Mexico shouldn't be defined.
Except for chicken rolls.
And drugs and gunfights.
Even God would need to wear a helmet when coming to Mexico.
Standing in the desert 80 kilometers outside Mexico City is the highest security prison in the entire federation.
—El Altiplano! (The Plateau!)
This is where Mexican gang members and drug lord prisoners gather. On average, out of every 10 inmates, there are 5 major drug lords, 3 gang bosses, and 2 serial killers.
The 5,000 imprisoned inmates are each "the cream of the crop among gangs" and "elites in the drug trade." Any one of them taken out randomly would be enough to threaten national security.
Operating sewing machines?
Don't be ridiculous.
These drug lords can pay money to have people from outside come in to work. Occasionally when they're happy, they give some money, and even prison guards can become their workers.
Of course, this carefree lifestyle was curtailed considerably after the Camarena incident in 1985.
The American daddy got angry.
Just keep these beasts locked up and don't let them escape from their cages. Mexico doesn't have the death penalty...
But it was only curtailed.
After all, although Franklin's face on the bills is ugly, US dollars still smell good.
Second Prison Block.
In the restroom.
A young man with a sturdy build, wearing a black prison guard uniform, with short black hair and dark brown pupils, looked at himself in the mirror.
Gao Jun's eyes still retained a trace of disbelief.
He had been transported here for two weeks, and he was still not used to it.
Originally, he was a boxer who specialized in free fighting in Southeast Asia. In a so-called century showdown, he refused to cooperate with match-fixing and was killed directly.
His full name now was: Victor Carlos Vieri, a Mexican prison guard who had been on "administrative leave" for two weeks due to work reasons and was just returning to work today.
This wasn't even the most fucked up part. The most ridiculous thing was that he discovered his eyes could see through a person's criminal life!
If he captured or killed criminals, he could obtain corresponding points and acquire skills, weapons, and even helpers through a virtual panel.
However, everything was related to his position, and he could only unlock more as he got promoted!
This was basically forcing him to become a shining savior in a place like Mexico!
Fortunately, there was no forced requirement to capture anyone, nor were there any missions. The whole attitude was: play if you want, get lost if you don't.
"Damn it, what the hell!" He took a deep breath, turned on the faucet, and vigorously splashed water on his face. The extra memories in his head still gave him a vague headache.
"Hey! Victor, the warden wants to see you."
The restroom door was pushed open, and a pot-bellied white man with a baby face, wearing Policía Tercero (Police Corporal) insignia on his shoulder, called out. Seeing the water marks on the other's face, his voice stuttered.
"Are you trying to drown yourself in the sink? That's too bad to tell you, your head won't fit."
Victor wiped the water marks with his uniform, walked toward the restroom exit, and said, "When I die, I'll definitely take you with me, Casare. I'm afraid you'd be too lonely alone."
"No, no, no, I still want to live to 100 like my great-grandfather. Then I can get the $200,000 from the insurance company, and then I'll immigrate to the United States!"
100 years old?
Your bones would have been dragged away by dogs by then.
Victor glanced at him. God bless him.
Seeing that he didn't respond, Casare looked around, lowered his voice, and said, "Hey, buddy, you shot and killed Hoyle. Those guys from the Gulf Group will probably hold a grudge against you. Some leaders have already put out word that they want you dead in prison."
From his memories, Victor remembered.
Two weeks ago, just a few days after he had crossed over, the warden somehow got the wrong idea and decided to hold a soccer match.
And it was between people from Tijuana and Juárez. Good heavens, that was quite something.
Although both groups had once belonged to Guadalajara, after the godfather was imprisoned, the organization disbanded, and the two sides had plenty of killings over territory disputes.
Kicking the ball gradually turned into kicking people.
Drug dealers carrying a couple of handguns was no problem, right? It gradually evolved into a riot. God knows where they got those handguns from?
More and more organizations joined this chaos, and the prison directly called the guard force to suppress it. But during this period, Victor, who was "coincidentally" hiding on the side, encountered Hoyle from the Gulf Group, who rushed over with a sinister grin.
The two fought, and finally, in a moment of opportunity, Victor got the chance and shot him dead.
He even got 1,000 points for it.
Hoyle was no small fry.
But one thing the guy said still stuck in his memory.
"Finally found you!"
Why was he looking for him?
His predecessor had no conflict with him.
There definitely seemed to be something fishy about this.
The riot was quickly suppressed, but he was also put on paid leave for two weeks due to injuries.
But after all, he had killed a Gulf Group leader, so Victor was careful and didn't dare stay at home. He hid in hotels, moving around, but was still found. A killer gave him a few shots and then ran.
But the marksmanship was obviously taught by his grandmother - he missed.
Otherwise, he'd be waiting to reincarnate now.
In the prison corridor, you rarely saw sharp angles, and no one was out for exercise, because after that riot that directly killed 17 people, everyone was confined to their blocks.
However, the warden had enough backing that he wasn't removed despite all this and still sat firmly in his position.
Just as the two reached the office door, a white man happened to walk out from inside, wearing Policía Segundo (Police Sergeant) insignia. When he saw Victor, his eyes narrowed, but he quickly restrained himself and put on a smile again.
"Oh, Victor, so happy to see you! How are you? Is your body feeling better?"
Seeing the other's smile, Victor instinctively felt a bit repulsed. From his memories, he knew the other's name: Hagis Baird, a second-generation criminal.
The Hagis family was a criminal family in Chihuahua City, and Baird was one of its members.
Background checks in the Mexican police system were basically a sham, and many criminal organizations would place members in government departments to serve as protective umbrellas.
With money paving the way, many had long held high positions.
For example: when Juárez leader Acosta was killed in 1987, his successor was called Aguilar, who held the position of Mexican Federal Security Bureau Commander, and only after him came the so-called "Lord of the Skies" Amado.
The reason for their conflict was that Baird's father was arrested by Victor's father and later died in a prison conflict.
A grudge passed down from their forefathers.
Victor felt very uncomfortable seeing the other's smile and instinctively blinked his right eye hard. This was like a switch that directly scanned the other's information.
Hagis Baird.
Male!
Born in 1958 in the Baird criminal family of Chihuahua City.
Entered police academy in 1973.
...
Criminal points: 300.
As expected!
The original's death was related to this guy!
This resume...
Even Jesus would have to go vegetarian after seeing it.
This guy entered university at 25, graduated from Mexico City Police University in 3 years, meaning he came out at 28, and now at 31 he's already a sergeant. Have to say, his promotion speed could use some Viagra.
It took Victor 8 years to get promoted to sergeant!
"Hope you can work happily from now on and take good care of yourself." Hagis Baird patted his shoulder, his tone meaningful.
This guy still wanted to kill him!
Victor could feel the malice hidden beneath that smile.
"Buddy, this guy wants to get you." Casare said worriedly, "You better be careful, he's ruthless when he strikes."
Looking at the chubby guy's worried face, Victor nodded and turned to look at Baird's retreating figure, narrowing his eyes.
He wasn't a cowardly person. Fighting in free fighting, basically black boxing, took guts.
He had to find a way to kill him first!
"I'll be careful."
Casare nodded, looked at his watch, "Let's have lunch together. My shift time is up, I need to go on patrol."
As soon as he finished speaking, he hurried toward the armory.
Victor straightened his uniform, knocked on the door, and heard a heavy male voice from inside, "Come in."
He pushed the door open and saw a middle-aged man in his forties sitting inside, with a square face and gentle eyes, looking like a "good official."
"Good morning, sir!" Victor followed the greeting method from his memories and gave a military salute.
"Victor, how's your body? Come, sit down and talk." Webster Ashbourne asked with concern in his voice, pointing to the chair in front of him.
"Completely recovered, sir."
Webster breathed a long sigh of relief, "That's good. If something happened to you, I couldn't face your father."
Victor's father and he used to be colleagues.
It's just that the former died young, killed in a gang conflict with seven bullets in his back!
Webster was like a caring elder, and after some concerned small talk, he asked, "The work pressure in the second block is too great. I want to transfer you to the first block. When the block chief gets transferred, you can take over smoothly. What do you think?"
That good?
The first block was for relatively "light criminals," who only occasionally killed people, dismembered bodies, and cooked some meat. Anyone who could come to this prison had at least a 25-year sentence.
Victor was realistic. He thought the other's kindness must have some agenda. Pies don't fall from the sky; hand grenades might.
He had no relatives or friends with Webster. Why was he being so good to him?
Don't use malice to speculate about human hearts, because human hearts are worthless.
Victor instinctively blinked his right eye.
The other's information instantly became clear.
Not looking would have been fine, but once he looked, his pupils narrowed slightly.
Webster Ashbourne
Male!
Born in 1944 in Monterrey.
Entered the US Coast Guard Academy at 16, expelled for killing a Black man in a campus brawl at 18, returned home in 1975 to join the local police department, became a member of Monterrey's drug enforcement team in 1978, joined the Gulf Group the same year, served as senior assistant at Chihuahua State Police Bureau in 1981, promoted to deputy superintendent rank in 1984, served as warden of "El Altiplano!" prison until now.
...
Recent focus: Has agreed to Hagis Baird's request to help him get promoted to staff sergeant rank, eliminate other obstacles, transfer Victor to the first block, and commission former Gulf Group member Jerry Aldrich, nicknamed "The Compressor," to kill him during exercise time!
Criminal points: 21,000!
Looking at that almost glowing red number, Victor felt deep malice.
A line suddenly popped into his head.
Surrender...