Chapter 17: The Unconventional Villain

Page 1/3

A few people in the pharmacy suddenly realized a serious issue that had been overlooked. Just because this inspector had efficiently eliminated the thugs from the Van Kang gang didn’t mean he was on their side.

If smuggling a few submachine guns meant a $100,000 fine or the death penalty, then by that standard, everyone present was facing a death sentence at minimum.

He could easily kill the Van Kang assassins, but he could also just as easily kill all of them.

Brandon swallowed hard, wondering if he could use his status as a police officer to ease the tension.

The “boss,” however, spoke calmly: “You could kill us all, take everything you want... but you didn’t. So, what is it that you want? Or what do you want us to do?”

Milton was a bit surprised. “I’m an inspector, not a terrorist. Don’t waste my time with nonsense. Here’s a tax form. Fill it out yourself. Since you’re first-time offenders and your intent isn’t malicious, I won’t impose a fine this time. But the taxes still need to be paid.”

With that, Milton tossed a tax form onto the table.

Even the “boss,” who had endured countless crises, was momentarily baffled. He scanned the form top to bottom and found nothing unusual.

It was just an ordinary tax form.

A ridiculous thought crossed the “boss’s” mind: Could it be that the inspector, wearing a bulletproof vest, shooting guns and tossing grenades, was really just here to audit taxes?

Had the border checkpoint gone completely mad?

After a moment’s consideration, the “boss” said cautiously, “But these medicines aren’t on the import list. In other words, this is all illegal income.”

Milton patiently reiterated for the third time, “I’m an inspector, not a cop. I’m not responsible for investigating the legality of your income. My job is simply to collect the taxes owed.”

Inspectors only investigate the legality of goods during border crossings. Once inside the country, such matters are supposed to be handed over to the police.

Inspectors come only to collect back taxes and fines. Whether or not they seize goods depends on whether the inspector wants to exploit the situation—after all, this is war-torn, lawless Guatemala, not some university campus.

Even the police often act like gangsters collecting protection money; jurisdictional divisions are just for show.

The pharmacy “boss” understood and immediately countered, “Twenty thousand dollars. Is that acceptable?”

Milton didn’t want to make things difficult for these sick, medicine-dependent people. He wasn’t eager to squeeze money from the poor, so he nodded. “That’s a reasonable amount.”

Seeing the quick acceptance, the “boss’s” eyes brightened and he hoarsely asked, “How about fifteen thousand?”

“You think this is a marketplace? Bargaining?”

“Eighteen thousand?”

“Get lost! Twenty thousand. Not a penny less, or I’ll shut down your black market pharmacy! I bet you’d even haggle with Satan himself if you went to hell!”

“...”

After collecting a large pile of assorted bills—dollars, pesos, quetzals, even Hong Kong dollars—Milton glanced around and tallied up his gains.

First, the “boss’s” $20,000 in cash and the corresponding 80,000 red points—the system had classified these drugs as Level One contraband.

Next, he now had free access to a heavily fortified underground pharmacy—a decent safe house with a sturdy structure, no risk of being stormed while sleeping, and half a medical logistics supply point.

Otherwise, with so many enemies watching him, Milton wouldn’t even know where to sleep!

There were also the patients needing medicine, Officer Brandon, and the “boss” himself... perhaps they could all become allies, or at least informants.

Page 2/3

The six TEC-9 submachine guns dropped by the assassins, along with a large cache of ammunition, could be used to arm trusted individuals.

With his own faction, more items would unlock for exchange in the system—light unarmored vehicles, most assault rifles, even small-caliber mortars could be redeemed with points now.

Unfortunately, armor-piercing rounds seemed unavailable for exchange at the moment—only standard bullets could be redeemed.

There was also a “blind box” belonging to one assassin, which according to him, contained at least $2,000.

In summary: a medical-logistics-equipped underground base, a group of comrades, a large sum of cash and red points, more items to exchange, and a stockpile of submachine guns and ammo.

The gains were rich, but most importantly, he finally had a secure enough base!

High risk really did come with high rewards.

With this small base, he could start establishing a foothold at the checkpoint... with Officer Brandon’s help, maybe even gain some influence in the police station.

In other words, perhaps in time he could settle down, cultivate resources, recruit armed personnel, and collect more taxes.

Life suddenly seemed promising.

As a sense of security gradually returned, Milton fantasized about the future, but fatigue and drowsiness overwhelmed him instantly.

“First, get some sleep. Then deal with other things. I also need to arrange care for little Leah.”

Her mother was a fallen soldier; by all rights, her child deserved care.

Milton left the room, intending to remove his gear and rest briefly.

Just as his hand reached behind to take off his tactical backpack, a notification suddenly popped up on his panel without warning.

Like a forced pop-up alert!

His panel had never displayed a message like this before.

Milton was stunned.

What was going on?

[Your informant Horn at the checkpoint has received intelligence marked “Critical,” verified as “Critical.” Host is currently not in an emergency state, so a forced alert is issued.]

[Horn reports a suspected Van Kang gang SUV (black Chevrolet Suburban) passing through the checkpoint, carrying five individuals heading toward Malacan town. Several long guns observed, one person wearing body armor.]

[Estimated arrival near Old Street in 30 minutes.]

“...”

Seeing this message, Milton felt his blood run cold, and his drowsiness vanished instantly.

Instead, overwhelming confusion filled his mind.

How could Van Kang suddenly be sending people again? Was this never-ending?

And this time, they’d sent an obviously stronger combat team.

Long guns, body armor...

His side’s equipment advantage was gone.

Could it be reinforcements for the assassins...? Impossible. This was a surprise attack; Van Kang wouldn’t know the base had been raided, nor that the six-man assassin squad had been wiped out.

Page 3/3

Van Kang’s only information at this time was the failure of the assassination attempt, so there was no way they sent reinforcements knowing the assassin squad had been ambushed.

Could it be...

Milton considered a possibility: Van Kang realized the failed assassination would put him on high alert. Six assassins with submachine guns could ambush one person, but launching a full assault on someone holed up indoors, alert and armed with an automatic rifle, would incur heavy losses.

Therefore, upon hearing the failed ambush, Van Kang immediately sent a stronger force to support and prepare for a full assault.

In other words, this reinforcement team was unaware the base had already been wiped out; they were coming to raid the black pharmacy and join with their comrades!

With this realization, Milton calmed down.

“This is the biggest information gap—I must use it! When they enter the pharmacy, they won’t be greeted by comrades, but by my counterattack!”

In open field combat, Milton facing this group would be doomed... but inside, there was still hope!

There was still a chance!

So many unexpected twists had happened recently; things never went as planned. The enemy never acted as expected, which trained Milton to quickly calm himself in the face of surprises.

“Who exactly is the Van Kang boss? They sent eleven men, armed with long guns and body armor, just to kill me? Isn’t that a bit overcautious? Seems the batch of goods I seized really hit them hard.”

This gang was quick in action, no doubt.

If Milton hadn’t developed Horn as a temporary informant, and if his panel hadn’t relayed this timely warning, and if he had just gone to sleep, he would have died tonight!

There was no escape... fleeing would mean losing the black pharmacy base, losing his inspector status, and losing the panel’s assistance—he would only die faster.

The base had to be held. His identity had to be preserved!

He had to fight. He had to struggle!

Breathing room was earned through battle, not escape!

No firepower advantage? No matter... let these hillbilly gangsters see just how brutal indoor combat really is!

Within 30 minutes, Milton would turn this underground pharmacy into a bloody meat grinder—no matter how many came, that many would die!

Milton took a deep breath, donned his tactical helmet, and returned to the underground second floor, pushing open the pharmacy door.

At that moment, Brandon was trying to comfort little Leah, who was deeply distressed and quietly sobbing.

The “boss” immediately noticed Milton’s expression and stood up at once. “What’s wrong?”

The inspector’s face was off!

What had happened?

Milton glanced at the others in the pharmacy, then at Leah, and said, “All non-essential personnel evacuate immediately. I just received reliable intelligence—Van Kang gang is coming. They’ll arrive in 30 minutes.”

“Oh, and when I came in earlier, I tied up an old man at the door. Don’t forget to take him with you when you leave.”