The anti-American vanguard starts in Mexico!

Qi Yun gave the man in front of him a meaningful look again, then pointed to the Tissot Le Locle watch on his wrist: "Not bad taste."

He had captured one of these watches on the battlefield before, and it was worth about five or six hundred dollars.

Martinelli gave an awkward smile and scratched his head. "Sir, I borrowed this watch from a friend. I wanted to look more formal to show my respect for you."

"To be honest, I'm in serious financial trouble. I'm very poor, so I desperately need this job..."

Qi Yun wasn't sure if this so-called "borrowing" was simply what it sounded like, so she probed further, "Then tell me, because of poverty, what lowly things have you done?"

Martinelli hesitated for a moment, then stammered, "I can't afford to get married, so I'll have to borrow my neighbor's..."

Qi Yun was visibly shaken upon hearing this!

Are you fucking humble or despicable?

"I also solicited prostitutes without paying..."

"However, this was not my intention. I will pay them back when I have the money in the future."

"Enough!" Qi Yun raised his hand to interrupt, giving him a deep look.

This guy is quite good at the art of language.

Although there are some minor moral flaws, at least the person is honest.

People like that would be considered law-abiding citizens in Mexico.

Do you use illegal drugs?

Martinelli was startled, then shook his head violently: "No! I won't! Sir, I swear, I will never touch that stuff!"

Qi Yun nodded slightly, guessing that this guy probably didn't have the means.

If you dare to borrow things from those drug dealers, getting caught will be more than just a beating.

"Pick it up and load it." Qi Yun pulled the Glock 19 from his back waist and placed it on the table.

Martinelli looked at the black pistol, his throat moved, and then he reached out and gripped the handle.

He clumsily used his left hand to pull the slide, his movements stiff. It took him two tries to pull it all the way up with a "click," and the bullet was pushed into the chamber.

The whole process was clumsy and awkward, showing no signs of proficiency whatsoever.

"Congratulations, you've been hired." Qi Yun took the gun back from his hand.

Martinelli froze, his face filled with astonishment: "Sir... what did you say?"

"I said, you're hired." Qi Yun removed the magazine with one hand, then tapped the bottom of the slide with his heel. With a "click," the bullet in the chamber jumped out and he caught it in mid-air.

The movements were swift and decisive, leaving Martinelli momentarily stunned.

"Weekly wage 1000 pesos. Report to checkpoint number 4 the day after tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

1000 pesos per week, 4000 pesos per month, which is about 300 US dollars.

Even so, this was enough to make Martinelli ecstatic.

He jumped to his feet and awkwardly saluted Qi Yun: "Yes, sir!"

"Also, let me set a rule for you: from now on, you are not allowed to 'borrow' other people's things anymore; as your superior, such behavior would make me feel ashamed!" Qi Yun emphasized solemnly.

Martinelli gave an awkward smile and stood at attention again: "Yes, sir! I assure you!"

"Okay, go ahead." Qi Yun waved his hand.

He had low expectations for these hired police officers; all he needed was a clean background and the ability to help with basic tasks.

Combat ability is not the main focus; it can be developed gradually later.

Besides, with only three or five hundred a month, what more could you ask for?

What Qi Yun truly hoped for was for the butcher to introduce the two warriors.

Several more people came for interviews, and Qi Yun selected three men and one woman from them. The principle remained the same: all of them had relatively clean backgrounds.

Around noon, an unfamiliar number called.

"Hello there."

"I am the butcher's friend, and I have arrived in Tijuana. Let's meet there."

Qi Yun immediately gave the hotel's name and asked the other party to come over now.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang.

Qi Yun looked through the peephole and saw two men standing outside the door. Even through the door, he could feel the aura emanating from them that was different from that of ordinary people.

The man in front was tall and muscular, like a brown bear standing upright. He wore a tight black T-shirt, had a fleshy face, and sharp eyes.

The one behind him was slightly shorter but more wiry, with a blank expression on his face, wearing a suit, and looking remarkably like Jason Statham.

The door opened, and Qi Yun ushered the two inside.

With just one glance, he was certain that this was the person he needed.

That kind of aura can't be faked.

Like a battle blade whose luster has been worn away, leaving only pure killing intent.

Calm and reserved, yet capable of slitting one's throat at any moment.

This is something that has truly been forged in blood and fire.

"What's your name?" Qi Yun asked directly, closing the door.

"Just call me Bull," the big guy mumbled, pointing to his companion. "This is Razor."

The man called Razor didn't speak, but nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over every corner of the room before finally settling on Qi Yun, lingering for a moment as if assessing him.

"Sit down," Qi Yun said, pointing to the sofa.

After the three sat down, Qi Yun cut to the chase and said, "The butcher has probably told you all about my situation. It's very risky, but I will pay you a fair share of the rewards."

"What did you say?"

"Excuse me for being blunt, but the only reason we're here is because of the butcher," Bull shrugged, saying without any politeness. "Our jobs in America are easy, $800 a week, plus two days off. I really can't think of any reason to take this risk."

"Buddy, say something that will convince us, or we're going back."

Qi Yun wasn't annoyed by the other party's attitude. He smiled, slowly shook his head, and said with undisguised contempt, "Being a watchdog for those rich people, or doing clean-up work for PMC, is indeed easy."

Upon hearing this, the two people sitting opposite each other felt offended, and their eyes instantly sharpened.

The bull's face was taut, and Razor's eyes were slightly narrowed.

The atmosphere suddenly became somewhat tense.

Qi Yun seemed oblivious, twirling the lighter in his hand, and continued, "But I don't think that's the kind of work people like you should be doing."

"Staying in that kind of environment, without respect, repeating the same unchallenging tasks every day, watching your best skills slowly become rusty... that's the greatest waste of your life, a form of slow suicide!"

He grew increasingly excited as he spoke, his voice filled with passion, "I cannot tolerate such excellent soldiers as you being thrown into a corner and rusting like scrap metal!"

"You are the stars! The spotlight is your stage, not that damned manor!"

"You are Mexicans too, aren't you? Your suffering compatriots need you to stand up and save them! You should be heroes, shining brightly on the real battlefield! You should be revered by thousands! Let everyone see your glory!"

"Instead of slowly fading away like this, I feel heartbroken for you..."

The expressions on Bull and Razor's faces softened without them realizing it. They looked at each other and stared at one another.

Their expressions seemed to say, "So, we're the main characters after all?"

.....