Working as a police officer in Mexico

Before he could finish speaking, Elvis suddenly interjected, "Hey, don't thank us, we're just following Mr. Pablo's orders, not here to help you."

Ethan's smile slowly faded.

"Also, I don't trust a pretty boy's plan. We'll handle our own team's operations, you don't need to worry about it. You just lay low at home, ok?"

"You get that?"

"3."

Ethan Hunt softly called out the number, and beside him, Benjamin, not understanding why, suddenly saw the former grab the ashtray from the coffee table, stand up, and swing it backward!

Directly hitting the head.

He grabbed Elvis's shaking neck, pressed it against the coffee table, and with a ferocious face, started smashing it onto his head, "Fuck!"

"Your mother X! I gave you three chances, and you're still babbling. What do you take me for? A soft persimmon?"

After three hits, the ashtray was smashed to pieces, you could see the bone on his face.

Benjamin jumped to his feet with a start.

"You motherfucking X! Sit down, do you want to get hit too?" Ethan Hunt pointed at him with bloodshot eyes, "Say one more word, and I'll beat you too!"

Gulp...

That look in his eyes...

Benjamin considered himself a killer elite, but even he was a bit frightened by that look, as if it could swallow him whole.

Crash! Shhh!

The three-centimeter thick glass ashtray cracked open.

Ethan Hunt let go, and the other man's body slumped to the ground. He stepped on that face, "Remember, Blanco is my... lover!"

"I'm her husband. If you don't respect me, it means you don't respect her. No matter who you are, I'll fuck you over. I've been very polite to you, why are you so rude!"

"Did I offend him? Did I?"

This accusing voice made Benjamin's old face redden. Facing his gaze, Benjamin stammered, "Elvis wrote love letters to Blanco, and Blanco despised him for being ugly..."

So that's how it is!

Even a fat pig despises you for your looks!

Do you think everyone has the talent to be a gigolo?
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Do you think just anyone can make a woman happy?

Ethan Hunt fell silent for a moment, "This is the last time. If he disrespects me again, I'll kill him, and even Mr. Pablo will have nothing to say." With that, he stepped off, "Take him away. Tomorrow, we're going to Mexico!"

Benjamin nodded and helped Elvis to find a doctor.

Ethan collapsed onto the sofa. That's how you deal with drug traffickers: to get them to listen to you, you have to be more ruthless than they are. Even if this gets to Pablo's ears, he was only upholding his "wife's" reputation.

As for why so fierce?

Are Latin American men gentle?

Pablo might even praise him for doing a beautiful job.

Thud, thud, thud.

Ethan Hunt abruptly looked up, only to see Corleone holding his teddy bear at the stair's corner. They looked at each other for a moment before the other dashed upstairs.

"You'll meet your mother soon enough!"

Ethan muttered softly to himself.

Corleone?

You think you're the Godfather just because you have that name?

In front of Mr. Victor, even the real Italian Mafia kneels!

You've lived long enough. It's just that I, Ethan Hunt, am kind at heart. If the boss were here, he would bury you on the spot.

This is called eradicating the roots!

He leaned back on the sofa, needing to think carefully about how to get this group of people killed in Mexico.

But...

Casare is no good guy either. Should he just kill him outright?

And then pin it on Pablo.

Hmm...

...

"Achoo!"

Following behind Victor, Fat Casare couldn't help but shiver, sneezing.

"What's wrong? Caught a cold?" the boss ahead of him turned to ask.

"It's nothing, maybe someone is thinking about me," Casare said with a smile.

Victor nodded, entering the banquet hall. Outside, they could hear noises, but as soon as they entered, everyone inside suddenly fell silent.

Journalists from the Mexican News Agency were recording the scene, planning to broadcast during prime time. The camera captured Victor with a "benevolent" smile on his face, raising his hand to greet everyone.

A young white man suddenly jumped up and then raised his hand, "Hi! Victor!"

That's not right!

It shouldn't be like this!

Victor's expression froze for a moment, glancing at the journalist, Casare hurriedly went over and patted the young man on the shoulder, whispering something in his ear.

The journalist agreed very understandingly to delete the footage!

This couldn't be leaked.

But who knew, after the young white man spoke, others also stood up.

The chanting suddenly resounded through the entire banquet hall.

Americans...

Do they play this directly?

You should be saluting.

"Such a spirited young man," Victor could only smile and say, as he gently clapped.

"Sir!"

The young Caucasian suddenly left his seat and walked over. He was stopped by bodyguards, but Victor gestured for them not to intervene. The man jogged over, his eyes gleaming as he looked at Victor, his voice shaking with excitement.

"Don't be nervous, what's your name?"

"Forest Gan!" said the other party excitedly.

Victor patted his shoulder, "That's a fine name, Mexico welcomes you, sir."

My idol called me sir!

Forest Gan's eyes were ablaze with hope, "May I ask, when will you liberate the United States? When will you come to the United States for drug prohibition?"

That question caught Victor off guard.

Is your "sect" so radical?

Have I become a conservative myself?

"My personal power is very limited, as you know. The drug traffickers in Mexico and Colombia collude with each other, attempting to create a world filled with drugs. This is something I cannot tolerate; I am determined to fight them to the death."

Victor looked at them, "Perhaps, I will die in battle, or maybe my head will be hung from a bridge."

"No, sir, you won't fail!" shouted Forest Gan.

"Even if I am destined to fail, I won't fall and surrender. This vibrant world is mine, and it's yours, ultimately, it's yours. Of course, I want to offer any help I can to the United States, but I have to guard the gates of North America, my power is very limited."

"Then let us join you!"

Forest Gan thumped his chest, "Sir, I've served in the 1st Brigade of the 82nd Airborne Division of the U.S. Military. I've fought in Panama. After retiring, I enrolled at Cornell University to study philosophy. I have the ability and confidence to contribute to the drug prohibition cause!"

Now that's a talent!

The 1st Brigade of the 82nd Airborne Division?

They are elite forces.

In the "Just Cause" operation in 1999, which overthrew Noriega's military regime, this brigade was at the forefront.

Who would have thought...

This Ah Gan is so incredible?

And he got into Cornell University.

If he graduates normally, maybe he's a surefire political elite!

With military service experience, being Caucasian, a graduate of an Ivy League University, and majoring in philosophy... a field most suitable for a political career, it's like he's got all the BUFFs stacked up!

Sending him to the drug prohibition front line would be such a waste.

Is it possible... to support a hopeful political newcomer in the United States?

Victor's expression shifted as he scanned him with his Golden Finger.

Forest Gan!

22 years old!

Formerly served in the 1st Brigade of the 82nd Airborne Division of the U.S. Military, killed 37 enemies in battle, saved 6 wounded comrades, and was awarded the Medal of Honor after the war!

...

Come on, man...

Are you playing with me?

You didn't mention the Medal of Honor?

Why so low-key?

With such a record, you definitely need to go into politics!

Victor too, looked at him with gleaming eyes.

"You are a true warrior, Gan."

"Thank you!" the other party said happily.

"But real warriors need to unite more people, make a louder noise, stir up greater sentiment. We need the whole society to support us."

Victor placed his hand on his shoulder, as if to transfer power to him.

"I think you are very suitable to be a politician because you have enough conscience."

"A politician?" Ah Gan frowned.

"Position determines how loud your voice can be, don't you think?"

The other party thought for a moment, nodded slowly with a troubled look, "But I still need to study."

"Then start making your voice heard at school and in society first."

"Like...?"

"Organize a series of lectures within Ivy League Schools. I believe in your oratory skills. You can definitely get more conscientious elite members to join this war. You don't have to worry about any financial issues."

"Leave the money matters to us. What you need to do is to call for action!"

"Call for drug prohibition!"

"Call for... the CIA to conduct selections overseas, just like what they did with Noriega in Panama, to capture all these drug-trafficking warlords in one fell swoop!"

Give those idiots some extra work to do.

Won't stop annoying you until you're dead.

I'm putting the money up; we have to lift Ah Gan up.

Don't Europeans and Americans just love creating idol campaigns?

Things like environmental protection, human rights, and such? I'll just go with drug prohibition!

Let's see who is more politically correct!

...