This actually had little to do with whether Victor redeemed people with points.
The redeemed could only guarantee absolute loyalty to Victor, but many had different personalities, ways of dealing with others, and coping methods.
That is to say, emotions existed; they were not merely "machines."
Horatio and the others glanced at each other and straightened up, "Yes, General!"
Victor smoked, his cheeks puffing, and from the speed at which he smoked, it was clear his mood was unsettled.
Captain Paul Emile Von Leto-Folbeck clenched a cigarette in his teeth, stepping on a man's head whose limbs had been chopped off and even his scalp partly skinned.
Around him gathered a slew of fully armed Northern Army soldiers, and in front of him stood many frightened slum dwellers observing him.
"Does anyone recognize this man?" Paul Emile asked, his voice soft yet audible to all.
"Very good, I appreciate your solidarity." He smiled, nodding and leaning forward with a slight hardening of his expression, "But this man dared to attack us. You know our rules, those who disobey..."
He paused, "Kill them all!"
The slums are the most challenging part of any city.
It's not about discriminating against the poor. Wealthy people, of course, commit crimes too, but the impoverished have little more than their lives to lose and often resort to murder, drug trafficking, and smuggling.
And they are all armed.
Trouble comes from difficult environments.
"If you obey, this 100 US dollars is his," Paul Emile said, pulling out a bill from his pocket.
The crowd remained silent, heads bowed.
"Tough love!" Paul Emile snorted coldly, pulling the rifle bolt and firing a bullet at a tattooed, muscular man at the front.
The shot hit his head and silenced him immediately.
Not all tattooed individuals are bad, but good people definitely don't have tattoos.
"Ready!" he raised his arm, and behind him, a Humvee-mounted heavy machine gun clicked as it was loaded.
"Don't shoot, officer, I'll talk, I'll talk," an elderly, hunched-back man stepped forward.
"Lindro, you old fool…" someone cursed as they saw him step forward.
Paul Emile glanced over, and four or five soldiers rushed past him, roughly dragging out the speaker, a man with a missing arm.
With a fierce look and still cursing as he was pulled out, "Victor's lapdog, you won't die a good death; I curse you to be killed by stray bullets!"
A soldier beside him took the butt of his rifle and knocked the man down, after which a group of soldiers beat him to death.
Some wish to be, yet damn well don't qualify!
"Take your time, our Northern Army is very friendly to those who cooperate for valid reasons, just don't engage in drug trafficking, and we can talk," Paul Emile said kindly to the old man.
"He... he is Santos of the Michoacan Family, I've seen him, he collects protection money here and also forces us to do dirty business for them, we were forced, officer," the old man Lindro cried out, kneeling on the ground.
Captain Paul Emile squinted, looked up at the slum which in the dim light, seemed like a monster devouring everyone.
He helped the old man up and patted his shoulder, "From now on, you're in charge here, and first of all, no drug trafficking, transporting, producing, or drug use, that is the bottom line."
"No other crimes either. Once the Governor's Mansion sends down a mayor, he will help you get into factories, and children can go to school to enjoy the same benefits as the people of the Northern State, but if anyone disobeys, the Northern Army will be upon you instantly!"
"This is an opportunity, don't waste it."
"I'll be stationed here during this time, call me if you need anything."
In Morelia's slums, the population was quite less, under a hundred thousand.
Relationships, tangled and complex.
These lower-class individuals were worthless to certain elites and capitalists, mere lives stinking, but for Victor, they represented potential for warfare.
Victor was here to liberate these people oppressed by drug traffickers.
Their children would become soldiers, able to provide labor for factories.
130 million people. Mexico was ranked 10th in the world population!
That was not a small number.
There was great potential to be tapped.
And who knows how the previous government managed it, with strategic depth, a population base, and damn ports, yet it turned into one of the most dangerous regions in the world.
Even if you let a dog loose, at the very least, it could still howl.
The old man nodded tremblingly, then Paul Emile whispered a few words in his ear; the man suddenly opened his eyes wide, staring at him.
The captain nodded with a smile.
The old man's expression changed suddenly, and he jumped behind him, pointing out a tall man hidden among the crowd, "He's from the Albert drug trafficking family!"
The accused's face changed, and he bolt-fenced, but was not too far when he got knocked down by the soldiers.
He howled, clutching his leg.
Dragged out like a dead dog.
"Lindro!! Your whole family will die, everyone will die!" the drug trafficker from the Albert family bellowed.
This damn family was actually just a tiny shrimp under the Michoacan family.
"Finish him off." Captain Paul Emile placed a handgun in the old man's hand.
The old man swallowed hard, but didn't flinch. He walked forward and shot the man directly in the forehead three times!