Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 823 - 447: Only Crying When It Hits Your Own Head!

Screech~

A grayish-white bus stopped at the Mexico City border checkpoint. The doors opened, and two policemen stepped on board, their eyes scanning the vehicle as their hands rested near their waists, visibly alert.

"Everyone open up the packages tied with your shoelaces and let us inspect them."

Heading into the capital, naturally, security measures had to be stricter.

After all, the country was still at war, and some saboteurs might try to sneak in.

Usually, border checkpoints like this were set up in capital cities across various states, along with military and police presence, to prevent untoward incidents.

Upon hearing their instructions, an old woman seated at the back of the bus visibly tensed. Her frail body shrank deeper into the seat as she lowered her head.

Suddenly, the passenger seated next to her sprang to his feet, shouting, "Officer, the old lady's bag smells weird—please check it."

His voice was loud and trembling as he moved next to the policemen, pointing at her.

Frowning, the officers walked up and eyed the old woman's luggage sitting by her feet, "Ma'am, please open this for inspection."

"N-Nothing's inside—it's just some specialties I brought from my hometown," the elderly woman lifted her head, pleading, "P-Please don't check it."

But such behavior only heightened the officers' suspicions. "Open it now!" they barked with increased volume and authority.

Seeing her continued reluctance, one of the policemen at the back stepped forward to grab the bag. Unexpectedly, the elderly woman seemed triggered and yanked it back forcefully.

Immediately, the other officers restrained her and called for backup.

A group of three or four soldiers and policemen rushed in, shouting at everyone to stay seated and not move.

The officer who obtained the bag quickly yanked open the zipper. His pupils contracted, his scalp turned numb, and he blurted out, "Boss, t-there's… a head!!"

A head?!

Upon hearing this, the passengers seated nearby panicked, though a few curious ones stood up to peek.

The leading officer leaned down to take a look and saw a man's severed head glaring back with lifeless eyes, bearing an expression of eternal unrest.

Its cheeks were sunken, skin pale, and coated with a layer of lime, but it was evident at first glance that the individual had been dead for quite some time.

"Hands up!!" Guns were now aimed squarely at the old woman.

Murder?

Dragging in a severed head—she was clearly insane.

The elderly woman suddenly burst into a loud fit of hysteria, shouting, "I've been wronged!! I need to protest—I need to protest!"

…

It was the end of the year, yet work was even busier.

Meanwhile, Victor was conducting research at the "Mexico National Weapons Company," a newly consolidated entity specializing in weapon manufacturing, aircraft production, and naval development.

This included the M1A2 "Abrams" tank, which had been exchanged earlier for 8.5 billion points.

The M1A2 was a tier ahead of the M1A1 used by the U.S. Military—historically, its development and production had started in 1992, with deployment to troops beginning in 1993.

Compared to the M1A1, the M1A2's combat weight was roughly 70 tons, five tons heavier.

While the former's top speed was around 65 km/h, the M1A2 could reach speeds up to roughly 75 km/h.

Both were equipped with 120mm smoothbore cannons, but the M1A2 offered stronger firepower and featured a more advanced fire-control system.

At a glance, the differences seemed minor—but in truth, it represented a leap in capabilities. Even a slight improvement in weaponry was no easy feat.

At the testing grounds, Victor personally climbed aboard the tank and experienced its driving firsthand.

However, the driver appeared hesitant, likely fearing the tank's jolting motion might affect Victor. This sluggish pace annoyed Victor, prompting him to tap the man's shoulder, "You're a Sergeant driving an armored vehicle—why are you slower than a damn woman? Step on the accelerator!"

The Sergeant began sweating profusely…

"Forget it, get off—I'll drive. Go take care of the pigs instead."

At the mention of pigs, the Sergeant suddenly grew anxious. "General, I was just worried about jolting you too much…"

"When I was fighting wars, you were still farming at home. Drive! If I fall off, it's my bad luck."

Motivated by Victor's words, the Sergeant's temper flared—could a soldier who lacked fire in his belly truly be good at his job?

He floored the gas pedal instantly, and with a roaring engine, the tank charged straight into a nearby water pit. The sudden drop and surge of motion sent Victor's adrenaline spiking, his eyes shining brightly, "Faster!"

Not far away, Casare and a group of military personnel noticed something amiss. The tank's speed was climbing rapidly, even performing sleek drifts on turns...

The sight made them tremble involuntarily.

Nearby, the face of the company's weapons director turned pale.

Damn it, if the General got injured, they'd probably be reassigned to a "nuclear bomb close-range observer" post—he'd have no choice but to strangle the driver after that.

Fortunately, the tank completed a lap without incident, coming to a steady stop.

The doors opened, and Victor stepped out, clutching his sore backside.

"General, are you alright? General, that soldier drove way too fast." A group hurried over.

"I'm fine. If they can't drive fast, what good is an armored vehicle? Might as well drive a granny car instead. Not bad—this is excellent work. In just a few months, you've developed a solid product. End-of-year bonuses will be doubled, and the entire team will receive second-class merit awards."

Werner Heisenberg, the head of the "Mexico National Weapons Company," smiled broadly after hearing this. "Thank you, General! On behalf of our staff, I promise that we will continue working hard and striving to achieve greater results."

Victor clapped his hands in approval, and those around him quickly followed suit. Soon, applause rang on and on.

"Boss, this weapon isn't named yet—how about giving it a title? After all, it's the first weapon of the new era," Casare suggested.

The defense industry experts all looked at him eagerly.

"Let's call it Fire Lizard."

"Excellent!"

This name referenced a type of salamander native to Mexico—fierce and distinctive.

"General, there's a Latin America Defense Exposition in Brazil next January. I think it may be worth attending… What's your opinion?" Werner Heisenberg asked softly.