Working as a police officer in Mexico

Sinaloa. Leavenworth Town!

This small town, known by the charming name "Dandelion," usually had a population of around 1300 people and was peaceful due to its distance from the noise.

But a burst of gunfire shattered the tranquility!

Followed by the sound of an explosion…

A group of armed individuals was storming the police station.

They drove a pickup truck with a DIY front end fitted with a steel plate, slamming into the police station's doors. Once they had broken through, the gunmen already lying in wait outside rushed in, coordinating their attack.

The badges on their chests read "Cartel de Sinaloa," and on their left arms hung: Los Zetas!!

The equipment of these guys seemed to be top-notch.

Pure American gear!

With a Colt submachine gun in hand, the weapon, with a total length of 730 millimeters and a 9mm caliber, was commonly seen among the U.S. Military's drug enforcement departments!

There were also those wielding Mossberg M9200A1 shotguns.

The newly formed group of gunmen from the Sinaloa Group!

Guzman really was willing to spend a fortune.

"Grenade! Grenade!"

The gunman at the forefront took cover by a wall, gestured to a companion behind him, who swiftly pulled a grenade from his tactical vest, yanked the pin, and tossed it into the hallway behind him.

beng!

A cloud of ash billowed out, shaking the plaster off the ceiling.

A drug trafficker, wielding an HK21 machine gun made by Germany's Heckler & Koch, stood at the entrance, firing into the room to suppress the police's gunfire!

Bullets continuously chambered from the drum magazine, and shell casings clattered onto the ground.

The drug trafficker's hands were trembling, his facial muscles twitching.

"Charge!"

The gunmen stormed the building, a few gunshots rang out, and then the exchange of fire ceased.

In a matter of minutes, the drug trafficker dragged out the heads of several men, pulled them in front of a Rolls-Royce, the window rolled down, revealing Guzman's face.

"Mr. Mayor, long time no see."

"Ptooey!" The mayor spat a thick glob of phlegm, which stuck directly onto the car.

Seeing this, Arturo next to him kicked him in the head and grabbed his head, pressing it hard against the phlegm and rubbing it back and forth.

"Father!" a young man being held down by the drug trafficker shouted, "You bastards! Bastards! Drug trafficking bastards! Mr. Victor will wipe all of you out!"

"Chop off his head, I don't like him!" Guzman said grimly, his face quivering with disgust at the mention of Victor's name.

When he heard from an informant that there were people daring to discuss surrendering to Victor within his jurisdiction in Sinaloa, he was filled with rage and led the "Los Zetas" to attack directly.

The mayor?

Who cares about your title!

Anyone who's thinking of surrendering to Victor will end up dead.

Upon hearing Guzman's order, Arturo grinned sinisterly, took a knife from the drug trafficker's hand, and slashed at the young man's neck.

"Long live Mr. Victor! Long live Mexico!" The young man let out a hoarse scream as his head rolled off, landing at the feet of the mayor.

Blood sprayed from the severed neck.

"Ah! Ah!!" The mayor cried out agonizingly, weeping and wailing as he saw the head just a few centimeters from his feet, the drug trafficker holding him down firmly on the ground, his eyes red as he looked into his son's eyes.

He remembered his son, who had studied in Mexicali, returned home unexpectedly a month ago, excitedly pulling him aside to tell him about the greatness of Mr. Victor.

He told everyone they didn't have to be threatened by drug traffickers.

He gave all the poor people jobs.

Where he stood, there was light.

Back then, his son's eyes shone brightly as he excitedly said he wanted to follow in Mr. Victor's footsteps.

To struggle and bring all Mexicans out of the mire!

beng!

A loud bang sounded in the sky, and suddenly it began to rain.

"Kill him and hang him in the center of town on the street lamp," Guzman instructed, preparing to close the window when he spotted a drug trafficker nearby recording everything. His expression changed, and he said to Arturo, "Play the recording throughout Sinaloa."

"Tell these lowlifes who is the Emperor of Sinaloa!!"

Arturo nodded, sensing his cousin's hatred for Victor, and if it weren't so outrageously shocking, he might have even killed everyone in the Sinaloa Drug Cartel named after him.

They were frightened, "The Battle of Mexicali" was entirely Victor's one-man show, and it left these drug traffickers uneasy. Yet, they were also proud; they wouldn't allow anyone to see their fear or cowardice.

They had to tough it out!

No way, surrender to Victor?

Could they even continue in this business after that?

It was said that the mortality rate for drug traffickers building roads in Baja California was very high, even higher than during wars between cartels.

As Guzman closed the car window, a white brick phone beside him started to ring.

Guzman answered it; it was Carlos's secretary, Ajit.

Arturo stood outside and saw his cousin inside on the phone, his expression visibly ferocious.

An underling brought an umbrella to shield him from the rain.

"Arturo!"

The window rolled down again, and Guzman called out, with Arturo quickly leaning in.

"Tell them to coordinate with the Mexican National Security Intelligence Agency (Cisen) to take out Cuauhtémoc!"

Though this sentence might seem innocuous, it was charged with the magical reality of Latin American political systems.

Drug traffickers and a national intelligence agency teaming up for a hit on a politician.

But Arturo seemed used to it, seeing his cousin's expression, he surely had received a satisfying reward.

It was just a killing.

Drug traffickers are professionals at that!

Guzman left, and as Arturo looked at the mayor, he frowned, "Drag him behind a car, then hang him up."