Upon hearing that Victor had arrived, everyone instantly shut their mouths.
"Follow up and take a look at what the American double standard is like."
Field Whitney led the delegation upstairs, and what they saw was indeed a very clean ground with children using faucets to wash clothes.
The water was very clear.
Projects , vital for people's livelihoods, are of utmost importance. Now, it might be somewhat impossible to demolish and rebuild the slums, but some help could be offered, such as access to water and electricity.
Previously, it was not possible for slums to have a long-term electricity supply, and the water was murky, sometimes even having to be fetched from afar, spawning a specialized trade of water carriers. A lot of effort had truly been invested to tackle these problems.
The sudden influx of so many people visibly startled the little girl who was washing clothes, nervously watching them.
"Aren't the children educated? That's no respect for human rights."
"It's Saturday today, a weekend." Goebbels said.
Field was momentarily silenced, his face not reddening in the slightest, as he approached and spoke in English, "Where are your parents? Child? Why are you washing clothes here, are you a laborer?"
But how could the child understand, looking completely bewildered.
Field Whitney stood up and said to the human rights officer beside him, "It seems this child has been abused, stunned with fear. Tijuana's public safety really isn't good."
The attendants wrote down the incident.
"Write that down, and I'll smash your hand."
A deep voice came, and turning their heads, they saw Victor walking over surrounded by bodyguards, wearing sunglasses and holding a cigar.
He looked like a mob boss?!
Other Mexican accompanying personnel, as if seeing their backbone, bowed and shouted in unison.
Field Whitney furrowed his brow, but soon relaxed.
"Hello, Mr. Victor…" He smiled and reached out his hand.
Victor glanced at it, tapped his ash on Field's hand with his cigar, causing him to quickly retract his hand, "What are you doing!"
"What caliber are you to shake hands with me? Call Old Bush up, is he dead yet? Should I send a wreath?"
"We represent the United Nations organizations that are assessing you, your lack of cooperation…"
But before Field Whitney could finish, he was met with a backhand blow from Victor.
Goebbels and the others were stunned, who would carry such a thing?
Victor smashed an open wound on his forehead, "You say my water isn't clean? Come on, let him have a taste!"
Behind him, Guard Commander Xiafei, along with two bodyguards, held him by the head and dragged him to the faucet, turned it up to the max, and blasted it in his face!
The other members of the delegation stood in stunned silence.
"We are from the United Nations…"
"To hell with your UN! Did I sign off on it? You dare call it the United Nations, a human rights organization? You're just here to cause trouble."
"Don't fucking flaunt your double standards here; when I get angry, I can just kill you all."
Victor glared, holding the bloodied ashtray, pointing it at the delegation's shorthand clerk, "Write, say that Tijuana is better than New York, where there are drug traffickers everywhere; no one does drugs here."
The female clerk was so frightened that her hands trembled, tears rolling down.
"General, the Yanks have stopped moving!" Guard Commander Xiafei spoke up.
Upon hearing this, the female clerk burst into tears.
"Don't be afraid of Victor taking up the weapon of law.
Be afraid when he puts down the law and picks up a weapon.
Put plainly, you really can't gang up on him like you did in Iraq. North America is so big; you really can't expand.
That's the way of Victor, this underworld figure.
You hit me, I hit the United States.
Get drunk and hit the neighbors!
Victor looked at them, "Do we have any gentlemen and ladies from Brazil and Venezuela?"
He saw several hands tremblingly raised in the delegation.
He clapped his hands and smiled.
"Great, you're my most precious guests now~"
"Welcome to Mexico, Tijuana!"