Working as a police officer in Mexico

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Ratatat...

Bullets grazed the top of the head and struck the rocks above.

"Blow them up! Blow them up!" Casare commanded the officer behind him.

The officer pulled out a grenade, "whoosh~" threw it down, and bang! The explosion shook the tunnel a few times.

"Retreat!"

Zolf Sherman calmly signaled everyone to leave, running out of the cave entrance while issuing orders.

"Take a good look." Jonathan Pannier tugged at his clothing, speaking to the hired employees.

"Prepare Dichlorodiethyl Sulfide!" A voice came from a distance.

"Boss, this Dichlorodiethyl Sulfide seems to be..." One of the DEA employees, clearly good at chemistry, got a shock when he heard it, and hurriedly whispered in Jonathan's ear.

"What!"

"Are you serious?"

The DEA employee nodded and upon hearing this, Jonathan rushed over, "Casare, Casare!"

"What's the matter, Mr. Jonathan?"

"Are you planning to use Dichlorodiethyl Sulfide? That's a banned weapon!"

"What they ban is their business; what we use is ours, doesn't conflict, right?" Casare said with a smile, "Besides, drug traffickers are not on the protected list. Our boss says, this is called 'deliverance,' sending them to God to be reformed!"

After all, Jonathan had little say and could only watch helplessly as several officers, wearing gas masks, then armed with grenade launchers, rushed into the cave and sprayed the crowded tunnels below with 10 rounds!

"Put the stone back on top!"

After Zolf Sherman and the other officers retreated, they propped the stone back in place, dusted off their hands, and checked their watches, "Now we just need to wait another hour, then we can pretty much wrap this up."

"Aren't we sending anyone down there?" Jonathan asked.

"If they can, they'll crawl out on their own. If we were gonna go down, why would we have released the gas?" Zolf Sherman retorted, leaving the other speechless.

They had never intended to let them leave alive.

Just couldn't believe that these drug traffickers still had lungs to breathe.

"Captain, are you teaching us this? But... we aren't equipped with Dichlorodiethyl Sulfide!" An employee muttered to Jonathan.

That really wasn't something they could learn.

Others would just start jumping around at the gate of a military court.

"Wanna play?" Casare, with ears like a hawk, overheard the DEA employee's comment and grinned, "Then quit your job and join us. We have the most methods for dealing with drug traffickers. You'd see Hummers dissecting bodies, grenade decapitations, using submachine guns with Mozambique drills, and if you encounter some hard-mouthed ones, you can even break their mouths with an ashtray."

"Doesn't that sound thrilling?"

"Hey! Casare, don't scare the kids; these few are new hires I brought back from home." Jonathan pushed him, saying.

Casare laughed, "Fresh blood, not bad, needs to be toughened up."

Just then, Zolf Sherman called him over, so he ran off, but before leaving, he didn't forget to say, "DEA is too gentle, next time I'll take you to see our prison."

"Captain, they... they seem like bandits!"

"No, they are!" Jonathan replied, and turning back said, "But don't even think about going over there; at least the DEA surely offers better benefits."

The employees snickered among themselves.

...

5 kilometers away, it was already within the United States border!

Two large pickup trucks were parked, with CBP (Border Protection) logos on them.

Four or five Yanks were getting a bit impatient, smoking cigarettes.

"Bartlan, how long has it been, where's the stuff!" A black man in jeans yelled at a white man.

"Dunlap, don't rush, is your mom waiting for you to go back and suckle?" Bartlan, with a cigarette in his mouth, turned and cursed back.

The black man, fuming, almost came at him, but his companions quickly restrained him. During the scuffle, the tattoo on the black man's wrist became visible.

Crip Gang!

The Crip Gang in cahoots with CBP for border drug smuggling?

Dammit, even if you told someone, they probably wouldn't believe it.

Rustle-rustle...

There was a noise in the roadside bushes.

Bartlan stood up straight, not as calm as he pretended to be—that was the stuff that could satisfy the needs of over a hundred thousand drug users in Phoenix City. By transporting a batch, he could earn tens of thousands of dollars in compensation.

Big shot?

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That, of course, was taken away by the Director.

And that black man Dunlap couldn't stand it anymore, leading his boys in a charge down below.

"OMG! What is this!"

Soon after, their cursing and shouting were heard, and Dunlap emerged, scrambling back up, reeking and with something resembling vomit on his hands.

"What happened?"

"Down there... down there..." Dunlap stammered, pointing below, what could scare a gang member so badly?

Bartlan, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, slid down through the bushes with poise. He smelt a foul stench as he neared the hole and immediately felt nauseous, his face abruptly changing color. Having served in the United States forces, he identified the substance in an instant.
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"Fuck!"

"Save... save me!" A weak voice came through, and he saw a drug trafficker lying beside him, his face nearly rotting with maggots.

Bartlan swallowed hard and drew his gun to finish off the man.

He scrambled back to the road in a panic, his face extremely pale.

"Goddammit, someone dropped Dichlorodiethyl Sulfide in the tunnel! The goods are gone!"

Black Dunlap looked blank; he hadn't been educated and didn't know what that was.

Bartlan then mentioned a name that the public was familiar with.

The other man suddenly felt a chill run through his body.

"Let's go, to the hospital! I need to go to the hospital!" Dunlap, pulling his boys along, was quaking with fear. Black guys might look tough, but in the face of real danger, they can be real cowards.

"Boss, do you need to go to the hospital?" An CBP employee asked Bartlan.

"Damn it! It must be that Victor from the Anti-Drug Force, definitely Victor!"

You say you're eradicating drugs, why mess with our money-making?

"Let's go, head back first. We'll definitely settle the score with Victor, have the big boss call in Special Forces to take him out!"

Of course, these were just angry words.

The big boss knew if it was about drug trafficking, they would be the first to be taken out.

"Without the goods, the Crip Gang and Original Bloods Family probably won't let this go." The employee said with some concern.

"Then let them go and ask Victor directly if they have the guts, just so long as they don't get their throats cut and end up hanging from the fence at the border!"

Bartlan was clearly in a bad mood, cursing loudly before getting into his car and driving back. But upon return to the bureau, he expected to be berated by the Director; to his surprise, he wasn't the only one who hadn't secured the goods.

Nobody had managed to transport goods through the other channels either!

Some of his colleagues had even ventured in but never came back.

Bartlan felt a slight sense of relief; if no one got the goods, not just he would be scolded.

He hesitated, but eventually knocked on the Director's door.

"What is it!" The Director asked sternly.

"Boss, I found that the drug traffickers had been exposed to Dichlorodiethyl Sulfide."

The Director's brows lifted, "Are you sure?"

"I've served overseas." Bartlan said.

The Director understood right away, the Yanks often did the same thing overseas.

"Goddammit!"

"Victor's such an ingrate, Director, what about Fleming, the two we sent?"

The Director shook his head, "No news from them, I've also called the National Guard, and their people haven't returned either."

Bartlan tensed up, "Could it be..."

"No, that can't be, they're people of the U.S. Government."

But how many from the U.S. Government have died out there?

And you went there sneakily.

"No! I must contact our superiors, we can't let Victor cut off our revenue any longer, if it comes to it, we'll have to hire mercenaries to eliminate him!"

The Director's eyes were also filled with a ruthless gleam, he was furious about the loss of several hundred thousand US Dollars a month.

Depriving someone of their livelihood!

Is like killing their parents!

But Victor... liked to do both, cut off the drug traffickers' money then kill their parents!

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