Working as a police officer in Mexico

If you don't cooperate, don't blame me for being ruthless.

…

"Robbers! Bandits! You are the real drug traffickers, you're invading Belize."

The leader of the People's Unity Party, Theodore Buchanan, shouted loudly in his room at the official residence, pounding vigorously on the door.

He was imprisoned…

According to his own words, that's how it was.

He was lucky not to be killed by the drug traffickers, but he felt these Mexicans were no different from them.

Bam!

He kicked the door hard, venting his discontent.

Squeak—

The door suddenly opened, startling him, and he took a few steps back, warily watching the doorway. Four soldiers walked in.

Was the leader a lieutenant?

Yet he had his hand bandaged, also seemingly suffering from a foot injury, appearing to be limping.

George Catlett Marshall glanced at the untouched food on the floor, raising his eyebrows, "Mr. Theodore, is the food not to your liking?"

Theodore Buchanan glared with fiery eyes, gritting his teeth, "You despicable bastards, I will never touch your food, never!"

George Catlett Marshall looked at the agitated man and smiled, "It seems you're not very cooperative."

"Tui!"

He spat thick phlegm on Marshall's face.

"We are British Belize, always will be!"

Turns out this guy is not a die-hard Belizean, but a die-hard Brit...

Well, independence is a trend, but it doesn't stop us from continuing to be the United Kingdom's lapdogs.

Same old story, Europeans and Americans are just too professional at raising dogs.

The last jewel of the Western crown is left with only livestock farming.

George Catlett Marshall wiped the phlegm from his face, lightly nodded, "Then eat your fill before hitting the road, make him eat."

The soldiers, who had long been unable to hold back, rushed up and kicked Theodore Buchanan in the stomach, causing him to turn red as he knelt on the ground, organs aching in spasms.

A soldier grabbed his hair, pressing him onto the nearby food, while another picked up corn soup and forcibly poured it into his mouth.

After about seven or eight minutes, the soldier let go, and Theodore Buchanan lay on the ground like a dead dog.

"Ugh—"

Vomiting heavily, being old, he couldn't withstand it anymore.

Thud thud—

He saw a pair of combat boots in front of him, raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, seeing George Catlett Marshall looking at him coldly.

"Send Mr. Theodore on his way."

"No, no, no, no, I'll cooperate, I'll cooperate!"

Theodore Buchanan finally surrendered because he realized they weren't joking.

I'm a traitor, but I cherish my life.

He also knew that if he died, his British master wouldn't shed a tear for him, as those women in Buckingham Palace only know how to eat and drink all day.

George Catlett Marshall gave a thumbs-down gesture.

The soldiers rushed forward and pressed Theodore Buchanan to the ground, using a rope to strangle his neck tightly.

Soon, he was gone.

Why play with your life?

Theodore Buchanan wasn't even a Belizean, he was French, immigrated here and got elected.

Tsk tsk tsk...

"Let's go to the next one, let's see, um, the deputy leader of the People's Unity Party, and it's a woman, hopefully she's smarter."

George Catlett Marshall looked at the letter in his hand and left with his men.

About ten minutes later, someone came in with a sack and put Theodore Buchanan's body inside.

Burying him in a pit is that simple.

I admire your loyalty to the country, but I don't like you resisting me.

…

At night, the moon hung high in the sky, looking serene, but all of Mexico City had just entered its nightlife.

At midnight crossroads, neon tubes flowed with colorful blood across the surface of buildings.

The glass facades on bar streets reflected dazzling diamond-shaped spots of light, electronic music surged like liquid metal through half-open doors, entwining with the barbecue squid smoke at street corners, while a street singer screamed his voice hoarse.

A DJ with dreadlocks raised both arms on the second-floor terrace, the oscilloscope on the mixer jumping frantically, while the glass facades of the whole street trembled in response.

Girls in fishnet stockings leaned against neon signs lighting cigarettes, the flame illuminating the rhinestone butterfly on her collarbone, while the automatic doors of the adjacent convenience store kept opening and closing, young people with glowing bottles swarming in and out, the hems of their clothes tinged with dry ice mist from the dance floor.

Deep in the alley, a hot and spicy snack stall lit with orange-yellow bulbs, in the steam of a stainless steel pot drifted the aroma of Sichuan pepper and beef tallow, with a delivery rider slurping noodles on a plastic stool.

By the fountain pool in the open square, a skateboarder leapt off the steps, the sound of metal bearings against marble startling a flock of white pigeons. Chаptеr sоurсе: Мy Virtuаl Librаry Еmpirе (М|V|L4ЕМРYR).

A little girl holding a fluffy cotton candy sat on her father's shoulders, laughing loudly, while her brother drooled and kept shouting, "Give me a taste."

At the top of the clock tower, the starry sky was distorted by the ground's rising heat waves into a flowing galaxy.

The whole city was like an inverted champagne tower, fermenting the young blood and hormones in the never-extinguishing lights.

This is the new Mexico City!

To be honest, such scenes were rarely seen in the old Mexico because at night, the drug traffickers who took off their police uniforms would start working.

Gunfire and carnage were everywhere.

Who dared to come out?

In a quiet bar on the "Champs Elysees" with a "Green Field Desert" sign.

A singer with an innocent look stood on stage, her almond eyes reflecting amber starlight, three tear moles fanned out by her left eye tail, looking like the girl next door.