Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1315: 638: There Are Always Those Who Fear Nothing

Chapter 1315: Chapter 638: There Are Always Those Who Fear Nothing

The headlines of global dia are like a powder keg ignited:

The New York Tis: “dellin Evaporates: Colombian City Disappearance Sparks Global Panic, xico’s Deafening Silence!”

BBC: “Millions of Lives in Suspense, dellin Vanishes, Victor’s ‘New Order’ Casts Shadow Over Latin Arica!”

Figaro Newspaper: “Humanitarian Disaster? National Cri? dellin Mystery Challenges International Conscience!”

Al Jazeera: “Ghost Town in Satellite Images: dellin Empty, xico Faces Unprecedented Pressure!”

On the television screen, eye-catching headlines roll, accompanied by blurry so-called “dellin periphery anomaly images” or old footage of deserted streets.

Experts in the studio argue till their faces turn red, fear spreading across the globe through airwaves.

The participation of celebrities and opinion leaders pushes public opinion to a boiling point:

A Nobel Prize in Literature laureate posts a long article on social dia condemning: “dellin, the soul city of Colombia, ruthlessly erased! Victor must answer! This is a violation of civilization!”

The accompanying picture is a shattered heart symbolizing Colombia.

The chairman of a renowned international human rights organization issues a strongly worded statent in Geneva: “Regardless of the reason, disappearing a city and its residents is an unforgivable cri against humanity! The Victor regi must be completely isolated and sanctioned!”

Diplomatic pressure is like a landslide.

The xican Ministry of Foreign Affairs building is brightly lit all night, protest notes piling up like snowflakes.

In front of the embassies in xico, protest crowds hold signs high, journalists’ caras pointed at tightly closed doors.

The world seems to have only one voice left: Victor must explain!

Of course, no one believes there’s no unseen hand driving this situation.

But in that familiar office at the National Palace, Victor remains calm, having seen all kinds of major situations before, dismissing it as re bluster,

“Beep—Beep—Beep—” A red phone on the desk, directly connected to the core command chain, rings, its tone strikingly abrupt in the silence.

Victor raises his head, his gaze falling on the handset.

He doesn’t imdiately answer, letting it ring twice more, then calmly picks up the receiver, placing it to his ear.

“It’s .”

On the other end, Casare’s voice cos through, “Boss, a ssage has co back from the dellin frontline troops, the initial checks in the area are complete.”

Victor’s gaze remains fixed ahead, only his fingers tighten slightly around the receiver.

Casare continues, “It’s being confird that there are persons with substantial ties to the dellin drug cartel, including key mbers, ard militants, drug manufacturers, money launderers, protectors, and the core of their families, as well as young adults deeply involved in trafficking, but these 48 hours aren’t enough.”

“Boss, this ti… we’re really being ‘besieged’!”

Victor falls silent imdiately, then calmly says, “What good can co from shouting for the drug trafficker?”

Too damn extre!

“How many clean ones are left in dellin?” Victor asks.

“Very few, Pablo had many die-hard supporters locally, and he often did favors for these poor people, so many are tied to him in various ways.”

Casare pauses as he says this, his voice slightly trembling, “Boss, I feel we’re about to make it into the history books.”

Victor frowns tightly, not saying a word.

anwhile, in dellin.

On the outskirts, in the Naless Canyon,

The air is filled with the sll of gunpowder, earth, and an overwhelmingly thick stench of blood.

Days ago, this was one of the clandestine routes controlled by the dellin drug cartel, now it has turned into an execution ground.

The jagged rocks on both sides of the canyon cast long shadows in the dim light.

A group of emotionless soldiers in xican uniforms, like herding cattle, are escorting groups of ragged, hands-tied-backwards people toward the bottom of the canyon.

Among them are fierce-faced ard militants, dead-eyed drug manufacturers, well-dressed yet mud-covered “finance officers,” and many who appear to be ordinary young n, but their files or family ties have been marked as having “substantial ties to the drug cartel.”

Crying, swearing, and desperate prayers echo in the narrow valley, bounced back by the cold rocks, forming a suffocating resonance.

“Please! I was forced! I know nothing!” a young man sobs, legs weak, barely able to stand, dragged by two soldiers.

“You xicans! You’ll die a horrible death! Victor is the devil!” a scar-faced man roars, trying to resist, only to be struck hard on the face with a rifle butt, blood splattering, teeth falling.

Fear spreads like a plague among the crowd.

People lose control, the sll of urine mingling with blood; so stare blankly as if their souls have already departed; others struggle hysterically, resulting in more brutal beatings.

The soldiers silently carry out their orders.

They push these “associated persons” to a relatively open depression at the canyon’s bottom, ordering them to kneel, facing the rock wall. A row of black gun barrels rises behind them.

“Ready—”

The command is as emotionless as ice.

“No—!!!”

“Mom!”

The pleas and final cries are drowned out.

“Fire!”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Dense gunfire erupts in the canyon, deafening. The

sound of bullets tearing through flesh is relentless, blood misting instantly, staining the gray-brown walls red, swiftly pooling into thick, dark red streams on the ground.