Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1832 800: Who Doesn't Matter, Being Non-Stick Matter

The persuasion was done...

"Four minutes to Edinburgh Castle Square."

The driver spoke through the in-car communication.

Charles nodded and continued to wave. He noticed the curtains of a top-floor window on a four-story building on the right flutter slightly. He instinctively took a second glance.

Major Ellis noticed the window almost simultaneously. He pressed the intercom: "'Watchtower,' check the right side, coordinates D-7, left window on the fourth floor, there's movent."

"Copy that, observing now," the sniper team responded.

The convoy continued to move forward, getting closer to the window. A hundred ters, eighty ters, fifty ters...

Just as the convoy was about to pass directly below the building, an incident occurred.

It wasn't from that window.

It was from the second floor of a more forward, seemingly uninhabited, dilapidated building, from a window without glass.

"Bang!"

The gunshot was crisp, with the unique echo of an old rifle, piercing sharply in the narrow stone street.

The first shot.

Ti seed to stretch.

Prince Charles saw Major Ellis on the left jerk backward violently, as if struck by an invisible sledgehamr to the head. Imdiately, a mixture of red, white, and gray splattered, so even landing on Charles's face, warm and tallic-slling.

Half of Major Ellis's skull was gone.

His body remained in a sitting position but was completely still, blood and brain matter gushing out of the gaping wound, spraying on the white seats of the Bentley.

Charles's mind went blank. He couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

He just stared blankly at Major Ellis's mutilated head, at the red and white contents that still twitched slightly.

"Bang!"

The second shot quickly followed, hitting the Bentley's roll cage, sparks flying.

This gunshot was like a switch, abruptly triggering Charles's survival instinct.

"Ah——!!!!"

He let out a sharp, inhuman scream, completely forgetting the royal etiquette, image, and responsibility.

His only thought was to get out of that vehicle, away from this damned, exposed position!

He scrambled frantically, almost tumbling over the Bentley's door, falling heavily onto the wet, cold cobblestones.

Pain shot through his knees and elbows, but he didn't care, crawling like a frightened animal towards the roadside, emitting broken, whimpering sounds, his face sared with tears and snot. His expensive Scottish skirt was covered in mud and blood stains, and he had lost one boot.

All of this was clearly captured by the long-focus lenses of several photographers behind the security lines.

They initially intended to capture the prince's heroic figure but unexpectedly recorded this extrely chaotic, embarrassing, and terrifying scene: the attendant killed by a headshot, the prince in a panic jumping out of the car, crawling, crying, like a terrified rabbit.

The security response finally caught up.

"Sniper! Second floor of building D-5! Fire to suppress!"

"Protect 'Stag'! Surround him!"

"dical team! Move up!"

The bodyguards from the Land Rover leapt out like leopards and ford a human wall around Prince Charles, completely shielding him with their bodies. They almost dragged and bundled him into the back of the next Land Rover. The Bentley driver hit the gas, and the convertible rushed forward a bit, trying to draw any potential subsequent fire.

The police on motorcycles and those in the front and back police cars drew their guns and fired towards the direction of the building the shots ca from, but dared not rush in easily, as there might be traps or more gunn.

At that mont, on the second floor of the rundown building.

A man in dirty overalls and a hood, after firing two shots, discarded the outdated L1A1 SLR rifle without hesitation.

He quickly retreated from the window, crossed an empty room, and slipped out through the back door, which led to a narrow, trash-filled alley.

In the alley, an unmarked white van was already running, its rear door open.

The gunman jumped in, and the van imdiately drove away, turning into a more complex maze of alleyways.

The entire escape took less than 20 seconds.

By the ti the first batch of police cautiously stord the building, they only found the rifle at the second-floor window, along with two yellow bullet casings. The gunman had vanished without a trace.

The speech at Edinburgh Castle Square was naturally canceled.

Prince Charles was taken directly to the Royal Edinburgh Hospital for "severe fright and post-traumatic stress disorder."

It's said he kept shaking, crying, and babbling incoherently in the armored car, even experiencing incontinence.

Doctors gave him a sedative injection.

Holyrood Palace was thoroughly sealed off, and a joint investigation team from the Scottish Police and Military Intelligence Five swiftly took over the scene.

The body of Attendant Major Jas Ellis was covered with a white sheet and carried away, the Bentley and the bloodstained road segnt strictly protected.

The news spread like wildfire.

Before noon, major news organizations across the UK and indeed the world received ergency bulletins: Prince Charles attacked in Edinburgh, attendant killed, prince himself "startled but safe."

However, what truly set the public ablaze were the photos from the scene.

Despite official efforts to block them, so dia always find a way.

At 2 p.m., The Scotsman's website was the first to publish a blurred but still identifiable photo: Prince Charles slumped in the mud, his face showing extre fear, with a backdrop of chaotic security personnel and the bloodstained Bentley. The headline was shocking: "Narrow Escape: Prince's Assassination Attempt in Edinburgh."