Working as a police officer in Mexico

Victor was truly "wronged". Whom had he offended!

Wasn't it just about anti-drug enforcement?

Why did so many people want him dead?

He felt alone in his righteousness, like a swordsman surrounded by enemies, with no allies in sight.

However, obviously, troubles wouldn't come one by one; instead, they swarmed in masses.

The phone calls from Tijuana's Casare followed one after another, and when he heard the boss's voice, he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank God, boss, I'm glad you're all right."

Victor could hear the tremble in his voice; he was also frightened. He raised an eyebrow—this news had spread quickly.

It was like the Yanks' zipper scandals, always feeling like someone was fanning the flames behind the scenes.

The world is a stage filled with strange attitudes toward fame and fortune, and so is life. When you succeed, people congratulate you to your face.

But in a blink, they'll trip you up.

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It's not that we're afraid "friends" won't do well, we're just afraid they'll do too well.

"Is there something wrong?" Victor asked in a gentle tone.

Casare lowered his voice, "There's an aggregation of drug traffickers and mobs in Tijuana, and behind them, there may be the shadow of other intelligence organizations."

Hearing this, Victor clicked his tongue, "Why do some people never learn their lesson?"

Do the foreigners give you so much more?

Have I, Victor, treated you poorly?

To be a dog for someone else!

Drug traffickers? Wipe them out!

"There are quite a few reporters around..."

"I authorize you, Casare, Tijuana must not be in chaos, Northern Mexico must not be in chaos! Drug traffickers? They should be buried underground!"

For this is our kingdom!

Fat Casare tensed up immediately, and then the boss, as if talking to himself yet seemingly addressing him, said, "There are still too many people in Tijuana."

A small broken city, with millions of people, plus its complex history and culture, you simply can't control so many people.

As the saying goes, it's easy to conquer, but hard to hold. You can't satisfy everyone's thoughts, you can't control their minds.

"The primary task is to maintain social stability. Go ahead, in my absence, you are Mexico's Acting Governor."

Casare's spirit immediately lifted.

"Understood! Boss, rest assured, I will keep your Mexico safe."

See, now you understand why Victor liked him so much, "your Mexico," tsk tsk tsk, this is what you call a confidant, a like-minded ally.

Much better than the likes of Sankara's Compaore or Allende's Pinochet.

After hanging up the call, Casare's expression turned fierce, "Order! The 1st Regiment of the Army moves into the city to suppress the rebellion, the National Guard and police departments at all levels are to disperse the crowd."

"Sir, there are many reporters nearby," the secretary said at his side.

"Drag them down and beat them too. Later, dress them in the rioters' clothes. Also, implement communication control, no network or communication in Tijuana is allowed outward contact!"

"Understood!"

As Casare's orders were issued, the 1st Regiment of the Army, already restless outside the city, more than 4,000 soldiers marched into Tijuana!

This farce, in fact, was just some drug traffickers who had escaped the purge, causing trouble everywhere. They were fundamentally mean-spirited, how could they possibly go to work?

Working doesn't make as much profit as drug trafficking does!

And in Tijuana Square!

The 11-meter-high Victor Statue stood with hands behind his back, as if gazing over the entirety of Mexico, his eyes revealing benevolence. (Who knows where that was reflected in the sculpture, that's what Casare's press release said.)

This is currently the largest statue in Mexico.

And below, many people, either sitting or standing, were holding up various slogans.

Some demanded the release of family members from prison—who doesn't have someone in jail?

Some requested a bit of leniency, not to control drug trafficking so strictly—the crops in the fields couldn't be sold off!@@novelbin@@

In short, there was a colorful variety, fully demonstrating the diversity of species.

And a man holding a Dharma Lama, skinny and scrawny, wearing a short-sleeved shirt with slightly curly hair, surrounded by two men, raised his hand, "We are starving! We need to eat! Are drugs really that bad? Medicine needs them, humanity needs them!"

Below, some people raised their hands in agreement, while others, who were "coerced" into joining the commotion, started feeling that something was amiss.

The slogans were becoming increasingly unreasonable!

Reporters below were recording these events, wearing vests to display their uniqueness, after all, Mexico really was the first country to counter drug traffickers with tanks.

It was then that the sound of engines and footsteps could be heard, and the protesters turned to look.

Squads of police officers carrying shields surged forward, their riot helmets on, dressed in stab-proof vests, chanting slogans of dispersal.

There was a loudspeaker blaring: Lay down your weapons and surrender!!!

"Don't panic! They won't dare to touch us, the Governor's Mansion won't harm innocent civilians," the leading bespectacled man assured the agitated crowd below when he noticed the unease.

Meanwhile, his companions hastily took out their mobile phones to make calls, but they couldn't get through. One of them, his face a picture of confusion and anxiety, said to his companion, "The signal's been jammed!"

What?!

The leader, who had been calm, suddenly became panicked upon hearing this.

When the police turned off their body cameras, they knew their world had collapsed...

Those brotherly bonds and heroic aspirations would dissipate with the falling of police batons, becoming memories of the past, as they listened to the piercing screech of tasers and the sound of tank treads crushing the ground. They really couldn't bear it any longer.