Chapter 1: Prison Guard
Mexico shouldn't be defined.
Except for burritos.
And drugs and gunfights.
Even God would need a helmet to visit Mexico.
Eighty kilometers outside Mexico City, in the desert, stood the highest security federal prison in the entire country.
—El Altiplano Prison!
This was a gathering place for Mexican gang members and drug lords. On average, out of every 10 inmates, five were major drug lords, three were gang leaders, and two were serial killers.
The 5,000 prisoners held there were all "cream of the crop" in the underworld and "elites of the drug trade." Any one of them, pulled out individually, could threaten national security.
Work a sewing machine?
Don't be funny.
These drug lords could pay people from the outside to come in and work. If they were in a good mood, they'd even give money, turning the prison guards into their errand boys.
Of course, such lavish days became much more restrained after the Camarena incident of 1985.
Daddy America got angry.
Just keep these beasts locked up, don't let them escape their cages. Mexico doesn't have the death penalty...
But it was only restrained.
After all, Franklin's ugly mug might be unappealing, but those US dollars sure smell sweet.
Second Ward.
In the restroom.
A burly young man with short black hair, deep brown eyes, and dressed in a black prison guard uniform, looked at himself in the mirror.
A hint of disbelief still lingered in Gao Jun's eyes.
It had been two weeks since he transmigrated, and he still wasn't quite used to it.
Originally, he was a boxer, specializing in freestyle fighting in Southeast Asia. During a so-called "fight of the century," he refused to throw the match and was directly killed.
His full name was now: Victor Carlos Vieri, a Mexican prison guard who had been on "administrative leave" for two weeks due to work-related reasons and was starting work again today.
This wasn't even the craziest part. The most absurd thing was that he found his eyes possessed the Ability to See One's Criminal Life!
If he apprehended or killed criminals, he could acquire corresponding points, and through a virtual panel, obtain skills, weapons, or even helpers.
However, everything was tied to his position; he could only develop these features once he climbed the ranks!
Wasn't this practically forcing him to become a shining savior in a place like Mexico?
Fortunately, there were no mandatory requirements to apprehend criminals, nor any missions. It was entirely up to him, a "play if you want, or get lost" attitude.
"Damn it, this is insane!" He took a deep breath, turned on the faucet, and splashed water forcefully onto his face. The extra memories in his brain still gave him a faint headache.
"Hey! Victor, the warden's calling you."
The restroom door was pushed open. A pot-bellied white man with a baby face and the rank of Policía Tercero (Police Corporal) on his shoulder called out. Seeing the water on Victor's face, his voice hitched.
"Are you trying to drown yourself in the sink? I regret to inform you, your head won't fit."
Victor wiped the water off with his uniform. As he walked out of the restroom, he said, "When I die, I'll definitely take you with me, Casare. I'm afraid you'll be too lonely by yourself."
"No, no, no, I want to live to be 100 like my great-grandfather. Then I can get the 200,000 dollars from the insurance company, and I'll immigrate to America!"
100 years old?
Your bones would be dragged away by dogs.
Victor glanced at him. God bless him.
Seeing that he didn't respond, Casare looked left and right, then lowered his voice, "Hey, buddy, you shot and killed Hoyle. The Gulf Group guys probably hate your guts. One of their leaders has already put out a bounty, saying he wants you dead in prison."
Victor remembered from the memories.
Two weeks ago, just a couple of days after he transmigrated, the warden—God knows what got into him—decided to hold a soccer match.
And it was between people from Tijuana and Juárez. Good heavens, that was just asking for trouble.
Although both groups had once belonged to Guadalajara, after the Godfather's imprisonment, the organization disbanded. To fight for territory, the two sides had clashed endlessly.
The soccer match gradually turned into a beating match.
Drug traffickers, no problem carrying two handguns, right? It gradually escalated into a riot. God knows where they got the guns?
More and more organizations joined the chaos, and the prison directly called in the guards to suppress it. But during this time, Victor, who was hiding to the side, "coincidentally" encountered Hoyle from the Gulf Group. The man grinned and charged at him.
The two struggled, and finally, in a moment of opportunity, Victor managed to grab a gun and shot him dead.
For this, he also gained 1000 crime points.
Hoyle was no small fry.
But one thing the man said was still vivid in his memory.
"I finally found you!"
Why was he looking for him?
His predecessor had no conflict with him.
He had a bad feeling about it.
The riot was quickly suppressed, but he was also injured, resulting in two weeks of paid leave.
However, since he had killed a Gulf Group leader, Victor was cautious and didn't dare to stay at home, hiding in hotels. Still, he was found, and an assailant shot him a few times before fleeing.
But the assailant's aim was clearly taught by his grandmother; none of the shots hit.
Otherwise, he'd probably be waiting for reincarnation right now.
In the prison corridors, you rarely saw sharp corners, nor did you see anyone out for yard time. Because of that riot, 17 people had died directly, and everyone was confined to their wards.
However, the warden's background was influential enough that he wasn't removed and remained securely in his position.
As the two reached the office door, a white man walked out, wearing the rank of Policía Segundo (Police Sergeant). When he saw Victor, his eyes narrowed, but he quickly composed himself, replacing it with a smile.
"Oh, Victor, it's good to see you! How are you? Feeling better?"
Seeing the other's smile, Victor instinctively felt a repulsion. From his memories, he knew the man's name: Hargis Baird, a second-generation criminal.
The Hargis family was a criminal family from Chihuahua City, and Baird was a member.
Background checks in the Mexican police system were virtually nonexistent. Many criminal organizations would place their members in government departments to act as protection.
Paved with money, many had already risen to high positions.
For example: when the Juárez leader Acosta was killed in 1987, his successor was named Aguilar, who rose to the position of commander of the Mexican Federal Security Agency. Only after him came the so-called "Lord of the Skies," Amado.
The reason for their animosity was that Baird's father was arrested by Victor's father, and later died in a prison conflict.
An old grudge passed down through generations.
Victor felt uncomfortable seeing the other's smile. He subconsciously blinked his right eye fiercely. It was like a switch, instantly scanning the other person's information.
Hargis Baird.
Male!
Born in 1958 in Chihuahua City to the Baird Criminal Family.
Entered the police academy in 1973.
...
Crime Points: 300.
Indeed!
The predecessor's death was related to this guy!
This resume...
Even Jesus would go vegetarian looking at this.
This guy entered university at 25. Graduating from Mexico City Police University would take three years, meaning he'd be 28 when he came out. To reach Sergeant by 31, his promotion speed practically needed some Viagra.
It took Victor eight years to get promoted to Sergeant!
"I hope you enjoy your work ahead, and take good care of yourself." Hargis Baird patted his shoulder, his tone laden with hidden meaning.
This guy still wanted him dead!
Victor could feel the immense malice beneath that smile.
"Buddy, this guy wants to get you," Casare said worriedly. "Be careful, he plays dirty."
Looking at the worried chubby man, Victor nodded, then turned to look at Baird's retreating back, his eyes narrowing.
He wasn't a weak person. As a freestyle fighter, or essentially a bare-knuckle boxer, he was utterly ruthless.
He had to find a way to kill him first!
"I'll be careful."
Casare nodded, then checked his watch. "Let's eat lunch together. My shift is starting, I need to go on patrol."
As soon as he finished speaking, he hurried towards the armory.
Victor straightened his uniform and knocked on the door. A deep male voice inside said, "Come in."
He pushed the door open and saw a middle-aged man in his forties sitting inside, with a square face and gentle eyes. He looked like a "good official."
"Good morning, sir!" Victor saluted, mimicking the greeting from his memories.
"Victor, how are you feeling? Come, sit down." Webster Ashbourne asked with concern, gesturing to the chair in front of him.
"Fully recovered, sir."
Webster let out a long sigh of relief. "That's good. If anything happened to you, I wouldn't be able to face your father."
Victor's father and he had once been colleagues.
However, the former had a short life, dying in a gang conflict with seven bullet wounds in his back!
Webster, like a senior figure looking out for his junior, exchanged a few words of caring pleasantries before asking, "The workload in the Second Ward is too heavy. I'm thinking of transferring you to the First Ward. Once the Ward Officer is reassigned, you can smoothly take over. What do you think?"
That good?
The First Ward housed relatively "light offenders," who only occasionally killed someone, dismembered bodies, or cooked human flesh. Anyone who made it to this prison had a minimum sentence of 25 years.
Victor was a realist. He believed that such goodwill from others always came with an agenda. Pies don't fall from the sky; hand grenades might.
He had no ties to Webster, so why was he being so kind?
Don't use malice to speculate on people's intentions, because human hearts are worthless.
Victor subconsciously blinked his right eye.
The other's information instantly appeared clear.
It was better not to look; when he did, his pupils narrowed slightly.
Webster Ashbourne
Male!
Born in 1944 in Monterrey.
Entered the U.S. Coast Guard Academy at 16. At 18, was expelled for a campus brawl that resulted in the death of a Black man. Returned home in 1975 to join the local police department. In 1978, became a member of the Monterrey anti-drug unit; in the same year, joined the Gulf Group. In 1981, served as Senior Assistant at the Chihuahua City State Police Department. In 1984, was promoted to Deputy Superintendent and has served as El Altiplano Prison's warden to this day.
...
Recent Focus: Has agreed to Hargis Baird's request to assist him in being promoted to Staff Sergeant, remove other obstacles, transfer Victor to the First Ward, and arrange for Jerry Aldrich, a former Gulf Group member nicknamed "The Press," to kill him during yard time!
Crime Points: 21000!
Looking at that red-hot number, Victor felt a deep sense of malice.
A line suddenly came to mind.
Surrender...
Outside are all Jackie Chan!
New book! Starting!
(End of this chapter)