Working as a police officer in Mexico

Illinois, Chicago.

The rain was pouring down...

Even heavier than when Yiping demanded her living expenses back in the day.

But on that famous Michigan Avenue, it's an intersection with heavy foot traffic, lined with shops and companies on both sides.

Holding coffee, the elites upstairs stood by the windows, curiously observing the stage set up below and the man passionately speaking on it.

"Mr. Donald Rumsfeld was assassinated by the Democratic Party two months ago! He died in the White House. What wrong did he commit to be treated this way..."

Wearing glasses, the 60-year-old Philz Rumsfeld shouted loudly, his face and body completely soaked, yet his voice remained high-pitched, "He merely loved this country, loved this society. He believed this country shouldn't be like this. Was he wrong?"

"What he did was precisely what a politician should do without losing patriotism or conscience!"

"Shameless!"

"The shameless Democratic Party indeed!!"

His voice was hoarse, and the surrounding journalists recorded the scene, while the citizens taking shelter from the rain under the eaves watched him, some with gradually serious expressions, furrowing their brows.

"Defense Minister Donald sacrificed his life, we must demand a price, justice!"

"It's those dirty and disgraceful means that cannot kill them completely!"

"Truth!"

"Always remains!"

Philz's voice was broadcasted, and this place was originally the base for the Rumsfeld Family, many people holding umbrellas emerged from all directions, gradually surrounding the stage with hundreds.

"Justice cannot be killed!!!" Suddenly, a woman from the United States raised her hand and shouted loudly, prompting others around her to join in the shouting.

In a shop directly facing the stage, a sign reading a certain convenience store hung above, but inside was all equipment...

The photographers captured every angle of Philz Rumsfeld clearly.

A short-haired woman looked very capable, squinted her eyes, and carefully stared at Philz on the stage, picking up a nearby intercom, "Number three, number three, it's your turn, number three."

Soon, near a trash can, a man in a trench coat stood. He flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and ran towards the stage, then from the crowd's perimeter, pulled out a gun and aimed at Philz, pulling the trigger.

Boom!

Bang bang!

The first bullet hit the shoulder, and a nearby bodyguard rushed forward to shield him. Security personnel hidden among the crowd pounced and pinned the assailant down, the subsequent shots missed completely.

The crowd panicked...

Screams scattered.

The police stationed in a distant car were also dumbfounded, soon shocked and rushed over.

Assassination!

Bodyguards lifted the injured Philz into a car and sped off, journalists chased after them, snapping photos. I mean...

The person with the most significant title in the Rumsfeld Family was actually shot, and during a speech no less, although this wasn't his first time criticizing the Democratic Party. Since returning from Mexico, he began accusing the Democratic Party of assassinating Donald on television, calling Clinton a sorry excuse.

This made the opposition very embarrassed, not hesitating to curse him as crazy more than once.

Is there an association involved?

Has the political atmosphere in the United States truly devolved into assassination?

In the car, Philz winced in pain, lifting his clothes to reveal a bulletproof vest beneath, but his ribs were severely hurt.

"Sir, here's the speech draft for the hospital entrance, you only need to say one sentence." The bodyguard in the front passenger seat handed over a piece of paper.

Philz glanced at it, his eyes lit up, nodding vigorously.

These were all members of the Victor Faction, including personnel from the U.S. intelligence department responsible for everything, from the persona to the language, arranged by someone...

This is called team packaging.

If a person isn't packaged, how will others recognize them?

Like the ancient upright moralist, Wang Xiang, lying on ice seeking carp, why did someone happen to see it? Why did it get spread?

His surname was Wang, the Wang of Langya Wang!

Victor specifically created a department behind the scenes to assist Philz, the citizens... are the easiest to deceive.

The car arrived at Chicago Hospital on time, where journalists were already waiting.

As he was carried down, a crowd rushed forward.

"Mr. Philz, why were you assassinated? Do you know who did it?"

Microphones were practically shoved into his mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

"If my death can awaken the United States, then let the storm come stronger, let my blood awaken the already gravely ill America!"

"Long live the United States!"

Seeing him finish reciting the "script," the security team leader pushed through the journalists, ran inside, where a doctor was already pushing a bed out, directly sending him into the operating room.

"Viewers, friends, we can see Philz's injuries should not be severe, but such assassination behavior is truly shameful and despicable, yet one must say, he is a man, a man truly willing to fight."

A male news reporter in Chicago shouted loudly at the live broadcast camera.

Inside the Michigan Avenue convenience store, the head of the Mexican intelligence sector's sixth division, Elisabeth Schlagermiller, held a coffee, watching TV reporters speak impassionedly, her expression somewhat satisfied.

It's truly worth the money slipped in.

"Director, the internet and print media have started portraying it, our company in Canada started printing, Europe is following suit, and within 2 hours, the news will spread worldwide," a subordinate walked over and said.