I'm building Gundams in America

"Damn it!"

David, who was driving, cursed and pulled over to the side of the road.

Mike silently raised his hands and placed them where they could be seen, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

The police car stopped behind, and a white police officer in uniform got out, flashlight in hand. He gripped his gun holster and spoke sternly to Mike and David, who were sitting in the front seat:

"Please show me your driver's license."

David, with both hands on the steering wheel and head held high, asked:

"Officer, can you tell me why this is happening? We weren't speeding, we weren't driving recklessly, we were just fucking listening to music while driving."

The burly white police officer shouted:

"Show me your identification immediately!"

David looked speechless and reached into his pocket to touch his ID.

"Put your hands where I can see them!"

The white police officer yelled and instantly drew his gun from his waist.

David and Mike, who had been wearing a playful expression, instantly tensed up.

As Black people, they understand all too well what it means to be pointed at by a white police officer on the street.

The other party possesses almost unlimited law enforcement power.

"Sir, we have no weapons. My hands are here..." David gripped the steering wheel again, and Mike also raised his hands, not daring to move.

"Now, show me your identification! If you try anything funny, I will immediately open fire for obstructing official business," the white police officer said again.

Mike and David exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with frustration and anger, but they had no choice but to do as they were told, slowly reaching into their pockets while showing their hands.

Just as their hands touched the pockets, the other person shouted again:

"Put your hands where I can see you! You damn thieves, are you trying to assault a police officer!?"

Upon hearing this demand, which was clearly a deliberate mockery, David trembled with rage, while Mike's face showed a look of despair.

They realized that the other party was simply looking for trouble.

They might even be there to take their lives!

A flicker of mockery, like toying with prey, and a sense of superiority flashed in the white police officer's eyes, before he reprimanded:

"Cooperate with the inspection immediately and show your identification! Or are you trying to resist the law?!"

David clenched his teeth, his hands gripping the steering wheel, veins bulging, ready to get out of the car and argue with the other party regardless of the consequences.

Mike quickly tried to dissuade him:

"David, brother! Calm down! That's exactly what he wants you to do!"

He had heard of this scenario of white police officers provoking and angering black drivers many times before, but he never expected to experience it himself this time.

If David loses his temper and does something else, the other party will definitely use the excuse that "the driver is suspected of drawing a gun" to immediately open fire.

They will both die a horrible death in the street immediately!

It could even be said that the two of them had instantly reached a critical juncture of life and death.

"Jansen," a faint voice suddenly came from the back seat, breaking the deathly silence, "how is Emily's illness?"

The white police officer hesitated for a moment, then pointed his gun at the back seat and shouted:

"Who is it? Who's there!?"

The tinted rear window slowly rolled down, revealing a black-haired, black-eyed man holding a phone and recording a video.

Upon recognizing the other person's skin color, the white police officer, Jason, widened his eyes in surprise, then angrily exclaimed:

"Put down your phone! Put down this damn phone!"

Wayne, holding up his phone, recorded a video while saying:

"Jansen, think about Emily, think about the children. You don't want to be sued for abusing your power due to racial discrimination, do you? Like your former partner, Abbott?"

Jason shuddered, as if struck by lightning; his hand holding the gun trembled slightly as he said:

"How did you know...?"

Wayne continued:

"I've already filmed what just happened and sent it to my friend. Tsk tsk, standard selective discriminatory law enforcement. They've done this a lot in Alabama before."

"Think about the kids. If you're taken to court and fired, your house will be auctioned off, and your kids will be sent to foster care—you know what that is."

Are you sure you really want to do this?

Upon hearing the other person recount their family background and friends in detail, Jason felt a chill run down his spine and asked:

"How did you know...?"

Wayne casually handed over a document and said:

"I'm a temporary body collector employed by St. Mary's Biotechnology Company. These two gentlemen are my assistants. We made some money today, and our supervisor, Charlotte, just witnessed us leaving the company..."

"And you, Jason, you just conducted a routine check, found nothing wrong, and let her go. This way, Emily can take her medication regularly, and the children retain their complete family. What do you think of this suggestion?"

Jason felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar, and looked at Wayne as if he were looking at a demon.

He took the identification Wayne handed him, glanced at it quickly, then hurriedly put away his gun, handed the identification back to Wayne, and said with a fake smile:

"So you're just body collectors, sir. I think this must be a misunderstanding. Thank you for your cooperation, and I sincerely wish you a pleasant evening..."

As he spoke, he turned to leave as if fleeing.

But then he heard Wayne's voice behind him, which made him stop in his tracks again:

"Officer Jason, I think I should get your contact information. It'll be good for both of us... How much did that guy pay you? I can pay double."

Jason shuddered, then forced a smile and said:

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir..."

Wayne looked him straight in the eye and said slowly, word by word:

"I need your phone number."

Jason took a deep breath. Although the man in front of him looked very gentle and seemingly harmless, he felt like a devil.

It reminded him of some of the big shots he had met: drug lords, godfathers, and powerful senators.

Thinking back to what the other person had just said, he unconsciously pulled out a pen, tore off a ticket, hastily wrote down a line of numbers, handed it to Wayne, and said:

"Sir, please accept my apologies. I didn't know you were in the car. Please forgive me... If you need any assistance, please don't hesitate to ask..."

Then he fled as if he were running away.

The other party had all his family information, so he had no way to escape.

Now he just wishes he had never been here tonight.

The police car sped away, completely turning off its siren and lights, as if fleeing the most vicious demon.

After the white police officer, Jason, left, Mike and David breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at Wayne with surprise.

"God, brother, who...who are you? Why is he so afraid of you? Are you a hidden Mafia godfather?"

"Hey bro, did you see that fucking racist cop's face? It looks like Justin Bieber just spent three days and three nights partying at Puff Daddy!"

Just now, Wayne slowly rolled down the car window and said those words in a deep voice, making the other party obediently comply. He was even more like the Godfather of the Mafia than the Godfather himself.

Of course, it would be even better if this beat-up Toyota sedan were replaced with a black Mercedes-Benz.

Wayne shook his head slightly with a serious expression and said:

"Brothers, this is serious. We've been completely targeted."

He had just seen Jensen's profile on the panel; besides his personal information, there was only the last sentence:

[Having accepted bribes from Jimmy, an enforcer of the Dark Court, he came to provoke us.]

Your title, Royal Rebel, has been increased by 3%.