Working as a police officer in Mexico

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It's obvious who's fucking with the North American Drug Syndicate, you could figure that out with your goddamn feet.

Who the fuck jumped out first?

The Yanks!

The Mexicans!

And the Canadians!

What? They're not involved? Doesn't matter, when the Three Musketeers of North America get hit, they take it together, even if you're a dog on the street speaking with a San Francisco accent, Pablo would still shoot you twice without a second thought!

So many people from the association are dead!

A lot of them grew up with the Medellin Cartel—we're talking old-timers. No exaggeration, Pablo had already appointed executives for various countries and regions, and now this mess has completely disrupted the hierarchy.

Blanco, the big sister who brought me out to deal drugs, was also killed!

Actually, the most important thing is, you disrespect me, you dare to fuck up my turf, I'm very displeased, and if I don't get back at them, the North American Drug Syndicate would be a fucking joke.

Pablo looked over at the others sitting on the sofa.

Gilbert from the Cali Cartel was distressed, a cigarette dangled from his trembling hands, his eyes red, clearly still in pain over the death of his brother.

The two brothers, orphaned from a young age, hardly educated, grew up rough in the streets of Cali, struggling for every meal, even at their poorest, huddled together under a bridge for comfort.

Gilbert still remembered pointing at the Morning Star and asking Miguel, "What's your wish?"

He clearly remembered Miguel saying, "To have enough to eat! To have lots of delicious food."

And Gilbert had laughed and said, "To have my voice heard under this sky!"

From street thugs to bank thieves, to the Cartel that spanned continents, he had reached the pinnacle of his industry, but just as he was enjoying the fruits of victory, Miguel... was dead.

How could Gilbert accept this?

Seeing him like that, Pablo actually felt a sick pleasure. He was always narrow-minded, and that bastard Miguel often opposed him, he'd wanted to kill him a long time ago!

Now that he's dead, even better.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

And next to him sat the "three bears" of Mexico, Guzman with a bruised eye corner, Aguilar from Juarez and Abrego from the Gulf Group both in casts, having broken hands.

These lucky sons of bitches somehow survived a helicopter crash!

Does God favor Mexicans?

"Gentlemen, this is a disgrace!"

Pablo took a deep breath and, with a dark gaze, said to them, "I'd rather shoot myself than not retaliate!"

"How do we retaliate?"

Aguilar, clutching his face and suppressing his anger, asked, "Go to the United States? And blow up the DEA?"

"Or go to Mexico and kill Victor? With all the security around him, what are the odds of taking him out?"

His confidence had been shattered.

I've been a cop too, for decades, when have I ever seen cops so fucking fierce? They've beaten us to prolapse.

Abrego, his partner in life and death, nodded in agreement at his side.

"So we're not going to retaliate?"

Stay connected via empire

Before Pablo could speak, Gilbert was already on his feet, "The Yanks are so fucking arrogant, if we can't blow up the DEA, let's blow up the Statue of Liberty!"

"You think the FBI and CIA will just be sitting around?"

"If we can't get Victor, let's get the guy next to him, isn't Casare Gonzalez his lackey? Kill him! Use his head to fly our colors!"

Always squeeze the softest fruit!

His hysterical shouting was the only thing filling the living room.

Blow up...

The Statue of Liberty?

That's a national monument of the United States!

The Mexicans were scared shitless by this suggestion, but Pablo's eyes lit up; the Cali Cartel is a pack of "mad dogs!"

Where's the gentleman in them?

But, it really suited Pablo's taste.

Pablo, who should be an anti-American fighter, would do anything to piss off the Americans. He even planned to tell the KGB contacts about this scheme and get some sponsorship money.

"I agree, what do you all say?" He looked at the Three Mexican Heroes.

Shorty, Fatty, and the Cop looked at each other, and finally, it was Guzman who said reluctantly, "Such an iconic building, the Americans value it more than their lives; if we blow it up…"

"Blow it up, then keep blowing up The Pentagon!" Gilbert chimed in from the side.

Okay then...

You're hellbent on a showdown with the Americans.

"What are you all scared of? We're in Latin America, do you think the Americans will nuke us? Even if they want to wipe us out, we'll open up the borders and let all drug traffickers into the United States, causing internal chaos!"

A classic case of switching the battlefield.

Hey, you gotta admit, it kind of makes sense.

"I'm in!"

"Anyone opposed?"

Pablo raised his hand and pointed at them, questioning.

An attack on one is an attack on all, and the other representatives from the organizations sitting beside him had balls as big as bees. With everyone else so gung-ho, if they didn't agree, they weren't walking out of this Naples manor.

They raised their hands one after another.

The Three Mexican Heroes had to agree as well.

Damn it!

They're all fucking lunatics.

"The Statue of Liberty is the Cali Cartel's job, Gilbert, blow it up! Let them understand who we are; when we hunt, gods and Buddhas can get fucked. Nothing and no one is safe, nor is anything sacred!"

Pablo's voice was dark, "Those who defy our will shall be destroyed!"

"As for Casare Gonzalez…"

He pondered for a moment, his gaze shifting to the Three Mexican Heroes, but Pablo was dissatisfied with their hesitation just now, and suddenly, someone came to his mind!

"Leave it to Victor Hunter!"

The big shots in the room were shocked at the name, the unfamiliar faces looked confused, and the slightly familiar ones were stupefied.

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Isn't that the Steel Wool Superman?

Blanco's little cotton-padded jacket?

He didn't die?

When Pablo had someone call him over, his gaze rested on the crowd. "He is Blanco's fiancé."

Hmm... The big shots fell silent.

What exquisite taste!

Ethan Hunt was also stunned when he was notified. He was in a wealthy woman's mansion, still wrapped in bandages, and couldn't figure out why Pablo was calling for him. By all logic, he was just a marginal figure.

At first, he had thought about leaving after he took out Blanco, but then he thought better of it. No, I need to stay as a widow. Even if I don't get Involved in any secrets, I can still gather some bits and pieces of information, right?

He concocted a detailed "escape" excuse, successfully bluffed his way through. Lying is a skill men grow into, and on top of that, he was a spy; even a lie detector couldn't catch him out.

To make his story more "clean", he had also inflicted quite a few wounds on himself.

For the sake of the job, he was all in.

After hanging up the phone, he got dressed, ready to go out, and just then he bumped into Blanco's son!

He was holding a teddy bear, gazing at Ethan Hunt with wide eyes. The latter glanced at him and then lowered his head to leave.

"Are you going out?" The boy suddenly asked.

Ethan Hunt's feet stopped at the threshold.

"Can you come back early? I'm scared of sleeping alone at night," the kid looked at him pleadingly.

Ethan turned to look at him. The boy was quite young, only seven or eight years old, his face still showing hesitation—perhaps... he also knew his mother had died.

Like a fledgling bird hidden in a massive empty nest, the emptiness made one feel stricken with fear.

Seeing that pleading gaze, Ethan instinctively nodded, "Don't run around."

"Yeah, you be careful too!" Mike Corleone Blanco nodded vigorously.

Black Widow had given her son the name of the first godfather from "The Godfather 1".

Perhaps, she too harbored certain hopes for her son.

Ethan Hunt sped swiftly, sparking and flashing, to the "Naples" manor. Under the guidance of bodyguards, he entered the living room where the big shots were gathered.

As soon as he walked in, he had barely caught his breath.

And that's when Pablo said to him.

"Victor, go and take out Casare Gonzalez!"

Holy Wang Defa!

What kind of bizarre mission is this?

I, an excellent agent of the Mexico International News Department, a Warrior of the Anti-Drug Force, am supposed to kill my own boss—even though he's not my direct superior.

But Casare is the real number two man of the Anti-Drug Force.

Who doesn't know the Royal Steward?

"Not just him, I want his whole family dead! I'll send the Medellin intelligence and assassination teams to support you."

Pablo stared at him intently, "You must kill him!"

Ethan Hunt nodded fiercely, his eyes fierce, "They killed my... wife. I will have my revenge!"

Combined with the twitching at the corner of his mouth and the ferocity in his eyes, he perfectly resembled a man driven by passionate love.

Hearing the name of his big sister, Pablo also sighed, patted his shoulder, and after a thought said, "All of Blanco's inheritance will belong to you. Take care of Corleone, but we'll take back the shares of the association."

Such good fortune?!

Have I just become a billionaire overnight?

Ethan Hunt was visibly stunned by the windfall. Wasn't it just about taking good care of Blanco's son?

No problem!

But one mustn't laugh.

Rule number seven in the "Mexican News Department's Acting Rules": Learn to control your facial expressions and emotions. The true strong ones are amidst tears.

"You can count on me!"

Ethan Hunt took a deep breath, "I will treat Corleone as my own son, and besides, all this wealth is his, I'm just keeping it safe for now."

"When he comes of age, it will all be his!"

"As for... Casare Gonzalez."

He gritted his teeth as if facing his father's killer, "I will surely kill his entire family and let them reunite in hell!"

Pablo was very satisfied. It seemed that the big sister who had suffered all her life had finally found someone worthy of trust in the end.

She should rest in peace now that she was dead.

After sorting out Ethan Hunt's matters, Pablo let him go. The conversation that followed wasn't suitable for him to hear. He bowed slightly to the other big shots, his silhouette appearing a bit desolate as he left.

Upon stepping outside, he nodded to the bodyguards and only when he got in the car and drove away did he finally let out a laugh that he could no longer suppress.

His shoulders shook with laughter.

Resign! Resign! Resign!

I'm a billionaire now, what's the point of being an agent?

I want a Caribbean vacation, to pick up girls, to um um heheheh...

But then, a thought suddenly struck him.

If I suddenly quit.

Would that be considered betrayal?

Would my boss come after me?

At that thought, Ethan Hunt cooled down immediately, holding his head, financial freedom yet still having to work, damn it, after all, it's just the fate of a working stiff.

"Damn! Take out Casare!"

Inside the manor's living room, the discussion continued.

"Apart from these two matters, we have another person to retaliate against!" Pablo clenched his fist.

"Carlos Yeras Restrepo, the Colombian Security Chief—he dared to engage our men in combat. Take him out; we have to kill him!"

"The government's fear of us is slowly fading. We must make them understand who truly rules South America."

...