Chapter 5

It wasn't that Antonio was overly agitated.

Even the few people beside him were very agitated.

Only their own people would know just how unlucky Antonio had been these past few days.

Going downstairs, his left foot tripped his right foot, and he rolled straight down the stairs; fortunately, he had thick skin and tough flesh, so it was no big deal.

Playing with his phone, he opened the fridge wanting to grab a soda, but unexpectedly what he grabbed was the detergent placed next to the fridge, and he poured it into his mouth.

God knows why there was detergent next to the fridge.

Soaking in the bathtub, he inexplicably took a charger to charge his already full-battery phone, but the charger head fell into the bathtub, and he was nearly electrocuted to death.

If it weren't for State Grid gradually helping upgrade the residential power grid in parts of Ecuador's capital, and the hotel having installed a residual-current device, Antonio would have been electrocuted to death right then.

Compared to this kind of fatal accident, crashing a car into a tree, crashing into a trash can, crashing into a house — these were all minor things.

The scariest thing was that yesterday he actually, all by himself, inexplicably drove his car straight into the scene of a shootout between two gangs; he nearly lost his life.

Also, this morning right after he got his hands on a handgun, it inexplicably went off, making him not dare touch a gun all day today, afraid it would go off at some point and blow his own head off.

And for instance just now, clearly driving fine on the road, he didn't expect one stomp on the gas to send the car crashing straight into his own hotel; he clearly saw himself driving straight on the highway.

If it happened once or twice, one might explain it away as coincidence, but so many unlucky things happening to him in a row, and all inexplicably unlucky — this could not possibly be coincidence.

Since it's not coincidence, then so many bizarre accidents targeting a single person — even an idiot would know Antonio has run into big trouble! "Seen Final Destination?

You're like the protagonist in that movie right now; these few days you'll encounter many accidents, and every single one of them could cost you your life.

The fact you're still alive is good luck!"

Chen Yaozu discovered that whether it was 'Yintang turning black' or 'dark clouds covering the head,' the other side simply couldn't understand, and with his own ability he couldn't translate it either, so he simply said something others could understand at a glance.

Using a movie as an example was very suitable! For Antonio and the others, were they familiar with the Hollywood blockbuster Final Destination?

Does that even need asking?

If one must ask, there's only one answer: very familiar! Yes, extremely familiar.

Because South America also screens Hollywood blockbusters; basically the whole of South America, except Cuba, is America's backyard — whether culture or economy, both have been thoroughly penetrated.

The import of Hollywood blockbusters is also a means of cultural control; for some hugely popular Hollywood blockbusters, basically anyone who can afford a movie ticket is familiar with them.

So, Final Destination wasn't just a huge hit in America; in South American countries it was once very popular too.

With Chen Yaozu giving this example, Antonio and the others all sucked in a breath of cold air.

The tall mixed-Indian man who had just cracked a joke about the Indian guy hurriedly asked: "You're saying these accidents are arranged by Death, with the purpose of killing Antonio... and then us?"

This is not good news!

In the movie Final Destination, the protagonist group also died one by one because of accidents, and in the final sequel not a single one remained.

However, only one person's reaction was an exception — that was Cindy.

Her reaction was actually to immediately draw a gun from her waist, and in everyone's shock, press the muzzle against Chen Yaozu's chest.

"I don't believe in coincidences, Wizard.

Hand over your phone, passport, tell me when you came to Ecuador, does your phone or passport show it?

If not, then you tell me who hired you, what plot do you have against us Jungle Thugs?"

The Jungle Thugs, though a gang with only 16 official members, because they were united and fought desperately, and most importantly their focus was on the guide work of entering America on foot, originally had no major business conflicts with other gangs. So they had always done very well.

But wealth moves people's hearts.

South American gangs on TV carrying guns on their shoulders, cigars in their mouths, counting handfuls of US dollars — that's all fake.

Most South American gangs don't have their own fixed industries; with the generally underdeveloped economy, where would they get so many US dollars to earn?

They're not Mexican Drug Lords.

But the Jungle Thugs, a gang of only 16 people, actually managed to use Twitter, Facebook, and Telegram, and the advantage of knowing the entire route, to develop an industry of guiding people into America on foot.

This is a sustainable industry.

The guide price per person ranges from 4,000 to 30,000 dollars; prices went up this year, the floor is now 8,000 US dollars.

In a year, the number of people on foot passing through the Jungle Thugs' hands to enter America reaches hundreds or thousands, and is even rising steadily.

And as long as America remains the world's number one superpower, this route will make money forever.

So, this business seems ordinary, but in reality it's a delicious piece of fat meat; for ordinary South American gangs, it even counts as astronomical wealth.

The past two years were fine; not many people noticed this industry, but these two years, the number of people walking to America started increasing, starting to alarm other crowds.

Last year alone, the income purely from guide fees brought by Eastern People reached over 10 million US dollars!

This is with other forces already meddling in this line, dividing this piece of meat, or rather this cake.

You should know, according to America's own official statistics, just Eastern People walking into America on foot last year exceeded 30,000.

This is sky-high wealth!

This also spawned, along the route from South America walking to the US-Mexico border, various forces living off these Eastern walkers.

Last year there was a group of Eastern People who were robbed a full 47 times on this walking route; some local gangs even staked out banks, waiting for them to withdraw money, then immediately robbing it away.

Precisely because of this, unsafe routes set off the preciousness of safe routes.

Though the Jungle Thugs have only 16 official members, they safely delivered people to the US-Mexico border every time, and a reputation was established.

But they also became a thorn in the eye, a splinter in the flesh of other gangs.

So now, Antonio's accidents, and the Wizard who happened to appear, are definitely all set up.

This Wizard appeared too coincidentally, knew too much!

An illusory figure lay prone on Cindy's back, eyes fixed dead on that Eastern man, yet leaned into Cindy's ear, speaking the above words in a voice no one else could hear.

Cindy's gun-holding hand seemed to grip tighter, her eyes revealing ruthlessness; beside her ear she seemed to hear someone incessantly urging her to shoot.

A voice seemingly directly hooked to her soul was whispering, as if wanting to tell her in her heart.

The Wizard before her was sent by other gangs to use various accidents to infiltrate their interior, destroy their unity, bring down the Jungle Thugs, and thereby seize this walking route.

He deserves to die! Shoot!

As long as he shoots, he can ruin the conspiracy of the Wizard before him and the gang behind him.

A thread of struggle flashed through Cindy's eyes, but the hand gripping the gun tightened further, and the finger already on the trigger pressed down harder.

(Chapter End)