At that moment, Nima's cursing was deafening!·1
Casare looked around, and all the representatives' expressions were even more dramatic than Hollywood performances. The British representative in the back looked like his head was about to retreat into the butt of the person in front of him.
In the past, if you called me a piece of trash, I'd argue back with you—just to show my rebellious spirit.
But now, looking at me is like an ant staring at the heavens!
Please think twice before you speak next. I promise... I won't spew nonsense.
Meanwhile, the American, General Mason Leonard, slowly sat down, trying his best to appear calm, arms crossed over his chest, his face strained in an effort to remain composed. But as he stared at the missile trucks...
...his eye corners twitched ever so slightly, and his fingers gripped tightly.
His face suddenly flushed red, the color of high blood pressure.
Now Victor truly seemed to be commanding the world's powers by leveraging the Yanks.
Mason Leonard was already contemplating—should he "dance" for Victor?
"Mexico and the United States have very serious historical misunderstandings, including 2 million square kilometers of land."
Suddenly, an eerie voice drifted into Mason Leonard's ear. He jumped up like a startled rabbit, fearfully twisting his head to see Victor looking at him with a faintly amused expression.
Mason Leonard belonged to the same faction as Donald—the Hawk Faction. This group had one distinct trait: they didn't respond well to force. In the past, just one slap would've been enough.
But Hawks could also be Conservatives...
It all depends on who the enemy is.
Look at the SS-25 intercontinental missile formation passing below—it's like a bunch of sleeping pills, one dose and countless people might sleep forever.
Mason Leonard was silent for a moment before finally speaking: "That's history. Times are always progressing. We should collectively adhere to the post-World War II peace and development order."
Beside him, Casare suddenly burst into laughter, hastily waving his hand, "Sorry, I can't help it—I tend to laugh a lot. You know, us chubby folks generally have friendly dispositions."
George Smiley was also beside them, suppressing his reactions while lowering his head.
The American claimed they adhered to peace...
...just like the Soviet claimed they didn't drink, the Indians claimed they weren't womanizers, the Koreans claimed their DDs were large—it's like a Big Fool eating pizza: dumbass!
Victor's gaze was piercing as he looked at the military formation on the main street without saying a word. The Yanks anxiously watched him, treating him like coaxing a "child with a bomb," telling him, "Don't. Starting today, you're an adult. Let's talk properly."
"You're right. What's lost is lost; getting it back has no meaning anymore. But we need interests. If I have the SS-25, continuing to act subordinate just becomes meaningless, doesn't it?" He spoke with a gentle smile.
Ah… nuclear kindness indeed.
The words were frank enough, telling General Mason Leonard that he was demanding a redistribution of the pie.
The American representatives were eerily quiet. The Deputy Defense Minister felt like a heavy stone was pressing on his chest, making breathing uneasy.
"Bring someone who can make decisions to the table. We'll be conducting a test launch in late November. For now, the location coordinates are undecided. Hopefully, you'll give us something satisfactory."
Beside him, Nicholas Maro Moro sat to Victor's left, hearing every word of their discussion crystal clear. He dared not move a muscle!
But his eyes were shining.
...even the Yanks aren't invincible.
Victor's casual tone was as if he were instructing a subordinate about work.
Nicholas Maro Moro's peripheral vision caught a glimpse.
The Yanks… were sitting awfully straight.
The appearance of the SS-25 made everyone present shiver before losing interest. Then came two reactions: either giving up or refusing to concede.
At 11 a.m., the parade's final segment had arrived.
It was the citizen march.
They carried banners about 170 years of independence as they walked the main street. Some even held half-body portraits of Victor!
This was all Goebbels' idea.
...to construct his image as the "Founder," to make drug control the rebirth of Mexico.
This isn't much different from ushering in a new heavens, is it?
Setting up a persona, staging appearances, and creating achievements—these are the refined methods of mature politicians.
Victor stood up, walked to the viewing platform's edge, and waved to the crowd below; the cheering of 3,999 "citizens" became even louder.
These citizens had noticeably short hair, and those few young, sharp lads with grinning teeth looked oddly innocent.
Suddenly, a crisp sound rang out—almost drowned by the cheers. None of the nearby representatives heard it clearly, but Guard Commander Joseph Xiafei's complexion shifted; just as he rushed over, he noticed the General on the viewing platform making hand gestures to signal them not to approach.
He grinned, looking at the procession passing below.
As the final cannon fires rang out, the Independence Day celebration officially came to an end. Victor and the American representatives were surrounded by a crowd as they left, chatting and laughing with one another.
"Check out what happened!" Joseph Xiafei quietly instructed a Guard Corps bodyguard, who nodded. Along with intelligence personnel, around seven or eight burly men jumped off the viewing platform, sprinting toward the source of the gunshot.
In a sewer on the main street, four or five Special Police Company officers were punching and kicking a frail woman. Those combat boots were insanely thick; with each kick, damn it, you could almost feel her womb about to be kicked out.