Working as a police officer in Mexico

The journalists outside were getting bored, some of them were already planning to pack up and leave.

Then they saw a group of Special Service Bureau agents carrying something out, covered with a fast-food wrapper. What was that?

It looked like a person?

The journalists immediately smelled the scent of "big news" in the air, and surged forward, but were firmly held back by the local police.

But don't underestimate the journalists'... bravery.

There was an American journalist who even went to the Middle East to meet with the "Top Boss," the one who gave away planes, and interviewed him in person.

They might be doing it for traffic, but they say it's for the truth!

The two are not mutually exclusive.

A young journalist sneakily made his way to the back and, taking advantage of the Special Service agents' distraction, yanked off the "tablecloth."

A bunch of journalists busily pressed their shutters, but then suddenly realized something was amiss.

"Is that Chris Farley?" someone recognized the overweight man lying there and exclaimed in surprise.

This guy was no ordinary joe; he was a fairly well-known comedian in the United States with lots of fans.

How did he end up... looking like a beaten pig?

"What are you doing!" A Special Service agent grabbed the young journalist, pinned him to the ground, sat on him, and handcuffed him.

The others loaded Chris Farley into a car and headed straight for the hospital.

"Sir! Sir, what exactly happened in there? Why did this happen?"

"We journalists have the right to know!"

But the Special Service agents just ignored them. And what could you do about it, accuse them of "mentally assaulting" you with their thoughts? Or allege they were discriminating against trans-species entities?

It wasn't that crazy yet.

The journalists weren't leaving!

There was definitely more news to come.

In the banquet hall, the atmosphere was weird. Victor had "frightened" everyone there. What would you do if a wild beast burst into a society that prides itself on civility?

Everyone was restless.

Victor, however, was calmly chatting with the Mayor of New York and others.

He was not at all socially awkward.

Halfway through his steak, he suddenly threw out a comment, "Will he accuse me of harming him and then have me thrown in jail?"

This question...

Caught everyone off guard. How do you respond to that?

"But I don't think I did anything wrong, sir. The drug problem is a global issue, and as a beacon of civilization, the United States should play a role, especially since the North American Drug Syndicate, represented by Pablo, dares to deface the Statue of Liberty!"

"Damn it!"

"That bastard should be shoved back into his mother's womb!"

"The most shameful thing is that our America actually has public figures like Chris Farley who feel sorry for drug traffickers? F*** that! If I saw him outside, I would kill him!"

"It's an insult to the suffering the United States has endured and to the innocent victims. When did America need such human rights?"

"For drug traffickers, the greatest human right is for them to die. No matter the occasion, anyone who speaks in sympathy for drug traffickers, I will beat your head in viciously with a club!"

"My America should not be like this! The beacon of civilization has its needs."

Victor angrily slammed his knife and fork down on the plate, startling a lady at the next table with the noise.

Seeing his righteous indignation, the Mayor of New York and a few officials at the same table exchanged glances. Damn, are you the American or am I?

Why are you standing out so much?

You have a great potential for being a "lapdog."

This welcome dinner was, in fact, a meet-and-greet to convey Victor's stance to Washington. Clearly, he was an active "anti-drug member."

The Mayor of New York added the word "extreme" in his mind.

He would do anything when it came to drug traffickers.

"Don't be too upset, Mr. Victor, every country has its scum, but that doesn't negate the United States' resolve in dealing with drug traffickers. Pablo must die!" the Mayor of New York said.

Victor nodded, staring at him, "For America, for the world, I am willing to charge into battle, and I also hope that America can give me more support."

That was the real intent.

Give me more, I'm hungry.

"I will convey your needs to Mr. Bush."

"Thank you."

Victor smiled, lifting a small piece of steak, "It tastes very good."

The dinner continued until nine o'clock at night.

People started to file out one after another.

The impatient journalists who had been waiting for ages surged forward.

"Steven, Steven, what exactly happened in there just now? Why was Chris Farley injured?"

"Tom, over here, I'm Kevin from The New York Times. Can I ask you a question?"

"Mr. Victor, does what happened to Chris Farley have anything to do with you?"

The stars didn't dare say much, never taking sides easily. Victor enjoyed being in the spotlight and was about to speak when George Foreman, a Special Service agent in charge of Victor's safety, pushed through the reporters, opened the car door, and half-pushed Victor into the car.

"Seems like our Mr. George is afraid of me speaking," Victor joked to Casare beside him.

After the local police cleared the way by pushing aside the crowd and the journalists, the motorcade headed back to the hotel.

Victor felt a bit bloated; eating too much steak wasn't good for him. As he was flipping through a magazine, he was startled when George Foreman suddenly turned around abruptly.

"What's wrong?"

"A van's been following us for more than five minutes," George Foreman's gaze hardened as he pressed on his earpiece, "Jack, get in through the backup lane."

As the lead car passed a corner, it swerved to the right, but suddenly there was a loud bang.

A dump truck burst out from the corner and rammed straight into the Special Service's lead car, blocking the road ahead completely.

"Retreat! Back up!"

"Group one, call for backup!"

George Foreman ordered calmly.

Casare's face turned white, but Victor still had the mood to take a cigar out and put it in his mouth, squinting and glancing at him. In Spanish, he said, "What's the panic?"

"The man who could kill me, Victor, hasn't been born yet."

The tires of the vehicles screeched as they backed up with a buzzing sound; the car behind also backed up to slam into the van, and the heads of the Special Service employees inside all buzzed.

As the car door swung open, an M2 Browning machine gun appeared, manned by a masked black man who immediately pulled the trigger!

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat…

The powerful recoil made his face twitch, and the scorpion tattoo on his face trembled.

The bullets penetrated the rear glass, killing all five employees inside the vehicle instantly.

A mist of blood filled the car.

Jason Bourne and two Mexican intelligence agents were in the penultimate vehicle. As they came under fire from the M2 Browning, they instinctively ducked their heads.

One agent opened the box he was holding, which contained an Uzi submachine gun.

In fact, the American side didn't allow Victor's guards to carry weapons, but Mexico definitely disagreed.

F***, Victor was a prime target for drug traffickers and gangsters in North America. If guards didn't carry guns, what should they carry? French bread?

Eventually, the United States agreed, but only allowed them to carry three guns.

In the end, the guards chose the Uzi submachine guns.

Short-range burst firing with fast speeds.

Jason Bourne slammed in a magazine, pulled back the bolt, kicked the door open, and dove toward a nearby cover. After rolling, he knelt on one knee and fired three shots in quick succession at the man operating the M2 Browning.

Struck in the forehead, the man was killed instantly.

Niger... ascended to heaven.

He waved vigorously at the driver, and the employee from the United States Secret Service understood, stomping on the gas pedal and slamming forcefully into reverse, first hitting the last vehicle in the convoy, then ramming into the van, the engine roaring loudly.

Forcing a path through sheer will.

The Mexican agent leaned out and sprayed the van with bullets.

The car carrying Victor and another vehicle took advantage of the chaos to escape, making a smooth turn to break free from the battlefield.

"Get in the car! Hurry up and get in the car!" the agent from the Special Service in the passenger seat shouted at Jason Bourne, waving his hands frantically.

After emptying his bullets, Jason sprinted forward, leaping and diving straight through the rear window into the car!

This scene was clearly seen by a couple enjoying the evening breeze on the rooftop. Find your next adventure on empire

They had been watching the excitement ever since they heard gunfire.

Seeing Jason Bourne's actions, the man couldn't help but exclaim, "That was f****** epic!"

"Did you get it on tape?"

His girlfriend nodded.

"Oh yes! Upload it to the bulletin board systems, it'll definitely go viral!" The man kissed his girlfriend excitedly and ran back to their room with the camcorder.

Well... out at night with his girlfriend and a camcorder, who knows what he was planning to record.

Americans like to show off.

The driver from the Special Service sped away at full throttle.

Protecting dignitaries was their primary mission. Confrontation was a job for the police. Don't think they're so tough—without machine guns, without RPGs, all they could do was to protect the target and find the main force.

If the Guard Corps were so formidable, then the president's job wouldn't be such a high-risk position in Europe and America.

Sometimes, it's not their fault.

It's just a matter of probability.

"Honk!!"

The unidentified individuals in the van honked the horn forcefully to express their dissatisfaction.

At that moment, the helicopter from the New York Police Department was already on its way over, responding swiftly after receiving the call for assistance from the Special Service.

"Get moving, the cops are here, f***, these damn Yankees react so fast, let's get out of here!" An Asian man of likely Asian descent, wearing a mask at the back, said assertively—though his skin and eyes, which seemed to resemble those of a Korean, were showing. (In fact, they looked... like dumpling wrappers, limp and soft.)

The driver, casting a glance at the sky, flipped the bird before diving the car into an alley.

"Sir, are you alright?" George Foreman asked Victor anxiously.

The latter, smoking a cigarette, smiled, though his expression was rather sinister, "It seems many people wish me dead, but too bad, it appears that God... doesn't want me yet."

"We will get to the bottom of this," Foreman assured.

"Thank you," Victor said with a smile. He turned his head to look at Casare, his expression suddenly turning dark and somber, "The locals aren't too friendly. Bring some people over. Show them what Mexican 'gangsters' are like."

Casare got the message.

Bring some officers over to give the local gangs a taste of the "North American Evil God" fear.

You all like playing with guns, right?

There you go!

They say Mexico is too close to the United States and too far from heaven, but it could also be viewed the other way around. Who the f*** decided that Mexican 'gangsters' can't invade your turf?

Mexico is also very close to the United States.

F***, it's just two steps away.

Since the perpetrator is unknown, let's just pin it on the local gangs.

A lot of people are going to die for Victor to breathe out his anger.

…

The Mayor of New York was on the phone with Washington, but then his secretary burst in and told him Victor had been attacked!

"Wang Defa?!"

He stood up in shock, knocking over his coffee and drenching himself, cursing loudly.

"Hani? What are you talking about?" someone shouted from the other end of the line.

The Mayor of New York quickly picked up the phone with a stern tone, "Sir, Victor has been attacked, there's been a shootout."

There was silence on the other end before the person spoke, "Is he injured?"

The Mayor of New York looked at his secretary, who shook her head, and quickly replied, "No."

"This must be thoroughly investigated! The security situation in the United States has been worsening, what the hell is the FBI doing? We cannot allow Victor to be harmed."

"Understood."

After the Mayor of New York hung up the phone, his expression turned very grim.

"Warn those bastards in the police force not to cause trouble for me, f***! Hand them over, or I'll have them kicked out of the United States. If they don't give me some names by tomorrow, I'll have the National Guard sweep them away."

"Damn gangster scum!"

The office echoed with his curses and roars.

...