Hearing Victor's order, Harrison's mouth immediately hung half open.
"Warden, this... there are too many people."
Victor whipped around to stare at him, "No matter how many bastards there are, they're still bastards who can't create more value. What we need to do now is sweep these disobedient garbage into the trash heap."
"Those who make mistakes must accept punishment."
Victor's expression was very calm, even leisurely taking out a cigarette from his desk to smoke, "Even children know this."
Harrison felt great pressure. Even with Victor's back to him, that back of his head seemed to have eyes staring at him. He swallowed hard.
Damn!
Better them dead than me unlucky.
Harrison picked up his portable radio and relayed Victor's orders.
While prisoners rioted below, EDM (Mexican Lion) members were already positioned on the surrounding high walls.
Victor was rather "timid" - after all, living in prison constantly, he had to take some measures, afraid some blind thief might sneak over at night.
So he set up some "little gadgets" around the high walls.
Mounted Degtyaryov SG43 machine guns - though old antiques, these were pioneering representatives of "positional warfare."
Most importantly, WWII stuff was cheap. Don't look down on their age - WWII was only forty-odd years ago.
No known human could withstand 7.62mm caliber rounds, right?
EDM members receiving orders decisively pulled triggers!
Have you seen...
Cutting wheat?
Those previously clamoring prisoners instantly fell. Small leaders who'd grabbed weapons raised guns to return fire, but just as they lifted them, their bodies were riddled like sieves.
A stray bullet drilled into a prisoner's eyeball, exploding out a small hole from the back of his skull with a "Pop!" - brain matter splattered out like tofu pudding.
Don't think drug dealers are so fierce.
Their ferocity only targets weaker people!
As long as there are stronger people, they become as weak as sheep.
"Run! Run fast!"
"Open the doors, let me out!"
"I surrender! I surrender!"
The drug dealers cried...
They shouted desperately, tears and snot flowing.
Did they regret it?
No, they were just afraid of death.
After gunfire stopped, no one stood below. Even if there were screams, they were weak. The closed prison iron gates opened, and TPz-1 "Fox" armored personnel carriers drove in.
Directly crushing over the fallen drug lords.
You could hear...
The sound of bones being forcefully ground together.
Kennedy Heisenberg led EDM members in roll call for surviving prisoners.
Harrison stood beside Victor watching these scenes, even he felt somewhat nauseous.
"Drag the dead out for cremation. Contact Alejandro about the emptied cells to bring another batch over. Sewing machines can't stop. Also, the bastards in prison have been eating too well lately - reduce everyone else's meals by one daily, extend work hours to 18 hours. Only when idle do they have wild thoughts."
Victor looked at him, "I remember today all prison surveillance broke down, right?"
Casare ran in hearing this and couldn't help shivering.
Planning to destroy evidence?
Of course burn everything directly. So many dead people - there probably hadn't been such terrifying scenes anywhere in the world in recent years, right?
Though they were drug dealers, though they deserved death, but...
Don't forget many so-called human rights organizations would jump out.
They'd say everywhere, wow, aren't criminals' lives still lives?
Then things would escalate, and Mexico's weak, incompetent government definitely couldn't wipe Victor's ass.
But if you handled bodies and aftermath well, at worst you'd say prison riots occurred and unlisted prisoners escaped.
Shootings?
Where?
Even if guards or prisoners served as so-called "eyewitnesses," without catching you red-handed, it was hard to determine you did it.
Were his fingerprints on their bodies?
If you had the guts, make them stand up and say who killed them.
In Mexico, always remember: crimes not witnessed firsthand don't count as crimes. Those witnessed firsthand... just kill the witnesses.
Casare heard his words and responded quickly, "Yes, today's surveillance all malfunctioned, and storage systems were also destroyed."
"Then find someone to fix them."
Victor walked toward the door, "I received a call from Prison Management Bureau ordering us to dispatch elite forces to cooperate with Mexico City local military police in maintaining stability. When I return, I hope this place is clean."
"Also!"
When he reached the door, he suddenly turned back, startling Casare.
"Go invite two priests to give them last rites."
Victor was still too kind.
Prison gates opened.
TPz-1 "Fox" armored personnel carrier led, followed by BTR-40 armored personnel carrier and 4 desert-colored Humvees.
At the prison entrance, a red van had many men standing on both sides.
In Mexico, such small groups revealed their nature at a glance - either drug dealers or car thieves.
They stared dumbfounded at armored vehicles emerging from prison.
Their minds full of question marks.
Had the Mexican government become so wealthy?
They suddenly saw the front medium wheeled armored vehicle's gun barrel turn toward them. An ominous premonition immediately enveloped them, making their scalps tingle.
"Corre! Corre! Corre! (Run! Run! Run!)"
Whirr~ rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat...
The Rh202 20mm autocannon mounted on the E-6 ring mount on the roof sounded like diarrhea - explosive!
Bullets poured onto the van.
Glass immediately shattered everywhere.
The vehicle body swayed from impacts. Finally, stray rounds apparently hit the fuel tank - "Boom!" - it exploded skyward.
The armored vehicle crushed over that pile of scrap metal.
Victor's left hand gripped the interior handle tightly, wearing body armor, holding a radio.
"Guys, let Mexico City welcome our grand arrival! Kill those drug dealer bastards disrupting order!"
"We have three tasks: kill drug dealers, kill drug dealers, and still fucking kill drug dealers!"
"God bless the world, we protect Mexico!"
...
Mexico City's current chaos could be summarized in one phrase:
Even God would need a safety helmet on his ass.
The Mexican government deployed Mexican military police for street battles with drug dealers!
Gunshots, screams, and cries were endless.
Unexpectedly, military police were beaten into retreat!
In the particularly conflicted Michels district, even a military Santana 109 light military vehicle was burned roadside, many uniformed police lying on the ground.
Masked drug lords rushed into roadside restaurants where people hid.
Conducting inhumane massacres of hiding pedestrians inside.
Those military police were complete waste!
Drug dealers arrogantly stood on vehicle roofs, firing in all directions. One even stripped off pants, pulling out his bird toward hiding police in the distance.
"Waste!" The drug lord shouted with middle finger raised.
But not one of these military police had backbone.
"Save me! Save me!" A sharp voice rang out. Two drug dealers dragged a man from a nearby house to a leader, the man shouting desperately.
A woman chased out behind, quickly kneeling and speaking in dialect, begging for mercy.
The leader pulled open the man's arm, seeing Sinaloa patterns, drew a knife and stabbed through his throat.
The woman screamed, frantically running over, but a drug dealer blew her head off.
"Cut off their heads," the leader ordered.
His subordinate nodded. He suddenly felt slight trembling underfoot, looked up puzzledly, and saw a gun barrel protruding from a corner, then the entire armored vehicle crashed through walls.
Cannon fire...
Those stunned drug dealers couldn't even speak before their entire upper bodies were blown apart!
Degtyaryov SG43 machine gun!
(End of Chapter)
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