Chapter 2

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Protagonist:

Milton

Mins

1994, Guatemala, San Marcos Province, Ramasia Border Checkpoint.

Most people had never heard of this country's name, nor did anyone care about their civil war, so even if a hundred people died here one day, no one would care.

Of course, there are exceptions to everything.

Across the border was a place where even if a thousand people died, no one would care.

And the name of that country, everyone had heard of.

Mexico.

Also called "Northeners" by the officers at the checkpoint.

Don't let the name "Border Checkpoint" sound imposing; actually, in this war-torn country, it received little support from the Central Government and had to face threats from rebels.

The major drug lords on the northern Mexican border, whose weaponry rivaled that of the national regular army, were not forces a small checkpoint could afford to provoke.

Even from time to time, various armed gangs would come to "shake the trees."

To survive, this tiny checkpoint that had to pay its own salaries was naturally highly corrupt.

At this time, at the checkpoint's Number Two inspection lane.

A sturdy, tall man with a second lieutenant's shoulder insignia appeared to inspect the pickup truck before him seriously, but was actually perfunctory.

To be honest, Milton Mins's head was still a bit muddled even now.

Never mind transmigrating, why was the time point 1994?

Never mind the bad time point, why did he transmigrate to a foreign country?

Never mind transmigrating abroad, not going to the United States but to some Guatemala he'd never even heard of, and still at a border where two steps would take him to Mexico—who could stand this?

The only misfortune among blessings was that he could see information about these vehicles, could see the contraband list, which allowed him, even without much professional skill, to scrape together a meal and even save some money.

【Ford F-150 Pickup Truck】

【Detected that this vehicle carries Level 3 Contraband (Green): Minced Meat Sandwich】

【Detected that this vehicle carries Level 2 Contraband (Yellow): Tobacco Products】

【Did not detect that this vehicle carries Level 1 Contraband (Red)】

As long as he enforced the law impartially, collected taxes, and confiscated contraband, he could earn points and exchange them for a series of rewards.

To enforce the law impartially and be a justice bringer in this godforsaken place where people drew guns at the slightest disagreement—the danger was self-evident; who knew, he might vanish into thin air one day.

Fortunately, this panel had no mandatory missions, so Milton could set the "impartial" bottom line relatively flexibly.

Sigh, impartial law enforcement... lousy system, making it impossible for me to improve!

Milton made a snide remark, knocked on the car window, and shouted to the driver inside: "Finish your sandwich before leaving, you're not allowed to bring it in. And your cigarette smell—it stinks up the whole checkpoint. Hand them all over, no tricks."

Speaking, Milton touched the SWModel29 Magnum revolver (Smith & Wesson M29) holstered at his waist.

The driver of the pickup truck clearly showed a pained expression; he didn't understand how he could be caught smuggling two packs of cigarettes: "Sir, this..."

Milton held the gun barrel and knocked on the door panel with the gunstock, interrupting: "Either I stamp the Denied Entry column and let all your fruit rot in the truck; or, you hand over the contraband and customs duty without missing a cent. I won't say it a second time."

"Understood, sir... sigh."

After speaking, the driver dejectedly opened the glove compartment and handed over the two packs of cigarettes inside along with several banknotes totaling 50 Quetzals.

Milton took the cigarette pack and banknotes, didn't make things difficult for these small businessmen struggling to survive, and cheerfully stamped and let them pass: "Alright, take your documents. Also, nice truck."

The 50 Quetzals were the checkpoint's tax, and those two packs of cigarettes confiscated as contraband were naturally the inspector's "legitimate income."

At first, Milton was still a bit unaccustomed to doing such things, but now he was already an old hand.

Just as this vehicle was released, a Latin man wearing a cowboy hat, with quite an American Old West style, shouted from behind toward this side.

"Hey! Milton. The Station Chief is calling you over! Someone else will take over here."

Then he saw the cigarette pack in Milton's hand, and his voice caught in his throat.

"Cohiba Short?! Damn, high-end goods from Cuba! How do you manage to find these good things every time? This box of little cigars, I reckon, could sell for at least 10 US Dollars on the black market."

In a place like this, in 1994, 10 US Dollars was indeed a considerable income.

Cigars? I thought they were cigarettes... Milton, who knew nothing about tobacco, simply opened a box and walked toward the Station Chief's Office with this colleague named Horn, while handing him a cigar.

Using such small things to build good relations with colleagues, even if only superficial, was worth it.

"Corporal Horn, do you have some news to tell me?"

Sure enough, after taking the cigar, Horn looked around, hesitated for a moment, and lowered his voice: "Milton... hey, let me tell you, you previously impounded a vehicle from the Fan Kang Gang. They tipped off Inspector Menard and paid him off; they won't swallow this anger easily. I've been hearing lately that someone wants you to pay a price."

Menard... Fan Kang Gang... sigh, this matter again.

Half a month ago, Milton had only been transmigrated for two days. As usual, he inspected vehicles crossing the border. When he saw a vehicle covered from top to bottom with red and yellow contraband warnings, he almost laughed in anger.

At that time, there was a colleague who looked very kind and came over to chat in a joking tone, saying this vehicle and its driver didn't seem to have any major problems.

That colleague was Inspector Menard... only unfortunately, Milton had just transmigrated then, couldn't understand the meaning behind the words, and was especially short of money. So, in front of everyone, he searched out every single piece of contraband in the vehicle without missing any.

Later... Milton learned that the driver had been drunk that day and missed the pre-arranged, already-bribed inspection lane.

The veteran Menard came to smooth things over but was publicly humiliated by the new colleague, given no face at all.

That vehicle was carrying goods for the local armed gang, the Fan Kang Gang.

A gang that rose to power taking advantage of the chaos produced by the Zapatista Uprising in Mexico.

The money Milton earned from that round of seizures came out of the pockets of Inspector Menard's team and the Fan Kang Gang!

They were always known for repaying every grudge.

The Fan Kang Gang's thugs once shot a councilor who accused them in broad daylight, causing a massacre with dozens of casualties; Menard even made a colleague who had offended him vanish into thin air!

Once, a female inspector searched the Fan Kang Gang's goods, and the day after she got off work she was raped and fed to dogs; her mangled corpse was dismembered, hung from a traffic light, and her head was mailed to her husband and children.

Without a doubt, their threats were a naked death signal!

Fortunately, the Inspector Station Chief had some authority, and Milton had been hiding out at the checkpoint this whole period without going out, so he had temporarily avoided retaliation.

But the threat was close at hand… Milton had to think of a way.

……

Just as the two reached the door of the Station Master's Office, they saw a white man with a round, kind face and a healthy red glow on his neck push the door open and come out.

He wore a sergeant's rank insignia on his shoulder.

Menard.

Enemies meet on a narrow road!

Menard's gaze paused, then he revealed a smile that creased into wrinkles, glancing at Milton's cigarette case: "Sir, it seems another blind kid is trying to fool your eyes again?"

This was far harder to deal with than an enemy who comes out spouting harsh words…

Rank insignia… this lieutenant's rank was clearly bought by the previous owner for the position of inspector; it had no real value, how could it earn the respect of people in this remote place where the emperor is far away?

"The Station Chief wants to see you, so I won't disturb you. Inspector Milton, be sure to take care of your health! Hehe…"

After saying that, he waved kindly, turned, and got into his own car—in Milton's eyes, the car's color was almost completely covered by red warnings!

It belonged to finding a small amount of cars among a pile of Level 1 Contraband.

Without this system, Milton would really have thought this guy was sending him a signal of peaceful coexistence.

Such an enemy was too dangerous… he had to find a way to strike first, catch him off guard, and not let him hatch his plans in the dark!

And the sooner the better!

Otherwise it would be a slow death.

"Don't let him fool you, I've been burned." Horn took a drag of his cigarette and whispered, "This guy isn't as generous as he looks."

"I know that already." Milton turned his gaze, "You take care of yourself too."

Horn took another puff of his cigarette, looked at the silver pocket watch he had confiscated from some smuggler: "I'm going on patrol now; I won't smoke your cigarettes for nothing, I'll treat you to your favorite Chinese food tonight!"

After saying that, he trotted toward the guard post to continue patrolling.

Damn it, there's only American-style Chinese food in town, that stuff even dogs won't eat unless it's buy one get one free!

Milton cursed in his mind, then reached out and knocked on the wooden door of the Station Master's Office.

"Come in."

Milton dusted off his clothes slightly, walked into the office, and gave a simple military salute: "Captain Varta, good afternoon!"

Captain Varta, the chief of this checkpoint, was a middle-aged man of average height, with a loud and forceful way of speaking, who always loved giving speeches and often showed a sense of justice when handling incidents.

And Milton had also taken a look at Varta's car in his spare time; it was clean and tidy, with not a bit of contraband, simply incomparable to Menard's red and yellow car.

To be honest, Milton planned to take it slow during this period, using an indirect approach to lay everything on the table with Varta and say a few words about Menard's dirty business.

During this period Milton had already shown an extraordinary "talent" for apprehending smugglers and seizing contraband, demonstrating his value.

Even with a sense of justice, one needed to be driven by interests; Milton wasn't naive enough to hope to take down Menard by relying on the station chief's conscience.

"You've been doing good work lately." Station Chief Varta looked at Milton with a kindly smile, eyeing the tobacco in his hand, and waved for him to sit, his tone gentle: "Those corners where smugglers hide things—inspectors with over ten years of experience can't find them, but you found them right away!"

"It's my duty, sir." Saying this, Milton took the tax money from his trouser pocket and handed it to Varta: "This is the tax collected today, please check it."

Varta casually took it, stuffed the tax money into a drawer, and waved his hand: "I heard you had a small conflict with a colleague? Do you need me to transfer you to a different post? Same pay, won't waste your talent, and it'll be easier."

Change posts? Be transferred away from the enemy's side?

A pillow delivered just as sleepiness came?

Not being under the enemy's nose was indeed a good way to buy time; Milton had no reason to disagree.

Milton was just about to agree when the door of the Station Master's Office was suddenly pushed open.

A stranger's face never before seen inside the checkpoint walked in without knocking; his gaze casually swept over Milton, then he saluted Varta.

"Sir, your scheduled meeting is about to begin; the driver has brought your car over. Are you departing now?"

Varta smiled kindly: "No rush for these few minutes, wait for me outside. I have a few things to explain to this young man… you have to know, young people are our future, their matters are more important than anything."

"Yes, sir!"

After saying that, the man turned and left the office, brushing past Milton's shoulder as he walked out of the Station Master's Office.

Milton watched with a gawking mindset, his gaze following the man as he watched him board that imposing Hummer.

Immediately after, his gaze froze.

On that Hummer he boarded… densely packed, all were red Level 1 Contraband!!

Among one of the red contraband items, he also saw a very familiar word.

【Level 1 Contraband: Fan Kang Gang–Ramessia Inspection Station Mutual Aid Agreement (Illegal Document)】

The Fan Kang Gang!

The Fan Kang Gang that had threatened to take him out!

A secret agreement between the checkpoint and the checkpoint, not some individual at the checkpoint!

Here, the one who could represent the checkpoint was only one person…

Looking again at Varta's kindly smile, Milton felt what it meant to fall into an ice cellar!

Damn…

So I've come to the Valley of Evil, is everyone evil?!

ps: This country's currency exchange rate is roughly equal to RMB, the difference isn't particularly large.