Working as a police officer in Mexico

Plateau Prison No. 1 Factory Area.

The sound of sewing machines clattered rhythmically while guards patrolled back and forth, clubbing anyone caught slacking.

But where there are policies from above, there are countermeasures from below.

"Officer! My sewing machine is broken!"

Suddenly someone raised their hand and shouted loudly, drawing many glances, revealing a slick prisoner with a shaved head standing up.

"How is it you again! The third time this month!" The guard scolded as he walked over.

The prisoner spread his hands innocently, "Maybe I was just working too hard."

Seeing his shamelessness, many of the new inmates' expressions flickered, but some of the older ones exchanged glances.

"This Carnes is hooked on breaking sewing machines," commented an old inmate, wetting the thread with his mouth, his hands still holding a darning needle, clearly showing years of practice.

"I think he's unlucky. Victor is right outside. What do you think will happen when his sewing machine really breaks at a time like this?" whispered a bald man with a tiger tattoo on his arm.

The old inmate shuddered at the mention of that name.

Damn, only those with tough lives survive multiple bloody purges in prison!

No sooner had the bald criminal finished speaking than several officers rushed in through the entrance. They spoke briefly with the guard, who looked surprised but quickly nodded in agreement and selected a few colleagues to go grab someone.

The inmate named Carnes stood to the side, smugly watching the officers repair the sewing machine. He was an old hand at sabotage; even in his sleep, he plotted how to destroy sewing machines!

Just then, a prison officer grabbed him from behind and dragged him backward, causing Carnes to start and hastily ask, "Officer, what's wrong with me?"

But they paid him no mind and dragged him outside.

"Hmph!" Stay connected via empire

A police officer with the rank of deputy superintendent watched over the other inmates with his hands behind his back, "Mr. Victor has given you the chance to reform, but you haven't cherished it. Instead, you destroy equipment, and such behavior is intolerable!"

"Therefore, the prison committee has sentenced Carnes to death, to be executed immediately!"

"You should all value the opportunity Mr. Victor has given you."

Death penalty!

Execution for being lazy?

All the criminals shuddered and then quickly lowered their heads, their feet moving faster.

It's better to live badly than to die well.

Sixty shifty inmates were dragged out of Plateau Prison and tied together on the shooting range, crying and weeping.

"No! I realize my mistake, please spare me, I swear I'll reform! I swear I won't slack off at work, don't kill me."

You had your chance and you blew it!

"Ready!"

An officer raised his hand, with two gunners lying prone in front of him, armed with M2 "Browning" heavy machine guns.

"Fire!"

Ratatatatatatata...

Dozens of inmates screamed to run, but the ropes yanked them back, with those on the outer edges having their heads blown apart, blood splattering wildly, limbs scattering.

In about a minute, no one was left standing.

"Next batch."

Over twenty drug traffickers pulled from the Third District were dragged out for not paying sanitation fees. Of course, nonpayment doesn't warrant execution, but Victor wanted points.

A casual glance revealed the lowest of them was worth over 800,000. Killing them all would earn him several tens of millions of points, contributing to his role as the Secretary of Public Security for Baja California.

"Wait," Victor suddenly called out, his gaze lingering on a gaunt middle-aged man at the end of the inmates' line.

"Miguel Felix Gallardo!"

The middle-aged man looked up, and it was none other than the once notorious Mexican drug lord, "Godfather" Gallardo!

Long tormented by illness, he appeared frail, but his eyes were still ferocious.

Gallardo glanced at him, his voice hoarse, "I know you, you came to see me, stood at the entrance to the prison for 15 seconds."

Victor paused, recalling that he had only recently been transferred to the Third District and how he had hoped to cozy up to him at the time. But how things had changed so quickly.

Gallardo took a step forward, his shackles clanging, startling the nearby officers who quickly restrained him.

"Are you still worried about a caged beast?" he chuckled, his eyes fixed on Victor, "Could I have a cigarette?"

Casare looked to the boss for approval, and upon getting a nod, he took out a cigarette from his pocket, placed it in Gallardo's mouth, and lit it.

Gallardo took a deep drag, blew out the smoke, "I saw ambition in your eyes back then, and I felt you wanted to kill me."

"You and I, we are doomed not to lead ordinary lives. Who would have thought, in such a short time, meeting again, you look at me as if you're looking at... an ant?!"

"I, Miguel Felix Gallardo, have been reduced to this extent?"

His voice suddenly rose, and he struggled forcefully.

Having been imprisoned for so long, his temper had become even more sensitive, sometimes a mere word could set him off.

He had lost everything, left only with his temper.

The officers beside him gripped him tightly.

Victor stepped forward.

"Boss," Casare called out worriedly. Victor waved his hand dismissively and faced Gallardo, "We're different, you're a drug trafficker, I'm a police officer, how could we be the same? A trapped wild dog can do nothing but bark madly."

Victor laughed, "I've taken down not one or two thousand drug traffickers, but three to five thousand. What are you? You see, if I want you dead now, you shall die. Who can save you? They gave you the nickname 'Godfather,' did you really start to think you were the Godfather of Mexico?"

He leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "I am!"

"I'll give you a chance. Kneel down, and then say 'drug traffickers deserve to die.' I'll let you live, and I guarantee you'll have a better time in Plateau Prison than the others. It's a good deal."

"You're insulting me!"n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"Yes!" Vic nodded unabashedly, "Isn't what you love most to have the police kneel at your feet and surrender? Now that our roles are reversed, you disagree?"

"Between life and dignity, what do you choose?"

The other man glared at him intently, a desperate growl emanating from his throat, fists clenched tight, eyes bloodshot, "I am Miguel Felix..."

Before he could finish, Vic snatched the rifle from a jail guard next to him and swung it at the man's head. Holding a cigarette in his mouth, he said, "Fuck that! My name is Victor Carlos Vieri!"

A few more blows to the head left the man bloody and fractured.

"I don't like his arrogance. Break his legs."

Jason Bourne picked up a couple of large wrenches and smashed them down on Gallardo's knees!

Crack-snap~

The sound of breaking bones, followed by his screams!

"Showing off all the way to me, if he loves death so much, let's find him a new way to die. Tie his limbs and head together, and then use a Hummer to pull him apart! For a Godfather, we have to make it special."

Quartering by Hummer?!

"Victor! You..." Gallardo, hearing his words, cursed loudly, more crazed than when he was captured.

Jason Bourne, seeing he wanted to curse someone out, took a wrench and smashed his teeth to bits.

I'm doing you a favor. If you keep cursing, with his petty mindset, your bones will be scattered to the winds soon.

At Victor's command, the officers hurried to find some rope, tied Gallardo's head and limbs, and attached the other end to the Hummer.

"Wu wu wu... Wu wu wu!" Gallardo lay on the ground, yelling loudly; God knows what he was saying.

"Boss, looks like he's crying?" Casare observed sharply; he saw the tears streaming from his eyes.

"A drug trafficker's tears are just fear of death, not repentance," Victor said coldly, watching the scene unfold. "If he had any regrets, he shouldn't have dealt drugs. He just didn't expect there would be someone like me in Mexico."

Casare nodded in agreement; without the boss, many drug traffickers would surely be above the law.

Yeah!

He even thought of the title for his next musical work, "Victor is the Light!"

That one "Victor Is with Us" was his lyric.

Next time, a movie!

"Pull!"

The Hummers roared to life, each equipped with a large-capacity engine capable of over 400 horsepower!

One horsepower is equal to 735.5 watts, so 400 horsepower translates to 294,200 watts. Such power output is quite high in the automotive field, typically requiring a high-powered version of a turbocharged six-cylinder vehicle, or an eight-cylinder vehicle to achieve it.

The driver floored the accelerator!

Five Hummers pulled in different directions with force.

"Victor...! I curse you, you won't die a good death!!"

Gallardo's last scream rang out.

His entire body...

was ripped apart.

Casare and the other officers all felt a chill run through their bodies, their scalps tingling, and their body hair standing on end.

Victor, however, appeared quite composed.

"Drug traffickers must die!"

Next time, think of a different method.

Bullets really are the most merciful way to die. Does that honor the narcotics officers who sacrificed their lives on the front line? Does it honor the common people who work hard every day for a few bucks and get victimized by drug traffickers?

Perhaps someone would allow it.

But sorry, now that Victor wields the knife, let's make the drug traffickers' deaths spectacular. They've all lived so flamboyantly; they can't fall from grace at the end.

From now on, please call Victor the "Helper to Mankind!"

"Clean this up, throw it to feed the dogs," Victor said with a glance at the body.

See? Animal protection organizations should elect him as their spokesperson. Wherever he goes, the animals have food.

The great white sharks of Guadalupe Island are now thriving and well-fed.

Next time, let's try lions.

Harris stood in the background, realizing that having not seen Victor in a long time, he seemed a bit irritable.

Not sure if that's a good thing, though.

Hesitating, he pulled over Casare, "Should we call a psychologist for the boss?"

The latter's eyebrows arched as he looked at him, "Do you have a grudge against any doctors?"

Harris: "..."

"Don't worry, the boss is just not in a good mood today. When he's in a good mood, he's not like this."

"What's he like?"

Casare thought for a moment, "He'll gently smash your head in with an ashtray!"

...