Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 382 - 286: Casare: If the boss isn’t happy, I’m not happy, and if I’m not happy, do you guys think you can be?_2

Three batons shatter the dream of heroes.

"What do we do..." The ringleader’s mouth and tongue were tied.

"Watch out!" Suddenly, someone screamed in alarm, and he sharply turned his head.

He saw a waist-thick jet of water spraying directly toward them, blasting the leaders standing by the Victor Statue off their feet!

Little prick!

Such a skinny bag of bones was knocked against the statue and heavily fell to the ground, rolling down the steps.

He surely got what he deserved.

If unlucky, even his spleen would’ve ruptured.

Seeing the ringleader get blasted, someone below shouted, "The police are hitting people!!"

A stone was hurled at the front row of shields.

Even amid the sit-in crowd, there were those harboring ill intentions.

A bulky man around 1.8 meters tall, his arms covered in tattoos and face masked.

Not imposing at all... if you’re out here causing trouble, show your face!

The man charged, his foot flying into a shield, and if it weren’t for the officers behind, the policeman could’ve gone flying.

The bulky man stumbled, landing on his backside. Seizing the moment, the shield wall opened, and three baton-wielding policemen emerged, one raising his baton and slamming it onto his forehead!

He knocked the burly man to the ground, another officer stepping on his head, dragging him by his hair back into the shield formation like a dead dog.

Inside, four or five riot police began to punch and kick the bulky man!

Metal pipes, batons, and nunchucks viciously swung on his body.

The bolder he was before, the quieter he became now, his teeth knocked out.

If he was lucky to avoid an accident, he’d be drinking porridge for the rest of his life.

"Don’t hit me; I’m press, press!" A man in a vest pointed at his clothes and camera, shouting loudly in Spanish.

"What’d you say? You’re a rioter? Beat him!" A police chief kicked him away, climbed atop him, and pounded fiercely, while his subordinates sprayed the nearby press with pepper spray.

"We are... press!!"

"What! You’re rioters!"

The police, as if collectively deaf, assaulted the media present, smashing their cameras, stripping people in the street, then dressing them in drug trafficker’s clothes.

How to determine it’s a drug trafficker’s clothes?

Written on it: Soy un narcotraficante. (I am a drug trafficker.)

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This is what they wear in prison.

Human rights?

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"You’re f***ing drug trafficking and you talk to me about human rights? By the way, these clothes sell for 20 US dollars inside the prison, bought by the traffickers themselves. No money? Deduct it from their salary."

It turns out, these protesters simply deserved a beating; they never considered what would happen to Mexico without Victor. Could they still enjoy the beaches and sunshine in Tijuana?

Shit! The drug traffickers will harvest your organs.

This sit-in and march clearly had an organization behind them, as cities in four Northern Mexico states besides Tijuana erupted in protests.

In Mexicali, the northern city of Baja California State, a march exploded, but before police could respond, local residents chased them down with iron bars.

"F*** squid! Oppose Governor Victor? I’ll kill you!" A blonde rode his motorcycle, a flag flapping behind him that read: Long live Victor!

Twisting the throttle, he plowed into the marchers, sending three flying. Other rioters who recovered attacked him, but the blonde was fierce, riding his bike, slashing with a machete from head to tail!

Whose henchman was he!

The most severe situation was in Hermosillo, the capital of Sonora State!

Following police interference, the original march turned violent against the officers, with many unidentified individuals wearing bandanas and carrying backpacks, hurling Molotov cocktails at the police forces.

From the rooftops on both sides of the streets, diesel was poured down.

Once it caught fire, it was an immediate blaze!

In the subway, many innocent people were chased and slashed by people wielding knives, and some even planted bombs that blew up the metro tracks!

And many were clearly not locals from Mexico, most resembling faces from South America or other regions.

"Audacious! Audacious! Audacious!" Casare slammed the table, scolding loudly, "Have we found out who’s behind this mess?"

The acting Assistant Director of the News Bureau, Augustine Przybylski, nodded, "Many have links to foreign organizations, we’re currently investigating who the main leaders are."

"They’re out to destroy our way of life! Gentlemen, we cannot let this chaos continue. I authorize shoot-to-kill orders for the suppression troops!"

"But... won’t the casualties be significant?" someone quietly asked from below.

"Then turn up the crematorium’s furnace—there’ll be plenty to stuff in. The General has granted me all authority."

"Any more questions?"

"None."

Casare pointed his finger at the table, "All armed forces, enter DEFCON 1, bring out those rookies too; it’s time they get involved. News Bureau, you must expose the instigators. If things are still a mess when the boss comes back, I will personally kill you, then commit suicide."

Augustine Przybylski shuddered. Damn, brother, must you be so harsh?

Why take me with you if you’re killing yourself?

He lifted his head to glance at Casare, whose fierce expression sent a chill down his spine, leaving him no choice but to nod reluctantly.