Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 21 Football
Are you sure this is the same person?

Rocha's voice rang out lightly.

Scott stared intently at the photo on the screen.

That was a candid shot taken by a passenger on the subway.

Despite severe noise and unbalanced lighting, the Asian silhouettes are still discernible.

He was facing the camera sideways, leaning slightly forward, wearing a dark jacket, his eyes hidden in the shadows under his hat.

Comparing the images in his memory one by one, Scott nodded firmly: "It's him, the same person who followed Lopez from beginning to end."

Rocha tapped his fingertips lightly on the table: "Any guesses about his identity? For example, an assassin? A contractor? A bodyguard?"

Scott paused for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the photograph:
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have any accurate predictions at the moment."

"But one thing is certain: he had undergone long-term, high-intensity military training."

"In a residential building, breaking out with a target that has no combat capability is not something that ordinary combat personnel can do."

At this moment, the captain standing next to Rocha spoke up: "Which unit do you think he might be from?"

Scott's mind raced through a number of names, but he ultimately shook his head: "I haven't fought him up close, so I can't draw any conclusions based on these photos alone."

The captain frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the vague answer.

Just as he was about to press further, Rocha waved his hand, looking relaxed, but his words left no room for doubt: "It's alright, at least it's enough for the arrest warrant."

To force an end to the discussion, Rocha gestured for the captain to leave the office: "Go prepare the paperwork. Dismissed."

"Yes, Commander."

The captain stood at attention, saluted, glanced at Scott, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

The footsteps faded away.

Scott stood by the table, looking down as if observing the furnishings.

Luo's search for him was not merely to confirm his identity.

There are probably some bigger pitfalls waiting to be discovered.

Just as he was pondering this, Rocha suddenly spoke up: "Hey kid, how have you been lately?"

This statement came so suddenly that Scott was stunned for two seconds before looking up at Rocha, who was leaning back in his chair.

"It's alright, not too many tasks," he replied carefully.

Noticing Scott's restraint, Rocha smiled slightly and said casually, "As far as I know, some people are not particularly satisfied with you because of this, and even Hansen doesn't have a good solution."

He said this with a regretful tone and a hint of ambiguous emotion in his eyes.

Sure enough, it's time to get to the main content.

Having understood, Scott maintained his original posture and did not rush to express his opinion.

Seeing that he didn't react, Rocha wasn't in a hurry and said slowly, "However, perhaps we can find a way that will satisfy everyone."

Scott subconsciously tugged at his collar: "I don't understand what you mean."

"We will collaborate more frequently."

Luo Cha paused for a moment, then his smile deepened: "Of course, it's between you and me."

This is forcing me to take sides.

The room fell silent.

one second.

two seconds.

three seconds.

Scott breathed a sigh of relief: "Yes, Commander."

Zhou Yi stood in front of the ATM and inserted the credit card that the system had rewarded him with.

The machine was old and sluggish; the numbers on the keyboard were worn smooth and shiny, with old stains remaining on the edges.

This area is close to slums and lacks the glitz and glamour of the city center.

When Zhou Yi clicked the "Withdraw Cash" button, he tried withdrawing 30,000 and 20,000 reais, but was rejected each time.

Staring at the "Daily withdrawal limit exceeded" warning popped up on the screen, Zhou Yi frowned and changed the number to 10,000.

The ATM finally started working, its internal gears turning, and a stack of cash was dispensed from the dispenser. Gina leaned against the wall beside her, pale-faced, her left hand clutching her waist.

Her forehead was covered in cold sweat, her lips were chapped, and her shoulders were trembling with pain.

After being chased out of the safe house, he made a brief stop at a nightclub, and then fled in a disheveled state, with his wounds bleeding intermittently in the subway and sewers, almost completely draining his strength.

"Can I still leave?"

Zhou Yi put the money in his pocket and asked.

Gina took a deep breath, trying to sound calm: "I'm trying."

Zhou Yi didn't say much, but glanced around.

Not far away, six children were playing football on the dirt road.

Calling it a football isn't accurate—it was just a round object made of rags and plastic bags, its outer layer worn black from being stepped on.

Occasionally, the ball would be kicked too high, hitting the brick wall before rolling back to the ground, kicking up a cloud of fine dust.

Directly in front, there are a few scattered stones, and the shape of the goal can be barely made out.

Ignoring Gina's bravado, Zhou Yi turned and whistled at them.

The children stopped abruptly and looked at him warily.

"I'm sorry to bother you—"

As Zhou Yi spoke, he pulled out some loose change from his pocket: "But my girlfriend isn't feeling well. Are there any pharmacies or hotels around here?"

One of the older boys licked his lips after seeing the banknotes and cautiously approached.

"The pharmacy is on 384th Street. Walk over there and turn right at the second intersection."

"As for hotels, do you prefer something safe or cheap?"

"What's the difference?"

The boy shrugged. "Cheap ones are everywhere, but you might not wake up the next day. Safe ones? That depends on how much you're willing to spend."

"Safe, the closest."

As Zhou Yi spoke, he handed over five yuan.

The boy quickly took the money: "There's one right next to the pharmacy. The prices are reasonable, and it's clean and hygienic."

Watching the two leave, the boy stood still, not immediately joining his playful companions.

His fingertips rubbed back and forth on the banknotes in his pocket, and his eyes gradually became dull.

After hesitating for a long time, he finally gritted his teeth, turned around, and ran towards a narrow alley deep in the slum.

The pharmacy is located on a street corner, and the red cross on its sign has faded from the sun.

A Volkswagen Golf was parked at the entrance.

There were no doors, and even the steering wheel had been removed, leaving only an empty dashboard exposed to the sunlight.

Zhou Yi lifted the plastic curtain and went inside.

The air conditioning was blowing weakly, but it was far from enough to combat the intense heat outside; the room was still so stuffy that it was hard to breathe.

Behind the cashier sat an elderly shop assistant with dark skin.

He was in his fifties, slightly overweight, wearing a yellowish white t-shirt, and his forehead was covered with fine beads of sweat.

When someone came in, he just lazily glanced at them for a few seconds before looking down and continuing to read the newspaper in his hand.

The aisles between the shelves were narrow, and many items were piled up haphazardly.

Zhou Yi bent down and searched for a long time before finally managing to gather all the necessary medicines.

Carrying the items to the cashier, the veteran clerk finally came to her senses.

"One hundred and sixty-four, cash."

He glanced at it, slowly quoted the price, and casually added, "Two hundred more for gunshot wound treatment."

"You've misunderstood, we're not," Zhou Yi said awkwardly, feigning honesty.

The old clerk chuckled, took the cash, stuffed it into the drawer, shook his head, and refocused his attention on the newspaper.

(End of this chapter)