The anti-American vanguard starts in Mexico!

After leaving the butcher's clinic, Qi Yun did not immediately show himself, but instead hid below the dark steps.

He was holding an MP5 submachine gun in his hand. The biggest advantage of this gun is its stability and low recoil, which can be controlled even with one hand.

That wasn't all. Qi Yun then used his points to exchange for two more grenades and stuffed them into his pocket before cautiously taking two steps forward and peeking out to look around.

After confirming that there was nothing amiss, he quietly disappeared into the street.

Meanwhile, in a warehouse on Fourth Avenue, a shirtless, burly man was punching a sandbag furiously, his body drenched in sweat.

The man had a pompadour hairstyle, typical Native American skin color, and a ferocious wolf's head tattooed on his chest.

Although he wasn't a big guy, he had a very fierce aura, especially the ferocity in his eyes, like a bloodthirsty wolf.

He is Antonio, the leader of the Crippled Gang.

There were more than a dozen people queuing outside the warehouse, each holding a black plastic bag, and they went in one by one.

There was a table at the entrance, piled high with bundles of banknotes. Everyone who walked up to the table would call out a number and then empty their bags to count the money.

After a bald man behind the table counted the numbers, he would check them in a notebook.

"Why is 20,000 less?" The bald man looked up and stared at a man with a dreadlock in front of him.

The man with the dreadlocks was sweating profusely and stammered, "I...I'll make it up tomorrow."

The bald man didn't respond, still staring coldly at him, then turned to look at the sandbag and shouted, "Boss, this guy is short 20,000."

The sound of the sandbags being hit stopped.

Antonio took the towel handed to him by the henchman next to him, sweat dripping down his muscle creases.

He wiped his face, casually tossed the towel on the ground, and then slowly walked over.

The bald man immediately moved aside.

Antonio walked to the table, picked up the bundle of banknotes, flipped through it casually, and then threw it back.

He looked at the man with the dreadlocks, his face expressionless, but his eyes were like knives.

The dreadlocked man kept his head down, not daring to meet his gaze, his body trembling like a leaf. Then, with a thud, he knelt down on the ground: "Boss... spare me! Spare me this time! I really will make it up to you..."

The warehouse was eerily quiet, with only the hum of the exhaust fan overhead.

The other henchmen in line to pay all kept their heads down, not daring to utter a sound.

Antonio didn't say anything, but simply stretched out his right hand to the side. The bald man behind him understood and immediately handed him a switchblade.

Antonio took the switchblade, pressed his thumb, and with a "click," the sharp blade sprang out.

"Rules are rules. It's 20,000 less, just two fingers' worth." This was the first time he had spoken, and his voice was very calm, with no discernible emotion.

After saying that, he threw the knife on the ground.

Upon hearing this, the man with the filthy braid collapsed to the ground, his crotch soaked, and a strong stench of urine filled the air.

He looked at the switchblade in front of him, then looked up at the expressionless Antonio, and finally his gaze fell on his own trembling left hand.

All eyes in the warehouse were on him.

The next second, a ferocious look flashed across the dreadlocked man's face. He suddenly grabbed the switchblade on the ground and slashed it viciously at his left little finger and ring finger.

"ah--!!!"

A heart-wrenching scream echoed throughout the warehouse.

Fresh blood gushed out instantly.

The man with the dreadlocks convulsed in pain, but he gritted his teeth and refused to let go, instead exerting force with his right hand again.

A chilling sound rang out.

The man with the dreadlocks had undergone surgery; his face was deathly pale, and he was curled up on the ground, convulsing.

The warehouse was deathly silent.

Everyone was stunned by the bloody scene.

Antonio remained expressionless. He crouched down and patted the dreadlocked man's cheek: "If there's a next time, you'll need to cut your own head off."

"Do you understand?"

The man with the filthy braid was in so much pain that he couldn't speak, and could only nod weakly.

Antonio stood up, his gaze sweeping across everyone's faces in turn, his intention quite clear.

The group of henchmen fell silent, none daring to meet his gaze.

"continue."

Upon receiving the order, the bald man quickly gave a wink to his subordinate beside him.

Two men stepped forward and dragged the still convulsing man with the dreadlocks outside, and the line to pay started moving again.

Just then, the phone rang, and a younger brother handed it to him.

Antonio took the phone, glanced at the caller ID, and answered it.

He didn't know what was said on the other end, but his gaze instantly turned cold after hearing it.

"Wait at the hotel entrance, find an opportunity to kill him, and throw his head outside the police station."

...

The next day, Qi Yun got up from his comfortable bed.

After a quick wash, I went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast.

Bread, fried eggs, bacon, and a cup of black coffee—even in a four-star hotel, this is the only kind of unappetizing white food you get.

However, one of his strengths is that he is not a picky eater.

In the past, on the battlefield, the Russians' logistics were never reliable. They might only be able to eat compressed biscuits for one or two weeks in a row, and they might not even have water to drink. That was real torture.

Qi Yun chewed on his bread while replying to messages to Maria on his phone.

The woman had already gotten into character very well; she even sent a message when she got off work in the early hours of the morning, telling him about some rumors she had heard.

After sending the message, Qi Yun wiped his mouth, got up, and returned to his room.

About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.

He stood behind the door and looked out through the peephole, then dialed a number on his phone. He only opened the door when he heard the phone ring.

Standing outside the door was a man in his thirties.

"Sir, hello! I am Martinelli." The man gave Qi Yun an awkward, less-than-perfect salute.

"Come in." Qi Yun glanced at him a few times, then stepped aside to let him into the house.

Martinelli hurriedly entered the room, rubbing his hands together. "Sir, I came immediately after receiving the call. I served in the military before and know how to use basic weapons..."

Mexico's conscription system is quite unique; it is not mandatory, but rather determined by a lottery system.

All Mexican male citizens who are 18 years of age or older are obligated to serve in the military. At the beginning of each year, eligible young men register at the local military service office and participate in a lottery. Those who are selected serve for a period of one year.

Those who are not selected will be exempted.

However, this year was not full-time service. Instead, I had to report to the military unit every weekend to receive basic military training. The total service time throughout the year was probably only a month or two.

Students or those in special occupations can apply for exemptions, so the overall policy is quite lenient.

Unlike in South Korea, where even pigeons have to be shaved bald and locked up for two years.

The two arrived at the lounge area, and Qi Yun pointed to the sofa and asked him to sit down.

Name: Martinelli González Ruiz

Sin value: 20;

Crime: Maliciously withholding payment from sex workers

Upon seeing this message, Qi Yun almost lost his composure...