Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1566: 726: Is a Lackey's Fate Worth Divining? (Part

Chapter 1566: Chapter 726: Is a Lackey’s Fate Worth Divining? (Part 2)

Without any unnecessary words, the massacre began.

Che Qiao walked behind a man kneeling on the edge, raised the soldier’s shovel with both hands, and with a whooshing sound, slamd it hard on the back of the man’s head!

“Thud!” A dull sound, not like bones cracking, but more like a ripe waterlon being smashed open, the man’s head collapsed in a grotesque angle, without a single groan, directly falling forward into the pitch-black mine pit, only a muffled landing sound echoing from the depths.

“No—!!”

A girl beside him let out a heart-wrenching scream, but her voice was cut short when a fire axe cleaved past half of her neck, blood spewing out like a fountain, tracing a glaring red line through the rain and flashlight beam, her body twitched and slumped.

“Hahaha! Next one!” A tall, skinny gangster mber shouted excitedly, swinging the iron rod towards the next kneeling person’s head ferociously.

Bang! Thuddy! Crack!

The terrifying sounds of dull weapons hitting flesh and bones rose incessantly, mixed with the brief and tragic wails of victims before death, and the heavy panting and occasional cruel laughter of the gang mbers.

The rain washed away the splattered blood and brain matter…

Mark felt a warm liquid splash onto his face, unsure whether it was rain or soone’s blood, his whole body cold, his mind blank. When his turn ca, he couldn’t even react.

A gangster with mutton chops stood behind him, cursing, seemingly irritated by the weather and the botherso task, swinging a steel bar stained with rust and dark red solids towards Mark’s occiput!

Perhaps extre fear sparked latent potential, or maybe the slippery mud underfoot, or possibly the assailant stumbled as he swung, causing a subtle shift in strength and angle.

“Bang!”

Mark only felt an indescribable force slam fiercely into the side of his head near the neck, his vision blacked out, a loud buzz in his ears, as if his skull would crack open, intense pain surged but he didn’t lose consciousness imdiately, his body thrown forward sideways by the force, tumbling down the steep pit edge.

During the tumble, his body hit protruding rocks and debris along the pit wall, bringing more pain, yet sowhat slowing the montum downward, eventually landing heavily atop a pile of corpses discarded earlier at the pit’s bottom.

Above the pit edge, the slaughter continued, the mutton-chopped man spat, watching Mark roll down, assuming he was dead, then turned to the next target, nobody checking a “dead man” at the pit bottom.

Unknown how long passed, maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour, cries and blows at the pit edge finally ceased.

Gasping, Che Qiao watched his n kick down the last few corpses, then commanded a small mixer truck driven over, pouring gray-white cent slurry “rushing” into the deep pit, covering those layers of bodies.

“Let’s go!” Che Qiao waved, quickly boarding the vehicle with his n, leaving as the engine growled, headlights disappearing into the rainy night.

The cold rain washed the bloodstains from the pit edge, dripping onto the bottom.

Mark lay on the corpse pile at the cent slurry edge, the intense pain and suffocating feeling jolting him from semi-consciousness, he gasped sharply, the bloody soil and cent dust stinging his lungs, triggering a violent coughing fit.

He was still alive!

The area on the side of his head struck by the steel bar burned painfully, warm blood mixed with rain flowed down, blurring half his vision, he struggled, mustering all his strength, pushed away obstacles beside him, crawled towards the pit wall direction not covered in cent rembered.

The desire to survive drove him, fingers digging into slippery mud and rock crevices, legs pushing amid the mud and corpse pile. Each effort sent ripping agony from the head wound, nearly making him faint.

Finally, his fingers touched a jutting rock at the pit edge. Using the last bit of strength, he pushed upwards fiercely!

Half his body erged above the pit edge!

Ice-cold rain pounded onto him, invigorating his spirit.

He gasped heavily like a fish out of water, his forehead soaked with blood and rain, dripping continuously, he dared not linger, crawling almost instinctively, staggered free from the pit’s engulfing, rolled onto the muddy space outside the edge.

He survived.

On the edge of this hell burying hundreds, he climbed out miraculously.

Mark lay in the rain greedily breathing, his body trembling with exhaustion, chill, and severe pain, he glanced back at the dark pit resembling a beast’s maw, eyes filled with post-calamity fear and deep hatred.

Then, gritting his teeth, he propped himself up with an arm, discerned the direction, staggeringly plunged into the rain-shrouded, unknown dark wilderness without looking back.

He had to escape here, had to survive.

After an unknown duration, not knowing how long he’d run, finally his legs faltered, unable to carry on, falling directly into a water pool, thinking he was dying.

Tired eyes refused to open, yet spotted nurous feet around.