United States Time, August 9, 1990.
Liberty Island in New York.
In front of the ruins of the Statue of Liberty, silence and solemnity prevailed as about 200 ordinary people and government officials held a memorial service.
This "lady" had undergone emergency repairs and had just barely held together, but if the next generation of Americans wanted to see her as she once was, they could only do so through textbooks.
Of course, there might still be some left in the warehouses of the French.
The memorial service was originally supposed to have 1000 attendees.
But you goddamn Victor are just too hated. After the attack yesterday, the local police raided the Aryan Brotherhood, as well as M13 and the stronghold of the Asian Boyz overnight.
In a residential area, they found a series of follow-up plans for surprise attacks against Victor, with tasks clearly outlined and even escape routes written down in detail.
When necessary, explosives could be triggered, as long as Victor died, everything would be perfect.
And on the American Black Market, his head had a bounty of 6 million US Dollars.
Could you be a bit more generous? Uncle Victor felt uncomfortable hearing that.
After all, a low bounty can easily make one feel "inferior."
Later, when "Caucasian Wolf" Bassayev was wanted, he was dissatisfied with the mere 300 million Rubles offered, considering it too little and even mocked, "If you don't have money, I can lend you some, but please be more generous. My head is worth more than that."
The FBI, fearing further incidents, directly controlled the number of attendees at the scene. Brother, we're already being humiliated.
We are headhunters, aren't we, CIA!
An official of a country?
Victor probably counts. Coming to the United States for a visit, he was subjected to repeated attacks. The FBI didn't know where to hide their old faces.
And to prevent another bombing incident, helicopters circled overhead.
Bush, who had rushed from Washington, spoke a lot on the stage, almost putting the audience to sleep.
"Now, please join me in our final prayer, may God bless their souls."
Victor just closed his eyes and prayed. People are dead, so what's the point in praying.
After the ceremony ended, George Foreman came over, "Mr. Victor, Mr. Bush invites you to meet."
Victor straightened his clothes, "Fine."
Just as he was about to follow the other party, he saw a middle-aged man with glasses emerge beside him and grab onto his shoulder.
He looked at the man with confusion, "May I help you with something?"
"I'm David Coresh. Do you believe in doomsday?"
That's when he got it.
MD, another American sect.
Perhaps many "gurus" saw the potential in America.
People are foolish, money abounds, hurry over!
In the '60s, an Indian guy named Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh founded some "Osho movement," which was a bizarre combination of free love, Eastern spirituality, restrained capitalism, and popular psychology, attracting thousands of believers.
They even had their own police department, fire department, and airline.
They were planning to overthrow the American local governments.
In the Lighthouse Country, wise men exist, but even more madmen.
What Victor hated most were those preaching doomsday, doing fuck all everyday and just cawing like crows. His face darkened, he cursed at David Coresh, "Get lost!"
This response caught the other party off guard.
You're supposed to be a celebrity, for God's sake.
David Coresh attempted to speak again but was quickly pulled away by the FBI, who had been surrounding them. He shouted unwillingly, "Sir, join us, doomsday is upon us!"
"Without proper management of these people, sooner or later there'll be trouble!" Victor complained to George Foreman.
"Don't they have such people in Tijuana?"
"Their beliefs need my approval; without my signature, any sect is illegal."
George Foreman's expression paused as he looked at the other's serious face, but then the other laughed, "Just kidding. I am not that tyrannical."
Casare and the Vice Commander of the Air Force Police Corps, Damon Hesfu Zola, looked at each other from behind.
This is Victorism, not tyranny. Say it wrong, and you could be shot, you know.
In a room next to the Statue of Liberty, Victor met Bush, one of the two men currently with the greatest power in the world.
No matter from which aspect, finance, politics, or the so-called mysterious background?
The Bush family are giants.
If you count his son, the later Little Bush, their family has taken the oath in the White House five times altogether.
Old Bush's father-in-law was a manufacturing tycoon, and his mother came from a family of financial magnates. The Bush family's business extends across oil, banking, military industries, and even sports ventures.
With such a background, it's no wonder there were rumors that when he bailed out as a pilot and fell into the sea, the target area was searched 24 hours a day. Anyone could die, but not him.
However, at this time, he had become a distinguished politician.
And in the room, Victor also saw a familiar face.
"Los Angeles Times" Belsaria Ramsfield!!
"Long time no see, Mr. Victor." When she saw him, she greeted him with a smile and an outstretched hand.
This woman's background is extraordinary.
In such a private space, just a short distance away from Old Bush, if you tell me you don't have connections, who would believe it?
"Hello, Miss Belsaria."
"You know each other?" Old Bush asked with a smile.
"Yes, Mr. President, I have interviewed him before."