Working as a police officer in Mexico

Operation Cleanup 1.0!

Northern State initiated massacre mode!

Southern California.

Kensel Mine.

Approximately 4,000 drug traffickers had been here originally, but due to the extremely harsh environment, hunger, and sickness, at least half had died.

And today, the other half...

were rounded up.

A foul stench pervaded the air.

"Can't they clean up a bit? It stinks!" Santos, wearing gloves and covering his nose, frowned and spoke disdainfully.

Looking at his military rank... Lieutenant!

This guy had exhibited remarkable courage and ability during the "Mexicali Standoff," and with backers behind him, it would have been strange if he hadn't been promoted.

It wouldn't be long before he became a Captain.

Now, Santos's position was no longer with the 223rd Battalion of the National Guard but belonged to a newly established department, "Drug Trafficker Cleanup Department."

The minister was a newcomer named Heinrich Louis Bodmer!

Hearing Santos's comment, the mine boss shivered, his pupils constricted, and he muttered softly, "Should we clean up everyone?"

Santos looked at the drug traffickers, his eyes radiating disgust and nausea.

"Just wash the dirt off," he said lightly, glancing at his childhood friend Campos, who had also been transferred to the cleanup department. As one prospers, so do his relatives and friends.

The latter met Santos's gaze, nodded vigorously, jogged to a water cannon truck, patted the door, waved his hand, and signaled to fire!

There was a skull painted on the back of that water cannon truck!

Seated inside, a soldier from the Northern Army responded, activated the equipment, and with the giant nozzle pointed at the crowd, he pressed the button!

Whoosh!

A jet of water sprayed out.

But...

something didn't seem right.

The jet hit the first dozen drug traffickers, who were sent flying by the huge shockwave, writhing on the ground and screaming in agony!

Their skin was burning, their faces and bodies beginning to disintegrate.

"Sulfuric acid! It's sulfuric acid!!" yelled a knowledgeable drug trafficker in terror, familiar with using sulfuric acid to dispose of rivals by watching them howl in pain.

But when they became the targets themselves, they panicked.

The traffickers ran frantically in all directions.

But the Northern Army had already set up machine guns.

"Ah! You devils, devils!!"

"I don't want to die... I seriously reformed, I was a mining model, please let me go, let me go!"

But the Northern Army turned a deaf ear, instead feeling exhilarated!

"Run! These devils are going to kill us all! Run!" someone shouted, then thousands scattered and fled.

"Open fire!"

Bullets swept through, heavy machine guns roared.

The powerless drug traffickers were shot dead, and the ground was soaked with blood that mixed with the sulfuric acid, creating a strange... scent.

Santos took a deep breath, his expression ecstatic, "Indeed, without drug traffickers, the world smells sweet."

The mine boss swallowed his saliva, sweat beading on his forehead.

He considered himself no saint, but Santos was even more ruthless, no wonder he was called "The Devil's Spawn!"

That nickname many had given him, initially in jest, was gradually turning into a label.

"Which place is next?"

Campos checked his notebook, "Ensenada City drug trafficker concentration camp, 15,000 people!"

Santos tugged at his glove, "What do you think we should use next?"

The shrewd advisor Campos' eyes flickered, "We could douse them all with gasoline, then..."

"They can't be let off too easily!"

"Plus, if you burn so many people with just one fire, Santos, you'd definitely become a top figure in the Northern Army!"

Hmm...

Your name will be on the wanted list too.

But Santos clearly didn't mind.

"The general's order must be completed, even if it costs lives!"

"Just as you said," Santos squinted his eyes, "I can't wait to be celebrated."

Santos was just a symbol…

On the first day of the cleansing operation, they killed 130,000 drug traffickers, 50,000 on the second day, and even more—180,000 on the third!

Desolate and mournful!

The sight…

Even within the Northern Army, there were those who muttered under their breath.

Not to mention the public, but under Goebbels' "Propaganda Department," the cleansing plan was glorified as the "Light of Humanity."

These drug traffickers, if not killed, Mexico's war on drugs would never see the dawn, killing them was a warning to others—dare you still traffic drugs?

The effect was evident.

In fact, it proved that drug circulation in the north was close to zero!

On December 6, the Mexican Governor's Mansion released a "Weekly Summary Report of the Cleansing Plan."

"The Northern Army has eliminated 312,341 drug traffickers, planning to clean up another 213,412 in the remaining week, thoroughly eradicating drug-related personnel in the Northern State, no mercy!"

Hearing Casare's words, many reporters' hands trembled.

310,000 people killed in one week!

This…

The reporters could only express their "dissatisfaction" through the clattering sound of shutters.

"The cleansing plan will continue to evolve, we will engage in operations, including assassinations, against overseas drug traffickers. Don't worry, our intelligence department loves killing entire families, we'll drown their children in swimming pools, throw their parents into furnaces, and strap their mistresses with bombs." Casare looked up, staring at the camera with a feigned smile, "Don't worry, the world is so big, we'll find you!"

He said this, pointing defiantly at the camera.

This insolent demeanor made the tycoons of the Golden Triangle, drug lords, African leaf dealers, and many others in the industry feel as though their hearts were being tightly grasped, their faces looking terrible!

"These people are madmen!"

Being a warlord in Mexico, can't you just traffic drugs too? Wouldn't it be nice for everyone to be happy together—you being noble, you being innocent, ugh!

"Any questions now?" Casare finished and suddenly asked the reporters below.

This actually confused the reporters, but then they were ecstatic!

Previously, Casare was known for leaving immediately after speaking, but now he had time for questions—it was unexpected!

The next second, hands shot up, held very straight, like in school when competing for attention from a teacher.

Casare pointed to a pleasant-looking lady.

"Hello, sir, I'm Madonna from the French 'Figaro Newspaper,' I'd like to ask, Mexico's cleansing plan has drastically affected the global landscape. The United Nations Human Rights Council has labeled this action a highest-level red alert event, and over ten European countries have announced the suspension of diplomatic relations with Mexico and imposed sanctions. What's your view on this, thank you."

"Mexico doesn't need diplomatic partners who sympathize with drug traffickers. We need warriors who still face drug addiction bravely, not cowards who only surrender. If the Human Rights Council finds our actions uncomfortable, so be it. 2000 US dollars per person, about 400,000 prisoners, a total of eight billion US dollars, if you want them, come and claim them!"
Experience more on My Virtual Library Empire

Casare said with a smile, "They won't be reluctant to pay, please pass this on to them, we are willing to suspend our plan for one day for this."

You like it, right?

Here, take it, take it.

It's all trash, anyway.

This is clearly a scheme. You, Europe and the United States, call yourselves symbols of human rights, well then, buy them. If not, you are false, you are just deceiving yourselves.

When you buy them, you'll have headaches.

"Next," Casare pointed to a man wearing glasses.

"The United Kingdom and Spain have proposed sending a joint force to Mexico to maintain stability…"

He didn't finish speaking, Casare waved impatiently, "Let them come! My bullets and my shotgun welcome them. I don't like braggarts; I hope they come out and fight like men."

"Next."

Here Casare was engaged in a verbal battle with the "dogs," while in the office of the Governor's Mansion.

Victor sat alone, unable to contain his laughter.

He looked at the point total on the Golden Finger panel.

"5.232 billion!!"

...