bastard." Guillermo walked up and pped the man. Explore stories at empire

    The deputy chief mmed the table, "You..."

    Guillermo picked up the ashtray and smashed it backhandedly, just like smashing a watermelon, with a ng.

    Oh!

    His eyes lit up; smashing someone with an ashtray felt so damn good!

    No wonder boss Victor liked to use this too.

    Guillermo rushed up to the fallen deputy chief and repeatedly struck him.

    The "Ashtray Squad" gained another member.

    "Don''t move, or we''ll kill you. Don''t me us for trembling hands."

    Tecate itself was a small city. On the map of Mexico, you might not even find it, but when the Anti-Drug Force came into town in armored vehicles.

    The drug traffickers who ran did so, those who surrendered did so; there was no resistance, they just knelt on the ground.

    The officer in charge cursed at them, "Why don''t you resist?"

    The drug trafficker: ???

    Are you crazy? Even our surrender is a problem?

    "Captain, there''s a reporter," a team member whispered from behind. The captain took a deep breath and red at them, "Just their luck. Send a telegram to the Mexicali side; my unit has resolved the fight."

    His tone was full of resentment.

    The drug traffickers were just lucky, it''s off to road building for them.

    Mexicali city, the security department building.

    This was themand center for operations.

    Well, a battle had to be conducted with some formality, of course.

    There was even a map on the wall.

    "Director, the Tecate traffickers have surrendered," Casare came running over, saying excitedly.

    At these words, Victor''s eyes sparkled, and he checked the time: 3 hours and 02 minutes!

    "Tell them to maintain strict control over the local security, block all exits, and let no drug trafficker escape."

    Casare nodded and lowered his voice, "Boss, some of the footage on the show seems too bloody, with cops executing drug traffickers on their own."

    "The station has received a lot ofint calls, all from other states."

    Comints?

    This left Victor utterly confused, certain this wasn''t some kind of dark humor?

    What was Mexico learning from the United States, prioritizing human rights above all?

    "The executed drug traffickers haven''t protested, so what are they protesting for? Whoever calls the station again, just tell them to piss off. They''re spoiling them. My officers are out there upholding justice, and these people just babble on. If they think they can do better, send them to the battlefield."

    "From now on, let the person concerned make theint."

    Casare was both amused and exasperated.

    "Taking over Baja California is our strategic goal, and we must crush anyone who stands in our way!" Victor dered determinedly.

    Baja California was truly a gem, geographically ideal. Just look at how the United States'' Baja California had developed. As long as we wipe out the drug traffickers and boost the tourism industry, the GDP would definitely soar daily.

    And there certainly weren''t a few Runren who managed to get to the United States from here.

    Those smugglers made a fortune just by collecting people''s smuggling fees, which became an industry in itself. It''s said that, disregarding other steps, just transporting a person from Mexico to the other side could cost 3000 US dors!

    And that was the price back in the ''80s.

    NMD...

    How could such a lucrative business be left in the hands of criminals? Of course, it had to be managed by the government of Baja California. The title was already figured out: when the time came, official tourist visas would be issued, and vessels would directly deliver people across without the fear of capsizing.

    Work on this for a few years, and this ce would definitely be the most coveted city in the world for Runren, with domestic demand soaring in no time.

    These were just a small part of the economic recovery measures.

    Of course...

    Victor didn''t have "power"; he was just a lowly Director. But once Cuauht¨¦moc moved into the Official Residence of Mexico, he would be "the Economic Advisor of Baja California, Head of the State Security Department, and the one calling the shots in the State Police Department!"

    Don''t rush... Stay calm.

    "Director, you have a phone call."

    "Who is it?"

    "Carlos¡­ Mr. President!" the secretary said with a peculiar look on her face.

    Victor''s face also showed surprise, but then he smiled, picking up the phone and starting with a greeting, "Good afternoon, Mr. President."

    "Oh no! Soon it will be ''ex'' Mr. President."

    ...

    Carlos was so close to smashing his phone listening to the almost "humiliating" tone on the other end!

    But reason told him to cool it.

    Carlos took a deep breath, "Get Cuauht¨¦moc to call off his operations, and I can agree to any demand you have."

    "I''m just a cop, sir, not the president!"

    Carlos could have crushed his teeth.

    Cuauht¨¦moc that damned dog wanted to create a New Mexico?

    And too many old-timers were supporting him, driving Carlos furious. He could imagine what awaited him if he left office.

    Would Cuauht¨¦moc let him live?

    Would Victor let him live?

    Would any of the other families let him live?

    They''d surely fear him speaking out too much, then fabricate an "idental death." Carlos didn''t want to die, fear shing in his eyes.

    "I can promote you to head of Mexican security, I promise you a crackdown on all drug traffickers nationwide!"

    "Just make Cuauht¨¦moc stand down!"

    Carlos''s voice carried a hint of plea.

    Victor could almostugh, "Sir, I don''t need your permission to crack down on drug traffickers. It is both the mission and duty of a police officer!"

    "You perform poorly in your position; it''s time for a change."

    Are you trying to kill me, Victor?" Carlos finally roared out loud.

    "To kill you?"

    Victor spoke with a hostile tone, "Yes, to kill you! If you jump off the balcony right now, I will spare the Salinas Family!"

    "You''re betraying Mexico by dealing with the drug cartels!"

    Carlos''s mouth was trembling; the other party was serious about exterminating them all.

    "I don''t have much time to waste on you, Mr. President. I have to celebrate the bright rebirth of Tijuana!"

    With that, Victor hung up the phone.

    Carlos stood rigidly, the wind passing through the window causing the curtains to flutter.

    "Bastard! Asshole!" He smashed the phone to the ground and overturned all the documents on the table. Outside, Ajit, the secretary who heard themotion, walked in. Seeing the messy office, his eyes shed.

    Carlos red with a ferocious look.

    If Victor wasn''t going to let him live, then they should all die together!

    "Dere it!"

    "Victor is a rebel!"

    "Arrest Cuauht¨¦moc; he''s attempting to overthrow Mexico. Deploy the military to apprehend them!"

    Madness¡­ Complete madness!

    ...

 Chapter 147 If He Doesnt Want to Save Face, Then Well Save It for Him!

    ```

    "Arrest Victor and Cuauht¨¦moc!"

    Secretary Ajit suddenly looked up, his eyes carrying... aplex feeling of beholding an idiot.

    What the hell are you doing?

    A big stupid spring?

    On what grounds are you arresting them?

    Let''s put it this way, thebat power of the Mexican Army, even African Niggers could pin them to the ground and rub them in the dirt.

    Insufficient pay, deducted pensions, no air force above, no tanks below, even the so-called Special Forces are about to have their marrow sucked dry by Sinaloa, what else do you have?

    Ajit opened his mouth, his tone bitter, "Sir..."

    Carlos suddenly turned around, his eyes burning with the craziness of a gambler, bloodshot as well, "You... you''re going to betray me too?"

    Mad!

    Utterly mad!

    He couldn''t bear the thought of being brought down by a "whippersnapper" and a "rival". To put it nicely, it was a do-or-die attitude. Bluntly, it was squatting without shitting.

    And after he took office, there were indeed a number of people loyal to him.

    Ajit hurriedly shook his head.

    "I won''t fail, the President of Mexico is me now, and it will definitely be me in the future!" Carlos rambled nervously, turned around, and pulled the curtain.

    The setting sun cast ate-afternoon glow on him as it fell.

    Carlos, just over 40, hunched his back, muttering, "I won''t fail, I won''t."

    Ajit watched his silhouette!

    A wicked thought soared to the heavens!

    Seeing the tie hanging on the nearby coat rack, his hands clenched, his breathing turned ragged.

    Carlos lifted his head, gazing through the window at the distance. Suddenly, his neck was constricted as a tie pulled from behind choked him, yanking him violently to the ground. He frantically reached his hand to w at the nearby desk.

    Everything on it fell down.

    "Sir! Why do you have to go mad! Can''t you step down quietly? Your actions will get us all killed!" Ajit hissed with suppressed rage behind him.

    If Carlos actually announced the arrest of Victor and Cuauht¨¦moc, would he, as someone close to Carlos, be targeted for elimination?

    Getting into a car, not making it far before it exploded.

    "Why can''t you just die!" Ajit roared in a hushed voice.

    Carlos''s face turned red from the suffocation, his veins bulging. His hand scrambled on the ground, grabbed a pencil, and stabbed it backwards.

    "Aargh!" Ajit cried out in pain, his grip loosening instantly, rolling on the ground, covering his eyes with the pencil still in his right eye.

    Carlos, clutching his neck, pulled open a drawer and fetched a handgun, firing pop, pop, pop at Ajit on the ground!

    He emptied the magazine.

    He copsed onto the floor, staring at Ajit''s corpse, eyes vacant.

    And at that moment...

    The Guard Corps finally arrivedte.

    These damned bodyguards really were unreliable.

    A group of four or five men burst in, seeing the scene in the office, too shocked to speak.

    "Si... Sir."

    ```

    Carlos lifted his head, his voice a bit hoarse, "Ajit intended to assassinate me! He... is an assassin sent by Cuauht¨¦moc!"

    "Summon Valdis!"

    He was themander of the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen) and also his brother-inw.

    One of the guards turned and went to call him.

    "Drag the body away." Carlos looked at Ajit''s body on the floor, his mouth twitched, and the remaining guards dragged the corpse out.

    Valdis arrived quickly. He nearly lost his temper when he heard about the assassination attempt on Carlos and hurried over.

    He was a typical Mexican with a somewhat rugged appearance.

    "Brother-inw..."

    The moment he entered, he saw the other sitting in a chair, tremulously holding a cigarette, with the smell of blood still lingering in the air.

    "Can I trust you, Valdis?" Carlos asked the moment he spoke, startling the other, but Valdis immediately pounded his chest, "Without you, there is no me, all that I have is yours."

    The fierce light in Carlos''s eyes faded, "Ajit betrayed me; he wanted to kill me. You go and issue a statement immediately¡ªthat Cuauht¨¦moc and Victor sent people to harm me and attempted to overthrow Mexico!"

    "Deploy the army to suppress them!"

    The more Valdis listened, the wider his mouth opened. Brother-inw... I said all that I have is yours, but I didn''t say my life is yours as well. Aren''t you ying with fire?

    Dering them rebels, what does that mean?

    It means entering a state of war!

    "We have no way out." Carlos shoved the cigarette into his mouth and nced at Valdis, stiff all over, "If I fall, do you think they''ll spare you?"

    "If they want us dead, then let''s drag them to hell with us!"

    "Valdis, you won''t refuse me, right?" Carlos''s left hand rested under the table, holding a handgun.

    "I, and the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen), will definitely stand by your side, brother-inw!"

    Carlos nodded, "Mexico is still mine!"

    ...

    The sky gradually darkened.

    Tijuana was shrouded in darkness.

    The damn powerpany had knocked off for the day.

    Every now and then, sporadic gunshots could be heard. This city was tooplicated, with drug traffickers everywhere!

    Relying on just a few hundred men from the Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (TDTV) was not enough; they directly called in the Mexican National Emergency Squad (EDN) from the rear to the city.

    Sizzle sizzle sizzle...

    Combat boots stepped onto the waterlogged ground, making crisp sounds.

    "Keep up! Don''t get separated, damn it. If those drug traffickers grab you and chop off your head, don''t me me for not warning you," the leader at the front yelled.

    All the new officers of EDN behind him tensed up and hurried to keep pace.

    An old soldier with the rank of Sergeant crouched down to tie his shoces and suddenly heard a noise from a shop nearby. He raised his gun sharply, "Who''s there!"

    This sudden shout startled the new EDN officers, causing them to raise their guns and fire. Bang bang bang, bullets hit the wall.

    "Don''t¡­ don''t shoot!" A crying voice came from behind the wall, a woman, standing up shakily with her hair dyed in big, wavy yellow curls.

    The leader looked at her, scrutinizing her from head to toe, his eyes suddenly narrowed, "What''s that inside your clothes? Lift it up!" his voice suddenly rose.

    "Get down!!!"

    Boom...!

    The woman exploded in a spray of blood and flesh, limbs flying everywhere, and the shockwave sent an older policeman, who had been nearby, flying.

    The explosion sounded like amand; plenty of drug traffickers emerged from the rubble, opening fire on the policemen, and there was a small... machine gun bunker in front?

    Damn!

    A human bomb???

    This squad instantly had several men down. The team leader, shot in the leg, crawled into a shelter, pressing on themunications device, "Scorpion! Scorpion!"

    After shouting twice with no response, he cursed under his breath, "Tiger! Tiger!"

    "Received!"

    The Commander hurriedly ordered, "Launch the re! Everyone else charge into the houses on both sides, grenadeunchers take out the machine gun bunker!"

    An older police officer pulled out a re gun and fired it into the sky!

    The red re shot up, particrly visible against the night sky.

    The surrounding policemen, seeing it, rushed toward its direction.

    Hearing hismands, squad members charged into the houses on both sides. A rookie officer, unlucky, crashed into a shop at an intersection, just in time to see two drug traffickers inside!

    The three of them stared at each other in a standoff.

    They all reacted quickly, drawing their guns and opening fire!

    Bullets flew everywhere in the store, the items on the shelves were shot to pieces.

    "Damn! Damn!" the rookie was fired up, "I''ll blow you bastards to hell!" pulling out a hand grenade, he yanked the pin and lobbed it behind him against the shelf.

    "Watch out!" one of the drug traffickers yelled.

    Boom...

    The ground shook several times.

    The rookie officer charged forward with a roar, smashed one of the drug traffickers with the butt of his gun, and fired a burst. The other trafficker, his leg broken, frantically raised his hands, "Don''t kill¡ª"

    Biu!

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    A bullet drilled into the opponent''s eye socket, killing him dead.

    Just as the rookie officer was catching his breath, he was suddenly mmed from behind, falling to the ground¡ªa drug trafficker had been hiding there!

    He gripped the policeman''s throat tightly, his eyes fierce and saliva dripping from his mouth.

    A fight for life!

    The officer delivered a hard knee strike, and the sound of cracking... eggs echoed.

    The drug trafficker''s eyes bulged in pain.

    This was a spot that would hurt regardless of gender.

    The officer flipped him over, pinning him to the ground, and shoved a hand grenade beneath him, pressing his body down firmly.

    Bong!

    The two bodies were lifted by the st wave.

    "Cough cough..." the officer coughed hard twice, straining to lie on his side, gasping for air,pletely drained of strength.

    Just then, several res shot into the sky, illuminating the night as if it were day.

    Reinforcements had arrived!

    The officer slowly closed his eyes, he was so tired. He saw the Commander running towards him in the distance, anxiously leaning over him, vigorously shaking him.

    He couldn''t hear anything; he just felt so worn out.

    "Boom boom boom!"

    In the city hall, Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (CTMU) Commander Kennedy Heisenberg pounded the table hard, "34 ambushes in one night, how is this a drug trafficker crackdown? Why is there still so much resistance?"

    Zolf Sherman, the chastised head of the CTMU and Damon Hesfu Z,mander of the Mexican National Emergency Squad (EDN), both hung their heads.

    "Tijuana is too big... many drug traffickers have gone into hiding."

    "Then mobilize the power of the people. How many times has the Director said that the drug war is not just a matter for the police? We need to mobilize more forces that desire prohibition, to help us catch the traffickers."

    "Many traffickers still threaten ordinary citizens," Zolf Sherman said softly.

    After a silence, Kennedy spoke:

    "A war, a revolution, always requires bloodshed and sacrifice!"

    The trouble with the war on crime is that drug traffickers have absolutely no morals, but the police must care for the safety of the civilians. In times like these, they could only hope the people themselves would rise up.

    "Thump thump thump!"

    While the three were silent, a policeman ran in, "Chief, we''ve been dered Rebels by Carlos!"

    "Command wants us to disarm the local garrison!"

    "???"

    Zolf Sherman suddenly felt a chill go down his spine.

    ...

    "Mr. Carlos has severely condemned the unrest in Baja California, believing Victor''s actions have not been approved by the government, deeming them illegal and nonpliant!"

    "Moreover, he''s caused arge number of civilian casualties."

    "Such actions are rebellious, and the army will be dispatched to suppress them!"

    "Victor and Cuauht¨¦moc will be stripped of their Mexican nationality, and a warrant for their arrest will be issued!"

    Victor watched the news on the television with a calm expression.

    Casare and Alejandro were unusually quiet, exchanging nces.

    "Heh, do I look like a rebel?"

    Victor pointed to his own face, "Mr. Carlos is too stupid. Rebels and the Regr Army are distinguished not by derations but by caliber!"

    "He thinks the army will suppress me?"

    "What army does he have!"

    "Relying on that rubbish army that''s joined forces with the drug traffickers?"

    "I would like to ask him, who is the drug trafficker? Who is the rebel? Who is the scourge of Mexico!"

    "If he wants no dignity, then we''ll just have to restore it for him!"

    Victor''s eyes shed, "Send a wire to Harris, I suspect that there are drug traffickers hiding in the Presidential Pce!"

    "Ask Mr. Carlos for me, who really rules Mexico!"

    "Why can traffickers roam free, why can they upy high positions, why can''t good people get the treatment they deserve, thinking I''m a rebel? Me and my officers don''t ept it!"

    Victor took a deep breath.

    "Some have grown too ustomed to their lofty thrones, always thinking they are right. I will tell him, drug prohibition is the will of the people."

    "This Mexico, still belongs to the light!"

    ...

 Chapter 148 History Records The Night of Surprising Changes in the Rain!

    Cuauht¨¦moc, of course, would not sit idly by.

    Isn''t political spitting just quarreling?

    He waspletely ready to fight. In a car motel in San Luis Potosi, Cuauht¨¦moc epted an interview with "Mexican TV station".

    There were two special agent bodyguards standing at the door.

    Within a meter of him sat people staring intently at the reporters.

    The female reporter shifted her hips and crossed her legs to avoid a wardrobe mishap, but her chest was really big!

    Do women from the Latin American region only eat coconuts?

    "Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc, Mr. Carlos said that you are causing trouble in Mexico and expelled both you and Mr. Victor from Mexico citizenship. What do you think?"

    "Who is he? What qualification does he have? Or rather, what does he stand for! Victor and I have been fullymitted to Mexico''s anti-drug cause, and he''s actively undermining our efforts from behind. Such behavior is a shameful betrayal!"

    Cuauht¨¦moc spoke quite bluntly.

    "Moreover, we have evidence to prove that he has a deep-seated interest intersection with the Guadjara Cartel." As he spoke, he nced at the bodyguard beside him, who took out a radio.

    "This is a confession given to us by the DEA after arresting Quintero, you can listen to it."

    Static~

    The radio emitted breathing sounds.

    A male voice asked, "What''s your name?"

    "Rafael Caro Quintero!" a weak voice replied.

    "What post do you hold within the Guadjara Cartel?"

    "I''m in charge of research."

    "Do you have any protection umbre in Mexico? Besides the Defense Minister Grqui, who else backs you up?"

    Quintero fell silent, "Carlos Salinas, his family has shares in our business, and I paid them 30 million US Dors for my escape. I have a ledger that details everything very clearly."

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    "We helped him assassinate a political rival and he promised not to pursue us, I also have a recording of that."

    "We have got all these pieces of evidence." Cuauht¨¦moc took out a ledger and a tape recorder, "I can''t believe that a national leader would stoop to colluding with drug traffickers!"

    "He neither has the right nor the capability to stand on any moral high ground to criticize Victor and me, and I also call on all the armed forces to show restraint and not be Mexico''s sinners."

    "We are on an extremely correct path!" Cuauht¨¦moc said powerfully.

    The female reporter nodded, listening to him finish talking.

    After the interview ended, she said with a smile, "Sir, may I take these two items with me?"

    Cuauht¨¦moc was taken aback, "I''m very sorry, but I''m afraid that won''t be possible."

    The female reporter sounded slightly disappointed, "I understand, may I take a photo then?"

    He didn''t refuse, got up, and leaned over, also looking down at his feet.

    "Sir! Be careful!"

    Suddenly, the special agent behind him shouted, yanking Cuauht¨¦moc backwards, who lifted his head only to see the female reporter pulling out an NAA 22 Short pocket pistol from under the microphone!

    The damn thing was stuck in the microphone.

    The total length was only 10 centimeters.

    She fired at Cuauht¨¦moc!

    The closely following special agent quickly used his back to block the muzzle.

    The special agent by the door, hearing the gunfire, immediately rushed in, took control of the woman in no time, battered half her face with a punch, and stuck a finger inside her mouth to pull out a capsule from under her tongue.

    MD!

    What era is it, and there are still such loyal fanatics?

    But it seems that there are really quite a few, like during the "Flight 858 crash", wasn''t there one whomitted suicide?

    It''s only been a few years since then.

    Cuauht¨¦moc hurried to help the special agent, anxiously asking if he was okay, "Quick, take him to the hospital!"

    He stood in front of the female reporter, frowning, "Why do you want to kill me?"

    "Many people want you dead, and both you and Victor will die. You tampered with a cake that you shouldn''t have." The female reporter looked up at him fiercely.

    Cuauht¨¦moc fell silent, "The path of drug prohibition we''ve chosen is beyond reproach!"

    What''s wrong is Mexico, what''s wrong is the entire moralpass of Latin America.

    "Then turn it around! If it can''t be turned, violence is the best means."

    Victor, upon receiving the news of Cuauht¨¦moc''s assassination attempt, broke out in a cold sweat. If this guy died, he really could only be a rebel.

    "Make sure to interrogate that woman, even if it means blowing up her [censored] to find out who it is!" He hung up the call grimly, opened a drawer that contained a box of cigarettes and a pack of gum.

    He pondered for a moment, chose the cigarettes, put one in his mouth, "It''s time to give the big shots a bit of a violent shock!"

    ...

    "Hurry, hurry, hurry!"

    Chaotic footsteps echoed outside the 17th Battalion''s military camp in Tijuana, where the sentry was dozing off. Seeing the array of gun muzzles outside, he got an instant chill!

    Before he could react, an armored vehicle barged into the camp, clearing the way, and the sentry got dragged in front of a Humvee by two officers.

    "Where''s yourmanding officer?" Kennedy, seated in the passenger seat, asked.

    Watching so many people staring at him, the sentry''s teeth started chattering, "Themander went with some troops to help the drug traffickers yesterday, and they haven''t returned yet."

    "??"

    Kennedy and Zolf Sherman sitting behind exchanged nces, both silent for a long time.

    So it turned out... the local military actually went to assist drug traffickers against the Anti-Drug Force.

    Haven''t returned?

    That probably means they are noting back.

    "How many are left in the barracks? Why didn''t they take you guys?"

    "23 people, all of them are either old, weak or sick, and I have a leg injury, so..." The sentry hurriedly pulled up his trouser leg, revealing a bandaged wound.

 Chapter 149 Dog-headed Military Advisoréˆ¥æ“¥uzman!

    "Let me go! Let me go! I can give you a lot of money, whatever you want I can give you,"

    Carlos, sitting on the ground, waved his hands and yelled loudly.

    Harris looked down at him from above and suddenly got very angry, grabbing Carlos''s clothes.

    "We never wanted money. What we want is to eradicate drug traffickers. Do you remember what happened in the GAFE Special Forces back in 1987?"

    Carlos looked at him.

    Harris stared at him intently, and seeing the bewildered look on the other''s face, he burned with rage, "You had mymander transport drugs to the US-Mexico border for you. We refused, so what did you do to us?"

    "You sold out all of our families'' information to the drug traffickers, my wife, my children, my parents, and even my brothers were all killed by them!"

    "You betrayed us! When you were colluding with the drug traffickers, did you ever think about sparing us?"

    Harris shoved him aside, his voice chilling, "A traitor should be eliminated!!"

    The two officers behind approached and yanked a stic bag tightly over his neck, then pulled hard, while Carlos still tried to struggle.

    His hand was pierced through by a dagger in an instant!

    The protection umbre for drug traffickers!

    Should be treated this way.

    Bullets are the most polite form of execution.

    Carlos''s struggles gradually weakened until, finally, his body went limp and he fell to the ground.

    "Boss, troops areing!" an anxious voice sounded through themunication device from the sentries outside.

    Harris took onest deep look at Carlos on the ground, drew his gun, and fired three more shots at the corpse, two in the head, "Retreat!"

    The rain grew heavier, pounding the ground with a "thud, thud, thud," disturbingly unsettling.

    About ten minutes after they ran, Valdis arrived in a hurry with the intelligence agency''s operation department, having just received the message.

    Seeing the bodies scattered all around, his legs went weak.

    "Quick! Find Mr. Carlos!" Valdis''s voice cracked, hisplexion draining of color.

    The agents he brought started searching frantically.

    "Boss! Boss! Over here."

    Valdis jumped up and rushed over toward the shouting agent, seeing someone crouched over a body on the ground.

    "It''s Mr. Carlos."

    Valdis, seeing Carlos with a stic bag over his head, burst into howls, "Hurry, get him to the hospital!"

    On June 14, 1990, at 3 am!

    Mexico City suddenly went into full martialw.

    And half an hourter, a message quickly spread throughout Mexico via the media.

    Carlos Salinas!

    Deceased!

    The news swept across the nation instantly, and many people held meetings overnight, some without even getting a wink of sleep. As for why the TV said he was not dead, who cared?

    It was all damned unimportant; the man was dead.

    "Hurry, hurry! Go to San Luis Potosi to get Cuauht¨¦moc to take control!"

    ...

    Cuauht¨¦moc was woken up in the motel, yawning, when he heard from his secretary that Carlos was dead, he almost dislocated his jaw.

    "What did you say? Carlos is dead?"

    The secretary''s face was flushed with excitement, "Yes! He''s dead."

    "How did he die?" Cuauht¨¦moc frowned.

    "Our insider at the Official Residence said thatst night, a group of unidentified armed men stormed in and... killed him."

    That was way too... nonsensical, right?

    Thepetence of the Presidential Guard''s protection seemed too subpar.

    But on second thought, if drug traffickers could ce a few men in the Guard Corps, it made sense that theirbat strength was so poor they got taken out easily.

    Unidentified armed men?

    Drug traffickers?

    Victor?

    Victor!

    Cuauht¨¦moc''s instincts told him that it was definitely Victor. Just as he was about to pick up the phone to inquire, the noise outside became very loud.

    "What''s going on?"

    "Sir, there are many people downstairs," the doorman called out.

    Cuauht¨¦moc opened the window and saw that, unexpectedly, hundreds of people were standing densely packed, and more and more were drawing closer, carrying banners in their hands.

    It was too dark to see clearly.

    But their voices were cheering, very chaotic, yet slowly bing very united, "Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc, please go to Mexico City!"

    "Mr. Cuauht¨¦moc, please go to Mexico City!"

    ...

    It was as if someone was stirring them up from below.

    Yet, so many people shouting his name excited Cuauht¨¦moc, stirring passionate emotions inside him.

    "Sir, you have a call from Jonathan Aragon," his secretary handed over the phone, whispering softly.

    Cuauht¨¦moc picked up the phone and, before he could speak, heard Jonathan on the other end start the conversation, "Congrattions, buddy!"

    "It seems God did not stand on Carlos''s side."

    "You''ve taken down what belongs to you in Mexico!"

    Cuauht¨¦moc arched an eyebrow, "Thank you, but this is not just my Mexico, it belongs to all the people, and with Mr. Carlos''s death, the sessor isn''t me. We have to respect the constitution and let the elections speak."

    Jonathan Aragon fell silent for a while, then secondster, smiled and yed along, "Absolutely, Mexico belongs to all Mexicans, and we respect the constitution."

    "I and some friends of mine would like to meet with you."

    "They would be happy to offer you any assistance necessary."

    The "friends" Cuauht¨¦moc knew Jonathan was referring to were, of course, representatives of certain syndicates or some foreign groups. Although Cuauht¨¦moc despised these people, he was even clearer on the fact that Mexico now could not do without them.

    They didn''t care who became president, as long as their interests were guaranteed. If he did not keep up with the times, then the fruits of victory would be snatched away by someone else.

    Sometimes,promise is also an art.

    "It would be my honor. After I arrive in Mexico City, we should meet."

    Jonathan Aragon breathed a sigh of relief, it was fine as long as Cuauht¨¦moc cooperated, and his tone rxed considerably, "Then I wish you in advance a warm wee at the National Pce of Mexico!"

    Once the call ended, the previously surging enthusiasm in Cuauht¨¦moc''s heart suddenly waned.

    "A new struggle begins!"

    ...

    Sinaloa Culiacan!

    Inside Guzman''s mansion.

    Agur from Juarez, Abrego from the Gulf Group, the three bosses quietly sat, chain-smoking cigarettes.

    "Where is the Michoac¨¢n Family?" Agur asked, lifting his head.

    "They''re currently at war with a new power called Jalisco New Generation, they couldn''t spare the time to attend this meeting." Guzman said indifferently, his gaze shifting towards Abrego, "I''ve heard their leader is called El Mencho!"

    Abrego''s face darkened. Although "Shorty" had not said anything insulting, his dignity felt provoked, "I will personally take care of this traitor!"

    Guzman nced at him, "How much longer do you think we can afford internal conflict?"

    "? What do you mean?"

    "Carlos is dead, and if there are no surprises, Cuauht¨¦moc will be next in line, and he will show zero tolerance towards the drug trade, which could pose a huge challenge to our business."

    "If he gives more support to Victor, our living space will be increasingly squeezed. By then, it won''t just be money we haven''t made¡ªour lives will also be at risk!"

    "Mexico can''t live without drugs," the spokesperson for the Gulf Group said with a heavy voice.

    "But this is a challenge, isn''t it? Baja California... it''s gone!"

    Upon hearing this, Agur and Abrego fell silent on the spot.

    "What do you suggest?"

    "If we can''t beat them, let''s surrender," Guzman suggested.

    "??? Are you joking!" Abrego stood up suddenly, his temper slightly ring, "Surrender? It''s not in my vocabry!"

    "You could add it to your dictionary."

    Guzman looked at him, "Calm down and let me finish."

    Abrego nced at Agur, "Do you guys from Juarez want to surrender?"

    "Let him finish, go on."

    Agur, having formerly held the position of Commander of the Security Department, leaned back calmly in his chair and said.

    "Our surrenderes with conditions: allow us to sell drugs, and let us keep our own armies. However, we can take profits from it to the National Treasury to improve people''s lives, and we can maintain local order, assuring them that there will be no armed conflicts."

    "Moreover, we''ll abide by local city hall arrangements."

    "Just like Pablo did."

    When Colombia''s Pablo Escobar surrendered, he did so with conditions: no meddling with his business, staying in a prison he built, and no hindrance to his freedom.

    The Colombian Government, wanting to keep him in check, fully agreed to it.

    Just switching ces to remain a big shot, right?

    "Will Cuauht¨¦moc and Victor agree to it?" Abrego expressed doubt, especially about thetter, who had been hounding them relentlessly.

    Driving them to their wit''s ends.

    "We can offer a price the government cannot refuse; Victor? He''s just a director!"

    "A simple director with some weapons and some troops!"

    "Once we surrender, we can also use the government''s name to recruit armed personnel. If Victor takes action against us then, that will amount to civil war!"

    "He will be the target of everyone''s condemnation!"

    It must be said that Guzman was one of the few drug cartel leaders with a brain. Anyone who opposed him ended up destroyed, caught by his cunning strategies.

    If he couldn''t win in the open, he''d think of underhanded tactics.

    "Many higher-ups in Mexico have never truly considered a drug ban¡ªthey might just... want us to be quieter, to not disturb them. As long as we learn to keep our mouths shut first, they will learn topromise!"

    Agur and Abrego looked at each other.

    The dog-headed military advisor speaks wisely!

    "I will arrange for someone to contact those with influence first."

    "Who?"

    "For instance: the tycoons of Mexico!"

    ...

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