Working as a police officer in Mexico

Pearson followed the transport convoy and left.

He didn't even stay for dinner.

But indeed, from the "Ovregaon Military Airport" to Arizona in the United States was only roughly 40 kilometers.

Just a step on the gas away.

What kind of venues could Mexico offer?

The technicians were all inexperienced and would make a mess of things right off the bat.

In the repair shop.

Victor watched with his hands on his hips as the logistics department assembled the P51s.

The skills of that bunch of technicians were not bad.

"Boss, we've made Uday so miserable, if the Yanks let him go, will he come looking for trouble with us? Shouldn't we keep an eye on him and, to cut a long story short... by the time he gets back to Africa, it will be too late," Casare said, making a throat-slitting gesture beside him.

"Iraq is in Asia," Jason Bourne interjected suddenly.

Casare blinked, "Is it?"

Geography isn't the strong suit of most people in the Latin American region.

"What's the rush? Did you take the photos?"

Victor had a bit of a strange habit; having Uday act like a dog, he naturally wanted some souvenirs.

"Took them!"

"When the time comes, just toss them into some American tabloids, and I want to see if Saddam still has any hopes for this son of his, a successor without any competitive edge, without any authority," Victor said, quite calmly.

Saddam certainly didn't need a son who would bring him shame.

Wait until you can match up to your father, then come looking for Victor for revenge.

Maybe?

Given Uday's character, maybe one day after Saddam discards him, he really might rise up and take his father down?

That would be hilarious.

Casare nodded.

"Director, there's news from Mexico City."

A secretary rushed in, excitement clear on his face, "The Senate has approved your appointment as Governor of the Northern Mexican Province, overseeing the six northern states, including Baja California State, Sonora State, Chihuahua State, Sinaloa State, Nuevo Leon, and Coahuila State, covering a total of 600 thousand square kilometers and a population of 31.2 million people!"

"Director, no, wrong," the secretary said excitedly, "Governor!"

Kennedy as well as Casare and others all wore joyful expressions.

The boss has moved up, the boss has moved up!

Ha ha ha…

The boss has moved up!

Victor, with a cigarette in his mouth, also trembled slightly. He had taken another step towards becoming a true powerholder, meaning he had become the actual in-charge of the Northern Mexico in the strictest sense.

It was a decision by the "Senate."

How could he not be excited?

And his Golden Finger had changed.

He could pinch a total of 12,000 people, and with the previous unused amount, he could still pinch another 7,297 people!

With these remaining 2.3 billion points, I'm definitely going to boost my soldiers.

The population of 31.2 million people across the six northern states now depended on him.

600 thousand square kilometers of land, with Mexico just under 2 million in total, he alone occupied almost half, equivalent to 6 South Koreas. Even that barren land can proclaim sovereignty, why couldn't Victor?

This was the 90s!

An era of unpredictable changes, where anyone could have an opportunity.

"Five hours from now, I want to make a televised speech in Tijuana!"

"To announce the birth of the Governor of the Northern Province of Mexico, and the inviolable legal baseline of the Anti-Drug Force in the other four states!"

Victor felt a surge of energy, his eyes shining.

Power truly is the best catalyst for a man.

"Yes, Governor!"

...

Tijuana, "Hope" Company Cannery.

The place spans 30 acres, with a total of 900 employees. This is a state-owned enterprise, mainly producing combat rations for frontline troops.

With so many people along the Sonora border, a considerable amount is consumed in just eating each day, and sometimes during fights, it's not possible to prepare hot meals, so canned goods are a part of the preparedness supplies.

All employees had relatives working in the Anti-Drug Force, where even the lowest-level line workers could earn 900 pesos (450 US dollars) a month, including meals, as well as regular benefits, and even Victor's insurance company planned to incorporate these people's social and housing insurances.

These people were stakeholders in Victor's rule.

Protecting them meant protecting the Emperor.

At 5 pm, it was time to clock off work on the dot.

But all workers were arranged into 4 large auditoriums.

"What's this all about?" a young man who had just come of age quietly asked a colleague beside him.

"Not sure, but something big must have happened," his colleague whispered back, "Joshua, look, even the factory director is here. There's definitely something going on. Who's been messing around behind the factory's back again?"

"Quiet!" a middle-aged man in a suit picked up the microphone, adjusting his glasses, "Next up, we'll be broadcasting Mr. Victor's speech live. Everyone listen carefully, especially the middle managers and the main supervisors of the operational lines. You'll need to write a report on the speech after."

"Mr. Victor's speech?"

The young worker named Joshua sat upright, his eyes glowing. His brother had been a frontline officer in the Anti-Drug Force but had perished on the battlefield. As the only family member, he was well taken care of.

The factory provided for his food and accommodation, and because of his outstanding performance, he even became the leader of a certain line, earning 200 pesos more than the ordinary person. There was even talk of setting him up with a girlfriend.

Joshua was very satisfied with his current life. Before turning 18, he had no idea what it felt like to be full. In the slums of Mexicali in Lower California, he "inherited" the profession of the poor.

Petty theft, and even robbery.

But every time his brother found out, he would get a beating. His brother taught him, "Under any circumstances, one must maintain enough kindness and reverence."

When the Anti-Drug Force moved in, his brother resolutely joined, then went to battle in the south and the north, eradicated the Tijuana remnants in Lower California, and fought against the Sinaloa Drug Cartel in the northern state of Sonora.

In the end, he sacrificed himself in the battle at the "Emmisi Steel Factory," known as the "Anti-Drug Meat Grinder."

What Joshua was left with was a medal, and... the life changes he brought.

Those who have experienced poverty truly do not wish to feel it again.

If Victor could provide him with food and warmth, then Victor was heaven!

The factory would hire university professors to teach classes, and Joshua worked hard, wanting to contribute more strength to his current life.

Viva Victor!

As soon as the large television in the stairwell was turned on, there appeared Victor in his police uniform.

Joshua clenched his fists tightly, trembling with excitement.

He still remembered the time when, as a family member of the fallen, he received Victor's condolences. Victor had given him a hug and said, "Your brother was brave; he is the pride of Mexicans."

Joshua had never forgotten those words.

It seemed that Mr. Victor's face showed much more fatigue.

"Gentlemen, ladies, compatriots," Enjoy new stories from empire

"Upon the commission of President Cuauhtémoc, from today onwards, I will serve as Governor of the Northern Province of Mexico, governing over the six states..."

The opening remarks were a bit awkward but undeniably solemn. It was like a service of tennis—it hit directly at everyone's hearts.

"I am aware of the responsibility on my shoulders and the aspirations of over 30 million compatriots in the north, as well as understanding that another more than 20 million live under the shadow of drug traffickers."

"We face the most severe test, an unpredictable, long struggle filled with suffering. You may ask, what is our strategy? I can tell you: it's war, on the seas, on land, in the air, we declare war against the enemy. The Tijuana Governor's Office has the legal basis over the other four states, and it is unacceptable for anyone to use violence against the will of the people!"

"I solemnly declare that the armed forces and law enforcement agencies of Chihuahua State, Sinaloa State, Nuevo Leon, and Coahuila State are hereby dissolved. They may join the local forces in Sonora State if they wish; those who refuse to dissolve will be treated as rebels!"

"I also advise those criminals to turn back while they can."

"For peace in Mexico, we will fight for a lifetime!"

"Long live Mexico, long live the great people!"

Victor saluted the camera very seriously.

Joshua was overcome with emotion and suddenly stood up, "Hail Victor!"

His was the only voice in the classroom until his colleague sitting next to him also jumped up, "Viva Victor!"

The cry spread like contagion.

One by one, everyone stood up, shouting aloud.

This is what faith is!

A nation without faith is like a stagnant pool of mire.

For Joshua and the others, Mexico was improving, and this life was hard-earned.

If you dared speak ill of Victor in this place, even if you called the police, they might just give you a punch.

In Tijuana, there were even people contemplating writing a biography of him and proposing that he be included in textbooks.

And they referred to Victor as the "Mexican Father" of New Mexico.

But to use this title, all drug traffickers and reactionary forces within the territory had to be eradicated.

"Isn't there a labor training program on Guadalupe Island?" The factory director looked at his assistant and asked; the latter nodded.

"Send Joshua there."

"But... but... There are many in the factory with more seniority than he, and he's a bit young, isn't he?" the assistant director said tentatively.

That labor training was essentially a "Factory Director Reservist," which meant that whoever went up would become a factory director when a new factory was established.

It was a coveted position.

"I don't want to have to repeat myself," the factory director turned his head and looked at him, squinting his eyes. The assistant director immediately cowered; their leader had professional police training, was injured in battle, and had even lost four fingers. That gaze could intimidate anyone, sending chills down their spine.

"I'll arrange it right away."

The factory director turned back to Joshua, quite pleased. Such a "Believer" certainly deserved a paved path for him.

In a few years' time, these people would infiltrate all sectors, becoming the elite, and Victor's rule would become even more stable.

Why do so many bird-brained rulers in Africa fall from power so swiftly?

Lack of faith. Some guy charges into the city hall with a few companions, proclaims himself king, and even succeeds—without any resistance or bloodshed.

It's utterly inconceivable.

It can only be said that the Africa region has its own national conditions.

What lasts longer? Rule from the top-down, or power that consolidates from the bottom-up?

Victor did not aspire to be merely a transient figure.

There's a long road ahead.

...

Having stepped down from the podium, the television crew immediately began to applaud.

A couple of buxom women pressed in, hoping for a photograph with him.

Dressed very flamboyantly.

"Okay, okay!" Casare stepped forward to block them, "The Governor has other official duties to attend to."

The staff could only depart discontentedly.

They were surely cursing "Fatty Tiger" and his ancestors under their breath.

"Boss, the P51 is ready to strike, should we go?"

"How can an inaugural speech be without fireworks? Let's give our old friends in Sinaloa State something to see!"

Casare nodded vigorously.

At that moment, a secretary came from behind with a phone, his expression odd, "Sir, you have a call."

"Who is it?"

"Joaquín Guzmán Loera."

...