After getting off the plane, Duke and the two girls carried their backpacks as we entered the airport customs.

Maybe because we came on a private plane, a customs officer led us into a lounge.

Then came the inspection and clearance.

I took out my passport.

The officer noticed the two thousand US dollars tucked inside the passport.

His expression was calm, and he directly let us pass, then escorted us out of the airport.

The backpacks were not scanned, and all the weapons smoothly entered Cucuta.

We rented a Chevrolet SUV and drove to the Tanzande Port, where Ella's uncle was. It was an inland river port city.

Ella drove the car, while Duke and I sat in the back.

Along the way, I saw another side of this world.

Chaos, slaughter, and disorder.

On the dirt jungle road, we occasionally heard gunfire around us.

On the road, sometimes we encountered two armed pickups blocking the road, with a lot of armed men holding AK74Ms. When we reached a checkpoint, Ella would hand over 100 US dollars.

Money can grant you passage and give you a sense of security.

Tanzande is a very peculiar city. Northern Tanzang Province is inland, with mountains and jungles; it's a tropical rainforest region, a place that should be quite impoverished.

The traffic is not smooth, the industry is backward, the population is sparse, and the geography determines its poverty.

Yet, border trade is the largest trade here and the most active area for border trade across Colombia. It's said that millions of barrels of oil flow into the world from here every month.

You read that right, millions of barrels.

This vast wealth goes into the pockets of smugglers, private individuals, gangs, drug lords, politicians, and businessmen.

In the center of Tanzande, skyscrapers rise one after another, a scene of prosperity, much like a real urban area.

But just a street away, all around are low-rise brick houses and constructions made of plastic and steel, like countless sores on a beauty's body.

When the woman takes off her clothes, you can see she's not perfect.

And 90% of Tanzande is like this, with only that 10% looking beautiful.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sporadic sound of gunfire could be heard above the city.

"Oh my god, I thought we were in Juarez." Duke looked around curiously, with an FN57 pistol resting on his belly.

"You can see fireworks at night."

Ella laughed with amusement.

"Fireworks?" Duke was slightly curious, staring at the driver ahead.

"Yes, fireworks, all kinds of explosions."

"Oh my fucking god!"

Duke turned his head to me, "Let's go back to Miami."

The car entered Zone 3 of Tanzande, an area for building materials and markets, also the largest trading area.

"Attention, we've entered Tanzande's place with the highest shooting incidents, because this is a trading area; there are attacks every day, with 3 things to note.

1. Don't speak English to anyone; you can all use Spanish. If you speak English, they'll know you're tourists, and tourists represent wealth; scammers, gangs, even the police will look for you."

"Police?"

"Yes, we might face all sorts of fines!"

"FUCK!"

Duke stared at the wretched place outside the window, wanting to leave.

"2. Don't sympathize with any Venezuelans you see, especially those dazed beggars; most of them are without jobs, without money to eat. Here their aim is food; if they discover your kindness, it can bring you trouble; they'll rob us, then leave the border, and reporting to the police will have no effect."

"GOD!" Duke looked around vigilantly.

"3. Don't trust anyone, including the police and border patrol. Because by day they're enforcers, but by night they might be drug dealers!"

"Are you killing me? Only shit!" Duke cursed again.

Kelly took out her MK23 and placed it behind her waist, while Ella secured a Glock 17.

I also loaded my magazine; in a place without support, without trust, we could only rely on the weapons in our hands.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

A large amount of gunfire sounded ahead.

Ella pulled the car over to the roadside, and we stared at the road. Soon, two pickups drove over, followed by a Mercedes G.

The Mercedes stopped right across from us; on the other side of the street was a police station.

A black curly-haired man wearing a hat and sunglasses impatiently patted the car door.

Ella looked at him angrily, gripping her gun tightly.

"It's Martin Gustavo."

I held Ella's shoulder, signaling her not to act impulsively. They had more men, and a 12.7 caliber vehicle-mounted machine gun; we couldn't fight them.

Soon, two officers walked out of the police station; when they saw Martin, their faces were filled with fear and respect.

"Mr. Gustavo."

"These are the drug traffickers you wanted." Martin Gustavo waved his hand, and two bodies were thrown from a pickup, landing in front of the police station entrance.

"Them?"

"Drug traffickers!" Martin cut off the officer, "This is for you, your achievement. You successfully busted a drug case, and the traffickers were shot dead on the spot."

I listened to his words and wanted to laugh; clearly scapegoats.

The gunfire just now was them, killing two innocent guys and presenting them as drug traffickers to fulfill the police station's quota.

"Yes, sir."

"In this exchange of fire, the drugs were destroyed. You give me the 50 kilograms of cocaine seized last time. Leave a record; this way, you can deal with the previous case."

My god, he's eyeing the drugs seized by the police. This cocaine definitely came from other gangs or smugglers; using two bodies to exchange for 50 kilograms of cocaine.

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