In a canyon outside of Mexico City.
This place is rarely visited, a military shooting range.
Dozens of Special Service bodyguards in suits were scattered on the high points around the canyon, vigilantly observing every direction.
Of course, whether there are people hidden inside the mountains is unknown...
Victor and Casare got out of the car, seemingly in a good mood, even with a hint of a smile on their lips.
About fifty meters away from them, a dozen people had their hands tied behind their backs, mouths gagged, bound to crosses like animals waiting to be slaughtered.
Most of them were scum suspected of organ smuggling.
According to Victor, "Dying is a waste, might as well use them to practice and make some noise."
A bodyguard came jogging over and handed a well-maintained, shiny pistol to Victor with both hands.
Victor accepted it, skillfully checked the magazine, and then cocked it with a click.
