All around the drug war raged, endless shootings and beheadings. The policia had left, the federales were too afraid to come. The Americans, a rock throw across the river, looked away. They buy the drugs that fuel the war, then pretend it isn't their concern. The people of Nuevo Laredo were helpless, any who fought back or spoke out were killed. Their families were killed, sometimes their neighbors and their pets. No one would stand up.
Then one day, there were no killings. For a place so steeped in evil, even a moment's absence was remarkable. Then another day, and another. Soon a whole week had passed without a single act of violence against the people.
But there was violence. Brutal, swift violence. The governments of both nations looked, but had feigned blindness so long they could no longer see. But the people knew.
The Luchadores of Nuevo Laredo had returned.