Working as a police officer in Mexico

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What happened in Sangri Dawa Village of Culiacán, targeting government officials, wasn't so easily brought to an end.

Kennedy wouldn't have it!

Nor would Casare!

They even planned to escalate the incident.

"Since you think we're easy to bully, let's show you the savagery of the Northerners!

Known as the "Rock Ogre," George Smiley and his "Thirteen Protectors" detained everyone in Culiacán associated with drugs.

Those involved in drug production, trafficking, and transportation, as well as officials who protected drug traffickers, were originally considered "coerced" by the Northern Governor's Office and were supposed to be given "leniency."

But with you messing around like this, we don't care what you are—all are to be detained first.

Since prisons were inadequate, two "concentration camps" were built on the northern outskirts of Culiacán, all possessions were confiscated, and detainees were only allowed to bring two sets of clothing. Their daily tasks were menial labor.

For instance, washing clothes for soldiers!

In the open space of the concentration camp, four or five female drug traffickers were washing clothes when suddenly one of them collapsed, convulsing and frothing at the mouth.

The person beside her was taken aback, quickly realizing it was withdrawal symptoms!

The women got up and shouted, "Guard! Guard!"

No sooner had the cry ended when a gunshot was heard, pff…

The collapsed female drug trafficker's head exploded on the spot!

Blood and tissue splattered on the faces of those nearby; that look of horror should have been photographed and hung in a museum!

From a small building in the distance, George Smiley chewed on gum, put down the Barrett in his hand, picked up the red wine on the table, swirled it around, took a small sip, and then with a smile said to the captain in charge of the camp, "Quite a nice wine!"

"It's from Guzman's private collection. We took it from his cellar; headquarters sent over two bottles." The captain lifted the bottle, pointing to the label, "It's a foreign product too."

"French wine? No wonder it has a hint of fucking taste." George Smiley shook his head, and, getting down to business, said, "I think the drug traffickers in this camp are nowhere near afraid enough. We need to make them live in constant fear!"

"A corn cob per person per day—don't let them eat too much. Eating too much means they can run. Also, select 50 people each day to kill. Let them draw lots."

George Smiley spit the chewing gum into the trash bin, "Mr. Victor said, if the drug traffickers are ruthless, we must be even more ruthless. Kill until they're chilled to the bone, until they cannot even articulate their fear."

The captain's face tensed up.

"This is a manual issued by the Department of Internal Affairs; you might want to take a look," George Smiley said, passing over a newly revised book from the table.

"100 Ways to Torture Drug Traffickers!"

The captain curiously took it and glanced at it, his brows twitching violently at the first method: Peel off the drug traffickers' foot skin and then tie their feet and immerse them in seawater.

A vivid scene flashed through his mind, making him shudder involuntarily.

Damn!

People at the Department of Internal Affairs are just not normal.

"How long are these people going to be detained in the camp?"

A wicked smile crossed George Smiley's face, "Do you think they'll be able to walk out again?

"When it's time for a clean-up, clear them all out. If there's one thing Mexico isn't short of, it's drug traffickers. Enjoy yourself, buddy! You should know, not just anyone can get their hands on your position."

He lit a cigarette and patted the captain on the shoulder.

The latter swallowed hard.

George Smiley picked up the sniper rifle and aimed at a male drug trafficker who was struggling to drag a log, then pulled the trigger!
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Bang!

A hole exploded in the chest.

The people nearby ran off in terror.

"Exciting!" George Smiley howled.

"Madman! Everyone at the Department of Internal Affairs is mad!" The captain muttered to himself.

Knock, knock, knock~

There was a knock on the door, and the captain called them in, only to see a soldier dressed in a "classic" Taibao uniform enter. The Department of Internal Affairs' uniform was different, with a badge of Victor's portrait on the sleeve, and on the chest, it read: "Loyalty not absolute is absolutely not loyalty!"

"Captain!"

"Speak!" George Smiley didn't even turn his head, firing another shot at a terrified female drug trafficker, hmm... He just liked targeting people's "prominent" body parts.

Possibly as a kid, his family was poor and he didn't get enough to eat; now, he harbors deep malice towards women with conspicuous features!

"The Rats from Mexico City are starting to stir!"

George Smiley took a deep breath, "Can't hold it in any longer, huh? Well, let them be slaughtered. There are too many monsters and demons around Mr. Cuauhtémoc."

"Understood!" The team member saluted and turned to convey the order, his expression grave.

The captain watched the soldier's retreating figure, knowing too well that with that message relayed, plenty of Mexico's dignitaries were about to be in trouble.

"Do you think I can hit that drug trafficker with a limp?" George Smiley pointed at a drug trafficker with a limp and asked.

The captain snapped back to the present and looked, "That man is Guzman's cousin by marriage…"

Before he could finish speaking, a gunshot rang out, and the man hit the ground, his other leg shattered!

"What were you saying?" George Smiley turned around, cigarette in mouth, and asked.

The captain forced a smile.

Once they're in the concentration camp, it doesn't matter who's a cousin; even the whores gotta pee standing up!

A phone call from the Department of Internal Affairs went directly to the office of Carlos, nicknamed "Rookie" in Mexico City.

This whippersnapper who once "captured" Zambada on the battlefield was now an authoritarian figure!

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