The Middle East: From War Correspondent to Middle Eastern Influencer

Wu Hen wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes flashing with an undisguised fervor—a primal instinct hidden within a man's body.

A 10-second warning of a crisis may sound short, but on the ever-changing modern battlefield, those 10 seconds can be the difference between life and death!

As long as this function exists, it's as if he possesses the ability to foresee the future, allowing him to avoid the vast majority of random deaths on the battlefield.

More importantly, the system indicates that this feature can be upgraded! What if it could provide a warning 30 seconds or even a minute in advance? Wouldn't that make it invincible?

After resting for about five minutes and confirming that the bombing was over, Wu Hen struggled to get up, picked up the motorcycle that was also smashed to pieces, and surprisingly, it could still be started. He pushed it out of the underground garage.

The sky outside had darkened, and the night sky was illuminated as if it were daytime by the firelight burning everywhere.

Wu Hen found a two-story building that was half collapsed, hid the motorcycle behind the ruins on the first floor, and climbed up the stairs to a secluded corner on the second floor.

The view from here is relatively open, allowing you to observe the surrounding activity, while the load-bearing wall behind you provides good cover.

He took off his tactical backpack and pulled out a satellite phone, which he had found in the storage room.

I pressed the power button, the screen lit up, and the signal search icon spun a few times before finally stabilizing.

Wu Hen immediately dialed the emergency contact line of Al Arabiya's Dubai headquarters.

The phone was answered after only two rings, and the frantic voice of Hassan, the news director, came through the receiver: "This is Dubai headquarters! Who are you? Which one of us from the Libyan bureau? Speak!"

"Director Hassan, I am Wu Hen." Wu Hen's voice was very calm, so calm that even he himself was somewhat surprised.

"Wu Hen? An intern?!" Hassan's voice was filled with disbelief. "God above! You're still alive! We completely lost contact with the Tripoli branch two hours ago. The building where the branch was located was ransacked by militants. Where is Mohammed? Is he with you?"

"No, he was filming outside when the upheaval broke out. I couldn't contact him anymore. The branch office was destroyed. I only managed to escape by luck." Wu Hen gave a brief report on the general situation.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

"Listen, Wu Hen, it's a miracle you survived," Hassan's tone softened slightly. "Now that you've escaped, find a way to get to a seaport or the border immediately. Headquarters will contact the local Red Cross and mercenaries to try and evacuate you from Libya. This war is out of control."

"Evacuate?"

"That's right!" Hassan's voice became agitated again. "The situation is a complete mess! The multinational bombing has driven Gaddafi completely mad; he's hunting down Western journalists and pro-Western media personnel nationwide!"

At this point, Hassan sighed heavily: "What's worse is that the core conflict zone isn't just Tripoli anymore, there's also Benghazi! That's the opposition's stronghold, the whole world's eyes are on Benghazi, but all our highly paid veteran war correspondents are rushing to the border right now, not a single one dares to take on a reporting assignment to Benghazi!"

"Benghazi?"

He recalled the dangerous sign-in he had just experienced; it seemed the system's sign-in system did have different levels.

In the outer firefight zone of Tripoli, just a single "dangerous check-in" granted him an incredible buff that allowed him to survive with bulletproof vests and fast movement.

So, what about Benghazi, the epicenter of the current storm in Libya and even the entire Middle East? The danger there is definitely ten or even a hundred times greater than it is now! If you could complete a check-in there, what level of reward would the system give?

Heavy weaponry? Enhanced combat skills? Or an even more overpowered buff?

Fortune and honor are found in danger; this is a wise saying left by our ancestors.

"Director Hassan," Wu Hen made up his mind, "I'm willing to go to Benghazi."

There was a full five-second pause on the other end of the phone before Hassan screamed, "Are you crazy?! Wu Hen! You're just a 22-year-old intern! You haven't undergone professional battlefield survival training! Go to Benghazi? The survival rate there is less than 10%! You'll die! Headquarters would never approve such a suicidal act!"

"I've already survived the looting of Tripoli. The fact that I survived piles of corpses proves I have the ability," Wu Hen said. "Besides, Director, don't you want firsthand information?"

Silence fell again on the other end of the phone.

Without waiting for his reply, Wu Hen continued, "However, I want the highest level of salary and allowances, Director. What do you think?" He still needed to fight for the benefits he was entitled to.

But as the director of the news department, Hassan knew all too well what firsthand footage from Benghazi meant: it meant viewership ratings and exposure in the international media arena!

"Are you really sure you want to go?" Hassan swallowed hard, his tone shifting from disapproval to probing.

"I'm sure. Send me the contact information for the Benghazi opposition's intelligence contacts. Also, find a way to transfer some funds to my account; I need to buy some necessities."

"Great! As long as you can get the footage, the bonuses and allowances will definitely satisfy you! And I can make you a full-time employee! Become the chief war correspondent for Al Arabiya!" Hassan agreed through gritted teeth.

Money? Position? Those are merely byproducts. Others avoid this battlefield like the plague, but he is passionate about it!

After taking out a high-calorie chocolate bar from his backpack and eating it, and drinking half a bottle of mineral water, Wu Hen felt his strength returning somewhat.

He put his backpack back on, went downstairs, got on the off-road motorcycle, checked the direction, and sped off towards Benghazi in the east under the cover of night.

The night wind howled as the motorcycle sped along the dilapidated road. To avoid government checkpoints and combat zones, he had to frequently deviate from the main road and circle around the desolate Gobi Desert and its edges.

"Tsk! Cough cough!"

The engine coughed violently a few times before stalling completely. The powerless motorcycle slid for more than ten meters on the gravel road before slowly coming to a stop.

It's a miracle that the little bit of fuel left in the car's tank allowed it to travel this far.

Wu Hen raised his head and looked around; night had completely fallen.

Ahead lay a desolate Gobi Desert, where the temperature was plummeting. After the daytime heat subsided, the desert nights grew cold.

Even more deadly, from the darkness not far from him, a wolf howl could be faintly heard, followed by several dark green lights appearing and disappearing on the distant sand dunes.

His motorcycle was totaled, and he was all alone in the desolate wilderness as night fell.