Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Kill them!"

In the garden of Tijuana's security department, Mr. Victor was being interviewed by Time Magazine, and the male journalist had a sanctimonious look. His first question was, "What would you do if one of your subordinates used drugs?"

Mr. Victor's answer was very straightforward.

The male journalist feigned surprise, "Aren't you worried your comments might give your subordinates other ideas?"

"My subordinates are heroes; they fight on the front lines of the drug war. If I were on drugs, I'd allow them to shoot me too!"

"Speaking of which, Mr. Mylion, you aren't on drugs, are you?" Mr. Victor leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed intensely on the other man.

The journalist was so scared he started sweating profusely.

He chuckled nervously, "How could that be? I never touch that stuff."

Mr. Victor sniffed, mimicking a gun with his fingers, "Don't let me catch you, or else..."

"Hahaha! Are you scared?" Mr. Victor laughed out loud, stood up, and even patted the male journalist on the shoulder, "Relax, I'm not that brutal. Guilt must be proven in court first."

But who knows who signs the documents in Baja California's courts.

Mr. Mylion was so frightened, he clenched his legs together.

"Please, continue." Mr. Victor gestured invitingly with his hand, pulling the initiative entirely to himself.

"Uh, an agency in the United States conducted a survey. 75% of students believe your methods effectively curb drug trafficking and the flow of drugs into the United States. However, 25% think you are engaging in overkill. What do you think?"

"First, I'm very grateful to the 75% who acknowledge me. Second, I want to say to the remaining 25% of bastards, go NMD, are you sympathizing with drug traffickers? Or with criminals?"

"Remember, there's no such thing as overkill when dealing with drug traffickers, just not being ruthless enough. I seriously suspect that 25% of people might harbor criminal genes. I propose we destroy them on the spot or send them to Mexico, so they can experience our unique jailhouse drug trafficker charm."

Mr. Victor pointed at the camera, scaring the cameraman so much that the lens shook.

"If you want to die, try trafficking drugs in Mexico!"

"I'll make them understand where the most brutal executions take place."

Mr. Mylion had interviewed many people, celebrities from politics and business, and everyone cared greatly about their image, even those with a notorious reputation restricted themselves in front of the camera.

But with someone like Mr. Victor, intimidating on camera, he was probably the first.

Mr. Mylion coughed and quickly changed the subject, looking down at his notes, "Mr. Victor, some suspect you have used prohibited weapons like poison gas bombs against drug traffickers. What do you think?"

How can that be admitted?

Mr. Victor is arrogant, not a fool!

"How could that possibly be?" he said righteously.

Mr. Mylion nodded, prepared, and handed over two photographs, "These were taken at the US-Mexico Border. The bodies are covered in maggots, decayed, with hollowed-out faces, and there's a certain smell. Experts say it's Dichlorodiethyl Sulfide."

"Perhaps it's something the drug trafficker was carrying. They traffic drugs; poison gas is also poison. What does it matter what they're trafficking?"

Mr. Mylion was a professional, but he barely suppressed a laugh at that statement, "Do you really believe that?"

Mr. Victor spread his hands, "Whether you believe it or not, I do."

That's because you are a journalist from the United States.

```

"If not, right now I'd come over with a big stick, don't believe me? I'll make you believe!"

Mylion also knew that he couldn't get anything substantial from this "liar," so he planned to wrap up the interview, "That's all for today's interview, let's take a photo, Mr. Victor, for the cover of the weekly magazine."

"Of course, no problem, but I hope I can get ready first."

Mylion nodded with a smile.

Victor then nodded to Casare, who hurriedly instructed the staff to bring out the prepared items.

A military uniform stained with fresh blood.

A painting on a white paper depicted a blue sky and a family of four working on the ground, with an elderly person leaning on the door frame, laughing, and a yellow dog squatting by his feet. Experience new tales on empire

Victor's expression was solemn, "This is the bloodied uniform of a soldier named Alvarez, who died in battle. He was a staff member of Sonora State's 442nd Regiment, but he knew that the anti-drug cause in Mexico would never wither. He led his soldiers to clear up the disorder and conquered the Sinaloa's 30-acre industrial zone in Obregon City, where he fell in battle at the young age of 24."

He then reached for the other painting, "And this one is drawn by the children of Guadalupe Island, depicting Baja California without drug traffickers. In a drug-free environment, the sky is blue, there is family, there are bonds of kinship, there is beauty, and there is a future."

Victor looked at Mylion, who was visibly shocked, "Please help me and my comrades take a joint photo, perhaps we could call it, 'Blood-soaked Mexico, Waiting for Peace!'"

Mylion had to admit, the man sitting so upright had an extraordinary charm.

He urged the photographer to hurry and take the photo.

Click!

This photo was destined to be accepted by history.

"Mr. Victor, I extend to you and your officers my highest respects." Mylion shook his hand solemnly when leaving.

"Fighting drug traffickers is the common dream of all humanity, we are just forever moving forward." Victor always spoke with the openness of a heroic character.

Mylion laughed as he said goodbye, and after he and his companions loaded their equipment into the car, he breathed a sigh of relief, "He reminds me of someone."

"Who?"

"Castro!"

His companion looked at him in surprise, then lowered his voice, "Do you think he'll become an unconventional opponent for the United States?"

Mylion glanced at him, "But isn't he doing exactly what the whole of humanity aspires to?"

After all, those who hope to take drugs are still in the minority.

Everyone hopes the sky is blue.

Victor stood in the flowerbed looking at the blood-stained uniform for a long time, "How's the museum coming along?"

"It's almost completely built."

"When it opens, remind me, many of our comrades are resting before the dawn, we need to visit them."

Victor was not as carefree as he seemed to others.

But people must look forward. He was the soul of the Anti-Drug Force; he had to keep his spirits up, as there would be even greater challenges in the future.

The GM has not yet succeeded!

Victor walked back to the office building, "Order the Grand Duke Viktor to bombard the Port of Peñasco! Urge the local drug traffickers to surrender!"

```

"Ground forces are pushing south, I need Sonora State taken within two months!"

...

Colombia... Santa Fe de Bogota.

Inside Pablo's manor.

Ethan Hunt had no right to enter the next room to eavesdrop, he was assigned to the adjacent room, sitting on a sofa, glancing at the bodyguard at the door, his fingers tapping, suddenly standing up.

"Is there a problem?" the bodyguard at the door asked, frowning.

Ethan Hunt smiled, pointing at the water dispenser, "I just want to get a cup of water."

The bodyguard nodded.

Ethan Hunt walked over slowly, picked up a disposable cup from the table, and while glancing at the door, he pressed a button on his suit and tucked it under the table.

It was a listening device.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Since he was here, he couldn't waste the opportunity.

As he bent over to get water, he heard the door next door open, and then Miss Blanco's voice, "Victor~"

"Miss Blanco, are you calling for Victor?" A man's voice next door sounded somewhat puzzled.

"Yes? My new boyfriend, do you know him, Mr. Guzman?"

"Hahaha, of course not, the tyrant dictator from Mexico has the same name."

Miss Blanco nodded, that name was too common in the Latin American region.

Ethan Hunt responded with a smile, walking out with the cup of water, "You've been working hard, have some water."

As he spoke, he glanced at the big shot who came out with her, and his eyelids twitched.

MD!

Guzman, Aguilar, Abrego, the three big names from Mexico, were all here, along with The Four Godfathers from the Cali Cartel of Colombia, and Pablo in the back.

Damn!

At this moment, he should be calling for an airstrike; with one drop, even if he died, Mr. Victor would remember him!

Miss Blanco looked at the obedient "Victor," touched his face, and said to Guzman with a smile, "My Victor is much more obedient than the one from Mexico."

The short one glanced at Ethan Hunt and nodded with a smile before turning to leave.

However, as The Four Godfathers from the Cali Cartel left, Salsedo, who was in charge of intelligence, kept staring at Ethan Hunt—his instincts told him there was a big problem with this dude.

But he couldn't just take the man away to interrogate him, Miss Blanco would have his head for that.

He had to leave with his suspicions.

But Ethan Hunt was startled, squinting his eyes and sweeping a gaze across Salsedo's back; he had to take out this intelligence chief!

Kill him!

"Let's go," Miss Blanco patted his hand.

Following her into the car, they left the manor. On the way, Ethan Hunt didn't ask what was discussed in the room; some things, the more you say, the more you fail!

When they returned to Miss Blanco's mansion.

Ethan Hunt was hurried off to take a shower—it looked like he really couldn't get away from selling his charms today!

As he reluctantly came out, Miss Blanco had already barged in impatiently.

In that bathtub...

(This part is not suitable for watching, omit ten thousand words!)

Boom!

Rain started pouring outside, and Ethan Hunt, covered with a blanket, watched it from inside.

Damn NMD, damn Victor!

Making me sell my charms like this!

Ethan Hunt really wanted to tell Miss Blanco, can you please stop snoring while sleeping.

Men, when they're tired, they fall asleep.

Waking up the next day and stretching, Ethan Hunt found Miss Blanco was gone. Wrapping a towel around himself, he saw a check and a note on the room's desk.

"You were delicious, my Victor~ Today I'm busy with some things, here is 300,000 US dollars, you were fantastic yesterday, go buy something nice today, see you tonight, your Blanco."

Ethan Hunt looked at the check in his left hand.

300,000 US dollars!

Sugar mama!

I'm not too shabby.

A man, how can he say no to money?

Ethan Hunt got dressed, came downstairs, and a servant promptly ran up, "Sir, here are the car keys Miss Blanco left for you."

Miss Blanco liked others to call her miss, it made her feel young.

Looking at the Mercedes-Benz keys handed to him, Ethan Hunt took a deep breath; being a gigolo felt indeed more comfortable than being a secret agent. It was just a matter of providing services, wasn't it?

He thanked her and drove off in the luxury car, under the envious gaze of the servants.

He stopped at a convenience store, parked within the white lines, obeying traffic rules.

In the convenience store, he seemed to be searching for something, but his gaze kept looking outside.

Sure enough, he spotted two shady figures.

Looks like...

Someone was watching him as well!

...