Working as a police officer in Mexico

"No, no, no, Mr. Victor, we all serve the United States, there's no grudge between us."

Who the fuck are you kidding?

Even the stray dogs on the street know who to bite when you guys start fighting.

CIA or FBI, it would choose 'or' because they yap more than dogs.

But the more they claim to be civilized, the dirtier their deeds, the more they insist on wearing suits and ties.

Would those big shots admit they control over 95% of Africa's high and low-end weapons?

If you've got a reputation, you can't just extend your hand like the savages, you've got to make it look good.

"Are the FBI and CIA on good terms?"

"Then it seems the best thing to do is to leave this task to them after all, especially since Italy wants to import uranium-238 from the Soviet Union, which is definitely their area of concern..."

"Ah? Ah!" Pearson's voice choked and then shot up!

"What!!"

Victor moved the receiver away a bit, listening to the squeals inside like a duck being strangled, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Acting! Act your fucking act!

In truth, Italy has nuclear bombs, but those are NATO's, and as everyone knows, NATO belongs to the United States.

They're just there as a deterrent, telling others not to mess with NATO, but that doesn't mean the United States allows Italy to research nuclear weapons on their own.

I hold the keys, what I leave with you is just for show.

You tell me, now you're building factories? This... this...

"Goodbye, Mr. Pearson." Victor ended the call. Just as he did, an urgent ring came from the other end.

He wasn't in a hurry. After slowly smoking a cigarette, Pearson called seven or eight more times before he finally picked up, sat back in his chair, feet on the desk, and said, "Hello."

"Victor, let the FBI handle this..." Pearson started as soon as the call connected.

"It's the CIA that deals with overseas issues..."

"Let the CIA eat shit, those motherfucking bastards, CTFMDB, who's friends with the CIA, we're enemies!" Pearson declared indignantly.
Stay connected with empire

Victor felt like laughing but also thought that this was typical political maneuvering.

What thick skin? It's worthless.

"My intelligence agency has discovered this lead and knows that the businessman tasked by Italy is someone named Cironimus..."

"How much uranium-238?"

"We're still rounding them up, don't worry, I'll contact you the moment we have something."

Pearson, "I will discuss this matter with the Director. Thank you very much!"

Don't just be thankful.

You've got to give something solid in return, but looking at him, he clearly wasn't thinking along those lines. Victor wasn't going to let it slide; he made his demand outright.

"Sir, could I get a few F-16s, please?"

I, Victor, pay money! (Monkey reaching out).

Pearson, on the other end, couldn't have expected this. He paused, "Didn't we already sponsor a batch?"

"We need more, sir; the drug traffickers' firepower has been getting fiercer. My operatives even inform me that they have prepared aircraft. We need to ensure our dominance over their weapons, or else..."

Pearson's head ballooned, "I'll report this to the Director."

Internally, he already labeled Victor with two words: "Greedy."

Victor chuckled a thank you. Not greedy? What kind of man would I be then? Everyone has greed.

After hanging up the phone, he took a drag of his cigarette, his head aching a bit from lack of sleep recently.

"Sir, do you need... me to give you a massage?" A voice came from the doorway.

Victor looked up just in time to see Miss Krista Schroeder walking by, and his expression froze.

That woman was wearing a black miniskirt with stockings, and the most notable part was that her red underpants were showing.

I must say, quite shapely.

She dressed somewhat sexy, no, very sexy.

Victor swallowed hard without thinking, and before he could respond, she walked in, stood behind him, and placed her hands on his forehead, gently positioning his head on her chest.

Her thumbs slowly massaged his temples.

Inhaling the scent of her perfume and feeling the relief in his head, Victor couldn't help but close his eyes.

Suddenly, he noticed the hands on his head were gone. With a puzzled expression, he looked up only to be confronted with a shocking scene.

Krista Schroeder had stripped off all her clothes, standing before Victor, covering her chest, her eyes almost melting, "Sir… do I look pretty?"

Could any man remain unmoved in the face of such beauty?

Of course, there are?

Liu Xiahui, for one.

"Put your clothes on, Krista." Victor clenched his fist, forcing himself to stay cool as her curves were nearly perfect.

To put it one way, the last time I saw such deep cleavage was on TV in the Mariana Trench, and even the Amazon wasn't as lush as this.

She paused, "Am I not beautiful?"

"Beautiful!"

"Am I not sexy?"

Victor gazed at her E-cup, "Sexy."

Krista Schroeder moved closer, "Then why..."

"I can't give you what you want; you're a good girl..."

"I can be a mistress, just like Eva Braun, sir. I've liked you for a long time!"

Victor opened his mouth, not yet recovered from his shock, when she suddenly pounced on him, pushing him to the floor.

A stocking covered the "camera lens."

...

Four hours later. (My time)

Victor looked at his disheveled office, then at the bra tossed on the desk, shaking his head with a wry smile.

A bit crazy.

He lit a cigarette for himself.

A smoke after the deed, better than living like a deity.

Of course, Victor wasn't a virgin; women are just spice in life, a bit of experimenting is fine.

Control desire, enjoy desire.

Even Little Mustache had six mistresses.