Working as a police officer in Mexico

Zambada's curse-filled ranting before his death was broadcast across Mexico via television.

At least 30 million people watched this "luxurious" show.

When the 120mm M1981 self-propelled howitzer exploded, the decibel level in Mexico must have decreased by at least 50%, and everyone fell silent.

Death by artillery!

This was unprecedented in modern history.

With one shot, it obliterated the "courage" of many Mexicans.

From now on, people from Sinaloa coming to pay their respects could just place a couple of incense sticks anywhere in Mexico, after all, Zambada is everywhere.

Guzman watched the huge crater on the television, the camera showing it several times. With such an amount of ammunition, not even blood could be seen.

"Let people come back!"

He leaned back on the sofa, "Tell our men to pull out of Mexicali."

"Cousin, we've been fighting the Gulf and Juarez for so long, are we just leaving like this?" Carlos, the third of the four Beltran Leyva brothers, said with some reluctance.

Such a large territory, with such a strategically advantageous location—wasting it on anything other than smuggling drugs would be a shame.

It could earn at least several billion US Dollars more per year.

"If we don't leave, we might never be able to get out," Guzman sighed. He wasn't someone accustomed to giving up; everyone who saw him gave the same assessment: he spoke little, was silent, and had fierce eyes.

How could a desperate man easily let go?

But they really couldn't win.

If they could, would they still be kvetching here?

The boss Arturo pondered for a moment, "What about Zambada's brothers?"

"Sell them to the Mexican Government. Victor and his men will take care of it for us."

Guzman was such a man; when he couldn't beat others, he relied on betrayal. It was with this very tactic that he had killed off Los Zetas.

"Victor, that mad dog, isn't it good to make money together? A drug sweep? Sweep the damn drugs, with such a big market in Mexico, can he sweep it all up? I'm sure he's the product of inbreeding, his head's all messed up!" Hector, the most incompetent second brother, cursed.

If Uncle Victor heard these words,

would he not give him a chance to be reborn?

Guzman glanced at Hector. He had never held Hector in high regard because he indeed lacked capability; he botched things several times due to drinking and womanizing. If not for his solid connections, he would have been fed to the fishes by Palma long ago.

Yet this incompetent man happened to be the last survivor among the four brothers.

Guzman looked at his security chief, the most trusted Arturo, and stared intensely, "I need you to do something right now!"

"You say," Arturo said with his head bowed, naturally deferring to his cousin who he had trusted all his life.

Guzman grabbed his neck, "Recruit some special forces from the Mexican Government Forces. You are in charge of forming a new group of gunmen, called: LosZetas!"

Boom!

A sound like thunder.

The weather suddenly changed outside, and rain poured down in an instant.

It's chaos, completely utter chaos!

Los Zetas have emerged?

And they're under the Sinaloa faction?

Victor's butterfly effect had indeed set off a significant turning point.

What connection does this Arturo have with the actual founder of Los Zetas, Arturo Desena, aside from their shared name?

But with El Mencho already appearing, what else couldn't happen?

The world is just a grand farce.

Everyone is dancing upon it.

But what would the enforcer groups for the Gulf Group be called afterward?

"I want true violence!"

"I will give you any support you need, money, weapons, it's not a problem. I want gunmen capable of changing the layout of Mexico. Do you have the confidence?"

Arturo looked into his cousin's eyes and nodded forcefully, "Leave it to me."

Guzman patted his face and stood up, "All right brothers, let's go. Clean this place up and leave it to Mr. Victor!"

The real reshaping of Mexico's layout was beginning!

The group quickly packed up and left. As Arturo was leaving, he even threw two grenades inside.

The mansion was blasted into a mess.

This scene occurred in several other places; a leader had to be perceptive enough to understand that when there's no turning back, the only option is to abandon the location.

Leaving only the low-level drug traffickers running for their lives throughout the streets.

Victor adhered to the principle of seizing the moment to strike when you're weak.

He immediately ordered an assault!

Divided into groups, they began clearing out the drug traffickers.

"Rookie" Carlos followed the captain in a group of 17 into a residential area to search. This place... was an absolute mess.

The stench of urine was everywhere.

"¡Mierda! (Shit!)" A teammate leaning against a wall suddenly screamed out. Carlos was startled and quickly aimed his gun at him, only to see him passionately rubbing a shoe against the wall.

"People are actually defecating and urinating everywhere." He looked constipated.

"Hey, hound, are you hungry?" a teammate joked.

The captain "Tank" frowned, "Enough, cut it out..."

Carlos sighed in relief, but then suddenly spotted a gun barrel pointing out from the second floor above. He quickly pulled his teammate aside, "Watch out!"

Ratatat...

Bullets hit his bulletproof vest.

The captain reacted quickly, firing his gun at the second floor and pulling Carlos behind a corner for cover.

"Are you alright?"

Carlos was gasping for air, his face red from the shock wave of the bullets. He touched his body, "I'm okay, I'm okay."

To avoid paying hefty compensation, Victor generously equipped his direct officers with level IV bulletproof vests, capable of protecting against 7.62mm bullets—of course, a headshot would be another story.

"You've broken a rib." The captain reached into his shirt, touched his bones, and frowned, "Hound, Ant, take him and get out of here."

"The rest split into three teams and continue the search!"

"Understood!"

Carlos also obeyed; breaking his ribs and still remaining on the battlefield? Wasn't that just dragging everyone else down?

The captain, with four EDM members, rushed up the stairs in a combat formation. Standing at the doorway, he signaled with three fingers. At the count of one, a teammate beside him kicked the door open.

"EDM!"

The captain shouted as he charged in, only to see that the living room was empty. In the adjacent kitchen lay a man shot dead. He walked over, kicked the weapon away from the man on the ground, and then administered another shot to the man's head.

That finally put his mind at ease.

Bang bang~

At that moment, a noise suddenly came from inside the house.

The group raised their weapons and slowly approached. The captain took a deep breath, slowly turned the doorknob, and the teammate behind him readied his shotgun, aiming to spray the room.

"Ah!!"

But who would have thought that upon opening the door, they would encounter a woman wearing a bikini?

She had a nice figure.

Yeah, a really nice figure!

This woman could naturally provide a BUFF, which was to lower everyone's guard.

"Ma'am, ma'am, don't worry, you're okay..." A team member tried to comfort her with a pat, but the captain's eyes narrowed, "Be careful!"

He kicked the team member aside and emptied his magazine into the bikini-clad woman!

0XX0 — He shot a couple of extra rounds because of the larger impact area.

The woman fell to the ground, coughing up blood, holding a remote control in her hand.

The team member who had been kicked away was furious as he aimed his shotgun at the woman's head and fired another shot.

He swore, it was definitely not out of revenge.

The Director always said: one must cultivate one's mind and nature!

"Next room."

...

All of Mexicali was under chaos.

The scattered drug traffickers started to flee in panic, bursting into the homes of the innocent and shooting at the people inside.

A city...

Was actually more bloody than a battlefield.

To deal with this, Victor had repeatedly ordered announcements over the city's loudspeakers: drop your weapons and surrender, the Guadalupe Island Police Department guarantees your safety!

There were stubborn elements, and of course those who were truly scared to tears.

They surrendered en masse.

From morning until 4 pm, a total of more than 600 people surrendered.

And there were a lot of people they really couldn't catch; there were just too many people in Mexicali. The drug traffickers would just disappear into the crowd and Victor didn't have enough men to fill the gaps in the slums.

About 2 kilometers outside Mexicali city center.

This place was turned into a temporary prison, with drug traffickers detained here.

They squatted on the ground, holding their heads, looking at each other with fear still in their eyes.

"When... when can we leave?" A young drug trafficker squatting on his tiptoes asked his companion, his eyes teary with fear.

He had only taken 300 US dollars from the drug traffickers.

His companion spoke in a low voice, "Soon, I guess. We're just assisting drug traffickers, nothing serious, there shouldn't be any problem."

"¡Fuego!¡"

"¡Fuego!¡"

Fire!

Before the men could react, they saw machine guns mounted on the wall start firing relentlessly.

Drug traffickers!

Was there a distinction between one execution or two?

Caught meant killed.

"Murder! They're killing people!!" An old hand, an experienced drug trafficker, sensed something wrong and turned to run, only to see a pipe extend from the side and then... flames shot out!

The drug trafficker was directly sprayed with fire, screamed in agony, and then crashed into the crowd, causing many others to instantly ignite.

"Woo woo! Woo!"

The military dogs, picking up the scents in the air, became restless, baring their teeth which dripped with saliva, and scratched the ground uneasily with their paws.

Victor never had the tradition of keeping drug traffickers overnight.

The sound of gunfire continued until after nine in the evening, then gradually lessened.

Mexicali City Hall.

The place was bustling with activity.

Victor never laid a hand on the lower-level civil servants; otherwise, who would do the work?

Seeing their "spirited" appearance fully illustrated one point: it wasn't that he was useless, but that the people at the top were incompetent.

Lucky for them Rafael Max died in the bathroom, otherwise, who knew how they would have executed them.

"Boss, here's a rough casualty report, and the seized materials will be counted by tomorrow," Casare handed the list to Victor, yawning.

"You've been working hard lately," Victor said, looking at him.

"Thank you, boss. Your approval is my biggest motivation, and I will continue to be actively diligent," he replied.

He was born in the wrong country; with such emotional intelligence, he would've achieved great things elsewhere.

Victor smiled, opened the report, and his eyebrows shot up.

It read: Counter-Terrorism Mobile Unit (EDTV) lost 41 personnel, Guadalupe Island Police Department lost 17 personnel (in urban security combat), drug traffickers killed: 2174 (excluding prisoners).

Together with the drug traffickers, the total was close to 2800 people.

Victor closed the report, shook his cigarette pack, but found it empty. Casare offered his own cigarette and lit it for him.

It didn't matter if you didn't smoke, but you had to be prepared at all times, and with the same brand the boss smoked. Otherwise, what if the boss wanted a smoke and you didn't have any? Wouldn't that be awkward?

Victor exhaled a puff of smoke; only the two of them were left in the office.

"Casare, Mexicali is ours now!"

"Baja California is spreading its legs, welcoming us!"

...