Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 649: The name alone is terrifying.

Meanwhile, on the other side of South America, far away...

Brazil!

On cheap televisions in the slums with extremely poor signal and cracked screens, a sudden interruption of an emergency news flash.

Colombian President Armando Benedetta and the Brazilian president, with their serious, somewhat rigid faces, faced the camera and announced in a declarative tone:

"Based on a shared responsibility for regional security and a deep concern about the growing threat posed by transnational criminal groups, the Republic of Colombia, the Federative Republic of Brazil, and Mexico have reached a principled consensus on establishing a joint law enforcement and security framework. This framework aims to coordinate actions, share intelligence, and integrate resources to completely eradicate drug cartels, terrorist organizations, and organized crime forces entrenched along our shared borders and territories..."

Nobody listens to the high-sounding phrases about respecting sovereignty, the rule of law, and multilateral cooperation that follow.

It doesn't have much nutritional value...

These are basically universal excuses that can be used anytime. The Americans used this excuse before to get oil, but now everyone only knows that Victor, that mad dog, has his sights set on these drug traffickers in Brazil.

A three-way alliance! Colombia! Brazil! Mexico! Unite! Eliminate!
"Fuck you!"

A hoarse roar erupted from the mouth of a leader covered in tattoos and with fierce eyes. His gaze was fixed on the television with a vicious glint in his eyes. His chest and shoulders were covered in tattoos, making him look somewhat terrifying.

His nickname was "Big Beard Pedro," and he controlled the distribution of fentanyl in several city blocks.

He slammed the half-empty bottle of cheap Casasa wine on the ground, sending shards of glass and murky liquid flying everywhere.

“Three Kingdoms?! That old dog Benede loves to hang out with that butcher Victor! And Brazil! We’re fucking in Brazil!!” Pedro’s eyes were bloodshot with fear and rage, like a trapped beast driven to the brink of despair.

Judging from his appearance...

This guy is definitely using drugs!

He grabbed a terrified henchman by the collar. "Mexico! Victor! He's the one who crippled Medellín and Cali, and now it's his turn?!"

"What is he trying to do? Is he trying to drive us to our deaths?!"

Several core subordinates gathered around, their usual arrogance gone, replaced by paleness and bewilderment.

Damn it, we didn't offend you, Victor, in Brazil. We were just trafficking drugs, and we didn't bomb Mexico City. What's it to you?
Panic spread like a plague in the narrow space, filled with the stench of sweat, marijuana, and cheap gunpowder.

Viktor's name is too famous...

Who isn't afraid?
My legs are shaking just listening to this.

"Boss... what do we do?" A man with a scar on his face asked in a hoarse voice. "Victor... his sanitation crew, I heard they even blew up rat holes..."

“He wiped out all the Colombian guerrillas! The Brazilian police were ruthless enough, and then those Mexican lunatics came along…” another henchman’s voice trembled with tears, “Should we…should we run?”

"Run?!" Pedro, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, shoved away the person he was grabbing and yanked out the Glock pistol tucked into his back waistband.

With a loud "bang," a shot was fired into the air. The ear-piercing gunshot was deafening in the confined space, drowning out all the other noise.

"Where the hell are you going?! In the sky? Or at the bottom of the sea?! Three countries have joined forces! The border is a noose! You think you can escape?!"

He spun around in circles like a madman, panting heavily, his cheap vest soaked with sweat.

Viktor's name pressed down like an insurmountable iceberg.

The fighting prowess of the Mexican army, especially their unpredictable ferocity, was a nightmare that these street thugs could never imagine.

Now, the protagonist of this nightmare is coming at us with the remnants of Colombia's forces and Brazil's state machinery!
“They want us dead!” Pedro’s voice was distorted by extreme fear, filled with a hysterical despair. “Damn the Brazilian government! They sold us out to Victor!”

He abruptly stopped, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over the faces of his men, each one equally etched with fear.

A destructive, suicidal madness began to grow in his fear-scorched mind. Since there was no escape, since he was destined to be wiped out…

"Listen!" Pedro's voice suddenly rose, filled with a frenzied, apocalyptic madness. "Since they're here to wipe us out, let them see what the price is for wiping us out! Let the whole of Rio de Janeiro be buried with us!"

He brandished his pistol, spitting as he roared orders:

"Go! Everyone! Go collect the debts! Drag out all those penniless bastards who owe money, those scum who dare not pay protection money, and those cowards who dare to even glance at our territory!

"Get all the stock out there! Give it away for free! Let every addict on the street go wild! Let them rob! Let them kill! Let them set fires! Draw out the police! The more the better!"

"Tell the other district bosses! Pedro said it! If we're all going to die, we're all going to die together! Anyone who dares to back down, I'll wipe them out first!"

"Bloodbath!" he roared the last word, his voice trembling. "Before they even lay a hand on it, I'll turn Rio into hell! I'll show Victor and Benede what kind of drug dealers they're after! I'll stain the streets of Rio red with blood! I'll let the whole world know!"

The orders were spread like wildfire.

Just minutes before, the drug dealers were merely panicked, but under Pedro's extreme orders, their fear quickly escalated into a devastating frenzy.

Since the end of the world is inevitable, let's drag more people down to hell with us! They grabbed all sorts of automatic weapons, shotguns, and machetes, their faces twisted with a mixture of despair and savagery.

The calm was shattered in an instant, and the piercing sound of gunfire began to ring out sporadically, soon becoming a continuous barrage.

Desperate cries, angry curses, the sound of shattering glass, the roar of engines, and uncontrollable screams quickly intertwined to form a tragic prelude.

Drug dealers are no longer after territory and business; they want to put on a bloodiest and most insane final act before utter destruction.

A mad dog driven insane!

Rio de Janeiro... has no good people!
They wanted to use the chaos and bloodshed of the entire city as the most desperate and violent response to the newly formed Tripartite Alliance that had sentenced them to death.

Pedro's insane orders were like sparks thrown into boiling oil, instantly igniting chaos in the favela of Rio de Janeiro.

Gunshots were no longer sporadic, but poured out like a torrential rain on the narrow alleyways and the graffiti-covered walls.

Desperate addicts, stimulated by the free distribution of drugs, let out inhuman howls, smash shop windows, and set car tires on fire, sending thick smoke billowing up like the flames of hell.

The out-of-control crowd surged forward like headless flies, amidst the hysterical roars of the mob and the whistling of bullets.

However, this apocalyptic frenzy fueled by fear did not last long.

What first broke the drug dealers' destructive rhythm was not an ordinary patrol car, but the deep, oppressive roar of an engine that came from afar like rolling thunder.

Several rugged, heavy armored vehicles, painted in matte black, resembled giant beasts as they rolled over burning roadblocks, ignored stray bullets, and brute forcefully charged into the chaotic heart of the area.

On the vehicle, the stark white crossed skull emblem stood out starkly against the firelight and smoke—BOPE (Rio de Janeiro State Gendarmerie Special Police Battalion)!!!

The car door suddenly swung open without warning or a shout.

A group of soldiers, dressed in all-black combat uniforms, wearing bulletproof helmets and goggles, descended like iron towers. Their movements were swift, precise, and silent, creating a suffocating contrast with the frenzied chaos around them.

Each person gripped tightly the HK MP5 submachine gun, BOPE's signature weapon—a compact yet powerful weapon—as well as some members being equipped with incredibly lethal 12-gauge shotguns.

"Skeleton Army! It's the Skeleton Army!"

A drug dealer who had just rushed out of a building, brandishing an AK and firing wildly, froze on his face, replaced by a deep-seated fear.

He screamed, his voice distorted and disoriented, and he even forgot to pull the trigger.

But BOPE's response was faster and more ruthless than he had imagined.

"Hiss-"

It wasn't a deafening explosion, but rather the low, intermittent sound unique to an MP5 with a silencer. The screaming drug dealer's body jerked violently, several bursts of blood erupted from his chest, and he fell backward.

This is not a battle, it's a cleanup.

BOPE team members work in groups of three, like precise killing machines.

They don't pursue covert approaches; instead, they force their way in with overwhelming firepower and armor. Their principle towards any armed thugs is simple and ruthless: fire first, kill without hesitation.

A drug dealer hiding behind a burning car just poked his shotgun barrel out and tried to aim.

A deep, yet shocking, bang!

The No. 12 deer bullet is specifically designed to hit large animals.

The figure behind the car wreckage vanished almost instantly, leaving only large patches of crimson blood and bits of flesh splattered on the scorching metal.

The BOPE member who fired the shot expressionlessly pulled back the handguard to chamber a round, and the spent shot cartridge case bounced crisply to the ground.

At the corner of the alley, three of Pedro's men were trying to suppress the fire with automatic weapons.

"Flashbang!" came a short command in Portuguese.

*Sizzle!* A soft sound was followed by a blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion.

"Ah—my eyes!"

"Ears! I can't hear!" The drug dealers instantly lost their fighting ability and curled up in pain.

"Hiss hiss hiss hiss..." The short bursts of MP5 fire swept around the corner like the whispers of death.

The three corpses convulsed and fell, one of them having its head explode like a rotten watermelon.

Cruel? Efficient? In BOPE's dictionary, there is no difference.

Their sole objective was to physically eliminate all resistance as quickly as possible and with minimal casualties. They did not take prisoners, especially not in this context of widespread unrest. Any target deemed a threat was to be destroyed instantly.

One of Pedro's key men, "Scarface," was hiding in a second-floor window of a relatively sturdy concrete building, firing wildly with a powerful FN FAL rifle in an attempt to stop the armored vehicle's advance.

The bullets struck the "Giant Lizard's" thick armor, leaving only shallow white marks and ricocheting sparks.

"Target, second-floor window, armed with a long gun," the observer on the armored vehicle calmly reported.

"Received," the team member operating the weapons inside the vehicle replied.

Thump—!
With a muffled bang, the small-caliber machine gun opened fire.

Before the window and the figure behind it could react, a huge hole was blasted through it.

Bricks, glass, and human remains splattered out as if smashed by an invisible giant hammer, covering the filthy walls below.

Scarface and his hideout vanished in less than a second.

"No...no...it's BOPE!!!"

A young drug dealer who witnessed "Scarface" being blasted to smithereens from the shadows instantly became soaked with sweat, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, and the Uzi submachine gun in his hand felt like a red-hot iron. He dropped it on the ground and ran away.

He once thought he was the master of this street, but now he felt like a fish on a chopping board, his very will to resist crushed by the cruel methods employed.

In his eyes, BOPE's black silhouette and skull logo were nothing short of a walking Grim Reaper.

There's a TV series called "Elite Force" that's actually about this.

Pedro's crazy slogan of "bloodbath in Rio" seemed so pale and laughable in the face of BOPE's efficient firepower.

Their prized firepower and ferocity proved utterly ineffective against professional military strikes and ruthless executions.

It seems there is a significant difference between drug traffickers and professional armies.

That makes sense, though. It's really rare to see drug traffickers in Mexico and Colombia completely overpowering drug traffickers; in many countries, drug traffickers have a lot of firepower.

But counterterrorism only requires one coordinate.

While the fighting raged on one side, at the same time, in Mexico City, in the Chapultepec district, at the British Ambassador's residence...

Cavendish was very anxious. Thirty hours had passed, a full thirty hours, and the British side still hadn't called.

Fuck!
But no sooner had he finished cursing than the encrypted satellite phone on the table finally made a call. Cavendish practically lunged at it, his fingers trembling slightly as he pressed the answer button.

“Cavendy,” the Deputy Prime Minister said on the other end of the line, “following urgent consultations at the highest levels, we have authorized contact with Victor with the goal of ensuring the safe, swift, and complete release of our people.”

Cavendish held his breath, but before he could even catch his breath, the other person spoke again.

"but!"

The other party lowered their voice slightly, "We understand that Victor needs to be compensated for the costs and risks of his actions. Whitehall has instructed that, provided it does not involve core strategic interests or publicly damage Great Britain's reputation, some conveniences may be provided as appropriate. The specifics are for you to decide on the spot, but be sure to be cautious. Remember, soldiers' lives are important, but the dignity of the Empire cannot be completely abandoned. Find the right balance."

"Understood!"

After hanging up the phone, Cavendish took a deep breath and shouted to his secretary, "Prepare the car!"

He needs to have a serious talk with Viktor.

……

(End of this chapter)