The offices ofandare nearly barren. Back issues of the papers are an encyclopedia of human suffering, of bodies dumped facedown in parking lots, of severed heads left next to a curb, of bodies hanging from lamp posts, a man with a hole in his head facedown in his plate of carnitas. There is a persistent belief in Ciudad Juárez that one of the cartels, in a frustrated boast, painted a wall in the city saying, "There's No One Left to Kill," but there is no photo of the sign. The images, which once appeared at a close to daily rate, are overwhelming. They suggest that while the living still walk, the various forces have done their best to kill everyone. (In early March a group of armed men, masked, shot up the entrance of.)For months, Ciudad Juárez existed in a limbo: With President Enrique Peña Nieto of the Institutional Revolutionary Party voted into power last summer, the fate of Todos Somos Juárez was in doubt. We go to the Federal Police building in an anonymous industrial park in Juárez. Inside the Mesa de Seguridad, the Safety Board discuss the victories of Todos Somos Juárez. Charts of statistics are flashed on LCD screens. A journalist sitting at the back of the room mimes fellating an imaginary partner. While there has been a notable drop in violence, a year or so out from having the highest murder rate in the world doesn't exactly give Juárez first-world status like El Paso, a world and stone's throw away.Everyone in Juárez knows someone who's been touched by the drug war. A journalist at the back of the room has a relative who was beaten by the police. We follow him across town to a quiet suburb where children play in the street, mothers push a baby buggy. His relative, Daniel Hernández Favero, a short, slim man with close-cropped hair, meets us at the front gate. A grandmother and two mothers sit in the dirt yard. Their children play on wooden steps. The women watch us warily as we go into the house.Daniel, 50, is missing most of his teeth. He holds his bottom row and moves it back and forth. The remaining teeth will soon be pulled. A few short weeks ago the general laborer had all of his teeth, before the police came."I was sleeping," Daniel says. "One came and put a plastic bag on my head. I felt something in my stomach. They held my mouth and kicked me in the stomach. 'You have 15 kilos of marijuana,' one told me." He talks for five minutes before the women, agitated, ask him to leave. He continues to receive death threats and his presence marks them too. Daniel sits in the middle of the backseat, obscuring himself from view, on the drive to another home. A car pulls out from the alley as we near the front of the house. The young men in the tan American car watch while our friend executes a five-point turn in the narrow street. Young men in a nice car in a poor neighborhood is a bad sign. The young men stare as they pass.Sitting in the kitchen of the second home, Daniel finishes his story. "They put a second bag on and plugged my nose and kept kneeing me in the ribs. I felt really bad, didn't know what to do." The police took him to the basement. "They took the bags off my eyes and I saw the drills. There was five more (police) looking for marijuana. 'We're not finding anything,' one cop said. They tied me to a window. I was calling for my sister." Police told him a neighbor had tipped them off, and they threatened to kill him while continuing to beat him. They put another bag over his head. "They plugged my nose, they took off my socks and put my socks in my mouth and beat on my stomach, tightening the bags," Favero says, crying.No weed was found. When they were done, they drove him away and threw him out of the car and down a hill. There were hospital visits and a public interview with journalists. A photo shows his head swollen, unrecognizable. The story is reported as police getting the wrong house. "My entire life has become ugly," he says. "My sister doesn't want me here." Daniel is planning to leave Juárez and hopes the death threats will stop. He doesn't appear to have anything other than a dwindling number of friends. What's certain is that Favero and his family are scared. Material items indicating any success with drug dealing are nonexistent. The municipal police haven't been investigated. This is routine. You are beaten and almost killed and the state doesn't blink.