Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 691 You really have a problem with that?
Under Casarte's personal supervision, the media machine in Mexico City was set in motion with unprecedented enthusiasm and force.

In the first few days of July 1995, almost all mainstream newspapers, television stations and radio stations in Mexico were filled with praise for the powerful families in Texas who had "turned to the light".

The front-page headline of The Supreme News was: "A Historic Choice: A Tribute to Texas’ True Patriots and Peacemakers – The Brelock Family."

The article goes to great lengths to portray old Elton as "wise and righteous" and Cole Brelock as "visionary and insightful," depicting Marcus's suicide as "a tragic end to an old era, but which brought a glimmer of peace to countless Texas families, sparing them from the ravages of war," and is filled with gratitude and respect.

On television, a prime-time news special, with rousing music and meticulously edited footage, reviewed the Texas conflict, with a deep, resonant voice narrating:
"When the shadow of war loomed over Texas, who resolutely chose the path of peace? Who, at the cost of temporary misunderstanding, opened the door to life and prosperity for the people of Texas? It was the Brelock family! It was the Garrett family! It was the Johnson family! They are the conscience of Texas, and Mexico's most sincere friends!"

The radio commentator went even further, praising them with effusive fervor: "These families radiate a humanity that transcends ethnicity and borders. Their choice reflects a deeper love for the land and its people. This is a love that requires immense courage, and the Mexican people will forever remember their contributions!"

This overwhelming, almost obsequious praise was transmitted back to Texas, across the United States, and to the world via radio waves and newspapers.

On July 8, 1995, a long red carpet was laid out at Benito Juárez International Airport in Mexico City.

The airport was heavily guarded, yet the atmosphere was deliberately made to be both lively and solemn.

Mexican President Anatoly Lunacharski, a head of state who usually makes only symbolic appearances, personally appeared next to the tarmac at Victor's behest.

The reporters were already on high alert, their cameras and microphones ready.

As a Boeing 727 bearing the Brelock family's personal crest slowly taxied to a stop, the cabin door opened, and Cole Brelock was the first to step out.

He wore a meticulously tailored dark suit and a carefully practiced smile on his face.

He strode down the gangway, and President Lunacharsky stepped forward to greet him. The two shook hands warmly amidst a flurry of flashing lights.

The president, with a genuine smile on his face, delivered his welcoming remarks in accented English.

Cole bowed slightly, appearing humble and honored.

Behind him, other core members of the Brelock family, his wife, several uncles, and heads of important family businesses disembarked one by one. Each of them was dressed smartly and tried to maintain composure and dignity in front of the cameras, but their eyes revealed a hint of unease and complexity.

This scene was broadcast live on television throughout Mexico.

In an ordinary apartment in western Mexico City, the Camarena family is sitting around an old-fashioned CRT television.

The evening news is broadcasting live the grand welcoming ceremony at the airport.

"Look, that's Cole Brelock."

The father, Eduardo, pointed to the screen and said, "I heard that their family's ranch in Texas is bigger than the entire city of Mexico."

21-year-old Ricardo, munching on corn chips, suddenly burst out laughing: "Dad, look at the way he bends down to shake hands, doesn't he look like a dog trying to please its master? He's practically wagging its tail."

The living room suddenly became quiet.

Grandfather Alfonso slowly opened his eyes, which had been squinting.
"dog?"

The old man chuckled softly, "What you see is just a performance, and performances are always for outsiders."

“I witnessed a real surrender ceremony in Berlin in 1945. Those German generals stood tall and signed the documents, each word as if carved into their hearts. You know what? Even defeated generals maintained their dignity, but these people,” he nodded toward the television screen, “were actively choosing to become puppets.”

Mother Sophia frowned: "But Dad, they prevented more bloodshed, didn't they?"

"bleed?"

"Sometimes the deepest wounds are invisible. Remember what Marlon Brando said in The Godfather? 'A man can only have one destiny.' These families chose their destiny, but the price was that they would live forever in the contempt of their own people."

Ricardo's smile faded: "Grandpa, are you saying they shouldn't have chosen peace?"

"No, kid."

Alfonso stared at Cole Brelock's smile on the television screen. "I'm saying, the real choice is never black and white. These people are enjoying the red carpet and headlines now, but history will remember every expression they make today, just like that line from Lawrence of Arabia: 'Being wounded and captured is painful, but being a traitor to one's own people is a pain that lasts forever.'"

The old man stood up and patted his grandson on the shoulder: "Remember, Ricardo, when you see someone on TV acting like a dog, it's probably not because he's wagging his tail and begging, but because he's wearing a collar, and the other end of that collar is always in the hands of someone more powerful."

Ricardo stopped laughing. For the first time, he realized that the images on television were not just news, but a meticulously crafted tragedy, in which the fate of each character had been predetermined.

At his estate in Houston, Elton Brellock Sr. sat alone in front of the television, watching his youngest son shake hands with the Mexican president. He abruptly turned off the television, and the living room fell into a deathly silence.

Over the next two days, representatives from the Garrett family, the Johnson family, and several other prominent Texas businesses arrived.

They also received a high-level reception, personally greeted by senior officials from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and stayed at the most luxurious hotel near Constitution Square.

Their itinerary was packed and full of meaning. Accompanied by staff in sharp uniforms, the Texas guests toured Mexico City's historic center in luxury buses.

But the most important part of the itinerary is visiting the "Mexican Anti-Drug Memorial Museum" near Reforma Avenue and the towering "Anti-Drug Heroes Monument".

Inside the memorial, under somber lighting, are displayed photographs of the horrific consequences of drugs, various weapons seized, and the belongings and names of soldiers and police officers who sacrificed their lives in the war against drug lords.

The guide's deep and infectious voice recounted the arduous struggle the Mexican people have waged against drug crime over the past few decades, emphasizing the current government's firm determination to "eradicate the scourge and restore order."

The solemn atmosphere of the anti-drug hero monument and the countless names engraved on it create a silent yet incredibly powerful deterrent.

These powerful figures, accustomed to wielding immense influence in Texas, found the atmosphere in these exhibition halls noticeably oppressive.

Many of them have family businesses that are intricately linked to border smuggling, the black market for energy, and even drug trafficking.

They are all smart people; how could they not see through such a tactic?
It's about making them smarter.

On the evening of April 11, 1995.

The largest banquet hall in the National Palace is the Golden Hall (Salón Dorado).

The enormous crystal chandelier illuminated the entire hall as if it were daytime.

A long dining table was covered with a snow-white tablecloth, upon which gleaming silver cutlery and crystal glasses were laid out. Waiters in sharp uniforms moved swiftly among the tables.

The powerful figures from Texas were dressed in their most formal evening gowns or tuxedos, and their female companions wore the most precious jewelry, but everyone's expressions seemed somewhat unnatural.

Led by the usher, they found their seats with their names on them, sitting upright and proper, as if they were not attending a banquet but taking a crucial exam.

They spoke in hushed tones, their eyes filled with caution and scrutiny.

The party began with a brief toast by President Lunacharski, who once again extended a welcome and thanks on behalf of the Mexican nation and people to "distinguished friends".

Then, the dinner began.

There was a carefully arranged performance during the meal.

The Mexican National Ballet performed the passionate Jalawi dance, while the Mariachi Orchestra played melodious traditional music.

But neither the cheerful music nor the dancers' dazzling skirts seemed able to truly dispel the invisible tension that permeated the Texas guests.

They all knew that the real star of the dinner party had not yet arrived.

Halfway through the dinner, the side door opened, and the music in the room was lowered at just the right moment.

Victor appeared.

His steady steps and faint smile instantly drew everyone's attention. The atmosphere in the Golden Hall seemed to freeze for a moment before erupting into even more enthusiastic applause.

Cole Brelock was the first to stand up and extend his hand: "Good evening, Mr. Victor!"

Victor stopped, grasped his hand with a firm but gentle touch, his smile unchanged: "Cole, I hope the party didn't disappoint you."

"Of course not!" Cole replied hastily.

Viktor nodded, then glanced at the others beside him, giving them only a slight nod without lingering.

He finally walked to his seat at the head table, and the atmosphere of the banquet seemed to become slightly "normal," but an invisible pressure still lingered over the entire Golden Hall.

These Texas tycoons understood that the real moment to determine their fate would come after the feast.

The dinner ended promptly at nine o'clock.

The waiters began to quietly clear away the tableware, while the guests, following pre-arranged instructions, rose in twos and threes to exchange pleasantries and prepare to leave.

“Mr. Brelock, Mr. Garrett, Mr. Johnson…” the staff member’s voice began politely, “Mr. Victor would like to have a brief private meeting with you all. Please follow me.”

The core family members whose names were mentioned all felt a chill run down their spines and exchanged a knowing glance. The real drama was about to begin.

They were led through a magnificent, carpeted corridor to a relatively small but more private study deep within the National Palace.

The room was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the air was filled with the mixed smells of cigars and old books.

In the room, Viktor sat on a high-backed armchair, while President Anatoly Lunacharsky stood behind a large desk, his expression slightly serious.

Several Texas powerhouses stood still, and the atmosphere in the room was so oppressive that it was almost suffocating.

President Lunacharsky cleared his throat and spoke first, his tone official and mild:

"Gentlemen, first of all, I would like to thank you again for the difficult but wise choice you have made for the peace and stability of the Texas region. Mexico will not forget the contributions of our friends."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "That's why, in order to maintain this peace and stability for a long time and avoid future misunderstandings and chaos, there are some things we need to clarify together."

“Texas has been ravaged by war and is now in dire need of rebuilding. A unified and efficient administrative and military management system is the cornerstone of this reconstruction.”

The president's voice was calm yet carried an undeniable force: "Therefore, Mexico will directly take over the defense and security of the entire state of Texas. The private armed forces retained by each family must be handed over and integrated into Mexico within 72 hours. This is to eliminate any potential threat of local armed separatism and to ensure the unity of law and order."

The moment he finished speaking, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Surrender military power!

Some people moved their lips as if they wanted to refute, but after thinking about it, they shut their mouths.

Lunacharski, seemingly oblivious to their expressions, continued, “Of course, Mexico also believes that economic freedom is the driving force of prosperity, and your families’ legitimate business interests in Texas, including energy, land, and trade, will be fully respected and protected.”

He then changed the subject, adding, "In fact, Mexico is willing to invest in your core, high-quality industries as a partner."

"The government will not interfere with daily operations, but it will need to have certain supervisory and profit-sharing rights. This will ensure that your business development is in line with the country's overall plan. This is not deprivation, but a deeper level of binding and win-win cooperation."

A blatant combination of threats and inducements!
Handing over the guns in exchange for a shield for collusion between officials and businessmen and the opportunity to continue making money, but in return, they must relinquish some ownership and control.

The room fell silent.

Cole Brelock was the first to react. Knowing there was no room for negotiation, he immediately bowed slightly and said, "Mr. Victor, the Brelock family fully understands and supports Mexico's decision. We will arrange for personnel to handle the handover of the weapons tomorrow. As for business cooperation, we are honored and look forward to in-depth cooperation with Mexico."

With him taking the lead, the heads of the Garrett and Johnson families could only suppress their resentment and reluctantly agree.

"very good."

President Lunacharsky looked at Casare, who was standing in the corner, and nodded.

Casare walked up with a folder in his hand, his chubby face jiggling.

He opened the folder and began to read aloud in a clear tone:
"Based on everyone's cooperative attitude and assessment of their contributions to the future planning of Texas, and with Mr. Victor's approval, we are now informing you of the preliminary resource integration and allocation plan:"

"The Brelock family will relinquish their four private military bases and all armed personnel in West Texas. They will retain their original 17% stake in the Port of Houston. After Mexico invests and takes a 51% controlling stake, they will enjoy the remaining 49% of the profit-sharing rights and management rights. In addition, they will obtain priority exploration rights for three newly designated oil and gas fields in the Midland-Odessa region, with Mexico holding a 30% stake."

"Gallette family, hand over all border patrols and armed guards. Mexico will take a 40% stake in your cross-border logistics company. You will receive a 15% land development concession in the new trade zone in El Paso."

"The Johnson family, hand over all farm security forces and training bases. Mexico will acquire 35 percent of your agricultural processing group. You will lead the Corpus Christi Port fisheries resource integration project, enjoying 40 percent of the profits, while Mexico will hold 60 percent of the shares."

……

Casare read on, one by one, the details were detailed and explicit, laying bare the core weaponry that each family needed to hand over and the economic benefits they could obtain in exchange.

It was all clearly stated which company could acquire more oil fields, which company could lead the reconstruction of a port, and which company could obtain new trade licenses.

This is no longer a discussion, but a notification.

It's telling them that the force they used to rely on for survival has been taken away, but they've been given a new job. As for how much food is in that job, that's up to me.

The cake was huge, but the knife for cutting it was firmly held in Victor's hand.

After reading it aloud, Casare closed the folder and took a step back.

Victor sat in the high-backed sofa, his gaze sweeping over the group of well-dressed Texas tycoons in front of him.

"Have you all heard the plan clearly?" His voice was deep. "I'm a very democratic person. Anyone have any objections? You can raise them now."

The study was deathly silent. Several people instinctively avoided his gaze, their throats dry and parched.

Suddenly, a middle-aged man in a dark blue striped suit looked around, as if he had mustered up his courage, and slowly raised his hand.

“Mr. Victor,” his voice was strained, but he tried to remain calm, “our Wilson family handed over the most border patrol teams and two training camps of all the families! But we only received a twelve percent share of the Colorado River shipping concession? This…this is not fair!”

Victor slowly raised his head and beckoned to Wilson with his finger, "You, come here."

Wilson paused for a moment, a hint of hesitation flashing across his face, but under the watchful eyes of everyone, he still steeled himself and walked step by step to Victor.

Viktor tilted his head and said with a smile, "You actually have a problem with that?"

Wilson didn't even realize what was happening.

Suddenly, without warning—

Viktor suddenly leaned forward, his right hand moving with lightning speed to grab the heavy crystal ashtray on the table!
"boom!!!"

A heavy muffled sound exploded!

The crystal ashtray slammed squarely into Wilson's forehead!
It sends chills down your spine!
Wilson didn't even have time to scream before his eyeballs bulged out and became bloodshot from the force of the impact.

His body fell straight backward with a thud, his head hitting the thick carpet with another dull thud.

Blood gushed out instantly from the gash on his forehead like a floodgate opening.

Victor stood up and looked down at the convulsing body on the ground.
"damn it……"

His tone was filled with undisguised violence and contempt. "You think this is your era, the era of Americans?! The era where you can drive a pickup truck and drink beer and then boss me around?!"

He slammed the blood-stained ashtray onto the floor next to Wilson with a loud thud; the crystal shattered on the carpet with a heavy thud. "Here you go!"

He growled, pointing at each of them, "They're yours! I won't give them to you! You fucking don't even deserve to lick my shoes!"

He spat a thick wad of phlegm at the dying Wilson on the ground, aiming precisely at the blood-covered face.

"Don't want to eat? Then don't eat!"

Victor's voice rose, "The Wilson family's share, from now on, is gone!"

His gaze abruptly shifted to Cole Brelock, who was standing at the front, equally terrified but trying to appear calm, and the head of another large family.

“Cole! Harris!” he called out by name. “You two families, divide his share!”

Before the two could react, Victor continued to roar, his voice echoing in the luxurious study, making the ancient books on the shelves seem to tremble:
"Another announcement! Texas Capital is being established, and all existing family businesses will be merged into it according to the plan agreed upon tonight. Cole Brelock and Justin Harris, you two will serve as executive directors!"

He glared at Cole and Harris, his eyes fierce: "Keep an eye on these self-important idiots."

Victor raised his foot and kicked Wilson's bleeding head on the ground with the tip of his shiny leather shoe.

"Or I'll blow your heads off!"

Cole and Harris shuddered, instinctively straightening their backs and responding almost instinctively in hoarse voices, "Yes, Mr. Victor!"

Victor slumped back onto the sofa, picked up another cigar from the table, and without even glancing at the person on the floor, waved to Casare, who was waiting nearby.

"Drag it out."

Casare nodded expressionlessly, and with a wave of his hand, two burly guards immediately stepped forward and dragged the unconscious Wilson out of the study like a bag of garbage.

Viktor lit a cigar, took a deep drag, and the smoke once again enveloped his face.

Through the wisps of smoke, he looked at the group of Texas tycoons before him, silent and drenched in cold sweat:

"Now, who is for it and who is against it?"

No one dared to speak, no one even dared to breathe loudly.

Cole Brelock and Justin Harris had beads of cold sweat on their foreheads.

They nodded almost out of survival instinct.

The others didn't even have the courage to make eye contact with Viktor, and all lowered their heads, staring at the tips of their shoes.

"very good."

Victor exhaled a smoke ring. "Looks like we've reached an agreement. Casare will handle the details with you. Now, get out of here."

Everyone felt as if they had been granted a pardon and left the study as quietly and quickly as possible.

Their steps were unsteady, their backs frantic, and the backs of their expensive formal wear were soaked with cold sweat.

No one looked back, and no one cared whether Wilson lived or died.

……

Behind a window on the second floor of the National Palace, Victor stood with his hands behind his back, looking down at the floor below.

Those Texas tycoons who were just moments before impeccably dressed and self-proclaimed noble stumbled and scrambled into their waiting luxury cars, completely devoid of their usual composure.

"Like a group of frightened fat pigs."

Viktor said to Casare and President Lunacharsky beside him, “See? With these capitalists, you can't give them the slightest bit of kindness. If you show them any respect, they'll think you're afraid of them and immediately try to take advantage of you. Taking an inch and wanting a mile is an ingrained trait in their very being.”

"Gratitude? That word doesn't exist in their vocabulary. They only know power and fear."

He turned to Casare and said, “I’m leaving the rest to you. Immediately arrange for our people to infiltrate the core businesses of these families and the people around them. I need to know who they meet every day, what they say, what they eat, and even whether their shit is dry or runny! I want them to have no secrets. Remember, I want absolute control, not some damn business partnership with them.”

Casare's chubby face was solemn. He nodded heavily and said, "Understood, boss. Don't worry, I'll make sure they send you a complete list of which mistress she slept with each night and what she said in her sleep."

Victor gave a satisfied "hmm" and added, "Also, keep a close eye on that 'Texas Capital' thing. Make Cole and Harris fight each other and keep each other in check. Draw them a big pie and make them work hard to grab those scraps."

……

Back at his hotel, Cole Brellock practically stormed into his presidential suite, locked the door behind him, and leaned against the cold door, panting heavily, his heart still pounding.

The image of Victor suddenly attacking and injuring people, and Wilson lying on the ground covered in blood, kept replaying in his mind.

He's not someone who's never seen blood before!

He's killed people too.

The issue is…

Being the murderer and being the fish on the chopping board are two different feelings.

The psychological stress experienced by the perpetrator and the victim is different.

Take, for example, the recent infamous "Vietnamese butcher" incident (don't search for it). Some people like to play various roles, but being a victim must be terrifying.

He paused for a while before his hands trembled as he picked up the satellite phone and dialed the number of his father, Elton Sr., who was at his estate in Texas.

The phone rang for a long time before being answered, and old Elton's tired and hoarse voice came through: "Cole? It's over?"

"It's over, Father."

Cole's voice still trembled with a hint of shock as he recounted everything that had happened in the study, especially how Victor had smashed Wilson with the ashtray, and the subsequent threats and distribution of benefits, to old Elton in detail.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, so long that Cole thought the signal had been lost. "Father? Are you still listening?"

Old Elton let out a heavy, aged sigh, filled with endless weariness: "Just as I thought, Cole, my son, don't you see? Victor appointed you and Harris as executive directors, not out of trust. He's making us fight amongst ourselves while he sits on his pedestal, easily controlling everything. He's putting both our families on the fire! From now on, the other families will hate us to the core, and to protect ourselves, we'll have no choice but to cling even more tightly to him, doing all the dirty work for him..."

As Cole listened to his father's analysis, a strange light flashed in his eyes: "Father, I understand! I understand everything! But this is reality. You haven't seen Victor's power with your own eyes—that absolute, unquestionable, life-or-death power! Fear is the highest form of power, and we have no choice!"

His tone became urgent, even somewhat fanatical: "Father, perhaps this isn't entirely a bad thing? Since there's no turning back, why not tie ourselves to his chariot more thoroughly?"

“I think we should take the initiative to request that some of the younger, more capable members of the family enter Mexican government agencies or state-owned enterprises, even if they start from the most basic positions. We need to go deep inside, learn, adapt, and become part of their system! Only in this way can the Brelock family find new space to survive in the future, or even rise again.”

Old Elton fell silent again on the other end of the phone.

He could almost see through the telephone line the light burning in his youngest son's eyes, a light scorched by a mixture of fear and ambition.

After a long silence, he finally said quietly, "Are you really ready to dance with the devil?"

Cole gripped the microphone tightly and said, word by word, "Father, times have changed. It's either adapt or perish. We have no other way."

After a long silence, the old man said, "The future of the family is yours. You decide."

After hanging up the phone, Cole walked to the window, but a line inexplicably echoed in his mind: "We are the captains of our souls!"

"I won't make the wrong choice, Dad."

……

Texas's military victory did not bring true peace; instead, it stirred up a huge hornet's nest.

Just as Victor and Casare had predicted, the counterinsurgency war that followed the takeover was the real quagmire.

In Houston’s Third District, the southern suburbs of Dallas, the western part of San Antonio, and countless small towns and rural roads, resistance has resurfaced in new and more troublesome forms.

Having lost the ability to confront the enemy on a large scale, the remaining enemy forces quickly dispersed into smaller groups.

The die-hard guerrillas of the former Stuart regime, the white supremacist militias that champion "lone stars" independence and are extremely xenophobic, the gangs that were already struggling to survive and are now even more unwilling to be bound by the new Mexican order, and the deeply entrenched and ruthless Latino drug cartels...

These forces may not be subordinate to each other, and may even have grudges against each other, but they have formed a tacit understanding on the point of "fighting against the Mexican occupation forces".

They don't wear uniforms and mingle among ordinary people.

The attacks have shifted from positional warfare to sniping, roadside bombs, sabotage of oil pipelines and power facilities, ambushes of lone patrols or logistics convoys, and even assassinations of local officials and businessmen cooperating with Mexican authorities.

The Mexican army's powerful firepower often felt like punching cotton when dealing with this ubiquitous "swarm" of harassment.

Tanks and heavy artillery cannot enter the narrow city alleys, and soldiers must be constantly on guard against bullets that may come from any window or street corner.

The situation is particularly complicated in some predominantly Black neighborhoods centered around Houston and Beaumont.

Long-term marginalization, poverty, and distrust of the new Mexican rulers made some communities a natural breeding ground and source of soldiers for resistance forces.

For many young people, taking up arms against the "occupying forces" is not only a form of resistance, but also a means of making a living and gaining status.

Mexican army patrols are struggling in these areas, with each clearing operation potentially turning into brutal street fighting and causing collateral damage, which in turn exacerbates civilian tensions, creating a vicious cycle.

Equally troublesome are the drug trafficking groups.

They don't care who rules Texas; they only care about their smuggling routes and market share. The Mexican military's tight blockade and crackdown have severely damaged their interests, and their retaliation is more direct and brutal.

On July 13, a small Mexican Army logistics convoy was ambushed on a remote highway from Laredo to San Antonio. The attackers used rocket launchers and automatic weapons with professional ruthlessness. The battle was brief but intense. By the time reinforcements arrived, all that was left were charred truck wrecks and the gruesome bodies of more than a dozen soldiers, stripped of their gear and dead.

The scene also featured graffiti in soldiers' blood, depicting the logo of a powerful drug cartel.

The mastermind behind the murder was soon revealed.

The Indian Cartel, a transnational drug trafficking organization spanning Asia, Africa, and Europe!
Leader: Xie Zhile.

The following day, July 14, the provisional administration of Texas, Mexico, issued a proclamation entitled "Texas Peace Clause" through all the radio, television and newspapers under its control.

The core message of the announcement was simple and direct.

I. Rewards for Captured Criminals: Any citizen (regardless of nationality or race) who provides information to Mexican authorities leading to the arrest or killing of any form of armed resistance fighters, saboteurs, or drug traffickers is eligible for a reward. Rewards range from a minimum of $2000 to a maximum of $200 million, depending on the importance of the target. All rewards are paid in US dollars in cash, and informant information is kept strictly confidential.

II. Joint Liability Warning: Any family or community found to have harbored, funded, or failed to report an attacker will face severe penalties, including being cut off from water and electricity, and having their supplies cut off, up to and including handing over the attacker. The entire community will bear the consequences of the individual's actions.

III. Surrender Pardon: Low-level participants who voluntarily surrender to Mexican authorities and hand over their weapons within 72 hours of the announcement may be pardoned or have their sentences significantly reduced.

This announcement was like a bombshell, instantly causing a huge uproar in Texas and even across the United States.

Human rights organizations have vehemently criticized this as a "barbaric law that encourages informing on each other," a "legitimization of justice," and one that will create countless wrongful convictions and terrifying suspicions among neighbors.

American media commentators lamented that it was "poison from Mexico City," aimed at "undermining the last ties of trust in Texas communities."

However, in the reality of Texas, especially in those impoverished communities ravaged by war, poverty, and violence, the effects of this announcement are far more complex.

For many impoverished families struggling to make ends meet, $2000 is an unimaginable sum, enough to make them take risks.

The astronomical bounty of 200 million has made countless people's hearts flutter at the names of those well-known resistance leaders and drug lords.

In the first few days after the announcement, the Mexican military's whistleblower hotline was overwhelmed with calls.

A flood of information came in, making it difficult to distinguish between truth and falsehood.

Some reports stem from personal grudges: "I reported my neighbor because he always sneaks out at night, and I suspect he's a resistance fighter!"

Some informants are motivated by the reward money: "I know a drug cartel's hideout, right behind that abandoned auto repair shop in the West End!"

However, some accurate reports did indeed lead to significant results:
In a small town near Waco, a gas station employee, dissatisfied with a local white militia squad that had been eating and drinking for free and acting arrogantly, secretly called the hotline according to the terms of service and accurately described their hideout and routine of activities.

The following day, Mexican special forces launched a precise raid, killing the entire eight-man team in their sleep. The employee secretly collected the $4 bounty.

Money became the most effective corrosive agent, gradually eroding the foundation of the resistance movement.

Suspicion and fear spread through the community, and people began to look at each other with suspicion.

Traditional community protection mechanisms are gradually failing under the naked lure of money and the threat of severe collective punishment.

The resistance organization itself became increasingly fearful.

They no longer dared to easily trust newcomers, their operations became more secretive, communication became more difficult, and infighting and internal strife began to increase, because everyone was afraid that those around them would betray them for the bounty.

The "Stop Citizens' Possession of Firearms and Ammunition" clause was officially promulgated at the end of July, stipulating that all personnel who are not Mexican military or law enforcement personnel must surrender all firearms and ammunition within fifteen days. Violators will be prosecuted for "endangering national security" and may be sentenced to death.

In the hearts of traditional Texans, guns are more than just weapons; they are a continuation of the pioneering spirit, a symbol of independence and self-reliance, a "Second Amendment to the Bill of Rights" engraved in their cultural genes, and a belief that is more important than many people's lives.

This move by the Mexican authorities is seen as an attempt not only to conquer the land, but also to castrate their souls.

Of course I disagree.

In remote villages, farmers were not busy surrendering their weapons, but instead worked through the night to hide more rifles, shotguns, and ammunition in cellars, barn annexes, or even deep into the pastures.

The older generation would point to those guns and say to their children and grandchildren, "Your great-grandfather used this to defend his home from the Indians, your grandfather used it to hunt and support his family during the Great Depression, and your father used it to scare away intruders. The Mexicans want to take it? They'll have to step over my dead body first!"

In towns, especially in areas already hostile to Mexican rule, the decree became the most effective recruitment advertisement.

"They can take your gun today, and tomorrow they can break into your house and take your family away at will! How can you tolerate this?"

The resistance organization astutely seized upon this sentiment.
"What are they afraid of? Unarmed, submissive citizens? No! They are afraid of every free Texan holding a rifle! Hand over your gun, and you hand over your last shred of dignity and ability to resist! Pick up your gun and protect your home, your state, and your rights!"

The violence escalated at an alarming speed and intensity.

On July 20, three days after the decree was issued, a group of Mexican soldiers conducting a "collection propaganda" operation in a small town east of Houston were ambushed by precise fire from multiple directions. The attackers used hunting rifles and semi-automatic weapons, and were clearly civilian gun owners. Two soldiers were killed instantly, and five were wounded.

On July 25, the most serious incident occurred in San Antonio. A raiding squad, composed of Mexican soldiers and newly formed collaborators from the Texas Auxiliary Police, encountered heavy fire from rooftops and windows as they entered a notoriously stubborn neighborhood. The fighting quickly escalated, with residents of the entire community seemingly joining in, fiercely resisting with shotguns, AR-15s, and even old revolvers.

The Mexican army had to deploy armored vehicles and helicopters to barely control the situation, and the clearing operation turned into a brutal urban battle, resulting in heavy casualties on both sides and among innocent civilians.

"They're not confiscating weapons, they're waging a war against Texas culture!"

"Rise up and resist!"

……

(End of this chapter)