Chapter 1327: Chapter 644: No One Understands Drug Traffickers Better Than Us!_2
“Listen! Everyone listen! The gentlemen of London! Your Prime Minister! Your Royal Family whore! Begging like a dog before us!” He exaggeratedly mimicked the tone of the recording, “Please name your terms… everything is negotiable… please keep it confidential…” Hahaha!”
He slammed the player onto the ground, stomping it into pieces with his foot: “Confidential? I want the whole world to hear! Is this your so-called ‘at any cost’? Is this the nobility of your Royal Family? Using money and weapons to buy back the lives of your worthless pastries? Pah! Trash is trash! From the army to the government, to the old woman hiding behind the crown, they’re all boneless pests!”
He pointed at the camera, spitting with every word, each one laden with extreme contempt and mockery: “Now the whole world knows, you can’t even defeat us, and you kneel to beg! Your ‘Sun Never Sets’? What a colossal joke! We turned it into a sun that sets, begging for mercy with just a few ragged guns! Trash! Absolute trash!”
The release of the recording was like thrusting a burning dagger into London’s barely staunched wounds, then viciously twisting it.
The pitiful soothing effect of the Queen’s televised address vanished instantly, replaced by deeper anger, complete disillusionment, and a nationwide tidal wave of shame.
Every word from that recording stabbed into the heart of each self-proclaimed proud British citizen.
The British are notoriously prideful.
The flames of anger on the London streets, barely suppressed by the Queen’s speech, exploded into an all-consuming blaze with the pouring of this gasoline!
“Treason! This is blatant treason!”
“Kneeling to drug traffickers?! How dare you!”
“Prime Minister, resign! Immediately! Now!”
“Queen? Royal Family? A bunch of actors! Shame!”
The people’s fury was no longer a protest, but an outright roar!
The waves of anger crashed like a tangible shock wave, hitting the wavering windows of the government residence, the television broadcast signals, the very foundations of Britain.
People waved their fists, burning Union Jack flags, smashing advertisements bearing the Prime Minister’s portrait.
Every square, every street turned into a sea of rage.
“Prime Minister step down” was no longer a demand but an unequivocal ultimatum, its violent force seemed to tear apart the gloomy London sky, utterly overturning Westminster!
Inside the Prime Minister’s residence, the atmosphere was colder and more desperate than a morgue, as if someone had died.
“Shameless! Despicable! Treacherous parasites! Bastards!”
The Prime Minister’s eyes were bloodshot, veins bulged on his forehead, his fists pounded onto the expensive mahogany desk, emitting a dull boom.
An expensive bone china teacup was swept to the ground, shattering into pieces.
“They had no intention for negotiations! They simply want to humiliate us! To nail us onto the pillar of shame for eternity, they’re mocking me!”
His voice was hoarse, filled with the fury of being toyed with and betrayed.
But if you listen closely, you might hear a hint of fear.
Fear of the end of his political career, fear of the complete collapse of the Empire!
He paced back and forth, steps chaotic, his mind blank, except for the haunting laughter of the Drug Lord’s leader and the thunderous roar of the crowd outside, nothing else.
What to do? What else can be done?
He was like an ant on a hot pan, unable to find any gap for escape.
Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind, “What if I just close my eyes, kick up my legs, and end up in a hospital, wouldn’t that solve all the problems?”
But this thought only made a round.
Mainly it was too shameful!
A bit undignified.
As the Prime Minister was overwhelmed by the domestic fury, new strikes came one after another, precisely stabbing into Britain’s already blood-soaked back.
In the National Palace of Mexico, Casare’s figure appeared on the TV screen, he did not mention Britain’s specific predicament, but it was as if every word he spoke was about Britain, even directly cursing.
“The whole world has seen a disgusting spectacle: a self-proclaimed great nation attempting to engage in filthy dealings with the cancer of human civilization, drug trafficking terrorists!”
Casare’s voice, amplified across the world, was filled with undisguised disdain and firmness, “This is a desecration of justice! A betrayal to all the warriors fighting on the front lines against drugs! Even more a humiliation to all lives harmed by drugs!”
He stood up straight, declaring decisively:
“Facing the Drug Lords, there is only one choice: kill them!! Crush them completely with an iron fist! Negotiation? Compromise? Those are the deeds of cowards and traitors! Drug traffickers must be exterminated, never negotiated! Any form of appeasement is drinking poison to quench thirst, self-inflicted doom! The Colombian people and government will forever spurn this disgraceful appeasement! We only uphold one principle: complete elimination, leave none alive!”
Casare’s firm, morally superior speech was like a loud slap, fiercely striking the swollen face of the British government and Royal Family.
He not only thoroughly negated Britain’s desperate “deal” attempt, nailing them onto the shame pole of “cowards” and “traitors,” but also positioned Mexico as the only “correct” and “firm” benchmark in the global struggle against drugs. Britain’s humiliation became the perfect backdrop for him to highlight his stance and attack rivals.
No one understands the shamelessness and cowardice of drug traffickers better than us!
Kill them, send them to meet Hell!
And in Colombia, the current President Armando Benedetto astutely sensed this rare political opportunity.
He quickly assembled the media, delivering a nationwide address, with a look of sorrow and “determination” on his face.
“Dear compatriots.” Armando’s voice sounded earnest and profound, “We are experiencing a severe test. The regrettable choices of external forces not only failed to solve the crisis but objectively provided a reprieve for the cancer entrenched on our land, even bolstered their arrogance!”
“Even more heartbreaking,” he shifted the tone, voice sharp, “Some internal forces, misguided or even secretly colluding with external wrong guidance, are exploiting this national tragedy, attempting to shake our unity, undermine our resolution to independently resolve the drug issue! They disregard national sovereignty and people’s safety, willingly becoming the vanguard of external appeasement policy!”
“This is disgraceful betrayal!!”
“They ignore facts for their selfish desires!”
Armando straightened his chest, voice abruptly rising, filled with “righteous fury”:
“At this critical moment, I call on all true patriots to unite! We must decisively eliminate these internal noises and obstacles! Any attempt to interfere in internal affairs through external forces or harm Colombia’s national interests and dignity is intolerable! The government will take all necessary measures to defend national sovereignty, uphold the dignity of the law, completely eliminate the cancer and all its accomplices!”
Armando’s speech was a blatant political purge manifesto.
It’s obviously penned by Mexicans.
He cleverly turned Britain’s humiliating peace attempt into a lethal weapon against domestic political adversaries.
By binding the opposition with “external appeasement” and “damaging sovereignty,” he successfully directed internal contradictions outward and cloaked potential political cleanup actions in “patriotism” and “anti-drug” finery.
Britain’s disaster became the perfect catalyst for him to consolidate power and purge dissent.
And on November 12th.
Armando Benedetto decided to convene Parliament; it’s time to reckon with those insurgents not loyal to Mexico.
Right now, no one can tell who’s the boss, minds are muddled and scrambled!
And for this reason, Erich Manstein’s Mexican Army moved toward Bogota under the guise of resupply.
A bloody storm is about to descend.
…