Mexican Cop Legend

Cold water splashed against his face. Daniel jerked his head up, staring at the water-streaked, angular Latino face in the mirror.

His name was Daniel Kenneth Murphy, a corporal in the Mexican Federal Police, just finishing two weeks of administrative leave.

But beneath this volatile shell lurked another soul—Peter. In his previous life, he'd been an underground fighter in South America. Because he refused to throw fights for the bookies, someone pumped seven bullets into him in an alley.

When he opened his eyes again, he'd become a prison guard at the Highland Prison outside Mexico City.

"This goddamn world." Daniel grabbed a paper towel and dried his face.

With a thought, a ghostly blue virtual panel appeared on his retina. This was his special privilege: eyes that could see through others' criminal lives. Capture or kill criminals, earn points. Points could be exchanged for skills, weapons, even recruited helpers.

The system didn't have a single mandatory mission—totally a "take it or leave it" deal. But for Peter, who'd died once already, this was basically a custom-made hunting tool.

After all, where he stood now was Mexico's highest-security prison.

Housing five thousand serious offenders. Pull out any ten people—five would be major drug lords, three would be gang bosses, and the remaining two would definitely be serial killers. After the 1985 Camarena incident, things tightened up on the surface, but underneath, drug lords could still pay to have people from outside come in as "servants." Even the guards were basically lackeys working for the drug lords.

"Daniel! What the hell are you doing hiding in the bathroom?"

The bathroom door burst open. Corporal Casare walked in, his big belly leading the way, his baby face full of anxiety. "The warden wants to see you!"

Before Daniel could respond, Casare lowered his voice and leaned in nervously. "Listen, brother, the Gulf Cartel really has it out for you. A boss has already put out word—they want you dead inside this prison. You better watch yourself!"

"I know." Daniel patted his shoulder. Everyone in the prison knew Casare's biggest dream was to live peacefully to a hundred, then take his fat insurance payout and move his whole family to America.

The Gulf Cartel's hit order didn't surprise Daniel one bit.

Two weeks ago, the warden had the bright idea to organize a "friendship soccer match." On the field, it happened to be Tijuana versus Juárez drug dealers. These two factions both originally belonged to the Guadalajara organization, but after the godfather went to prison, they'd been at each other's throats fighting over territory.

Sure enough, halfway through the game it turned into a full-blown riot. Guns appeared out of nowhere and started spraying bullets across the yard. Multiple organizations instantly got pulled into the massive brawl.

In the chaos, Daniel ran into Gulf Cartel boss Hoyle.

That mad dog had been pointing a gun at him, grinning viciously: "Finally found you!"

Obviously, that riot had been set up just for him. Too bad for them, Daniel, with his underground fighting background, was faster—he drew his gun and emptied the magazine, turning Hoyle's head into a smashed watermelon.

That shot not only earned him 1000 system points but also got him two weeks of paid leave—because that riot killed a total of 17 people.

During those two weeks off, he didn't even dare go home. He just found some crappy motel to hole up in. Sure enough, a hitman came looking. Lucky for him, the guy's aim was terrible—fired wildly and hit nothing but walls. That's how Daniel survived to today.

What really showed him how deep the waters ran was that 17 people died, yet the well-connected warden Webster sat pretty as ever, without a hair out of place.

Leaving the bathroom, Daniel and Casare walked side by side through the cold, damp prison corridor.

A white officer in a crisp uniform walked toward them.

Police Sergeant Hargis Beld.

These two had serious bad blood. Beld came from a crime family in Chihuahua. His evil bastard of a father had been personally arrested by Daniel's father years ago and died in prison.

Daniel looked at him expressionlessly. A ghostly light flashed in his pupils, and the panel instantly popped up:

[Name: Hargis Beld]

[Criminal Record: Age 14, raped and murdered American tourist; Age 15, shot innocent worker; Age 21, joined Gulf Cartel; Age 25, bought his way into Mexico City Police Academy...]

A hint of mockery flashed in Daniel's eyes. He'd busted his ass for 8 years and was still just a corporal. This scumbag graduated 3 years ago and had already climbed to sergeant.

The panel continued scrolling. The last few lines made Daniel's gaze instantly ice-cold.

[Recent Activity: Assigned Hoyle to kill Daniel during the riot; currently seeking position as head of Block Two.]

[Crime Points: 300]

"Daniel, vacation over?" Beld stopped, looking at him with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He reached out and brushed dust off Daniel's uniform, his tone dripping with undisguised, snake-like malice. "Hope you enjoy your work going forward. Take good care of yourself."

"Thanks for the kind words, sir." Daniel's mouth twisted into a cold arc.

They brushed past each other.

"Watch out for Beld." Casare was swallowing hard, his voice trembling. "That guy plays dirty. I keep thinking he wants to kill you."

"Let's have lunch together. Go do your rounds." Daniel left him with that and strode toward the administrative area.

In his mind, Beld was already a dead man. Whether inside the prison or outside, strike first, kill him and be done with it.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door to the warden's office, thick cigar smoke hit him in the face.

The warden, Webster, in his forties, sat in a leather chair. His square face was stern, but his eyes looking at Daniel were oddly "gentle."

"Sit, Daniel." Webster pointed to the chair across from him and offered a cigar. "Feeling better?"

Daniel didn't take the cigar. He stood straight. "Thank you for your concern, sir. I've fully recovered."

Webster sighed and leaned back in his chair, his tone wistful. "When your father Billy was alive, he and I were comrades who'd been through hell together. Now that you've gotten on the Gulf Cartel's bad side, I can't just watch you get hurt."

He paused, then threw out a highly tempting offer. "Block Two is full of mad dogs. Too dangerous. I'm planning to transfer you to Block One. The inmates there are all minor offenders. When the Block One supervisor transfers out next month, you'll take over directly."

Promotion? Raise? Safety?

In a Mexican drug lord prison, a pie this big falls from the sky?

Daniel's face remained calm, but inside he was sneering. Without hesitation, he activated the system scan.

The moment his gaze fell on Webster, the ghostly blue panel on his retina suddenly changed color. Blood-red words appeared, glaring like fresh blood!

[Name: Webster]

[Criminal Record: Age 16, entered U.S. Coast Guard Academy; Age 18, expelled for killing a Black man in a fight; 1978, joined Gulf Cartel... As a member of the anti-drug unit, long-term leaking of classified intelligence to drug lords, resulting in 27 anti-narcotics colleagues being beheaded across borders by the Gulf Cartel!]

Daniel's breathing hitched. The next line directly detonated the killing intent in his chest.

[Hidden Crime: Personally issued orders and participated in the shooting of—Billy Kenneth Murphy (Daniel's father).]

His father's killer.

Daniel bit down hard on his back teeth, barely suppressing the urge to draw his gun and blow this old dog's head off right there. He kept reading.

[Recent Activity: Has accepted benefits, agreed to help Hargis Beld get promoted. Under the guise of "protection," transferring Daniel to Block One. Has already bribed Block One serious offender—nicknamed "The Press," Jerry Aldrich—planning to have Daniel beaten to death during afternoon yard time.]

[Crime Points: 21,000 (Extremely Dangerous)]

21,000 points!

The red-to-black numbers jumped before Daniel's eyes.

So that's how it is. Ahead was a meat grinder with jaws wide open, behind was an iron gate blocking retreat. This pair of superior and subordinate working together had a nice little plan—to bury him alive in Block One!

"What's wrong, Daniel? Not happy with this arrangement?" Webster saw his long silence and raised an eyebrow suspiciously, his gaze sharpening again.

"No, sir."

Daniel slowly raised his head, his mouth curling into a grateful smile, though deep in his eyes lurked the cruelty of a hungry wolf eyeing its prey.

A fat sheep worth 21,000 points, plus a 300-point bonus.

"Your arrangement is absolutely perfect... I'll definitely 'take good care' of things."