Working as a police officer in Mexico

May 15th.

Yucatan Peninsula, Cancun City!

The fog was heavy.

It was a simple day, but likewise, today was not that simple.

The funeral of "Grandmaster" Abrego was to be held today.

The drug traffickers of the South flaunted their sense of justice and heavily promoted his great achievements, like building bridges and roads for the locals and distributing cash to the poor, making him out to be a positive figure.

Engaged in long-term struggle with the Northern Warlords.

In the end... bravely sacrificed under Victor's despicable schemes.

They even demanded that several Southern states fly their flags at half-mast in the coming days and hold mourning ceremonies in the squares.

The Cardinal, holding the Bible, prayed in front of the coffin.

All the big shots came, and Abrego's mistresses were crying like raindrops on pear blossoms.

Screwed, big time.

No more moneybags.

How to maintain the high-intensity consumption from now?

Abrego's sons stood emotionlessly in three corners, each surrounded by their own cronies, and from their atmosphere...

Not friendly at all!

Mainly because Abrego died too suddenly and hadn't groomed or designated a successor, to say nothing of...

Where do drug trafficking families adhere to a rule of father-to-son succession?

The one with the biggest fist is the one with reason!

Otherwise, do you think they'd be willing to cooperate with Los Zetas' new "Z" Arturo Desena?

Pah!

It's just that the other party is too tough.

When Abrego was "Grandmaster," he really liked this young man, gave him a great deal of help, and with Los Zetas having been crippled by the Northern Army, they were recruiting worldwide, attracting all kinds of riffraff—robbers, special forces, guerillas...

As long as you came, everyone counted.

Add in American weaponry, armored vehicles, off-road vehicles, and even missile trucks.

If allowed...

Within four hours, they could deploy a company-sized combat team anywhere in the country, of course... only in the Central South, the North?

They'd be ground into mincemeat if airdropped.

Los Zetas were even "wilder" than before.

As the Priest's final prayers concluded.

Accompanied by Abrego's favorite music: Elvis's "Heartbreak Hotel."

A few sons and higher-ups slowly carried his coffin toward the graveyard.

Female relatives sobbed softly.

Woo~!! Woo woo woo!!!!

Suddenly, the air-raid siren blared, interrupting the crying, and everyone in panic lifted their heads.

Bodyguards in suits rushed over.

"Sir, get out of here quickly, the Northern Army has four planes heading towards Cancun City, and the Air Force has already gone to intercept!" one of the military higher-ups said anxiously to the pseudo President Elvis Salinas.

Hearing this.

Fuck!

Run!

He started running, afraid of being one step too late and ending up lying here with Abrego.

Seeing him run, everyone briskly evacuated!

Los Zetas' people protected Arturo Desena into the car; on the other side, the oldest and youngest brothers abandoned the coffin, not giving a damn.

Still, it seemed Belman, the second brother, had some conscience, but only a little. After hesitating, he also ran away with his relatives.

The Southern Army was mostly using the U.S. Military's F-4 Phantom jets, while the Northern Army had F14s, third-generation fighters.

Despite each having its advantages, under the standard of supersonic flight, the F14 had better endurance, and a single "tomcat" dove into the intercepting group of fighters, throwing the opposition into chaos.

"Lock on! Lock on!!"

The red dots on the radar aggressively blinked, the F14 pilot decisively pressed the button, and the AIM-9 Sidewinder missile shot out.

Infrared-guided...

The Southern Air Force quickly changed direction, but the 2.5 Mach speed missile still rapidly caught up with the F4, no use even with full throttle, hitting the wing.

It blasted the wing off, shattering the plane instantly.

The remaining Phantoms fled in terror.

The rest of the F14s then headed for the funeral site, dropping three incendiary bombs above, engulfing the venue in a massive firestorm.

Death?

Offending Victor, he'd make sure you couldn't die comfortably!

The pilots were so "arrogant" as they flew over the bustling area, their sonic booms shaking the glass on both sides, causing office workers inside to scream.

Faces of the pilots could be seen clear as day from the cockpit!

"Return to base!"

Following the leader's command, the F14s soared into the skies, escaping before the Southern Air Force could respond.

As for bombing other areas...

Completely unnecessary.

No need to bomb until they engaged.

Moreover, sitting in Victor's position, he considered many things, like the ecological environment; the Yucatan Peninsula is a renowned tourist spot in Mexico, and if managed well, it could rival the Maldives every year.

Some things, once bombed, are truly gone.

After the planes left, Abrego's sons and some higher-ups returned to view the scorched venue; the second son, Belman, immediately knelt on the ground, weeping bitterly.

"Victor, I fuck your XM!"

Alright...

Now "Grandmaster" Abrego was nothing but ash everywhere.

Belman wiped his eyes, stood up, looked at the funeral venue, then shouted at his equally grim-faced elder brother, "Georgia, with Victor doing this, aren't you going to say something!"

"Sir, sir, please calm down, we... we'll protest on the media right now! Condemn Victor for his disrespect to the deceased!" said a bespectacled middle-aged man standing next to the older brother, Georgia, bustling to his feet.

Belman snorted with laughter, "Protest! Protest my ass!" He wanted to hit him, but was fortunately held back by the people next to him.