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"Arrest Victor and Cuauhtémoc!"
Secretary Ajit suddenly looked up, his eyes carrying... a complex feeling of beholding an idiot.
What the hell are you doing?
A big stupid spring?
On what grounds are you arresting them?
Let's put it this way, the combat power of the Mexican Army, even African Niggers could pin them to the ground and rub them in the dirt.
Insufficient pay, deducted pensions, no air force above, no tanks below, even the so-called Special Forces are about to have their marrow sucked dry by Sinaloa, what else do you have?
Ajit opened his mouth, his tone bitter, "Sir..."
Carlos suddenly turned around, his eyes burning with the craziness of a gambler, bloodshot as well, "You... you're going to betray me too?"
Mad!
Utterly mad!
He couldn't bear the thought of being brought down by a "whippersnapper" and a "rival". To put it nicely, it was a do-or-die attitude. Bluntly, it was squatting without shitting.
