America: Starting with Daily Intelligence
Chapter 91: Close-Range Ult

Chapter 91: Chapter 91: Close-Range Ult

Allen Zhang: Ok, I’ll take it. Please help me get a CCW permit.

Fake credential dealer: I have two channels here, one is legal but time-consuming, the other is time-saving but illegal. Which one do you want? The faster one will cost a bit more.

Allen Zhang: The legal one.

Fake credential dealer: [Mysterious Code] You’ll need to register your real name information on this website, fill out the written test material, and after passing the review, someone will email you to notify you to the offline site for assessment. Although we can guarantee that you will pass the written preliminary review, you still need to grasp some security knowledge and shooting skills.

Allen Zhang: So this legal and compliant method requires me to take the test myself? I spent 400 US dollars just to get an opportunity for an offline assessment? What about the illegal one?

Fake credential dealer: Most people can’t even get this opportunity, only those who graduate police academies and are military veterans could possibly get approved. If you don’t have time, you can spend another 200 dollars to hire a professional to take the test for you! Or you could find someone to go, pay 50 dollars to swipe the card into the testing center, and I can recommend the proctor to you, all insiders, they won’t make things difficult for you.

Fake credential dealer: For the illegal one, we can just get it done for you directly, but you must bear the consequences yourself.

Allen Zhang: Alright, I’ll do the assessment myself then. Is 50 dollars enough to bribe the proctor? Isn’t that too cheap?

Fake credential dealer: You don’t need to think that way. It’s no different from taking a driver’s license test. The proctors deal with many such deals daily, 50 dollars per person, 500 dollars for ten people, 5000 dollars for a hundred people. The proctor is only responsible for letting your person into the testing center, not for ensuring you pass the test. Everything still needs genuine backend data support.

After all, it’s a bit too abstract to award a security permit to someone who can’t even assemble and use a gun, doesn’t know how to protect people, and flees farther than employers when trouble occurs.

When you take a driver’s license test, you at least need to know how to steer and hit the gas, right? You can’t just get a job later and sit in the passenger seat, expecting your boss and employer to drive for you.

Allen Zhang chose the legal and compliant process, but he wasn’t sure about it; he might have to retake the offline assessment several times. At 50 dollars a pop and failing multiple times, it could cost him hundreds of dollars. After all, he never attended military or police school; he could only hope that Sieg would be his saving grace.

Sieg was surprised at his idea, "You want to take the test? And you’re using a middleman’s channel?"

"Don’t say it like that. If I want to carry a gun legally, I have to have a legal permit! But I only know how to pull the trigger and might not even shoot accurately. I don’t know how to protect others or any theoretical knowledge, so I need you to take the test for me."

Even though Allen Zhang was confident he could pass by practicing and studying, the time and effort spent wouldn’t be worth the return. For him, time is money, and if he could pay to take shortcuts through the process, there was no need to go through the front door himself.

Poor shooting skills can be improved over time.

Without earning money, you can’t even afford bullets.

Those gang leaders and bosses are high and mighty, they surely got their permits by paying for them. If you can spend money, spend it. The dirty work of fighting and killing is for the brainless and powerless minions. Those little black guys on the street, despite shooting guns fiercely, who else but them ends up in jail, takes the fall, or gets shot?

In the underworld, if you lack strength, background, or money, you’re just a nobody.

After considering, Sieg agreed, the offline assessment was a piece of cake for him, a sure pass. What stumps most people is actually the initial written review, 99% can’t get past this first hurdle.

Those who want this job must have practiced in private and are good shots.

But what’s the use of being a good shot? There are plenty of good shooters; do you think they all get passed?

If the reviewers see you have no connections, no background, and haven’t paid, they’ll just cross you out, disqualified.

If you don’t pay, why should I work for you?

Everyone else pays except you; what makes you think you can pass? If I let you pass today, that would be the ultimate irresponsibility to the paying clients!

Hit it with all you’ve got.

Allen Zhang logged into the "Mysterious Code" website with his phone, filled out his personal information, and then started copying the answers from the standard answer sheet.

A few minutes later, he had finished all the questions and chose to submit. Now all he had to do was sit back and wait for the notification.

Someone in the back end would take care of it for him, after all, he had spent 400 US dollars!

During this time, Sieg also finished assembling the remaining handguns, and with Allen Zhang’s consent, chose to hide the firearms in the RV, as it wasn’t quite safe to keep them in a tent, which isn’t an indoor environment.

The storage locations were under the bed in Allen Zhang’s master bedroom and in the wardrobe, with bullets and guns stored separately.

With the addition of weapons, everyone wasn’t overly concerned about the upcoming troubles; even if the other party had guns, they wouldn’t stand a chance against the firepower of a submachine gun.

Ten minutes later, the sound of honking could be heard as high-beam headlights shone down the street. A rickety Ford pick-up truck came barreling down, brazenly driving into the bridge tunnel campsite and screeching to a halt with a flick of the tail in front of the group.

The car window rolled down, and the piercing rap music leaked out; it was all a loud, jumbled mess, clear evidence of no good.

Several sloppy Black people then got out of the truck.

At a glance, they were undoubtedly street types because each of their pants was sagging, with their half-exposed buttocks out. Pure West Coast style!

The leading Black, wearing a red tank top and a golden ring on his hand, neck adorned with a thick gold chain, swaggered over with a bobbing head, speaking in rap-inflected African American Vernacular English.

"Hey! Fellas, let’s talk business! Who here goes by the name Jennifer?"

A few other Blacks came over as well, wielding baseball bats and fruit knives. Casually lifting their shirts, they revealed shiny, crooked pistols, their faces full of arrogance and defiance.

Allen Zhang caught sight of their various accessories and his eyes lit up.

That gold chain was so thick—was it real? If it were, wouldn’t that just be a free delivery to his doorstep?

"I am Jennifer. Are you the guys Matt Spencer sent? Just to get back at one woman?" Jennifer stepped forward, sneering sarcastically: "Gender equality, ha?"

The Black boss was immediately taken aback, not expecting the other side to know their purpose.

After exchanging glances, they immediately said, "Since you already know, then we don’t need to waste time. Gender equality!!"

"Look at you, sweetheart, you sure do look sweet. It’d be a shame not to make you a movie star."

The Black boss, upon seeing the blonde, blue-eyed Jennifer, the epitome of an American sweetheart, instantly felt his heart stir. He thought about reneging on their complete commitment to the employer, at least wanting to vent first.

"Fxxk you!"

Jennifer wasn’t indulging them. She flipped them off and cursed loudly, "A bunch of Black Devils raised without a mother! Go back to the moldy hole you came from and be reborn! Do you need my help? Or do you want me to whip you hard and send you back to the African savannah? Texas farms are where you truly belong!"

Holy shit.

What the hell, this is heavy.

Allen Zhang and his group were all dumbfounded.