Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 728 Does Ma Lou's fate require fortune telling?
Morales could no longer hold back and bent over, retching violently, tears and snot streaming down his face uncontrollably.

I vomited violently.

"Ugh—you...you fucking...you're a beast!!"

He finally caught his breath, wiped his mouth hard with his sleeve, raised his head and stared at Márquez with eyes full of fear and disgust.

Marquez sneered, "Hernan, put away your hypocritical face! Am I not human? And you? What the hell are you? Which of those fake medical records used for insurance fraud didn't have your Ministry of Commerce's stamp and approval? Weren't you and your brother-in-law controlling the allocation and disposal of those 'special sources'? You didn't hold back when it came to splitting the money! And now you're talking to me about humanity? Bah!"

"Stop pretending."

"Just because you've washed your butt doesn't mean you can cover up your shit again!"

He spat, ignoring Morales's ashen face, grabbed his phone from the table, and dialed a number.

The call was connected almost instantly.

“It’s me.” Marquez’s voice regained its cold hardness, carrying an unquestionable command tone. “Get rid of Curry’s entire shipment. Yes, right now, the usual place. Clean it up, be quick and efficient, no doubt about it! All of it! Leave no one alive! It has to be done before dawn!”

"Damn it, what do you care about other things? What do you care about the lives of ordinary people? Listen to me, if you don't want to do it, then I'll kill you."

He slammed the phone down, his chest heaving slightly, and his eyes swept over Morales with a sinister glint: "Satisfied?"

……

On the outskirts of Cancun, inside a building that appears to be an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by high walls and electric fences.

A bald, muscular man wearing a floral shirt and with grotesque snake tattoos running from his neck to his cheeks licked his chapped lips, as if talking to himself, "Damn!"

"Brothers, we've got a job!" He cracked his thick neck and yelled at the dozen or so men sitting or standing in the warehouse, "Bring all those pigs out of the cages down there, get them on the truck! We're going to the mine in the north to slaughter them!"

"Boss, you killed them all? That's over 100 people." One of the underlings said, speechless.

"What? Is your mother or your father in there?" Cheqi glanced at the other person. "It's an order from above."

The younger brother muttered twice, "Those people are really inhuman."

"If you keep talking, I'll kill you." Cheqi narrowed his eyes, and seeing that their boss was angry, the underlings shrank back.

The lower level of the warehouse was more like a crowded livestock pen than a prison cell.

Behind the iron fence, hundreds of men and women, their faces haggard and their eyes filled with fear and despair, were crammed together. Most of them were dressed in rags, with bruises and wounds on their bodies, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat.

The iron gate was violently pulled open, and Chejo and his men rushed in, grinning maliciously, carrying iron bars, machetes, and even a few fire axes.

firearm……

They are not easy to obtain; there are only a few pistols.

The control of weapons by violent organizations is very strict. The possibility of purchasing weapons from the military and police departments, which was previously possible, is no longer available, and there is also little outside supply.

Moreover, if a crime involving firearms occurs, it is different from an ordinary case.

A vessel for the equality of all beings…

"Get up! Get up, all of you! You pigs, I'll take you to another place to sleep." Chejo roared, mercilessly smashing the iron rod in his hand onto the shin of a middle-aged man who was a little slower to move.

"Crack!" A tooth-chilling sound of bone breaking was followed by the man's piercing scream.

"No! No! Please..." a young woman cried and pleaded as a gangster roughly grabbed her hair and dragged her away.

Cries, pleas for mercy, shouts, and beatings instantly filled the space. They were driven like livestock, and any resistance was met with a hail of sticks and fists.

Mark was swept along by the crowd, staggering forward. He smelled the stench of urine on the people around him, wondering who had lost control of their bladder in fear.

They were roughly crammed into the back of several vans with their windows painted black, squeezed together like sardine cans.

The carriage door slammed shut, plunging the world into darkness and turbulence. Inside the carriage, only the sound of weeping could be heard.

After an unknown amount of time, the truck finally stopped.

The carriage door opened again, revealing a dark, open area. By the light of the headlights and a few flashlights, one could see the edge of a huge, deep mine pit ahead, with rainwater forming murky streams that flowed continuously into the bottomless darkness.

"Get down, all of you, get down and kneel on the edge of the pit!" Chejo stood in the rain, wiping the rain off his face, and shouted sternly.

The gangsters dragged the people out of the car like wolves and forced them to kneel in a row on the edge of the muddy, slippery mine pit.

The wind and rain lashed their faces, and the cold and fear made everyone shiver violently.

Someone tried to struggle, but was immediately slammed hard on the back with an iron bar by the gang members behind him, and fell to the ground screaming.

Mark knelt in the cold mud, the rain blurring his vision. He stared at the dark mine ahead that seemed to devour everything, his heart pounding in his chest. His survival instinct made him want to fight back, but looking at the menacing thugs around him, armed with weapons, and the indifference in their eyes as if they were treating livestock, despair clung to his limbs like vines.

"Hurry up!" Chejo yelled impatiently, taking a heavy entrenching tool from his subordinate. The wooden handle was smooth and greasy from long-term use.

Without further ado, the massacre began.

Chejo walked up behind a man kneeling at the far end, swung his entrenching tool with both hands, and slammed it hard on the back of the man's head with a whoosh!

"Pfft!" A muffled sound.

The man collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing, but he only kicked a few times before becoming still.

"No--!!"

A girl nearby let out a heart-wrenching scream, but her voice stopped abruptly as blood gushed out like a fountain.

"Hahaha! Next!" a tall, thin gang member yelled excitedly, smashing the iron bar in his hand down on the head of the next kneeling man.

Bang! Splat! Crack!
The terrifying sounds of blunt instruments striking flesh and bones rose and fell, mixed with the brief, piercing screams of the victims before their deaths, as well as the heavy breathing of the gang members and the occasional bursts of cruel laughter.

Rain washed away the splattered blood and brain matter...

Mark felt warm liquid splash onto his face, unsure if it was rain or the blood of the person next to him. He felt cold all over, his mind blank. When it was his turn, he couldn't even react.

A gangster with a thick beard stood behind him, cursing and swearing, seemingly annoyed by the weather and the troublesome job. He swung the rusty steel bar covered in dark red solidified material and smashed it down on the back of Mark's head!

Perhaps it was the extreme fear that unleashed his potential, perhaps it was the slippery mud underfoot, or perhaps the murderer stumbled while swinging the steel bar, causing a slight deviation in force and angle.

"boom!"

Mark felt an indescribable force slam into the side of his head near his neck. His vision went black, and his ears rang with a deafening ringing, as if his skull was about to crack. The excruciating pain instantly overwhelmed him, but he did not immediately lose consciousness. The force propelled his body to the side and forward, causing him to tumble down the steep edge of the mine pit.

During the tumbling, his body slammed against protruding rocks and debris on the pit wall, causing more pain but also slowing his descent to some extent. Finally, he crashed heavily onto a pile of corpses that had been thrown down earlier at the bottom of the mine.

At the edge of the mine, the killing continued. The bearded man spat, watched Mark roll down, assumed he was dead, and moved on to the next target. No one would bother to check on a "dead man" at the bottom of the pit.

After an unknown amount of time—perhaps ten minutes, perhaps half an hour—the cries and pounding sounds from the edge of the mine finally ceased.

Chejo, panting heavily, watched his men kick the last few corpses into the mine pit, then directed the small cement mixer truck that had come over to pour grayish-white cement slurry into the deep pit, covering the layers of corpses.

"Let's go!" Chejo waved his hand, and led his men to quickly get into the car and leave. The sound of the engine faded into the distance, and the headlights disappeared into the rainy night.

The cold rain washed away the bloodstains on the edge of the mine pit and dripped into the bottom of the pit.

Mark lay sprawled at the edge of the pile of corpses and the still-wet cement slurry. The intense pain and suffocation jolted him awake from his semi-conscious state. He gasped for breath, the air thick with the stench of blood, dirt, and cement dust filling his lungs, triggering a violent cough. He was still alive!

The spot on the side of his head where the steel bar had struck him burned with pain. Warm blood mixed with rainwater flowed down, blurring half of his vision. He struggled, using all his strength to pry open the obstacles around him and crawl toward the pit wall that he remembered was not covered by cement.

Driven by the will to survive, he dug his fingers into the slippery mud and crevices of the rocks, his feet struggling to move through the mud and piles of corpses. With each effort, the wound on his head tore apart with excruciating pain, nearly causing him to faint.

Finally, his fingers touched a protruding rock at the edge of the mine. With his last ounce of strength, he pushed upwards with all his might!
Half of his body peeked out from the edge of the mine!
The icy rain pelted him, but it invigorated him.

He gasped for breath, like a fish out of water, blood mingling with rainwater dripping from his forehead. He dared not linger, and in an almost crawling manner, he staggered away from the mine's embrace, rolling onto the muddy open ground outside the edge.

He survived.

He miraculously crawled out of the edge of this hellish place where hundreds of people were buried.

Mark lay in the rain, breathing greedily, his body trembling from exhaustion, cold, and excruciating pain. He glanced back at the dark mine pit, which resembled the jaws of a giant beast, his eyes filled with the fear of surviving a catastrophe and a deep-seated hatred.

Then, he gritted his teeth, supported himself with his arms, checked his direction, and staggered without looking back into the unknown, dark wilderness shrouded in rain.

He had to leave this place; he had to survive.

After walking for an unknown amount of time, he finally collapsed, unable to continue, and fell into the pool of water. Just when he thought he was going to die...

His tired eyes couldn't open, but he could see many pairs of feet around him.

He finally couldn't take it anymore and fainted.

……

the other side.

The special train slowly came to a stop at the Cancun train station. The platform had already been cleared and placed under lockdown, leaving only solemn guards and a group of local officials who were eagerly waiting in the rain.

Guided by train police and local police officers, the passengers, filled with curiosity and a little unease, glanced quickly at the heavily guarded special train and the dark welcoming procession in the distance before swiftly leaving the station.

It's obvious that a very important person has arrived.

Time passed second by second, and the rain pattered against the roof of the platform, splashing up fine droplets.

Governor Konrad Adenauer and Major General Otto Moritz Walter Model, commander of the 179th Corps of the Eastern Theater, stood at the very front of the column, their postures ramrod straight.

However, as all the tourists left, the train doors remained closed, no one got off, and not even a single staff member came out to deliver a message.

A suffocating silence and pressure filled the air.

The rain grew heavier, and the wind whipped the raindrops, slanting them onto the platform. Konrad Adenauer's trousers were quickly soaked by the splashing rain, the icy feeling spreading up the fabric. He dared not move, but the smile on his face gradually faltered. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at General Model, who stood beside him like a statue, and saw the same unease in the other's tightly pursed lips and slightly furrowed brows.

what happened?

Conrad's heart sank lower and lower as countless terrible thoughts churned in his mind. Had there been a problem with the reception arrangements? This silent exposure was more terrifying than a direct reprimand.

More than an hour passed slowly in this agonizing state.

The officials on the platform were already soaked to the bone, but no one dared to wipe themselves or whisper to each other; they could only stand there, enduring the rain.

Finally, the door to the middle carriage of the special train slid open.

The figure of Captain Rohus Misch appeared at the door. He was wearing a crisp military uniform. His eyes swept over the disheveled welcoming team on the platform and finally landed on Conrad and Model.

“Governor, General Model, the leader wants to see you.”

Both of them felt a sudden tightness in their chests and quickly responded, following Mi Shi closely and almost running onto the special train.

Led by Misch, they arrived at Viktor's carriage. Viktor was sitting on a large sofa, a cigar between his fingers, his face so gloomy it seemed to drip water amidst the swirling smoke.

Before Konrad Adenauer could even manage a greeting smile, Victor spoke first:

“Conrad, Otto, you…” Victor took a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled, “are you trying to murder me here?”

Upon hearing this, Konrad Adenauer and Otto Model were so frightened that their legs went weak.

Konrad Adenauer almost reflexively straightened his back and preemptively pledged his loyalty: "Leader! My loyalty is as clear as day! The entire state of Quintana Roo is utterly devoted to you and to Mexico! I..."

Major General Model, standing nearby, reacted just as quickly. After all, he was a soldier. Suppressing his heart palpitations, he spoke in a loud voice: "Leader! All the soldiers of the 179th Army will always be the sharpest sword in your hand, the most pointed spear in Mexico! Wherever it points, wherever it strikes, there will be no hesitation!"

Viktor's expression softened slightly as he listened to the two men's eager declarations. He ignored Model's pledge and focused his gaze on Konrad Adenauer.

Victor snorted through his nose, "Conrad, I entrusted you with the face of Mexico, the most important state of Quintana Roo, and this is how you repay my trust? You've turned it into a stinking, rotten swamp?"

He took a puff of his cigar, the smoke slowly exhaling and enveloping his sinister face.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush with you. Playing riddles is a game for women and politicians.”

Viktor's voice suddenly changed, and he spoke slowly, "The Ministry of Internal Affairs found an escaped tourist on the outskirts of Cancun. He was covered in injuries, and the marks of being tied up were clearly visible. He is still unconscious, and it is unknown whether he will survive."

He paused, looked at Conrad, and continued, "Near where he crawled out, a mine pit was found. The soil was freshly turned over, and the signs of burial were obvious. A quick dig... and there were quite a few people buried, layer upon layer, like pickled vegetables. The initial judgment is that it happened just a few hours ago, still warm."

Major General Model, standing nearby, felt a sudden sense of relief and cursed inwardly: Damn it, so it was just a bunch of local parasites causing this mess. As long as it's not my troops or security that's gone wrong, then it's easy to handle.

He even slightly adjusted his posture.

Konrad Adenauer's forehead instantly broke out in a thick layer of cold sweat, which trickled down his temples.

His lips trembled, his mind was a mess, and he desperately wanted to distance himself from the situation: "Leader! I will immediately set up a special task force and personally oversee the case! We will find out the truth as soon as possible and bring these bandits to justice."

“Cha?” Victor’s eyebrows shot up. He slowly stood up, his tall figure exuding an invisible sense of oppression as he walked step by step to Conrad.

Conrad felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Conrad,"

“You’ve been the governor here for so long, acting like a local tyrant. Tell me, do you really know nothing about the filth on this land, those maggots hiding in the shadows?”

He reached out and gently brushed away non-existent dust from Conrad's shoulder, a seemingly casual gesture that sent a shiver down Conrad's spine.

"You should know my personality."

Victor's fingers stopped on Conrad's epaulettes, applying slight pressure. "I hate trouble, and I hate it even more when people treat me like an idiot."

"Go check it out."

"I'll give you time. During this time, I'll live on the special train and won't go anywhere else."

"You handle this matter, clean up the mess that needs cleaning, and hand over the heads that need to be handed over."

"You can't handle it..."

He paused, took a puff of his cigar, and then said, word by word:

"I'll fucking get you!"

……

(End of this chapter)