Working as a police officer in Mexico

The launchers 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 according to their combat 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 (Administración Penitenciaria de México), 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 a complete downgrade in attack capability; unless they had heavy weapons, there was basically no chance of penetrating 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 proficiently lay 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!

Similarly, they waited for their judgment like lambs.

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; he lay 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, completely shredding his buttocks.

If crime comes at no cost, then more and more people will become 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—death!

"Advance! Move to the next block!"

Victor commanded the DEM towards the next engagement point; the tires rolled over the corpses of the drug traffickers, and they burst open like crushed plastic bottles.

Looking at the bodies strewn all over the ground, the military police exchanged glances.

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 explained.

The name was all too familiar.

Who didn't know about the tough guy from Plateau 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 police launched 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 bodies laid 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 clamor 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 Michoacán 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 trouble coming.

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?

Planning 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 Plateau Prison are sure to riot, without a doubt!"

He hung up the phone abruptly and tossed it onto the seat, rubbing his hands together—a 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 play 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!

…

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