Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 923 - 485: The Stars Will Shine Sooner or Later!

"Let go of me!"

"Let go of me!!"

Vasili struggled desperately, his eyes swollen, his entire face bruised and discolored—he had clearly been "well taken care of."

Dragging him in shackles and handcuffs, the Internal Affairs Bureau members forced him to climb toward the mountaintop "Sonora Liberation Cemetery."

Perhaps sensing something, Vasili's pupils seized with fright. He struggled even harder, his voice trembling...

"Kill me, kill me now, just kill me!"

"Vasili, look! Who is that?" Standing behind him was Deputy Chief of Staff Edward Fritz Blomberg, pointing loudly at the distant Alvarez statue.

Vasili instinctively raised his head, locking eyes briefly with the statue before hastily averting his gaze, his lips trembling uncontrollably.

Edward Fritz Blomberg grabbed Vasili's head forcefully, "I said, look at him!"

Vasili struggled, but his neck strength was no match for the vice-grip of Blomberg's hands. He was forcibly turned to face the statue, his head pinned down firmly. "Do you still remember who he is?"

"Do you remember Alvarez?"

"Do you remember the bloody battles he fought in the industrial zone?"

"Do you remember his rallying cry, his resolve to reshape Mexico?"

Vasili's mental defenses crumbled. He opened his mouth, tears streaming down, biting his lips so hard that blood seeped through his gums.

"You betrayed him! You betrayed the 377 fallen comrades! You betrayed your beliefs! You betrayed Mexico!"

"I didn't!"

Vasili screamed, "I didn't, I didn't, I didn't..."

But his voice grew weaker and weaker, until finally, he lost all strength and knelt on the ground, his mouth wide open, shaking his head desperately.

Blomberg's face darkened. "When this cemetery was first built, you came almost every month. Even when military duties were tight, you still came here to talk to your comrades. But later… how long has it been since your last visit? What are you afraid of? Aren't you scared of standing before Alvarez and being left speechless?"

An unrelenting mental attack!

A man nearby wielded a camera, broadcasting the entire scene live—to San Diego, Guadalajara, Mexico City, and the Southern Anti-drug Battlefield frontlines. Battalion-level officers sat upright, their expressions varying as they watched intently.

Edward Fritz Blomberg's accusations hit Vasili's heart like a sledgehammer.

"Under the orders of the Supreme Leadership, sentenced to hammer execution!"

"Prepare for execution!"

A burly executioner from the Internal Affairs Bureau approached, holding a hammer faintly stained with traces of blood—a testament to the countless lives that had perished beneath it.

As expected, internal issues were often resolved "discreetly." Especially for individuals with contributions or merits, even for capital punishment, "extreme" forms like the hammer execution were uncommon.

It was a "hidden rule."

Who were the ones subjected to hammer executions?

Drug traffickers, human traffickers, serial killers, and so on.

Vasili was destined to be nailed to the pillar of shame...

"Wait!"

Vasili, who had been kneeling in despair, suddenly lifted his head, looking up at Blomberg with hopeless, pleading eyes. "Officer, can I be buried here…"

"You're nothing but scum!"

"No more nonsense. Proceed with the execution!"

The executioner standing behind him raised the hammer.

"Ha—!!"

The hammer came down with force. Vasili's head exploded like a balloon, bone shards, blood, and shredded skin and flesh splattered everywhere. Some even landed in the mouths of nearby witnesses.

Edward Fritz Blomberg's eyelid twitched, but he wiped the corner of his mouth, unflinching, brushing off the bone fragment. In a cold voice, he declared, "This is the price of betrayal. The military will not tolerate any parasites. All personnel with issues are hereby ordered to voluntarily report to the Military Department. If the Internal Affairs Bureau comes knocking…"

Witnessing a deputy army commander being executed live, many guilty officers couldn't help but tremble in fear, wiping the cold sweat off their faces.

With a sharp click, the livestream ended in black.

At Guerrero State's "Chilpancingo Military Camp," Third Army Commander Alekseyevich Brusilov stood gloomily, slowly rising to his feet and turning around. "You've seen it. The General is furious, and the consequences are dire. If you have issues, confess them now. I can use my old face to plead for a way out for you. If…"

The officers exchanged glances but remained silent.

Vice Admiral Chief of Staff Frederick von Paulus narrowed his eyes, adopting a more menacing tone. He signaled to the secretary at the door, who nodded quickly and brought in a large box.

"Inside are all the whistleblower letters and investigative reports collected over the past four months. Back then, facing provocations from the U.S. Military, we held off on addressing them. But that doesn't mean we were blind!"

He slammed the stack of envelopes onto the table with force.

The officers below flinched visibly at the sound.

"I… I surrender myself."

At last, someone couldn't resist raising his hand, his trembling voice betraying fear—a lieutenant colonel seated in the front rows, clearly wielding considerable authority.

"Oaks, what have you done? Tell everyone!" The Chief of Staff barked sharply.

"I once accepted a bribe of 100,000 US dollars from the Adelios Gang…"

"Hmph. You, a dignified director of the Military's External Liaison Department, collaborating with gangsters—do you think your head feels too snug on your shoulders, and you'd rather have it chopped off and used as a chamber pot?"

Oaks turned pale, his expression instantly grim.

"Commander, I… I confess. I reported that Winston Montoya, the division commander, wanted to purchase drugs. I merely acted as the middleman…"