Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 837 - 452: Spark, Conflict! (Long Chapter)_2

Then, as soon as I opened my eyes, I found myself in Mexico.

The White-headed Eagle stared at me with wide eyes, "What the fuck…"

"You've been reborn?!"

The Soviet Union… or rather, shouldn't it now be called Russia.

Yekaterinburg.

The main street was filled with cheering crowds, waving glow sticks and celebrating their rebirth.

Some people were so agitated that they smashed things, and some even set shops on fire. A few shopkeepers sat on the ground, weeping uncontrollably.

Some were exploiting the chaos for personal gain!

Of course, Yekaterinburg's local garrison had to come out to maintain order.

Wearing helmets and holding shields, they dispersed the crowds…

But they were also deeply confused…

Who were they even serving now?

Tear gas was thrown into the crowd. Thick smoke choked everyone, forcing them to cover their mouths and flee in panic.

Yet, in the dense fog, a figure emerged.

A child carrying a schoolbag, covering his mouth, with a Soviet flag draped over his shoulder.

Alone, he walked toward the army. His steps were resolute, his gaze deep, carrying both resignation and bewilderment.

The soldiers he stared at couldn't meet his eyes, quickly turning their faces away.

They… felt a tinge of guilt.

The boy stood before the troops, planted the flag into the ground with a bang, and shouted: "Long live the great Soviet Union!"

"Long live!"

"Bang!!"

As his voice echoed, a gunshot rang out from a nearby building.

In a cramped living room…

An old soldier, dressed in a Soviet uniform, fell heavily to the floor. Multiple bullet holes marked his temple, and blood instantly soaked the wooden boards below.

In his hand…

He held a photograph.

In it, a dozen young people were smiling. They stood amidst the ruins of war, celebrating victory.

They had defeated the wicked Germans, achieved great triumphs, but later… they succumbed to a life of hedonism.

Meanwhile, in the weapons factory—once the largest Soviet arms production site during World War II—it was now completely desolate.

"It's all gone, gone, EVERYTHING is gone!!!"

An old man with graying hair, dressed in an unranked military uniform, was shouting furiously. He held a hunting rifle in his hands, the muzzle pointed at his own mouth…

He pulled the trigger!

Click~

The gun jammed.

Unwilling to give up, he pulled again…

But after four or five tries, the cartridges still jammed. The futility seemed to drain the life out of the old man. He slammed the gun onto the ground with all his strength, collapsing into a seated position while bursting into tears!

Thud thud~

Messy and urgent footsteps echoed from outside.

"Dad!"

"Mikhail!"

Two women rushed in, one young and the other much older. Seeing his state, they anxiously ran to his side and held him.

"It's all gone, it's all gone, Yekaterina, my homeland is gone." The old man sobbed as he clung to his wife.

The old woman was heartbroken too, unsure how to console him.

"Dad, let's go to Mexico, there's still a New Spark in Mexico." The daughter wiped her tears and tried to comfort him.

"Mexico is calling for all believers in communism. You can help them develop weapons and rebuild the ideal nation!"

The old man had, of course, heard of Mexico. He raised his head, his reddened eyes gleaming with hope briefly before dimming again. "I'm too old…"

"Dad!"

The daughter gripped his hand tightly. "For the sake of ideals, you are still young!"

"And no one has the right to say that the Father of the AK-47 is old!!"

This old man was none other than Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov!

He looked at his wife; she looked back and gave a decisive nod. "Go. Just like when we were young, we… can still fight on."

"The Soviet Union was never just a country; it is… a spirit."

…

News of the Soviet Union's collapse dominated the headlines for months.

The clueless stared wide-eyed, at a loss, while the prepared feasted, their mouths dripping with grease.

Especially Mexico, which immediately raised the banner of the "New Spark."

In an office.

Smoke wafted through the air.

Victor was speaking, and a group of high-ranking officials scribbled notes as he talked.

"Give priority to issuing citizenship to Soviet nationals with technical expertise."

"Protecting high-tech talent is critical—there can absolutely be no mishaps. The United States will definitely meddle in this, especially targeting Oleg Lavrentiev and his Experimental Group."

Victor paused here, his gaze landing on George Smiley. "The Department of Internal Affairs must offer them protection as it would for me personally. If anything happens to them…"

The leader of the Thirteen Protectors immediately rose. "I guarantee the mission will be completed—over our dead bodies if necessary."

Victor scoffed. "Don't sound so proud. You all understand their value; they're worth twenty armies!"

"Especially on our turf."

Everyone clearly understood what the "Experimental Group" represented.

After all, this was Oleg Lavrentiev. Anyone familiar with physics would know his stature.

"Goebbels, pay attention to propaganda. Europe and America love nothing more than running their mouths off."

The Propaganda Minister nodded slightly.

Victor let out a deep breath. "Gentlemen, since when did the United States start bullying us?"

"1846!"

"Since the US-Mexico War, those bandits and rapists from Europe have treated North America as their dominion, slaughtering the Indigenous people. When we tried to rise, from the moment we initiated the Opium War resistance, they've obstructed us at every turn. Why?"

"Because they're afraid—terrified of disrupting their geopolitical dominance!"

"But the more they fear, the less we can yield. The Earth doesn't belong to America; it belongs to all humanity."

"What we are doing is a great cause!"