Guadalupe Island, Morelos District.
"Let me go! I'm going to kill this bastard!" Santos roared, his face contorted with rage, as he held a stick in his hand and burned with fury watching the satisfied look on the man's face on the TV, boasting smugly.
"Santos, cool it, cool it! It's just TV," his good buddy Campos restrained him from behind.
But the guy had been on a growth spurt recently, hitting almost 15 years old and shooting up to around 1.7 meters, his body getting more and more solid with nutritional supplements.
Valentina was also soothing him at his side.
Talking about Mr. Victor in front of Santos, wasn't that like singing "Sunshine, Rainbow, White Pony" in front of a black person?
The television show was still going on.
"Are you saying Victor is a psychologically twisted, mentally ill patient?" a woman's voice was heard as a side comment, with an incredulous tone.
The male host Kevin Carletree smiled, nodded, and held a document in his hand, "Here I have a 210-page report by expert authorities, analyzing Victor's behavior, actions, and speech."
As he spoke, he opened the first page, which read: Victor meets the criteria for psychological illness.
He didn't turn the page further; it would be embarrassing if the blank pages were seen.
The side comment came at just the right moment, with a gasp.
Then the camera gave the audience their screen time; they all wore looks of shock, right in line with the show's intended effects.
"Maybe Mr. Victor is doing these brutal things because he feels too empty inside?" Kevin Carletree said with a laugh, "Having a person with mental illness as the director of a police station is a joke in itself. I call on the Mexican Government to revoke his position and let him rest at home. And if Mr.
Victor can't find a place, he can come to me; I'd be more than happy to be his psychological support."
"Now let's take a hot-line call, hello, you're on the air."
"I have a tip-off. I know Victor. When he was young, he was always up to no good, even fought with him because he spied on women bathing. I couldn't stand it and fought with him."
Kevin Carletree exclaimed in shock and then sighed, "You truly are a good person."
The person on the phone got even more outrageous, suggesting that Victor sold favors to become a police director. It had to be favors he sold.
Indeed, favor literature thrives everywhere.
"Let me go!"
Santos suddenly broke free from Campos and, with a dark look, locked himself in his room. In the living room, everyone exchanged bewildered glances.
"These people are too abominable!" Stephanie, whose personality had grown more extroverted, frowned as she watched Kevin Carletree on TV with disgust.
"The ugliness of human nature is that: it's harsh on justice, yet too tolerant of evil," her father Dexter said, patting her head and sighing, "Bully the weak and fear the strong. That's it."
Inside the room, Santos held his father's medal, looking at the brightest Morning Star in the sky.
"Dad, please look after Mr. Victor."
...
Sonora TV Station.
After his program, Kevin Carletree nonchalantly tossed the press release aside. Now a big shot, he looked at the "side comment" woman's curvy figure, felt aroused, and went straight to touching her behind, "Hey, Maracia, want to grab a drink tonight?"
The woman threw him a glance, "I'm afraid I can't tonight, my husband is coming back. Tomorrow, tomorrow I can accompany you."
"Call the police, call the police!" The manager understood what had happened upon seeing the departing cement truck—he was a seasoned Mexican.
The customers covered their mouths vomiting, their appetites lost.
This night was destined to be unsettled.
As dawn broke, a hanging body was found on the bridge at someone's front door, its scalp flayed off!
Someone also discovered unidentifiable ashes in the boiler room.
In a roadside trash bin lay a body, chopped into pieces.
The Capital's Hermosillo Police Department received reports of 21 murder cases, all on the same night, and all the victims had been tortured before they died.
They found two commonalities among these people.
Their accounts had multiple complex money transfers, and most had deep connections with the local drug traffickers.
Second, they had all insulted Victor on a TV show!
Their identities were also exposed: local TV producers, directors, hosts, and some journalists.
Upon receiving the report, the head of the Hermosillo Police Department felt his head swell.
"Are you saying all this was Victor's doing?" the Director asked the young officer in front of him. Continue your saga on M V L
The other nodded, "There's a lot of evidence to corroborate it!"
The Director nodded, "Very good, sir, why don't you start guarding the reservoir this afternoon? They could use your bravery there."
The officer was taken aback, only to see the Director tear up the file supplied by him, crossed his arms, and placed them on the desk, "I've investigated this matter thoroughly—it was suicide."
"How is that possible?!"
...
"Suicide! How is that possible!"
In the security department office of Mexicali City Hall, Alejandro said loudly to Victor.
The latter scratched his ear, "Why not? In Mexico, nothing is impossible."
Alejandro took a deep breath, saw someone peeping at the door, and glared, "What are you looking at?"
The government employee retracted his head, frightened.
Alejandro closed the door.
"Victor, no need to hide our relationship from me, right?"
"I didn't lay a hand on them."
Right, he hadn't "personally" laid a hand on them.
"The locals are a bit rude, perhaps someone couldn't stand it anymore."
Alejandro's eyelids twitched, but he also knew that if the other party staunchly denied it, there was nothing he could do. He picked up a document from the table and handed it to him, "The security department of Sonora State is demanding we hand over the culprit who killed their soldier."
Victor laughed, looked up, and pointed to the phone, "Call him and ask if he wants to eat shit!"
...