Chapter 22: Mailed Citations

Thirty minutes later.

Swish... Swish...

In the vast basement, the two men silently collected the various relics left behind.

For Milton, the losses from this battle were catastrophic. Of his three expensive sets of heavy body armor, one was a total loss and two were severely damaged. Combining the remaining intact plates, he was left with effectively only one and a half sets. His MP5 was broken, two shells were spent, and countless bullets and grenades had been expended. Most importantly, he had lost a teammate who was relatively reliable in combat and possessed intimate knowledge of the local environment and the underground market—a loss that no amount of supplies could replace.

Milton sighed, his heart aching, and began to tally the spoils.

First was a set of ABA Xtreme IV level-four body armor with all back plates intact, and an FN FAL 50.00 automatic rifle.

This weapon had a rate of fire of 650 rounds per minute, an effective range of over 600 meters, and was accurate, powerful, and easy to maintain. Though bulky and difficult to handle, its firepower was truly ferocious. In some situations, even the standard FAL 50.00, rather than the 50.41 machine gun variant, could be fitted with a drum magazine to serve as an emergency squad automatic weapon. Loaded with M61 armor-piercing rounds, it could even handle light armored targets.

It largely addressed Milton’s firepower issues. At this stage, it was a good weapon that covered his weaknesses.

"This rifle is worth about $10,000 on the black market. It’s fortunate the system logs the actual local price rather than the military procurement cost," Milton calculated quickly in his mind, weighing his point balance. "The half-set of level-four armor is worth about $25,000, but trafficking this counts as a Tier 2 prohibited item, so it won't grant red points. A total loss..."

The remaining broken AK-74s were practically worthless—the most valuable parts of a rifle were its high-end accessories, and unfortunately, these guns had none.

After the final tally, Milton had spent 150,000 red points to fight this battle and had recouped less than 60,000.

No! He could not be the one to shoulder this deficit!

The Vankang Gang must be held fully accountable for this.

With this thought, Milton pulled out a citation and drafted a penalty list for the Vankang Gang on the counter. If he couldn't collect the money now, he would make sure to collect it later!

As Milton signed the document, Brandon, who was tidying up the debris, suddenly broke the silence. "What... what do you plan to do now?"

The tip of Milton's pen made a scratching sound. "The nature of the Vankang Gang’s actions this time is vile. They must pay a painful price."

Brandon warned, "Don't you plan on running? They suffered such heavy losses; they’ll definitely go insane. Trust me, they don't care about the law, and they certainly aren't gentlemen. Since they can't retaliate against you for the moment, they will definitely target your family."

Milton replied coldly, "I have no family."

"..." Brandon paused, then pivoted, "Then they’ll go to your hometown to commit a massacre and pin the blame on you."

Milton was silent for a moment before answering, "I have no hometown."

If they had the guts, they could go to China.

Brandon no longer knew how to respond, so he took a sip of tap water to ease the awkwardness.

"What about you?" Milton asked while continuing to write. "What do you plan to do?"

"I... I don't know." Brandon shook his head with a bitter smile. "I’ve offended the Vankang Gang, there are moles in both the police department and the checkpoint command, and the pharmacy can’t stay in business... I think I’m finished."

"Then work with me." Milton, thick-skinned, forced his voice to remain steady and calm. "It’s your only way out."

Brandon was stunned, his tone bitter. "Buddy, I have to admit you’re strong, but what use is that if you’re alone? The Vankang Gang has cut off our source of income. The border guards and police can’t do anything to you openly, but what about the covert targeting? Without money or connections, you’ll just slowly suffocate to death."

Milton didn't offer a long explanation, only pointing out a fact: "But you have no allies left. Only by following me do you have a way out and a chance to survive. Think about 'The Boss,' think about Liya, think about your family. You only have this one choice."

"..." Brandon realized with sorrow that this was the truth. "You’re right. You and I are already in the same boat, though unfortunately, this boat has been leaking since the start."

Milton finished signing the citation and set his pen on the table. "Then plug the holes. If the Vankang Gang blocks us, we resolve the Vankang Gang. If the checkpoint targets us, I’ll take control of the checkpoint. As for you, once you spread your influence throughout the police department, will you still be afraid of your colleagues putting a bullet in your back?"

"Think about it: do you want to continue living like before, eating the scraps that fall from others' mouths, or do you want to rise in rank, get rich, and control everything?"

"Power and wealth are like AIDS—they can only be transmitted through blood and sex... unless you have a gun in your hand."

The basement fell into a ten-second silence.

"Fine! We’re dead anyway, so I might as well drag a few people down with me before I go!" Brandon was clearly still pessimistic, holding the mentality of taking his enemies to the grave with him. "Tell me, who are we hitting next?"

Milton walked over to the corpse of the large man and began stripping off his body armor.

"A prisoner told me earlier that the Vankang Gang is currently at war with other gangs in Mexico, and here, they have already lost 11 men and a massive amount of equipment. They won't be able to spare a stronger team to deal with us in the short term." After stripping the man bare, Milton returned to the pharmacy, his voice drifting over slowly. "The Vankang Gang’s leader is cautious; he won't send his men to die for nothing."

"As you said, this matter has caused quite a stir. Nominally, we solved a group of terrorists, so the checkpoint and the police won't take any open action against us."

"In other words, we have a short window to catch our breath. We don't need to attack anyone. Of course, just because there won't be a frontal assault doesn't mean they won't try to assassinate us. You still need to be careful about that."

With that, Milton picked up a knife and turned back to the large man.

"You find a way to build power in the police station and climb as high as you can... and I will recruit more men. Field inspectors are rarely well-liked; I can try to win them over. We must band together to form our own power, so that the gangs, corrupt cops, and checkpoints will fear us."

"Finally, the most important thing is money. We need a lot, a lot of money. As long as we have money, we can solve many problems, and we can drive the Vankang Gang out of Malakan Town."

The next step was to strike at the Vankang Gang’s remaining forces in town as much as possible, while simultaneously extracting money from their hands.

Swish... Swish...

Brandon fell silent again, but this time, it wasn't because of Milton's words.

It was because of what he was doing.

"Uh, look, I understand the logic, but why are you... playing with the corpse?"

Brandon had been furious earlier, but he had only thrown a few punches... How could Milton, without a word, just start sawing off the large man's head and then prying open his mouth?!

Milton pried the man's mouth open with the knife and reached out to Brandon. "Plastic bag. A small one, transparent."

Brandon carefully retrieved a plastic bag and handed it to Milton... He now felt that this inspector was far more terrifying than any of the killers they had just faced.

Even the bloody scenes in those twisted thriller movies didn't compare to this!

"What, what exactly are you doing?"

Milton put the citation into the plastic bag, shoved it into the man's mouth, and replied, "Mailing a fine. To the Vankang Gang. Find an address for one of their main properties and send it there."

Upon hearing this, Brandon took another sip of tap water, then a second, and a third...

Crazy, powerful, and possessing an unusually terrifying obsession with taxation.

Facing a hostile force like the Vankang Gang that had almost cost him his life, the first thing Milton thought of was issuing them a fine?

Two minutes later, Milton had finished packing the "citation."

"Let's go. We're heading out." Milton picked up the head and said, "Your colleagues should already be outside."

Two shells had exploded, one of them right at the entrance. He estimated the sound of the explosion must have been heard throughout the entire town.

Thirty minutes had passed; the police should be arriving about now.

Carrying the dripping head, Milton crawled out of the sewer entrance, which had been reduced to ruins.

The dawn was already faintly visible over the old street.

...

The police sergeant who had been investigating the car explosion earlier had arrived at the scene with his subordinates, setting up a cordon to isolate the street.

Click... Click... Outside the cordon, a blonde reporter was busy finding angles to take photos.

In the distance, several sirens wailed—that was the backup police force.

The sergeant sighed with regret.

According to reports, at least 11 heavily armed militants had entered this building, equipped with body armor and heavy firepower.

The commotion here just moments ago had been so intense it was as if a small-scale war had broken out! The entrance looked like it had been hit by a howitzer!

That inspector was probably finished... He didn't know what the situation was inside, but they would have to wait for the SWAT team colleagues to arrive before they could go in and check.

Eleven thugs! If they were to rush out, even the sergeant himself would turn and run!

Just then, the sergeant heard a sound from the ruins and instinctively looked over.

A blood-stained, battered, and visibly weak and exhausted inspector was crawling out of the wreckage bit by bit.

In his hand, he carried a dripping head.

He looked up, his gaze calm.

In that instant, the sergeant felt a chill run through his bones.