Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1593: 734: Are We Going to Fight Again?

Chapter 1593: Chapter 734: Are We Going to Fight Again?

“Little Bush, I’m a direct person. Just your promises and compensation aren’t enough to protect my compatriots from the imnse trauma and humiliation they’ve suffered, along with our country.”

“What do you want?”

Little Bush, afraid of the other party making outrageous demands, reminded, “If it’s too much, I find it hard to agree.”

“My Marine Corps must land in Maine, specifically in Portland and the heavily damaged northern areas, to establish a Safe Zone, directly protected by our ard forces. We’ll maintain order and eliminate any thugs who dare threaten the safety of xican citizens. Your police and National Guard need to cooperate unconditionally.”

“What?! Are you insane?!”

Little Bush almost jumped out of his chair, roaring into the microphone, “Letting foreign troops set foot on United States soil to maintain order? Suppressing my citizens? It’s absolutely impossible! Don’t even think about it.”

Inviting the wolf into the house!

This is utterly preposterous! Allowing the xican Army to ‘protect’ United States citizens within our borders, while ‘suppressing’ Arican thugs?

This is more humiliating than the French surrender!

If Little Bush signed this agreent, he’d imdiately beco the most infamous president in U.S. history, forever nailed to the pillar of sha!

In the future, they’d dedicate a mountain just for him.

“Little Bush, you can’t solve Maine’s problems right now. Your governnt has lost control of the situation, your soldiers are looting, and what you can’t protect, I will protect for you; what you can’t resolve, I will resolve for you.”

“You f***… F*** Victor! Go to hell.”

Little Bush’s pent-up anger overwheld his last bit of sanity, and he shouted the classic curse into the microphone with all his might, then violently slamd the phone onto the desk phone!

Proper diplomacy won’t make you mad, but it’s just… so damn infuriating.

Even a clay Buddha gets a bit angry,

Goddamn it, Victor!

“Beep—beep—beep—”

Victor held the phone that emitted a busy tone, a rare look of shock and confusion on his face. He blinked, seemingly not comprehending, slowly took the phone away from his ear, looked down at it, then looked up at the equally frozen Casare beside him.

The two stared at each other, the atmosphere montarily tense.

A few seconds later, Victor seed to finally confirm sothing, and with a hint of disbelief in his voice, asked Casare: “Did he just curse at ? Then hung up?”

Casare’s face twitched, wanting to laugh but feeling it inappropriate, so he awkwardly nodded, “Uh… yes, boss.”

Victor stared at the phone for two seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing, the laughter growing louder until it beca an uncontrolled outburst.

Casare, beside him, had no idea what to do.

Damn, the boss laughed!

The last ti he laughed like this, a tribe in Central State was wiped out; Casare felt a tingling in his rear.

Shit, it’s over, it’s over, sobody’s going to die.

…

In the White House Oval Office, Little Bush, having hung up the phone, regretted his actions almost instantly, but he held on without showing it, instead muttering under his breath in annoyance, “Shit! Shit!”.

He felt a dry mouth and unconsciously grabbed the steaming coffee on the desk, gulping it without looking.

“Pfft—!”

The scalding coffee touched his mouth, and Little Bush spat it out imdiately, feeling a sharp pain in his tongue and mouth. He angrily slamd the coffee cup on the desk, lashing out at the Chief of Staff Carl Rove, who had just walked in: “Why is the coffee so hot?! Who prepared this?!”

Carl Rove, caught off guard by this sudden question, instinctively thought, “Aren’t coffees always hot? What’s got the president so riled up?” But he dared not show any of this on his face and awkwardly stood there.

What madness!

Little Bush also quickly realized he’d asked a stupid question; he forcefully rubbed his face, trying to dispel the dizziness from extre fatigue and stress, frowning as he asked: “Carl, what’s the matter now? I hope it’s not more bad news.”

The Chief of Staff finally snapped back to reality and quickly reported: “Mr. President, Canada has unilaterally closed all border crossings and highways leading to Canada from Maine, deploying more troops on the Canadian side of the border. At the sa ti, the Canadian Foreign Ministry has officially submitted a note to us.”

“The docunt states that given the current severe and uncontrolled security situation in Maine, and the potential spillover risk, to ensure the safety of Canadian citizens and border integrity, the Canadian governnt has decided to temporarily halt the flow of people and goods with Maine until the United States federal governnt effectively controls the law and order in the region, eting basic safety standards.”

Little Bush listened, and instead of flying into a rage as usual, he rely let out a deep sigh, as if he didn’t even have the energy to get angry. He felt a throbbing in his temples, like soone was drilling into them. Silently, he opened a desk drawer, took out a bottle of prescription painkillers, and without looking, poured out two pills, swallowing them dry.

Carl Rove noticed this action and a flash of worry crossed his eyes. He couldn’t help but advise, “Sir, these painkillers have strong side effects and are addictive. You shouldn’t take them so frequently, especially in excess…”