Working as a police officer in Mexico

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: Prisión de la meseta de México (Mexico Highlands 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 Plateau Prison isn't some henhouse, what are they doing loitering at the entrance like that?"

"I don't care about other places; even if they go to the Presidential Palace 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 glanced 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 accordingly.

Miski Town, located southeast of Mexico City, has a nickname: "Ghost Village." It's often frequented by foreigners.

According to the Aztec calendar, every November 1st is the Day of the Dead, which usually lasts for about three days. According to Mexican folk customs, the 1st is the Day of the Little Angels, and the 2nd is the Day of the Dead.

It's to commemorate the deceased.

For instance, Pixar Animation Studios later 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 place 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 glance how many people there were.

The sight overwhelmed Victor.

Harrison had already arranged a plan: groups of ten patrolled in five teams with the armored vehicle as the center, reporting any issues via walkie-talkie.

Of course, in such a large 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 black 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 explanation with a relatively 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 people come from?

Isn't it just by chance?

Victor placed 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 alarm 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 teeth lately, 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 playing 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 playing Street Fighter, a game that had become 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 player's hair and smashed his head against the machine, shattering the thick glass 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 slapped 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 glasses, 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 they lay on the ground.

"Oh~"

"Sorry, it went off, bastards!"

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