Victor's "televised speech" was indeed effective.
The temptation of $1,000 was too great!
Over 10 people had already claimed bounties.
Those drug dealer corpses were hung on the streets with Spanish writing: "matar al narcotraficante es inocente! (Killing drug dealers is innocent!)"
Even the TV station broadcast Victor's speech on loop morning, noon, and night, relentlessly stimulating public thinking.
Under these circumstances, drug dealers' retaliation methods became increasingly brutal.
Dawn.
While people were still in their dreams.
Over ten vehicles rushed into Morelos district. Hundreds of drug dealers jumped down, charging into the mottled old residential complex, kicking down doors and threatening residents with weapons to come out.
They brought everyone to an open area.
Some were just in underwear, shivering in the cold wind.
Valentina held Santos tightly, standing tensely in the crowd, constantly comforting, "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid."
Light rain began falling from the sky.
Rat-a-tat-tat—
A burst of gunfire made the crowd scream involuntarily.
"Good, seems you still know what fear is, but! Some people have forgotten, and we're happy to remind you - that cop can't stay on Guadalupe Island forever, but we're here permanently!" A drug dealer leader shouted, wielding weapons.
"Betrayal comes with a price!"
"Ahhh! Help me, spare me, spare me... never again!"
Suddenly crying and shouting came from overhead. Everyone looked up to see two drug dealers on the rooftop pressing down a man who was gripping iron bars, constantly begging for mercy.
His family stood trembling to one side.
"Cristens." Santos saw his little friend, whose freckled face was covered in tears.
The drug dealers seemed annoyed. They forcibly lifted him up, then threw him directly off the rooftop. His piercing screams could still be heard in mid-air.
Splat...
Have you seen a watermelon burst open?
Valentina covered Santos's eyes, but he pried them open, staring intently at the corpse.
The drug dealer leader looked at the people's frightened, cowardly expressions with obvious satisfaction, "Do you know why this happened? This is revenge, a warning from the gentlemen of Reclusos en confinamiento (Confined Prisoners)!"
He waved his hand.
The remaining people on the rooftop were thrown down by drug dealers.
"No no no! I don't want to die!"
"Sir, let us go! Please!"
Santos's arm was tightly gripped by his mother as she whispered only for them to hear, "Anger can't change the fact that you're weak, Santos. You must learn to endure!"
He could only watch helplessly as his good friend was thrown down and smashed to pulp.
The drug dealers left. Before driving away, they rolled down car windows and shouted, "Anyone who collects their bodies - I'll kill them next."
Even after the cars drove away, it felt like a stone was pressing on everyone's heads. Everyone's expressions were grave.
"From now on, we should stay away from those police..." An old man with a full beard stood out to speak.
He clearly had considerable status in the district.
Many people agreed, with some complaining, "These police really bring no good. Kill drug dealers? Can you kill them all? Just sitting in offices, pulling down pants and putting asses to microphones - not one word is worth believing."
"When we had no police station or government, wasn't our security just fine?"
"I think so too. Without police, we could still get by. Now that they're here, we can't survive."
Adults around were talking back and forth.
"That's not true!"
Santos broke free from Valentina's hand and stood out shouting, "Drugs are a danger to all society. Mr. Victor and they represent justice!"
"What use is justice? We just want to live, Santos. Where's that policeman? Where is he now?"
"Right, don't speak for them either, or drug dealers will kill you."
"Even the Mexican government doesn't care about drugs, what's one policeman managing..."
Hearing their words, Santos shouted hoarsely, "You bunch of cowards!"
"Then why didn't you stand up just now? Are you afraid to die??" Someone retorted, "You're just like us. Besides shouting, you're completely useless."
Several children older than him surrounded him, constantly berating.
People hate nothing more than being contradicted, even when they know they're wrong.
Santos pushed through the crowd, "No way, Mr. Victor can't be wrong!"
He ran off. Valentina quickly called after him but couldn't catch up.
Rain fell harder, instantly making the ground muddy.
Santos fell and got back up, running straight to the police station. Guards at the security line saw him and wanted to greet him, but could only see his back.
He ran breathlessly to the main hall.
"Hey Santos, what's wrong?" A familiar officer joked.
"Where's Mr. Victor?"
"Isn't this our reserve officer? How did you forget an umbrella going out?" Victor smiled as he came downstairs, joking. Santos immediately rushed over, his face covered with snot and tears.
"Cristens is dead. He was my best friend. His whole family was thrown off the building by drug dealers. They also warned us not to help police or they'd kill us. Many people are scared..."
Santos cried as he recounted what happened.
Victor crouched down and wiped his tears, "Perhaps in pursuing truth, we all find ourselves having to accept certain injustices, bear hardships we shouldn't bear, experience unreasonable setbacks. But we must grit our teeth and keep fighting! Fighting!"
"Officer Santos, today I'll teach you the first principle."
Victor stood up. Other officers held their breath, "When we have absolute firepower, don't keep anger in your chest. What we should do is release the safety and kill them!"
"Forgiveness is God's business. Our job is to send them to meet God!"
"Casare, bring our new toys. Kennedy, take 60 men fully armed. We're going to blow up those bastards!"
Santos looked up.
Victor wiped his face with his hand and walked toward the door.
"Gentlemen, let them understand the consequences of offending me, Victor!"
Santos ran out after him. He saw hooded officers lifting plastic rain covers off several pickup trucks parked nearby.
"What's that?"
"Type 64 120mm mortars, equipped with high-explosive rounds. The chief plans to flatten the entire drug trafficking group," a nearby officer sighed.
Though Santos didn't know what the model meant, he understood numbers.
120mm?
Did bigger numbers mean more powerful?
The concept of caliber began forming in his small mind.
(End of Chapter)
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