One must slam the table in whatever they do.
"Victor is quite slick with psychological warfare; fitting for a Tough Guy who fought his way up from the North," the chubby boss of the 18th Street area, nicknamed "Spicy Dog," frowned, holding a cigarette in his hand.
"It's not for you to praise him, Spicy Dog, you're supposed to find a solution!"
The fatty glanced around with calm eyes and said, "What can we do? As gang members, we only resort to brute force, kill one to warn a hundred, or force men into rebellion squads. If someone's family flees, we kill them!"
Gangsters can't be expected to engage in psychological construction.
The others heard the news, looked at each other, and nodded in agreement.
Spicy Dog could see the looks on their faces and felt contempt...
Just then, someone shouted from outside the door, their voice short and urgent.
Everyone looked over, and the person had the 18th Street badge on their arm. Spicy Dog stood up with a dark face, "What's the matter? Don't you have any manners? Don't you know to ask for someone?"
The underling hurriedly smiled sheepishly, bowed to the leaders, and rushed in excited to whisper in Spicy Dog's ear.
Then, Los Aztecs's Kristo spoke in a mockingly weird tone, "What's this secretive matter, not something you can share with us? Or is your 18th Street doing something behind our backs?"
Spicy Dog glared fiercely at him and pointed at the underling, "Speak, tell the bosses."
"Boss, there's an uprising in our area! People are fleeing, and they've killed several of our Brothers."
"What!" Spicy Dog's eyes bulged with a trace of panic on his face.
"It looks like the 18th Street can't handle the poor. To think they dare to revolt, tsk tsk tsk, Spicy Dog, need me to look after the place for you?" Kristo said with a smile, but the next second, he saw his own underling also running in, panting and with an anxious face.
"Boss, there's trouble..."
The expressions of the gang leaders in the room instantly became intense.
Everyone sensed something was amiss...
Where did these poor people get the courage?!
They couldn't understand...
Of course, the bit of water and food you distribute daily, who can stand it?
Mexico City is sealed off inside and out. Even if the Southern drug traffickers and United States gangs wanted to help, they couldn't - they simply can't get in.
So, if they want to live, the slums can only save themselves.
"Find one and slaughter the whole family!"
The 18th Street's Spicy Dog was still heartless, issuing the kill order directly, and other gangs followed suit.
"The lowly must be killed! Strike terror into them!"
Alex was running with his mother on his back, his sister clutching his clothes, surrounded by the poor, everyone running frantically outside.
"Hold on tight, sis!"
Alex gasped and turned his head to shout.
"Just put me down here, you run with your sister," Mother said from behind him.
Alex's gaze was resolute, sweat from his forehead mixing with the tears in his eyes, making him blink involuntarily, "I promised Dad, I... will take care of you!"
Mother wept on his back.
"Run, the gangsters are catching up!" someone suddenly screamed.
Then gunshots were heard from behind...
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Bullets mowed down those running slowly like cutting wheat.
People behind surged in terror.
Alex stumbled, was knocked to the ground, cursed as he got up, saw the gangsters approaching, and, gritting his teeth, helped his mother up.
"Don't worry about me, run!"
"Alex! Take good care of your sister, you are the brother!"
"No no no, mommy, no, I'm not leaving, I want to be with you," the sister cried, hugging her mother, unable to be pulled away.
Alex's face turned pale, but in the next second, he opened his arms and stood in front of his family.
Might as well die together.
A sound suddenly came from overhead, along with strong winds, leaving him bewildered as he looked up to see two helicopters swooping in.
"Northern Army! Retreat! Retreat deeper!" The gangsters chasing them scampered away en masse.
They only had guns, how could they fight helicopters?
Even Arnold would be reduced to mincemeat.
Alex opened his eyes, and saw people rappelling down from the helicopters, dressed in black from head to toe, wearing masks and helmets equipped with night-vision goggles.
On their arms was written: SWT!
Swat Special Police Force!
They descended from the helicopters, spreading out in every direction, Alex watched as three people approached through the darkness, their shadows stretched long in the helicopter lights...
Alex stood with his arms still open.
"You're very brave. What's your name, kid?" the leading captain asked him.
"You... are you here to save us?"
"By the order of General Victor, the SWAT Special Police Force is here to rescue civilians!"
"Now you're safe, we'll escort you out."
Suddenly, Alex really wanted to cry...
The other remaining poor people were crying tears of joy; some were wailing, holding the bodies of their killed family members.
SWT escorted them out of the slum.
In fact, it was only about 600 meters to the outside.
That's why they dared to fly so low; going further in, with the complex environment, even without rocket launchers and the like, pilots wouldn't dare fly that way.
After they came out, a group of people waited outside, including doctors and soldiers, who systematically took in these poor people and provided them with hot water and food.
"Are you injured anywhere?" asked a female nurse, appearing to be only about 18 or 19 years old, sniffing the fragrance as she inquired; Alex hurriedly shook his head, his face turning red, "No... no."