Working as a police officer in Mexico

Mexico City's night was drizzled with a fine rain.

The loneliness of the slum, solitary as a dead city hidden in darkness, wrapped itself around the child crouched in the corner who hugged his arms, sitting on the moss-covered steps at his house's doorway, gazing at the distant glimmer of nightlife.

His eyes were filled with longing.

Behind him at the entrance to the alley stood a woman, dressed in cheap black stockings, leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette for herself, taking a drag to fight the fatigue, looking towards the bustling district with a gaze full of helpless sorrow.

"Miss."

A gentle voice interrupted their thoughts, the woman turned her head to see a man in a suit with a smile on his face, "Excuse me, do you know Genesis?"

"Genesis Daniels!" Ethan Hunt emphasized the surname.

He was looking for the "prostitute" that Quintero had mentioned!

The woman eyed him, her gaze flicking to the watch on the man's wrist, and said directly, "Money, I want money."

Ethan Hunt took out a hundred-dollar bill from the lining of his suit and handed it to her, her eyes lit up, and she snatched it directly, very professionally pointing to a spot not far away, "Genesis is over there."

"Thank you!" Ethan Hunt thanked her gentlemanly, took a few steps, then doubled back. In the woman's surprised gaze, he reached out and extinguished her cigarette, "Smoking is bad for you, lady."

"Mexico City isn't welcoming to the commoners, go to Baja California, Mexico's hope is there."

Ethan Hunt took out three more bills and handed them to her, glancing at the child sitting curiously on the steps, looking their way.

"Mr. Victor does not like to categorize people into classes, he wants to ensure those who love him have food, that children can learn for free, that the elderly are taken care of, everyone should be treated with kindness."

"May Victor bless you."

Ethan Hunt cradled the woman's face, kissed her forehead, and strolled away coolly.

Watching the figure that disappeared into the night, the woman stared blankly.

"Mommy..." The child timidly called out, lifting his head.

The woman looked down at the child, his face covered in grime, but his eyes shone like the stars in the sky; was she herself just as clear-eyed in her childhood?

Since when did she start standing here?

What did she dream of becoming as a child?

A teacher, a scientist, or an athlete?

"Do you want to study?" asked the woman suddenly, her voice trembling a bit.

All the men liked the way she smoked, only that man put out her cigarette and warned her of the dangers of smoking.

The child's eyes sparkled at the mention of studying, but quickly dimmed, shaking his head, "I want to grow up fast so I can carry big loads at the docks, so Mommy doesn't have to be so tired."

Those words pierced the woman's heart like a knife, and she held the child, tears raining down.

When has this world ever been kind to the poor?

She didn't want her child to end up at the bottom of society, taking his hand, she said, "Let's go! To Baja California, to study!"

Ethan Hunt (part-time policy promoter), following the woman's directions to the destination, happened to see four sturdy men dragging a woman out from a house.

Very rough!

Even a man slapped her across the face.

"Stupid bitch! Keep it up and I'll send you to a sea brothel at the US-Mexico Border!"

"Gentlemen..." Ethan Hunt stepped out of the darkness, his mouth splitting into a smile, "please be a little gentler with the ladies."

The men were taken aback, and they quickly drew their guns, but Ethan Hunt was faster, pulling out a military-grade Pistol88B and opening fire on them.

Pop, pop, pop...

But the gun wasn't loaded with 31 bullets, only 10. His marksmanship was accurate, and after taking down three men, he tossed the gun aside, took a quick step forward, and grabbed the wrist of another man, trying to land another one.

Bang!

The bullet flew into the sky.

Ethan Hunt pulled out a butterfly knife from his pocket and stabbed the man's belly repeatedly, a dozen times. The final thrust went straight into his neck, and after pulling out the knife, he wiped it clean on the corpse's face before turning around with a smile back on his face.

He looked at the woman sitting on the ground, paralyzed with fear.

Ethan Hunt asked in a very gentlemanly manner, "Ma'am, may I see your behind?"

...

"No! No! No!" the female reporter Leanna Lazaro Cortes screamed loudly, her voice carrying through the office building of the Mexico International News Department.

Her voice was accompanied by sobs, "I don't want to see Quintero."

"This is just a kind of... um? End-of-life care," the staff member struggled to come up with the phrase, prying her fingers open forcibly.

They dragged her into the interrogation room.

B2 was sharpening his scalpel, planning to drill into Quintero's bones today, a procedure Camarena had previously endured.

Hearing the commotion, he turned around and saw Leanna, raising an eyebrow, "What? Are you going to give her a few cuts too?"

"The Director wants her to see Quintero, after all, they were close," the staff replied.

B2 nodded, stepping aside to reveal Quintero in the chair, "Miss Leanna, feel free to look."

Quintero, who had been sitting there with his head down, heard the familiar name and voice, and mustered the energy to lift his head, straining to open his eyes. When he saw Leanna, his eyes widened instantly, and from somewhere he found the strength to let out a roar like a wild beast.

"I'll kill you! Kill you!"

B2 pulled her closer, "Come on, take a good look. This is what a drug trafficker looks like, although this one was a boss. Next, our boss plans to bring over Gallardo to see how many days he can last."

Leanna, clearly having overdosed, couldn't control her bladder, and urine began to flow out onto the floor.

Just then, the door was pushed open, and Jason Bourne walked in, frowning at the scene, "Gentlemen, let's wrap this up. Take Quintero away; DEA and CIA are sending people."

Upon hearing this, several agents hurriedly unfastened the handcuffs on Quintero, who kept his gaze fixed on Leanna.

"Quiet!" B2 gave Quintero a hefty slap and dragged him out of the interrogation room.

Jason Bourne looked at Leanna, "Have you taken drugs?"

The woman was too scared to answer, completely overwhelmed.

Jason Bourne shrugged, pulled out his gun and fired away, pew, pew, pew!

"Sorry, junkies need to die too, no trade, no harm."

...

Mexicali Security Department reception room.

Victor sat on the couch with his legs crossed, while Alejandro beside him seemed a bit anxiously at a loss.

Because of the two Americans in front of them!

One is the DEA's man in Mexico, Jonathan Pannier, built like a tank with biceps as big as Stallone's and a bald head, looking fierce and intimidating.

The other is a CIA overseas agent, Tulio Walters, with a refined appearance and wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

The two of them started picking fights the moment they met.

The hatred between the two departments was even deeper than that in serial dramas about feud between mother-in-laws and daughter-in-laws at the 300th level.

The CIA is on the same hierarchical level as the DEA's parent Department of Justice, but in reality, it ranks above the DOJ because it is only accountable to the President, unlike the DOJ which is regulated by Congress in various ways.

To support the CONTRA anti-government forces in Nicaragua, the CIA hired some unofficial pilots to fly weapons to them...

And these pilots would smuggle some drugs on the side.

Then they were caught by the DEA.

The issue even reached Congress, but many people believed that compared to the Anti-Soviet efforts, what's a little drug trafficking?

The DEA was always in a position where neither "mother" nor "uncle" showed love.

On a deeper level, the two departments represented two different systems (not to be discussed in detail, as that would be a waste of words).

As for the DEA being suspected of drug trafficking, that would be an issue after the Millennium; after all, there are always people singing in hope and others sinking in despair.

But regardless, throughout the 20th century, the DEA could still be called a "beacon of humanity."

"Put your paws away, Jonathan, do all of you DEA guys like solving problems with your fists?" scoffed Tulio Walters, pushing up his glasses.

"We use our fists to fight drug traffickers, not like some who attract traffickers to do their bidding like whores, doing disgusting deeds with their bodies and souls," retorted Jonathan from the DEA, obviously not lacking in fighting spirit.

His words angered the other party, "Watch your behavior! Musclehead!"

"What's it gonna be? You wanna fight? Bastard, don't think I don't know you were right there when Camarena died!"

Jonathan dropped a bombshell, glaring fiercely at the CIA agent in front of him, "I swear, I'll blow up your head!"

Victor sat up straight; he loved hearing gossip.

Tulio Walters's face twitched, and he inhaled deeply, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know exactly, bastard."

Tulio Walters didn't want to talk about this topic, but he was obviously a bit guilty. He turned to look at Victor, "You know why I'm here, Mr. Victor, our intel says that Quintero is here with you, hand him over to the CIA."

"Why should I? Quintero is a drug trafficker; hand him over to us DEA!"

"Mexico doesn't have an extradition agreement with the United States," said Victor, spreading his hands.

"This is a document signed by President Carlos." Tulio Walters handed over a document.

Casare hurried over to take it.

Victor glanced at it and laughed, "I don't acknowledge someone who cooperates with drug traffickers as the President of Mexico."

The complexion of Tulio Walters changed at once.

"This is an order from the CIA!"

Victor casually cleaned his ears, calm, "You clearly don't know who you're talking to. Let me give you a hint, Tulio, I'm not a dangerous man; I am the danger. Do you underestimate me that much? If I'm not happy, I'm the kind of person who feeds others bullets."

The CIA?

That's a big name!

Not to mention the current global situation, does the CIA have the authority to deploy hundreds of thousands of troops to besiege me?

Or are you going to drop a big 'shroom over Mexico's head?

Neither of these are realistic.

If it were so easy to take out a person, why haven't you taken out Fidel Castro?

"I have no intention of harming American interests, but the CIA doesn't represent America!" Victor narrowed his eyes, "Who gave you the authority to order me around?"

The CIA and FBI are both loathed by the public in the United States, regarded as T0 entities within the country, filled with malignancy.

It was the death of Camarena that started adding more weight to the DEA's image in numerous American series, gradually being accepted by the public.

The drug prohibition cause is still something humanity strives toward.

Unlike after the Millennium, when a boomerang flipped the United States upside down; isn't there a joke, a DM dealer was sentenced to 20 years in prison, and when he got out, he saw a sign by the road that read: "For DM purchases please contact XX."

Latin America is always full of magical realism, and so is the United States.

Just an ordinary CIA agent?

Why be a coward?

It's not like the Yanks have invaded.

Tulio Walters looked at Victor with a morose expression, to be honest, Victor didn't like that look at all.

He really wanted to kill the guy!

But glancing at Jonathan from the DEA beside him, he was also an American…

"You can get lost, idiot," laughed Jonathan with mockery, "Don't you know you need to humble yourself to ask someone for a favor?"

"You CIA people are always so arrogant."

"Sooner or later, you'll end up dead on the streets."

Tulio Walters didn't even get up, just kept looking at Victor, "No one can refuse the CIA."

Victor laughed.

Casare sighed.

Why the hell do you talk so much crap?

...