Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 305 Full of Passion
Half past five in the morning.

Before the pickup truck could even come to a complete stop on the side of the road, State Trooper Commander Vero jumped out.

The boots sank into the mud, splashing water that left black marks on the trouser legs.

He didn't care about anything else and scrambled down the bridge.

A crowd had already gathered nearby.

The vendors pushed their carts and parked in the distance, with unsold corn hanging in plastic buckets.

Young children, scantily clad women, and men gathered together.

They all raised their phones, as if drawn together by some kind of static electricity.

Everyone wanted to get closer, but no one was willing to be the first to step forward.

Seeing this, Vero was both anxious and frightened, and his eyes turned red with anger.

He grabbed the police officer next to him and raised his fist, waving it in the air.

"Make them all retreat! Set them back! Put up a cordon!"

"Stop fucking filming! Go now!"

At his command, the yellow and black plastic strips were quickly unfurled.

The young police officer pushed the crowd out, his tone urgent and his actions furious.

Verro seemed oblivious to the farce unfolding around him, staring blankly into the distance.

A thick hemp rope hangs down from outside the overpass guardrail.

A completely naked male body was tied to the end.

The cardboard hangs around the neck, with the printed text standing out prominently.

The next second, the hair covering her face was blown up by the wind.

Vero's stomach clenched, and he almost vomited.

it's him.

It really is him.

He no longer cared about hiding his true feelings and screamed at the top of his lungs:

"Quick, get him up here! Now!"

"Get it done, fucking fast! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

Meanwhile, two police officers had already climbed over the railing.

One person held the rope steady while the other leaned out to reach for it.

A third person arrived with a pulley, attempting to change the angle of the force applied.

Vero looked up, staring intently at their movements.

suddenly--

Snapped!
A short, sharp gunshot rang out, seemingly coming from a great distance.

The rope suddenly shook.

The man who was hanging up trembled, as if his head had been gouged out from the middle.

The spurting blood arced through the air before splashing onto the ground.

The officer stood frozen in place, gripping the rope so tightly that the skin on his palms felt hot from the friction.

Verro was still standing under the bridge, staring blankly upwards.

The warm liquid poured over his face, flowing down his chin and down his collar.

It wasn't just blood, but also a grayish-white substance with a fatty feel.

The metallic taste mixed with a sticky, fishy smell slid into my mouth, like a piece of rotten meat stuck at the back of my tongue.

"Sniper! Sniper! Get down!" someone shouted hysterically.

His deputy lunged at him and shoved him into the shadow of the bridge pier.

The ground was cold, and the moisture seeped into the skin through the uniform.

With a constant buzzing in his ears, Vero couldn't tell if it was fear, anger, or the pulsation of blood rushing to his brain.

"I bet he'll have nightmares tonight."

Jim turned off the camera that was recording next to him.

“Of course, for him, there might not even be a night,” Zhou Yi said casually.

He first picked up the spent cartridge case, rested the butt of the rifle on his thigh, and retracted the bipod.

Next, the bolt was removed, the chamber was inspected, and then the bolts were put away separately.

“That makes sense.” Jim shrugged and squatted down to start cleaning up the scene.

“He was captured by the enraged Sinaloa assassins, chopped into pieces, and thrown into the street.”

"Ha, maybe the Sinaloa were killed by other cartels first."

"Los Zetas, Jalisco, Tijuana, Juarez"

"Damn, when you think about it this way, there are a lot of lunatics."

"You kill me, I kill you, this is truly a sacred land blessed by God." The wind blew in through the broken windows of the abandoned building, carrying the sour smell of pigeon droppings.

In the distance, the sirens grew increasingly frequent.

A few minutes later, the two turned back one last time to check the scene before leaving.

The shooting position was not left behind, and the footprints and knee support points were cleaned up.

“In any case, mission accomplished,” Jim said casually.

“I will send the video to my dear employer, hoping to receive the final payment of one million on time.”

"And another 100,000 for recording videos." Zhou Yi picked up the gun case and walked downstairs.

"Fuck him, that's awesome."

Jim tossed his backpack behind him. "This is the story of how I became a director."
-
Washington, D.C.

It's raining heavily.

Madeline Watts sat behind the large walnut wood table.

She lowered her head and carefully looked at the video that had just been sent.

The pixels aren't perfect; the light comes from the hazy dawn sky in the distance.

The man was hanging from the side of the bridge, the rope digging into his flesh, and the wind swayed him slowly.

In the blink of an eye, blood gushed out like a broken water pipe, turning into scattered arcs in mid-air.

Madeline swallowed hard and instinctively leaned back.

In an instant, she felt a violent impact.

Nausea, fear, suffocation.
Her fingertips gently traced the tabletop.

However, a dangerous kind of pleasure arises from this.

Madeline couldn't deny that this belief in absolute control over life and death was like a drug, easily addictive.

Just then, there was a knock on the door outside.

She turned off the video, raised her eyelids, and said, "Come in."

The assistant walked in, carrying several stacks of documents.

"A closed-door hearing of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence at 2 p.m."

"The agenda is set, and you must attend."

"There's going to be a hearing?" Madeline's expression turned cold.

"Yes, Congressman Sterling will question you at the meeting as the Director of the Intelligence and Analysis Bureau of the Department of Homeland Security about whether you were—"

The assistant paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, clearly not daring to speak directly.

"—Misleading information, leading to its misuse and casualties."

Upon hearing this, Madeline couldn't help but purse her lips tightly.

Vicente Zambada's trial testimony portrayed her authorization as a joke.

A foolish woman.

A U.S. intelligence officer who gets tricked by Mexican farmers.

But now, who will have the last laugh?
In an instant, disgust, satisfaction, and an inappropriate excitement intertwined.

The pleasure surged up my spine like a heat wave, causing my toes to curl involuntarily.

“Stanley Sterling,” she repeated softly.

“Yes,” the assistant nodded, “from Ohio.”

"This proposal was jointly put forward by him and Republican hawks from both the Intelligence and Armed Forces committees."

He paused, a hint of nervousness creeping in at the woman's next reaction.

However, at this moment, Madeline had regained her usual expression and smiled gently.

“I will be there on time, thank you for reminding me,” she said.

"Also, please help me retrieve the records of last week's budget hearing."

"Especially the inquiries regarding diplomatic aid."

"Let the Legislative Affairs Bureau communicate with the House Appropriations Committee."

"If they still want to hold onto that foreign development fund, they should submit the audit of the contracts in Ethiopia from last quarter."

Madeline paused, glanced at the memo in the corner, and spoke again:
"Remember to keep OIRA informed."

"Postpone the assessment of the Department of Energy's new regulations by two weeks and let the Department of Commerce step in first."

"I don't care what they do, just give me a solution to get things settled by Friday."

The assistant nodded and wrote everything down.

The document was then gently placed in the center of the desk.

"Yes, Madam Deputy Secretary."

(End of this chapter)