A suspected drug dealer is held with his hands tied behind his back by two men.

One of them pulls out a pistol, takes aim and shoots him at point blank range into the back of their victim's head. In the blink of an eye, both men calmly climb onto mopeds and speed off.

Lying dead in the road, the 'drug pusher' is the latest victim of the Philippines deadly narcotics war, in which more than 3,000 people have been murdered since June.

Vigilantes have a licence to kill with impunity since President Rodrigo Duterte declared war on drugs - and controversially claimed he would be 'happy' to slaughter three million users and dealers.

Duterte sparked outrage when he controversially compared himself to Hitler - and his purge of drug pushers to Germany's purge of Jews during the Holocaust.

Cold blooded: A suspected drug dealer is held with his arms behind his back by two men before one of them pulls out a gun and blasts him in the back of the head. It is the latest summary execution in a Philippines drug was that has seen 3,000 murders since June

Bloodshed: Daylight murders are carried out on suspected drug pushers with impunity since President Rodrigo Duterte controversially claimed he would be 'happy' to slaughter three million users and dealers. Pictured: A grief-stricken wife sobs over her husband's bloody body

Justice? Since Duterte came to power extra judicial killings are accepted as police turn a blind eye to vigilante retribution, reportedly on the orders of the president. Pictured Two unnamed alleged drug dealers tied up with cardboard signs in Manila

Since Duterte came to power extra judicial killings are accepted as police turn a blind eye to vigilante retribution, reportedly on the orders of the president.

Aurora Moynihan, is the highest profile casualty of the savage crackdown to date.

Daughter of Lord Anthony Moynihan, one of Britain's most colourful aristocrats, the former public schoolgirl's bullet-ridden body was found dumped by the roadside in Quezon City, close to the capital, Manila, in September.

Aurora, 45, a mother of two, enjoyed a privileged childhood within the English aristocracy, but was said to be a user of methamphetamine, known as shabu.

CCTV images showed her getting out of a Toyota SUV and being shot by unknown assailants before being found next to a torn piece of cardboard warning 'drug pusher to the celebrities, you're next.'

Dumped: Aurora Moynihan (pictured) is the highest profile casualty of the savage crackdown to date. Daughter of Lord Anthony Moynihan, one of Britain's most colourful aristocrats, the former public schoolgirl's bullet-ridden body was found dumped by the roadside in Quezon City, close to the capital, Manila, last month

Executed: Aurora (pictured), 45, a mother of two, enjoyed a privileged childhood within the English aristocracy, but was said to be a user of methamphetamine, known as shabu. Her murder sent shockwaves through her social circles in the affluent suburb of Makati

Police say her murder marks a dramatic shift in the drugs war as celebrities and wealthy users are targeted.

'This could be a turning point,' Police Superintendent Guillermo Eleazar, the director of the Quezon City force, said of Miss Moynihan's death. 'People are clamouring for the big fish to be neutralised, not just the low level.'

Since Ms Moynihan's death more high profile arrests have followed as police have held former adult film star Karen Pallasigne, 36, and Krista Miller, 26, another Filipino actress, accused of having drugs links.

Eleazar says police are developing other cases involving celebrities and politicians.

Boxer turned congressman Manny Pacquiao, 37, has already admitted to taking 'all kinds of drugs' when he was a teenager.

Pacquiao, who is the godfather to Duterte's grandson, said he was confident his confession would not damage his close relationship with the president.

Police say Miss Moynihan's murder marks a dramatic shift in the drugs war towards celebrities and wealthy users being targeted. Pictured: CCTV footage of one of the latest drugs killings

Police chief Guillermo Eleazar described the former public schoolgirl's death as a turning point, adding: 'People are clamouring for the big fish to be neutralised, not just the low level.'

'He always gives a chance to people who want to be changed,' he said.

But not everyone in Manila agrees. Miss Moynihan's murder sent shockwaves through her social circles in the affluent suburb of Makati. Frightened friends would only speak about her anonymously, for fear of being hunted down themselves.

One feared that she may have been targeted because her boyfriend owed money to drugs lords.

The shift in focus to celebrities and the wealthy has not stopped the mounting pile of body bags.

Such is the impunity felt by the masked assassins terrorising the country that they do not restrict their operations to the cover of darkness. Gruesome images like this one of Franklin Bambico's grief-stricken wife sobbing over his body, bathed in blood, at lunchtime in a main street in the northern city of Baguio, are all too common

Just days after Mr Bambico was murdered, the same fate was met by beautician Chona Oliveros (pictured) who was gunned down as she gave a mid-morning pedicure at her stall

Human Rights Watch has described the situation as 'nothing less than mass killings disguised as crime control.'

Duterte's war on drugs has been condemned by the United Nations, European Union and the United States.

His response? He told the EU 'F**k you' and called US President Barack Obama a 'son of a whore.'

Such is the impunity felt by the masked assassins terrorising the country that they do not restrict their operations to the cover of darkness.

Gruesome images of Franklin Bambico's grief-stricken wife sobbing over his body, bathed in blood, at lunchtime in a main street in the northern city of Baguio, are all too common.

Just days later in the same city, beautician Chona Oliveros, 47, was gunned down in cold blood as she gave a mid-morning pedicure at her stall.

The atmosphere of intimidation has led over 700,000 drug users in the 100million strong island nation to sign up to a government plan to 'surrender' to the police, avoid charges and stay alive.

But lawyers and activists fear that some who surrender actually end up on so-called 'kill lists'.

'We've had reports that some of those who have surrendered have been targeted,' said Manila-based human rights lawyer, Jose Manual Diokno.

He compared the lists to a similar system during the 1970s dictatorship of President Ferdinand Marcos, singling out 'enemies of the state'.

'Nowadays they refer to them as addicts or drug pushers but the shortcuts and lack of due process are exactly the same,' he said.

'We are all in the dark about where they [lists] are coming from. I don't know what kind of verification is done to check their accuracy,' he added. 'They are the reverse of what the legal process is supposed to be.'

Jeremiah Magno, 32, had surrendered just two months ago. But it did not save him from being shot three times by masked gunmen on motorbikes outside his front door in the Manila slum of Masville.

He had been playing a dice game on his own, just metres from where his elderly mother, Evelyn, 68, and daughter, Natalie, three, were sleeping.

Jeremiah Magno, 32, (pictured in the coffin) had surrendered to police just two months ago. But it did not save him from being shot three times by masked gunmen on motorbikes outside his front door in the Manila slum of Masville

Grief: Jeremiah's brother John-Paul, pictured consoling his three-year-old niece Natalie, three, told MailOnline: 'I told him I didn't want him to end up lying [dead] on the pavement.'

His mother Evelyn, a midwife's assistant (pictured), is worried about his daughter Natalie, four. 'I don't want the same thing to happen to her as happened to her father,' she said.

On the night Jeremiah was taken to the morgue in a stained white sheet, his fresh blood still pooling on potholed lane, his visibly shattered elder brother John-Paul, 37, said he had encouraged Jeremiah to surrender to the police to protect himself.

'I told him I didn't want him to end up lying [dead] on the pavement,' he said.

Jeremiah followed his advice and signed a pledge to no longer take drugs. His family claimed he went clean.

'He didn't do bad things. He was just a user. He didn't sell or deal. I told him if he ever did that I would forsake him as my brother. He's a nice guy when he's not on drugs,' said John-Paul, a security guard.

John-Paul added his brother had wanted to open up a small shop and he doted on his toddler daughter, whose mother was no longer around.

'He was very close to his daughter. He used to comb her hair and buy her trinkets. She kept asking why he wasn't here,' said his mother Evelyn, a former charity worker who was widowed with four young sons when Jeremiah was just two years old.

'He wasn't worried when he surrendered. He thought good would come of it.'

On Thursday, as she sat by her son's open casket at the wake in the family's small, rundown home, Evelyn fretted that she would have to give up her job as a midwife's assistant to take care of Natalie. 'I don't want the same thing to happen to her as happened to her father,' she said.

The little girl appeared confused by the embalmed body of her father. 'Daddy's dead,' she said, although it was unclear if she knew what that meant.

She tugged at her uncle's trousers until he lifted her up to give her a better view. 'I miss Daddy,' she said, pointing at his lifeless body. 'I miss him.'

Despite the injustice of his brother's death, John-Paul Magno said he would rather not press charges against the unknown suspects who killed him. 'I'm more concerned about the security of my family. I'm the only man and I don't live her. How can I look after them?' he said.

The culture of fear on the streets is so great that, for some, incarceration at the Quezon City jail, one of the nation's most crowded prisons, is a welcome relief.

The jail should be operating at a capacity of 800, but in August peaked at over 4000. Much of the recent influx can be attributed to drugs-related charges.

The culture of fear on the streets of the Philippines is so great that, for some, incarceration at the Quezon City jail (pictured), one of the nation's most crowded prisons, is a welcome relief

The jail, above, should be operating at a capacity of 800, but in August peaked at over 4000. Much of the recent influx can be attributed to drugs-related charges. Inmates can wait months or years for the cases to come to court

Inmates can wait months or years for the cases to come to court. In the meantime, they receive little food and conditions so crowded that they are forced to sleep crushed together on the ground, or on staircases.

Despite the discomfort some say they would rather remain inside.

'When people come here they say they are happy because they are still alive,' said one long-term inmate, who did not wish to be named.