Working as a police officer in Mexico

"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 glasses fell to the ground, and half of his face was a bloody mess.

Victor crushed the glasses underfoot and then stepped on the man's face, looking down at him as the latter glared 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 glanced 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 flame...

Instantly caught fire.

"Aaaaah!!!"

The middle-aged man screamed terribly, flailing 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-proclaimed "savage," "beastly" members of the Mexico gangs couldn't help but fear.

No, what they feared was becoming 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 place and fired at the other fallen gang members.

Trash, no use keeping them.

The youth, seeing his companions 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 blank, 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 more comforting words, the family left, with Lina looking back every three steps.

By this time, the local police of Miski Town had also arrived late. 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.

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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 Class is quite imposing, his chest muscles straining against his uniform, arousing envy in women.

The Sergeant First Class looked at Victor's well-equipped team with envy in his eyes; he knew that prison colleagues were coming 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 place."

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 Guadalajara Cartel, a member of the "Plaza" system, and after the organization dispersed, the Pedro Family struck out on their own, but they couldn't compete 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 blatantly, with brutal methods.

They were merciless in their dealings.

"Director, I can't do this, I resign."

While Alfredo was still contemplating, 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—they 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.

Clatter~

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 equivoqué." (Perhaps, I was wrong.)

...

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