Farming Life Starting in Africa

As for the ubiquitous nitrous oxide boost, Rosen wouldn't bother installing it.

He doesn't lack that instantaneous straight-line sprint speed at all. This deeply optimized V12 engine, with nearly 600 horsepower, is more than enough for him to squander. Even if he keeps pushing the engine to its limits, it can last for a long time.

After the vehicle underwent lightweight modifications, its weight was reduced to 1.2 tons, resulting in an absurdly high power-to-weight ratio.

More importantly, he installed bulletproof material in the lining of the car body, so as long as he doesn't do anything reckless, ordinary gunfire won't be able to harm the car.

The trunk of this Aston Martin DB9 was packed full, with MP5 submachine guns and standard pistols neatly stacked, ample ammunition, portable explosives, fragmentation grenades, several miniature reconnaissance drones, and a large pile of gleaming triangular nails.

In Rosen's eyes, the triangular nail is the ultimate, unbeatable tool for dealing with car chases on highways, bar none.

In a high-speed car chase, where vehicles often travel at speeds of one or two hundred kilometers per hour, even with his marksmanship, it's inevitable that he'll miss the mark.

However, if a set of road spikes is scattered on the road, no matter how skilled the other driver is or how fast they can drive, running over the road spikes means elimination.

There were no long guns because the DB9's trunk space was too small to fit anything longer, so he had to prioritize storing the more useful weapons and equipment.

Rosen tossed the portable mask-making machine, which he had gotten for free from the CIA, into the passenger seat.

As for the Porsche 911 GT3 RS that he had just acquired, he put it into his capsule space.

After all, he had promised Gisele that he would modify the car.

He had already scanned the Porsche 911, and it has to be said that the original track foundation is really well done. There aren't many things that can be optimized or modified, after all, it's a car that has been tested on the track.

The reason Diogo performed so poorly when driving it before was purely because his driving skills were too terrible; he simply couldn't handle this beast and wasted the car's performance.

Lawson focuses on deep lightweighting of the entire vehicle, while simultaneously improving the material strength of all original parts, reinforcing the body, and raising the limits of the vehicle, so that the vehicle can still maintain stable output under full-load extreme driving conditions, without drifting, shaking, or breaking down.

During a break, Rosen was still tinkering with the production of dirty bombs.

This forbidden weapon may be something you never use in your life, but you absolutely cannot be without it.

Especially before he had control over something as precious as nuclear weapons, dirty bombs were his best strategic deterrent.

With the help of the universal platform, he repeatedly debugged and tested it several times, and finally successfully assembled a qualified dirty bomb explosive device.

To ensure safety and stability, he carefully placed the plutonium material in a sealed glove box before loading it into the explosive device, thus completing the assembly of the entire dirty bomb.

However, this thing is too sensitive, and he doesn't have a suitable place to test its specific power yet.

Time flew by, daylight faded, and the deep darkness of night completely enveloped the entire suburban wasteland. A cool evening breeze swept across the deserted parking lot, the weeds swayed in the wind, and the surroundings were eerily quiet.

As soon as Rosen stepped out of the capsule space and regained his footing, his eyes turned cold, and he sensed that something was wrong.

The four men stood apart, circling the car and looking it over with shifty eyes; they were clearly up to no good.

Rosen frowned slightly and walked over.

He spotted a bald Asian man squatting by the car door, holding a thin wire in his hand. He skillfully inserted the wire into the gap in the door, tentatively trying to pry open the internal lock cylinder, as if he was about to open the door.

"What are you doing?"

A cold voice suddenly rang out, and the four men froze, instantly stopping what they were doing and turning to look at Rosen as he slowly walked over.

One of the Asian men with a small mustache was the first to approach, feigning composure, but speaking broken English with an extremely strange accent that sounded particularly awkward: "Please leave here, we are dealing with a lost vehicle."

That heavy, strange accent instantly revealed the other person's background to Rosen. He narrowed his eyes slightly, his tone carrying a hint of playful coldness: "Jap?"

In English, this term is similar to saying "Japanese devils".

The bearded man's face instantly turned ashen, a flash of anger crossing his eyes, but wary of the towering Rosen, he forcibly suppressed his rage and repeated curtly, "Please leave!"

Rosen glanced down at the wire that was already wedged into the gap of the car door and was about to unlock it, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Sorry, this is my car."

Upon hearing this, the remaining three Asian men simultaneously looked up at Rosen, their faces filled with astonishment. The man with the small mustache's expression changed drastically; he instantly lost his composure and muttered, "Baka!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he quietly reached behind him, seemingly trying to pull out something to get Rosen to give up ownership of the car.

But his movements were ridiculously slow compared to Rosen's.

Almost the instant he raised his hand, Rosen flicked his wrist and drew an M1911 pistol from a quickdraw holster under his arm. The black muzzle was firmly locked onto the bearded man's forehead, and his tone was icy cold and devoid of any warmth: "Now, kneel down."

The cold muzzle of the gun was pressed against his forehead, and the oppressive feeling of death made his back soaked with cold sweat.

The other three exchanged glances, completely panicked, and dared not resist in the slightest. Their legs went weak, and they knelt on the ground in unison, their movements unusually practiced, clearly indicating that they were people who had been bowing their heads and admitting defeat for many years.

Rosen glanced at the group's synchronized kneeling posture and smirked slightly.

"Tell me, why were you targeting my car?"

The little mustache kneeling on the ground blinked, forcing an innocent expression, and said in his still-torturous, broken English, "This is our territory, and all the cars parked here belong to us."

Rosen's head throbbed slightly as he listened, and he thought to himself: The Japanese accent is really ridiculous, comparable to the Indian accent. Every word was quite difficult for him to understand.

"Your territory? Which gang?" Rosen asked patiently.

The man with the mustache straightened up, knelt on the ground, and immediately puffed out his chest, striking a confident pose. He said in a deep voice, "We are from the Mainland Hotel."

Rosen chuckled upon hearing this, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He casually pulled out a gleaming gold coin from the Continental Hotel, tossed it lightly in his palm twice, the coin reflecting a dazzling light as it rose and fell.

"What a coincidence, I also work for a hotel in mainland China."