Chapter 48: Taxes Only Within Machine Gun Range! Chapter 46 What Kind of Gun?!

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Protagonist:

Milton

Mins

Interviewee Number One had a South American face, dark-skinned, looking reasonably healthy at first glance.

Milton nodded slightly: "Introduce yourself. I believe you already know my requirements."

"I served in the Second Infantry Brigade of the Guatemalan Army, Sergeant. Just retired, been on the front lines, with plenty of combat experience. I can skillfully use rifles, including Soviet-made weapons and NATO weapons; if there's guidance, I can try to learn to use other types of weapons."

You guys going to the front lines is like playing around...

Don't think I don't know your so-called civil war is actually slaughtering civilians in rebel areas, carrying out massacres.

But one can't expect too much... Milton sighed, nodding to indicate: "Continue."

Number One thought for a moment, saying: "I want a base salary of 400 US dollars a month, or 3500 Quetzals. For every combat I participate in, I need at least 100 US dollars in combat allowance. If it's an obviously suicidal mission, I have the right to refuse."

"And, I require you to advance the first month's... no, the first week's salary, okay?"

The request is quite reasonable, but feels too cheap?

Milton was naturally wary of the word "cheap," he didn't rush to agree, but once again carefully examined Interviewee Number One.

This time, he discovered something abnormal.

Number One's fingers twitched uncontrollably, his mouth had an obvious processed fragrance when speaking, but his gums showed an abnormal color.

A guess immediately surfaced in Milton's mind.

Unlike what many imagine, those emaciated drug addicts, looking like zombies ready to fall at any moment, have actually reached the end of their lives.

In the early or even middle stages, as long as the addiction doesn't act up, many drug addicts' outward appearance is actually not much different from normal people.

No wonder he asked for an advance on salary, turns out he urgently needed money!

Milton blurted out: "You use drugs?!"

Interviewee Number One's expression changed drastically, he immediately became somewhat at a loss, his tone even stammered: "I, I..."

Milton immediately confirmed his guess, his expression turning serious: "Sorry, my team does not accept drug addicts."

That person's expression immediately turned dejected, he sighed, and wearily stood up to leave.

Before leaving, he couldn't help but turn his head, saying: "I... I actually didn't want to use those medicines, it was the army... they did it to maintain our energy, by the time I found out it was already too late, and I had no way."

Milton stopped the movement of eating noodles in his hand, saying seriously: "I believe you. But I believe even more that when drug addiction strikes, all humanity will cease to exist."

Interviewee Number One left disappointedly.

Five or six minutes later, Interviewee Number Two came over—they were a mercenary corps, consisting of 5 people in total.

The leader among the five walked over and shook hands with Milton: "Hello, I'm the commander of the Mantis Mercenary Corps."

The T-shirt on his body was faded and patched... there was a strong smell of blood on his body.

Temporarily couldn't think of any problems.

Milton's questions were still those few questions, this commander answered quite well... such as team division of labor, their weaponry, and so on and so forth.

And, they didn't need an advance on salary, just payment once a week.

Looks like it's not bad?

Milton pondered for a moment, still like last time, once again examined this commander's clothing and appearance, seeing if he could find some small details.

Hanging on his chest was a portrait pendant that looked quite exquisite...

Judging by their clothing, their financial situation wasn't too good, why would they buy this kind of ornament?

Milton glanced out the window, discovering the other four also had pendants around their necks, though the appearance couldn't be seen clearly, but estimated they were the same style as this commander's?

Number Two continued talking nonstop: "Our corps is experienced, the most senior member once participated in the 1982 offensive against K'iche Province, achieving major military results..."

"Wait, may I ask a question." Milton interrupted Number Two who was still introducing himself, "Do you have a faith? Catholicism? Eastern Orthodoxy?"

That commander immediately became serious, correcting: "No, our faith is the Primitive Voodoo Cult."

Damn, they actually believe in a cult! And it looks like a deeply modified, more evilized voodoo cult!

Milton originally kept a distance from fanatical religious people, let alone cultists.

His upper limit of acceptance was only secularized churches.

Everything else was not allowed to join his team.

And, the so-called 1982 K'iche Province campaign was actually an atrocity targeting civilians that killed over ten thousand people... cultists adding to massacres, these people are actually terrorists?

Only a madman would recruit a group of terrorists into the team.

Milton immediately refused them with a reason that looked very reasonable: "Sorry, I believe in God, I cannot directly cooperate with you."

Anyway, most people here more or less believe in some Catholicism, Milton's refusal excuse was very reasonable.

Especially people whose brains are taken over by cults, they wouldn't produce doubt.

That commander showed a hint of resentment on his face, snorted coldly, stood up, spat fiercely on the ground, waved his hand, and led his men to get in the car and leave.

Watching them leave, Milton took a bite of noodles, sighed: "What is all this, I said similar things like 'those who believe in God are all idiots' a few days ago, this boomerang came back really fast... sigh, there's one last interviewee left, hope it goes more smoothly."

After another ten-plus minutes, some movement came from outside the door.

Milton looked over accordingly.

A Jeep Wrangler YJ stopped at the door, three people, two men and one woman, jumped down from the car, and their tactical equipment could only be described with one word: luxurious.

Even the simplest tactical canteen looked like a big brand!

Milton's eyes lit up.

Wrangler, nice car, this should be that person calling herself Flora? Indeed a team composed of NATO country veterans, not saying anything else, at least looks expensive.

Those two burly men seemed to be complaining about something to Flora.

"It seems we were terminated because of this 'Hell Tax Collector', right? And now we unexpectedly have to work for him?"

"Can't blame the 'Hell Tax Collector'. Those idiots actually said the money to hire us could hire 30 gang members, then fired us. Is that comparable?"

"Sigh, alright... I feel we should just leave here, Boss. We're really about to go broke, and we didn't earn much from their internal strife either."

"... Cut the nonsense, trust me, this time we'll definitely make big money. You wait here."

After settling her subordinates, Flora took off her service pistol and placed it on the car's back seat, then walked toward the Chinese restaurant.

Milton took the opportunity to glance at their service pistols — two M16s, one M4A1, all high-end electronic tactical accessories; the equipment was indeed not bad... hmm, hmm? Wait!

Wait a minute!

What the hell is an M4A1?!

That's not right, this gun just came out, just got named, hasn't been officially issued yet, right?

Where did this M4A1 come from?