Working as a police officer in Mexico

Suburbs of Mexico City.

This place is desolate, even drug traffickers can't be bothered to come 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 hell come 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 flashing in his eyes.

After all, Holder had changed too much, his face scarred by burns, his aura completely 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've come for you!"

Gurgle~

Song Wu's adam's apple bobbed, the alcohol in his system instantly evaporating. He looked at Holder trying to explain, "I didn't start the fire, I never intended to burn you alive."

Explanations 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 clamped 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—that was me—I 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 screams lasted all night long, each time he was about to pass out, he would be injected with adrenaline.

By dawn, it's not accurate to say he was reduced to a skeleton—that's too dramatic—but he was nearly left without a patch of good flesh.

The Mastiff, having had its fill, lay 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.

Completely lacking 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 players, selling less than 20,000 US dollars' 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 place in the entire country where you can buy guns, even police have to make their purchases there.

Drug traffickers use guns smuggled from the black market.

Drugs can soften one's will and destroy the body, but if arms become 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° turnaround within the prison. Many were more inclined to chat with him, effectively making him popular.

Victor greeted them all with a friendly nod and a smile.

These people would later become "helpers" in his career.

"Hey, Victor." A female police officer in uniform—and wearing black tights—stood 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 replacement, 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, complete 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 salary, right?"

Ardama was taken aback—do you still care about that?

"Of... of course."

"That's good because my salary has to support my family."

Victor tore the document in half and tossed it into a trash can, his mood not as relaxed 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 it comes 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 plan, the company was to provide Victor with financial and other forms of support, facilitating his ascent and serving as the group's protection umbrella.

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.

...