Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 721 He's never been beaten!

Amidst the tense atmosphere of a crackdown across Michoacán Oblast, the audit team at the temporary command center in Morelia, the capital, finally pinpointed a "key target" in the town of Zacapu by following the intricate flow of funds and customs documents.

The Hernandez family, and their "New World Foreign Trade Company"!

On the surface, this company is engaged in the import and export of daily necessities and electrical appliances from Mexico City to Zacapu, and its accounts appear to be flawless.

However, under the microscope of the professionals at the Audit Office, the deliberately obscured categories of goods, the customs value that was seriously inconsistent with the transportation costs, and the frequent and large-scale abnormal capital flows all pointed to the company's real business - smuggling.

Firearms, ammunition, controlled chemical precursors, and even smuggled "small packages" for certain "special clients" all quietly flowed into Michoacán through their channels.

This family has been rooted in Sakkap for decades, with intricate connections. The town's old mayor is the brother-in-law of the family's eldest son, and they also have distant nephews planted in the state police department.

They believed themselves to be deeply rooted and influential, and even when the storm was at its fiercest, they only temporarily restrained themselves, thinking that the winds of change wouldn't reach their "small temple."

They are wrong.

After obtaining solid evidence and a preliminary outline of his network of relationships, Felix did not hesitate. He did not notify the local police, and even bypassed the state police system, which could have been infiltrated.

"Two companies, night raid, target Sakap town, Hernandez family manor, kill everyone on the list, leave no one out!"

In the dead of night, the town of Sakap was utterly silent, save for the occasional bark of a dog. On the edge of town, the sprawling, brightly lit Hernandez family manor stood like a separate kingdom.

Suddenly, the low growl of an engine broke the silence of the night.

A number of military trucks and armored personnel carriers, like predators swooping out of the night, silently and swiftly surrounded the manor.

Fully armed soldiers jumped off the vehicles, their tactical flashlight beams instantly piercing the darkness and locking onto every entrance and exit of the manor.

"action!"

No warning.

What kind of warning do you need?

The demolition expert used explosives to blast open the manor's ornately decorated gate.

"boom--!"

The loud noise woke up the entire manor.

"what happened?!"

"What the hell is going on??? Does anyone know what the hell is going on?!"

"Who broke in?"

"Quick! Call the police station!"

The manor was instantly thrown into chaos.

Soldiers surged in like a tide, precisely taking control of every room, corridor, and high point. Resistance was weak; several bodyguards who tried to draw their guns were instantly shot down with precision.

The family members were roughly dragged out of their sleep, still in their pajamas, terrified, their cries and curses filling the air.

The head of the family, Diego Hernandez, a fat, fifty-something man, was dragged out of the master bedroom by two soldiers wearing only a silk nightgown.

He struggled, his face contorted with disbelief and rage, and roared at the lieutenant leading the group:
"What are you doing?! Do you know who I am?! Let me go! I'm a legitimate businessman! I know your Commander Espinosa! I know Secretary General Rodriguez of the state government! You've arrested the wrong person! Let me go! I need to make a phone call! This is illegal!"

The lieutenant leading the team grabbed Diego by the collar.

Do you know Jesus?

The question startled the other person.

"It's no use who you know now." He shoved Diego aside and ordered the soldiers, "Take everyone on the list! Don't miss a single one!"

The soldiers acted swiftly. Whether it was an elderly person paralyzed with fear, a screaming woman, or a teenager trying to hide, anyone on the list was roughly handcuffed and stuffed into a waiting military truck.

The entire operation was swift and efficient. In less than forty minutes, more than 70 members of the Hernandez family, including direct and collateral relatives, along with several key bodyguards and company finance personnel, were all captured and stuffed into the sealed train car like sardines in a can.

The convoy did not return to the town, nor did it head towards any known police station or military camp. Instead, it drove directly into the dark wilderness outside the town.

The wheels rolled over the gravel road and finally came to a stop beside a dry riverbed called "El Arroyo Creek".

The soldiers jumped off the vehicle and forcibly drove everyone off. More than seventy people were pushed and shoved, gathering on a relatively flat sandy area in the middle of the riverbed.

They were disheveled, trembling with fear as they looked around at the heavily armed soldiers.

Diego Hernandez seemed to realize something, and his last line of defense completely collapsed. He screamed hysterically, "No! You can't do this! I have money! I'll give you money! Release my family! I did it all! It has nothing to do with them, please, according to the law! Try us! This can't be!"

Oh wow, now they know they need the law.

I'm talking to you about the law, and you're playing mind games with me. Now, okay, I'm just flipping the table. Let's all stop playing this game. You're scared now.

No one paid any attention to him.

Several soldiers, expressionless, carried down two M60 general-purpose machine guns and quickly set them up on the earthen slope beside the stream, their dark muzzles pointed at the crowd huddled together below.

Cries, pleas, and curses suddenly filled the air; it was the middle of the night… I thought it was a horror movie.

The lieutenant leading the team stood beside the machine gunner, looking down at the group of men below who were like lambs to the slaughter. He raised his hand and raised his voice:
"preparation--"

"No—!!!" Diego let out a final, desperate roar.

The lieutenant swung his hand down suddenly:

"Fire!"

“Boom boom boom boom!!!”

“Da da da da da——!!!”

Two machine guns unleashed a dense hail of bullets that swept across the crowd in an instant.

The 7.62mm full-power bullet easily tore through flesh and blood, sending up plumes of blood mist and bits of flesh.

The screams were completely drowned out by the deafening gunfire.

The crowd fell in droves like felled wheat, their bodies tumbling violently from the impact of the bullets, and blood quickly pooled into thick, sticky craters.

After the first bullet belt was emptied, the gunfire paused briefly.

The lieutenant stared indifferently down below.

"Reload and finish off the enemy," he ordered again.

The soldiers silently changed their ammunition belts, or picked up their assault rifles, walked down to the riverbed, and calmly pulled the trigger on any target that was still wriggling or looked alive.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The sporadic single-shot bursts became the final footnote to this massacre.

When everything was completely quiet, under the moonlight, only more than seventy mangled corpses remained on the riverbed of El Arroyo Creek, piled up in layers.

The soldiers began silently pouring gasoline on the bodies.

A soldier carelessly tossed a lit match into the pile of corpses.

"boom--!"

Flames suddenly erupted, instantly engulfing the twisted corpses. The flames soared, and the burning grease crackled and popped, filling the air with an indescribable stench of roasted meat and burnt flesh.

The soldiers watched the fire with blank expressions.

They did not wait for the fire to be completely extinguished, nor did they carry out any subsequent cleanup.

After confirming that all targets were dead and the fire was large enough to attract attention, the lieutenant in charge simply waved his hand and said, "Mission accomplished, retreat."

The convoy disappeared into the darkness as quickly as it had arrived.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking.

Several brave villagers living nearby, unsettled by the continuous gunfire and towering flames of the previous night, finally mustered their courage and cautiously made their way toward the El Arroyo creek.

The closer they got, the stronger the acrid, pungent smell became. When they climbed the last earthen slope and saw the scene in the riverbed, everyone was stunned.

On the dried-up riverbed, there was a scene of devastation, with objects everywhere charred, twisted, and unrecognizable.

Some of the corpses were still in a struggling posture, their charred arms reaching towards the sky.

Unburnt fragments of clothing clung to the charred corpse.

"Ugh—!" A villager bent over and vomited on the spot.

Another villager's legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground.

"Dead...dead...all dead people..."

"Run! Run!!" Someone shouted, and the group of people, like startled birds, scrambled back, screaming in terror as they ran, as if a vengeful ghost was chasing them.

Their shouts attracted even more people.

The news spread like wildfire throughout Sakap and the surrounding area.

More and more people gathered by the El Arroyo creek, pointing and whispering.

It must be said that there were quite a few people who came to join in the fun.

……

It is impossible to completely block what is happening in Michoacán.

Despite the silence from official media, some blurry photos taken by eyewitnesses with rudimentary equipment, along with various embellished and word-of-mouth descriptions, began to appear sporadically online.

Headlines and hashtags like "Michoacán Massacre!" "Victor regime massacres civilians!" and "SOS! International community, look to Mexico!" began to appear.

Some photos captured the ruins of burned-down villages, the grim scene of soldiers patrolling the streets, and even distant shots of the horrifying piles of charred corpses by the El Arroyo creek, as well as the tragic state of places like Santa Ana.

The online public opinion suddenly surged.

Especially on some international social media platforms and forums, it has attracted considerable attention and discussion. Some people condemned the government's atrocities, while others sympathized with the so-called "victims." Various pieces of information, both true and false, and emotional comments were intertwined.

However, these voices quickly disappeared from the Mexican internet.

Victor established Mexico’s National Cyber ​​Security Department long ago, knowing that this kind of thing would happen in the coming Internet era.

Posts and images containing sensitive keywords are almost instantly detected and locked by the system, and then technically deleted.

The IP address of the poster will be logged, and the account will be permanently banned. Some chat groups with overly heated discussions have been disbanded.

Inside a luxury apartment in Mexico City.

A wealthy young man named [name omitted] was sitting confidently in front of the computer.

He had been pampered since childhood and was influenced by ideas of "freedom" and "democracy," and had always harbored resentment towards Viktor's strong rule.

At this moment, he is on an overseas forum, fiercely criticizing everything that happened in Michoacán in fluent English, and reposting those "bloody photos" that had finally been leaked, along with various sarcastic and mocking remarks about Victor.

"Look, this is the true face of the strongman politics you champion! Butcher! Executioner! Mexico needs freedom, not bloody stability!"

He typed rapidly on the keyboard, feeling like a fearless fighter against tyranny.

Just then, his personal cell phone rang sharply.

The caller ID showed it was his father.

Mendes frowned, answering the phone somewhat impatiently: "Hello, Dad, what's up? I'm busy..."

"You idiot! Right now! Delete all that garbage you posted online! Not a single picture, not a single word!" The father's voice on the other end of the phone was filled with unprecedented rage and fury.

Mendes was taken aback by the shout and instinctively protested, "I was stating the facts! It was a call for justice! Victor, he..."

"Shut up! Do you even know what justice is?! Do you know who just called me?! It was someone from the Ministry of the Interior's Security Bureau, calling my private number directly! They asked me if my son, Mendes Mendes, was spreading rumors and inciting subversion! If you want to die, don't drag your whole family down with you!"

Mendes' face turned pale instantly, but he was still somewhat indignant: "How could they do this? This is a violation of freedom of speech! I..."

"Freedom? I'll give you freedom!" The father was clearly furious. "I'm telling you, Mendes, you'd better delete everything right now, immediately! If you dare post another word about Michoacán online, I'll freeze all your bank cards, take back your car and house, and send you to manage security at that godforsaken mine in West Africa! You'll never be able to come back to Mexico City! I mean it!"

"Then give all the assets to your younger brother."

Upon hearing about "West African mines" and "frozen bank cards," all of Mendes's "courage" and "belief" collapsed instantly.

In the face of freedom and democracy…

Money is still the most important thing.

"I...I'll delete it, I'll delete it right now." His voice was hoarse.

"Immediately! Tell me after you've deleted it! Hurry up!" the father roared and hung up the phone.

Mendes looked at the passionate posts and indomitable declarations he had just sent on his computer screen, his fingers trembling as he moved the mouse and clicked "delete" one by one.

With each click, he felt a trace of his "dignity" and "persistence" being erased.

Ultimately, his social media accounts and forum posts became blank, or only contained some trivial posts about eating, drinking, and having fun.

"My democracy!" he cried out.

This is what happens when you've never been beaten.

……

On the tree-lined running track in Chapultepec Park, Mexico City.

Victor and Casare, dressed in sportswear, were jogging along the winding asphalt road, with plainclothes guards following them a dozen meters behind, vigilantly observing their surroundings.

Their breathing was even, and they maintained a good rhythm.

Viktor had beads of sweat on his forehead, but his expression was relaxed.

“Felick is doing a good job in Michoacán.”

As Viktor regulated his breathing, he spoke with a hint of approval, "You have guts, you act decisively, you never hesitate to draw your gun when necessary, and you know how to leverage resources when needed."

Casare, standing beside him, humbly replied, "Boss, you flatter me. He's still young and inevitably impulsive. This time, it was only thanks to you and General Lister supporting him that things didn't go terribly wrong. There are still many things he hasn't considered thoroughly, and there's still a lot he needs to learn."

Victor waved his hand, his breathing steady: "Young people, how can they get by without a bit of impulsiveness and vigor? Back in Tijuana, didn't we fight our way up with this kind of reckless spirit? Now some people, once they're in a high position, they're afraid to do anything, afraid to make mistakes. They'd rather do nothing than make a mistake. This kind of mentality is unacceptable."

He paused, looking at the road stretching ahead, and continued, "Being afraid to do something is worse than making a mistake. If we make a mistake, we can correct it. But if we are afraid to do something, then we are rotten to the core and beyond saving. Felix is ​​good in this respect; he dares to take on responsibilities and is not afraid of causing trouble."

Casare listened, his mind racing as he tried to decipher Victor's true intentions.

Victor turned his head and glanced at Casare, as if he were talking about something trivial: "Once this mess in Michoacán is completely cleaned up and order is restored, let Felix stay there and serve as governor. He can handle this responsibility."

Despite being mentally prepared, Casare's heart still skipped a beat.

Governor!

That's the position of a high-ranking official!

Although Michoacán is currently in a mess, once it is cleaned up, it has great potential due to its geographical location and resources.

This is both a tremendous opportunity and a heavy responsibility, and it also signifies that the González family's influence will officially penetrate deeper into the local area, leaving a solid foothold.

He immediately composed himself, showing no joy whatsoever, and instead became even more humble: "This... Boss, isn't this burden too heavy? I'm afraid he'll let you down..."

"Experience is gained through practice, not by waiting."

Viktor interrupted him, "It's settled then. You should also talk to him and tell him not to just focus on killing, but also to think about how to rebuild after the killing. Stability is paramount, but development is the only way forward. I want to see a completely new Michoacán, not a lifeless, scorched wasteland."

"Yes! I understand, boss." Casare nodded emphatically, his voice steady. "I will definitely convey your instructions to him verbatim, urge him to do a good job, and never let him down!"

Viktor grunted in response and stopped talking, quickening his pace slightly.

Casare followed closely behind, his heart filled with turbulent emotions.

Following the boss was definitely the right decision!
(…(This is purely fictional!)…)
(End of this chapter)