Working as a police officer in Mexico

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You fucking ask us with a shotgun if we're still involved with gangs?

Officer, we're model students!

"Check their criminal records, anyone with a history gets locked up."

"Even those who've been locked up before?" Piet whispered.

"Lock them up! They come out and instead of studying, they mess around. Drag them to jail and make them sew."
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After all, the prisons are in dire need of labor.

"Where's the 'Locomotive' Felix Hills of 12th Street?" Svet held the shotgun in one hand and addressed a scared little chick.

Shivering, she replied, "At Sexo y drogas bar."

Upon hearing the name, Svet laughed, "Contact EDN and let's check it out. What era is this where they dare use that name? Bring the rocket launcher, for fuck's sake."

Why don't you call it "Stupid Vic"?

It will definitely be "as resplendent as a summer flower."

"Grandma! Grandma!" The little boy nearby was still crying out, his voice growing hoarse.

Svet frowned, "Get in touch with the mortuary, then have a colleague contact the family, and if... there's no one left, send him to the orphanage."

His chest was heavily congested now.

He used to be powerless, as a police officer on the street, he even had to pay protection money to gang members!

Can you relate to that?

When those above do nothing and no one has your back, the cops below just scrape by.

If you say drug traffickers are like psoriasis on Mexico, then gangs are a product formed by society—you can say they're different, or that their ways of financing are different.

Take some of America's most famous gangs, for instance; they survive by fighting and extorting protection money for their turf. How many gangs can outdo drug traffickers in terms of fierceness?

The "Miami Drug War" that happened in the late '70s saw the Colombian female drug lord, known as "Black Widow" Blanco, crush the local gangs with no chance of resistance.

She had zero opposition then.

Oh, and at that time, Blanco belonged to the Medellin Cartel.

Even the so-called five major Mafia families, can they fight better than the drug traffickers?

They can't possibly deploy tens of thousands of armed gunmen either.

"Piet!!"

Suddenly, Svet shouted out his colleague's name. The latter turned his head in puzzlement, only to see his buddy lowering his voice, even trembling as he spoke.

"I've been suppressing this for a long time."

Piet looked at him intently, "Then go blow their heads off!"

"Sexo y drogas bar" is on the busiest street in the 12th District. The surroundings are slightly better, but just slightly.

At the entrance, you could see a drunkard blatantly urinating.

In the alley next door, a streetwalker with a cigarette sneered with a mocking smile, as if laughing at the state of things.

Initially, people blatantly used drugs in the streets here. But because those drug traffickers truly died miserably, anyone left with a whole corpse must have been a good person in their past life, so now they're scared and can only sneak around.

Woo woo~

Siren sounds suddenly closed in from a distance.

Police cars in the 12th District?

Many curious "locals" looked over, just to see three police cars driving past one after another.

The cars had "EDN" (Mexican National Emergency Squad) written on them.

"Buddy, are you sure blasting the siren won't alert them?" Piet turned his head and said, "What if they destroy the drugs?"

"Since when do cops sneak around? Destroy? If he says it's gone, is it really gone? I think he has it!"

The police cars stopped across from the bar, dozens of officers got out, and they saw a yellow car slowly approaching, intending to park in front of the bar. The car doors were already open, but Svet came up and kicked the doors shut.

"Get lost! We're not open tonight."

The middle-aged man driving the car looked at the scene and quickly nodded.

Svet led the team into the bar. Inside, the music was exciting, the air filled with the putrid smell of deoxyribose, and on the stage some were shaking their heads as if they were having a seizure.

Piet led the team to turn on the lights.

The dim bar suddenly lit up, and Svet caught a glimpse of men and women hurrying to put on their clothes in a corner booth.

"Police inspection!"

This phrase never appeared before in Tijuana.

The people in the bar were all confused, looking at each other.

"We've received a tip about illegal activities here. Everyone stand up, men on the left side, women on the right," shouted an officer.

"Officer, where do those who are neither man nor woman stand?" shouted a young man with no shirt on and dyed yellow hair, amidst the laughter of his companions who heard the remark.

The officer turned his head to look at Svet, who walked over and stared at the young man with the yellow hair. The man was holding his head high, looking very defiant.

Svet smiled, drew his gun, and aimed at the man's balls and pulled the trigger!

Bong!

Gone!

"Aaargh, aaargh, aaargh!!" The yellow-haired man writhed on the ground, his eyes rolling back, screaming twice before he passed out.

"Neither man nor woman, die in the middle!" Svet said, pointing at the now-silent men and women, "Line up!"

Now they all obeyed better than anyone else.

Tijuana's cops are so brave!

"Officer! Officer!" A middle-aged man with dreadlocks came running down from the second floor, wringing his hands, "Anything I can help with?"

He tried to pass a stack of bills as he spoke.

"Where is Felix Hills? I'm looking for him," said Svet, pushing the man's hand away, calmly continuing, "Just some questions to ask."

The middle-aged man was taken aback, "Officer, you seem new around here. We've already paid this month's money."

Svet's expression flickered, there seemed to be a protection umbrella involved here.

"Let's take a look upstairs."

Piet pushed past the middle-aged man and led people ready to ascend the second floor when a stern voice called out, "Who gave you permission to come up?"

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He looked up as a black man came down the stairs, sporting a beard peppered with white, giving him an odd appearance.

Svet scanned him from head to toe, "Felix Hills?"

The man stared back arrogantly, his face clearly showing impatience and disdain when he saw Svet's police rank.

"Fuck! Are you giving me that look?"

With a slap, Svet struck him across the face, grabbed a rifle from a nearby officer, and began brutally smashing it against the fallen black man. As the dreadlocked middle-aged man tried to intervene, Piet aimed his gun at him.

Grabbing the black man's hair, Svet slammed his head against the railing, causing blood to drip down from his brow onto the rail.

"When the police ask a question, you answer with 'yes' or 'no'!"

"Give me that look? What the hell do you think you are?!"

Yanking his head, Svet slammed it again, demanding, "Answer me, are you or are you not Felix Hills?"

"Yes," the man complied this time.

"Have you smuggled drugs, trafficked humans, forced women into prostitution?"

How do you expect someone to answer that?

Would anyone come to a legitimate bar?

Understanding the situation, Svet let go and pointed at Felix Hills, then to Piet, "Execute him!"

???

The black man on the ground's eyes bulged when he heard those two words, and as two officers came to pull him by the arms, he truly panicked, "I want to call my lawyer! I want to call my lawyer!"

"In Baja California, criminals don't call lawyers, they call sorcerers!"

The officers dragged Felix Hills outside, kicked him down on his knees, with one holding his head and the other positioning a pistol against the back of his skull, bang bang bang!

Three shots were fired!

The body knelt briefly, then collapsed into an S shape.

The homeless man leaning against the wall outside, smoking a cigarette, sucked in a breath of cold air and inhaled the butt he had found straight into his mouth.

The lady, terrified, fled in her high heels.

The drunken ones were still lying on the ground, snoring away.

The sound of gunfire reached inside the bar, where the group of men and women who had been wildly dancing now huddled together, trembling.

They feared neither heaven nor earth, just Goddamn caliber.

"Search everything inside thoroughly, even dismantle the toilets," Svet said with a grim face.

That night, 15 blocks of Tijuana encountered raids.

Of course, not all went smoothly; gunfights broke out. The local gangs were quite uncooperative.

Then, suppression!

The Mexican National Emergency Squad (EDN) directly sent armored vehicles to "physically" persuade the gang members stubbornly holding out.

All immigrants and refugees were required to register their identities.

The one now in charge of Tijuana is "Caliber God Victor," not "God loves all."

The next day, as Victor had just arrived at the office, Casare walked in, holding a file.

"Boss, these are the results of last night's operation."

Victor took a sip of water, flipped through a few pages, and listened to Casare saying, "We seized a total of 32 tons of drugs, of which the 12th Street area had up to 11 tons. We killed 172 criminals and rescued 1,312 women. They were found at a dock in the 10th Street area, crammed into containers headed for Europe."

"Besides that, we also destroyed an illegal organ trading medical facility in the 7th District, where we found 17 kidneys, 21 livers, and 2 hearts, all destined for the United States."

"There's also an organization smuggling people across the border. They take boats from the beach to Santiago, but in a van in District 13, we found 78 people, of whom 31 had already died of asphyxiation."

These cold numbers represent lives, each and every one of them.

Victor's face grew dark as he listened.

"Bastards!"

He slammed the file onto the table, "Such large quantities indicate that these industries are deeply rooted here. Keep investigating, I refuse to believe they don't have a 'Protection Umbrella' behind them. Also, announce that human trafficking, organ trading, and arms dealing are to be treated the same as drug trafficking; capture them and execute them on the spot!"

In Mexico, you simply can't use "gentle" means. Even God would say, "Fuck!" when arriving here.

The geographical location is just too perfect; 3,169 kilometers of US-Mexico border is rife with crime, a foot already in hell.

It's said that some people snort bulls just to get across.

"We must not relent in our lessons to the local gangs, maintaining severe crackdowns. Build three more prisons in Baja California to make goods like sunshades or other tools that tourists might need."

"We can transfer some well-behaved prisoners from Plateau Prison to act as the management layer. We want to spread the 'Plateau Prison style' across all of Mexico."

"Boss, I think maybe we should just castrate them with electricity. That way, they won't get distracted by spring fever and lower their work efficiency."

Victor was stunned by these words, and then nodded, "Keeping them is useless anyway."

Well, that's the end of it, committing crimes in Mexico, all functions are going to fail.

"Director!!"

Suddenly, the secretary burst in anxiously, face flushed, "Something has happened!"

...

"Sonora State, Chihuahua State, Sinaloa State, Durango State, and Coahuila State have formed the 'Five Continents Alliance', declaring dissatisfaction with Cuauhtémoc's appointment of Victor. They will suspend tax remittances and impose a blockade on Baja California! They will not allow a single ear of corn to enter Baja California!"

"They also call for an end to unnecessary wars, to stop the killing, to stop the persecution!"

"Until the government announces punishment for Victor, he is a war madman, a tyrant!"

On TV, a spokesperson for the so-called 'Five Continents Alliance' vehemently criticized Victor's 'bloodshed' policy.

They argued that Mexico might have drug traffickers, but they are just civilians forced by life, not heinous demons.

Victor is the demon!

"Tyrant! Tyrant! Tyrant!" On TV, the protest was massive, with banners held high, and a bearded man shouted at the camera, "Victor is a tyrant, he is killing Mexico."

In the conference room, everyone was silent, casting sideways glances at Victor at the head of the table.

"How long can Baja California's food supply last?"

"If we control market fluctuations, only three days," a municipal worker said.

Victor nodded. He had wanted to develop for a bit longer, but these people wouldn't allow it, jumping out directly.

"We might have no food, but we have guns. If they dare sympathize with drug traffickers, then they must be hiding drugs!"

"Take our officers and go have a look!!"

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