Working as a police officer in Mexico

Milia Mires Grosteta had a very long dream.

She dreamed that her brother grabbed her hand, then touched her head, and told her that he had to go to a place very, very far away.

"Will you come back then?"

"Where there is light, I will always be there."

"Despair is what defeats us, live on, live better!"

Milia suddenly felt that her brother was lying to her, she clung to him, crying and begging him not to leave, but he walked further and further away, and she saw her parents, grandparents, all waving at her with smiles.

"Brother!"

Milia spat out a mouthful of water and slowly opened her eyes, in a daze, she saw a silhouette also in uniform, with equally clear eyes; she murmured, "Brother."

"Awake! She's awake!" The officer beside her exclaimed joyfully.

"Rookie" Carlos took a deep breath, took off his jacket, and put it on her, "Feeling better? Are you still cold?"

Milia, her face drenched with water, glanced at the adults in front of her, obviously a bit nervous, but still nodded, "Thank you."

She looked around anxiously, "Have you… seen my brother's clothes?"

The little girl was close to crying.

"That's the last piece of clothing my brother has, he won't have anything to change into when he comes home tonight."

Carlos squatted down, his eyes slightly reddening upon hearing this; he had never seen her brother, but when a child is so sensibly heart-wrenching, it always touches the softest part of one's heart.

"Brother, do you happen to know my brother?" Milia suddenly asked, raising her head, her eyes large and bright, she was well taken care of.

"Do you want to see him?"

Milia hesitated, then nodded, "I do."

"Then let's go change clothes, and take your little brother with us," Carlos said, patting her head.

Milia nodded happily, picked up the wooden basin, and led them back home.

The world of the wealthy plays differently, but the world of the poor lives the same.

Everywhere there was the stench of urine, even large rats the size of a forearm could be seen running across, stopping to look around boldly when they heard footsteps.

Milia and her family lived in a very secluded corner, surrounded by piles of trash, and at the doorstep, a skinny figure stood timidly, barefoot, wearing a short shirt, eyes eagerly watching the distance. When he saw Milia, he ran over quickly, calling with a babyish voice, "Sister."

"You haven't been good, have you? Didn't I tell you to wait for me at home?" Milia, 9 years old, was just like a big sister.

Her little brother nodded, pulling out something shaped like jerky from his trouser pocket, ready to take a bite.

"You can't eat that." Carlos hurried to stop him, squatting down, he took out chocolate and handed it to him. The boy, clearly afraid of this stranger, hid behind Milia.

"He's very timid."

Milia said with a smile, patting her brother's head, "Get dressed, we're going to find brother."

Brother!

The little boy's eyes lit up at the mention, and he ran into the house.

"Aren't you going to change your clothes?"

Milia tugged at her dress, smiling, her eyes beautiful like crescents, truly beautiful, "This is a gift my brother bought for me, I really like it."

Carlos looked at her faded dress, lifted his head to hold back tears, thinking girls, they all like new clothes.

When her little brother ran out, he too was wearing clothes that had seen better days, the cartoon characters on them slightly aged.

"Let's go! We're going to see your brother."

Carlos took them to the car, their first time riding in a Hummer, both of them were happy, the wind brushing past their temples, their faces finally showing the innocence of children.

But as the Hummer turned a corner, Milia suddenly felt her heart in pain, a vague sound of crying hitting her like a hammer.

It grew closer.

Finally, she saw it, an open-air wake with dozens, even hundreds of coffins, with many people collapsed on the ground, eyes red from weeping.

"My... my brother??" Milia had an ominous feeling, but still lifted her head to ask Carlos, who pursed his lips and led them to the very back where a coffin lay.

Inside was a lieutenant, dressed in his favorite military uniform, covered with the Mexican flag, his face peaceful.

"Brother!" Milia trembled all over, tears streaming down uncontrollably.

The young her understood death, Mexico had made her bear it far too many times from too young an age.

"Brother, get up, brother."

The little brother wept too, perhaps not understanding the meaning of death, but knowing he seemed to have lost the most important person.

In the wake.

Milia cried out loud...

But the brother who loved her most could no longer respond.

Milia cried with her head flung back, her tears falling into the coffin, crying until her voice was hoarse and her eyes swollen red.

Carlos, fearing for their wellbeing amidst their sobs, wrapped them in his arms, "Your brother is watching over you, children who cry don't grow up."

Milia clung to his neck, hearing these words, she paused, the memory echoing of when she fell and scraped her knees, the time she cried uncontrollably, her brother had said the same thing to her.

"Children who cry don't grow up."

Milia clung to Carlos tightly, biting her lip, but her shoulders shook with sobs.

"Brother, I've been very good."

...

"Vaquero mexicano (Mexican Cowboy)"

This could be considered the most luxurious hotel in Mexicali, previously a property of the Tijuana Cartel, now... it likely belongs to Victor's "Hope" Group.

The downfall of Tijuana brought Victor quite a bit of "enterprise," including 7 hotels, 4 resorts, 171 shops, and 7 mansions in Mexicali alone, not to mention countless more.

Just think about how much there must be in Baja California State?

This further cemented Victor's determination to take over the entire territory of the original Tijuana, but for now, he lacked the necessary forces.

What?

Anyone interested?

Lean in and let me see your face, see if your shoehorn is stuck on it.

The victors have the right to divide the cake.

It's like the world is a makeshift theater, but not everyone gets a chance to be on stage.

Victor's face (caliber) is still substantial; having to host the families of the sacrificed police and military, nobody in Mexicali dares not to give face.

Outside the hotel, luxury cars everywhere.

Directors from which company have arrived, whose mistresses are here.

The men are in suits, looking like gentlemen, while the women are adorned in gold and silver, quite the image of wealth and prosperity.

Casare is greeting guests outside.

Victor sits in the seat of honor, puffing on a cigar, surrounded by the heads of various departments who are still alive.

"I'm quite open-minded; if you want a seat at the table, vote for Mr. Alejandro to be the Governor of Baja California State," Victor says, pointing to his old superior while addressing the others.

Alejandro had been called over. The cake was being divided!

The others looked at each other, unsure of how to respond.

"Mr. Victor, Alejandro has just been promoted to head of security in Baja California. Jumping straight to Governor goes against the rules... and besides, several departments are involved here, and the people who have the say are in Mexico City... we... don't have that kind of authority," a silver-haired middle-aged man said with a wry smile.

Even promotions need to follow the rules!

Unless you can really punch the rules to smithereens.

But...

He is a policeman now, and to raise troops and challenge authority would make him a rebel, and then the nation's 200,000 troops would be no joke.

Victor simply didn't have enough "usable" people under him.

He sat in his chair, fingertips tapping lightly on the table, as the officials around him sat stiffly, not daring to move.

"The mayoral position shouldn't be a problem, right?"

Victor spoke, and those people glanced at each other. It was still the silver-haired middle-aged man speaking, "As long as the election procedures conform, it's possible."

"Then for Lower California, I want four spots! The rest you can divvy up."

There are only six cities in total...

But being able to claim a say in the remaining two cities left those present relatively pleased, thinking Victor wanted it all to himself.

"That's fine, thank you, sir," the middle-aged man eagerly nodded, standing up to bow with his glass raised.

Victor reached out without moving from his seat.

No matter the situation, the one with the bigger fist is the one who's truly big.

Clang!

Just then, a loud crashing noise followed by a stream of cursing grabbed the attention of everyone in the hotel.

They saw a drunk middle-aged man holding a glass, kicking over a boy, cursing at him, "Squeeze squeeze squeeze! Haven't you eaten before? The stench on you is disgusting me to death."

"Brother!" Milia ran over and hugged the other, the boy shivering with fear in his arms.

"Scum!"

The drunken middle-aged man looked at his suit, dissatisfied, and splashed the drink in his hand onto the faces of Milia and the others.

"What are you doing!"

"Rookie" Carlos and his three teammates rushed out, with Carlos pushing the man down and glaring, "Are you looking for death?"

The man was too drunk to get up and kept belching.

Everyone ridicules the racial system, but where is there no discrimination?

"Ricole!" an old man ran over, looking at his disgraceful son, hurriedly apologizing to Carlos.

"Damn scum!" The middle-aged man struggled to stand up, pointing at the little boy, until his father backhanded him with a slap and angrily shouted, "Shut up!"

The old man looked towards the head table and saw pairs of eyes looking back, making him wail in distress. In no time, he saw Victor speaking with 'Fatty Tiger' Casare, who then stood up and approached.

"If he's drunk, sober him up. Making a scene in the boss's place, drag him out and break his hands and legs. He won't drink so heavily next time," Casare said.

Hearing that, the old man was frantic, his one and only son. He raised his hands pleadingly; seeing no reaction from Casare, he cried out to Victor, "Sir, my son didn't mean it, please spare him."

"My son is still young."

Almost everyone could hardly restrain themselves; with him looking to be over forty, yet still young?

Victor also walked over with a smile, bent down to look at Milia and her sister, the latter looking up at him as well.

"Then do you know how old they are?" he asked.

The old man was suddenly at a loss for words.

"I know you both, Milia, Ruskinia," Victor said, patting their heads, "Your brother is a Warrior; he is a true soldier."

"Disrespecting the family of a sacrificed police or military man under my watch is the same as disrespecting me!"

"If I die and go down there to see the brothers, and they ask me, how can I answer them?"

"Drag him away, pull all his teeth out, cut off his tongue. I want him to live disabled!"

So ruthless?!

Everyone shuddered inside; the old man grabbed Victor's arm, "Sir, sir, he's my only son. We'll pay, you have to be reasonable!"

"Be reasonable?"

Victor laughed, "Talking fists to the weak, reason to the strong?" His smiling face suddenly turned stern as he delivered a fierce kick to the middle-aged man's chest, sending him flying.

"I'll tell you, I, Victor, am the reason!"

"When I want to be reasonable, that's reason. When I don't, it's just a pile of garbage. Old man, go make another one; this one is a lost cause."

…