Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 885 - 469: I admit you guys are fierce, but I'm cheating!

Washington Medical College!

The ambulance, lights flashing and siren blaring, rushed to the emergency entrance.

A Yanks with a broken leg, sitting in a wheelchair, happened to come out, shivering in fear, involuntarily leaning to the side, and heavily falling to the ground.

Before he could start cursing.

Three blood-covered burly men jumped out of a Cadillac following the ambulance, snatching the wheelchair and dragging him aside as if throwing away garbage.

"Hey!"

The Yank shouted discontentedly, but when one of them turned his head, the fierce gaze scared him into swallowing his words.

With a wry smile on his face.

He saw a patient being pushed down from the car, surrounded by four doctors?!

Oh my God!

What kind of big shot is this?

But... this is too tragic, covered in blood, flesh barely visible, and that left leg is broken, still dripping blood heavily.

As soon as they pushed him in...

A dozen ambulances flooded into the hospital, the sight making onlookers tremble.

The Yank with a broken leg hurriedly crawled up, propped up the wheelchair, and ran off sitting in it.

"No chance, this one's done for, the brain is blown out." Inside the emergency room, screams echoed endlessly.

A batch had already been brought in earlier...

Many were already covered with white cloths.

Before he finished, a burly man next to him suddenly shoved him hard against the wall, eyes red, "Save her! I said save her! She can still be rescued!"

"Do you know who she is?"

"Her name is Manuel Jacqueline, Minister of Labor, save her!! I'm telling you to save her!"

The doctor behind him hurriedly grabbed him, signaling him to calm down.

The doctor looked at him, paused, then pulled the white cloth from a nearby hospital bed, revealing a somewhat obese man underneath, with half of his head missing.

"His name is Colin Luther Powell, you should know him."

"The one next door is called Brown Weiss."

"Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

The doctor pushed him aside, "Everyone is dying, and it pains me too, but please don't interrupt me from saving people now!"

The burly man covered his face, suddenly sitting on the ground, like a helpless child, crying bitterly.

The high-ranking bureaucrats of America, one by one, were being discarded like trash.

But really, there's nothing that can be done...

There's no point in sending them to ICU, blasted beyond recognition by their own mothers.

Journalists arriving upon hearing the news, like sharks, jumped out of their vehicles, rushing into the hospital armed with long and short cameras.

They were blocked by Special Service agents.

Both sides shoved each other.

"We have the right to know! The public has the right to know, who are you? Special Service Bureau? Why did such a thing happen? Are you professionals? May I ask, where does the taxpayers' money go? Is the news about you taking drugs true?"

A bespectacled journalist shouted, and before the words finished, a fist punched over, cracking his glasses and leaving him writhing in pain.

"Hit them, beat these journalists to death!"

No one knew who shouted it, but already angry Special Service members exploded, charging forward and beating the journalists, some even grabbing chairs to smash them.

Nearby patients, in a panic, quickly fled to the sides, fearing they'd be involved, but quite enjoyed the spectacle.

Dammit, couldn't handle Mexico Victor?

Can't even deal with you lot?

Security of Washington Medical College: Stop fighting, stop it, put your hands down!

Just standing at the side shouting.

But those journalists weren't just there idly either, especially the ones carrying cameras, couldn't do the job without physical stamina, resulting in a pure brawl.

Rushed footsteps echoed at the entrance, as Richie Miller, Clinton's bodyguard, arrived with people from the Bureau of Internal Revenue and the Criminal Investigation Bureau, witnessing the scene and firing three shots into the air.

Even the ceiling got shot through.

"Stop it!"

"Pull them apart!"

The armed forces from the tax department rushed in, forcibly pulling them apart, and once separated, Richie Miller couldn't help but twitch his mouth at the sight.

Just seeing more Special Service Bureau members lying on the ground than journalists.

Damn it...

Really useless!

"Take them all away." He waved his hand.

He himself then entered the emergency room, looking at the Purgatory-like scene, eyes darkening.

"Richie Miller?"

Just as he was about to turn and leave, a weak voice called out from behind, he turned to see a man sitting in a wheelchair, covered in bandages.

"Hobert?!"

He was surprised to see the face of his old SEALs teammate, said to be a private bodyguard of some corporate boss.

"You were at the scene too?"

Hobert nodded, pointing to his left leg, "Lucky to be alive, my boss and I weren't in the escort team, but stray shrapnel still injured my leg."

"That's good." Richie Miller sighed with relief.

Hobert wheeled himself to the entrance of the emergency room, looking inside with an expression of pity, "Too cruel, this attack, it has nearly wiped out the U.S. political scene, for ten, no, the next twenty years, it's complete devastation for all political families."

"But do you know what I'm worried about now?"

Richie Miller raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

"The military's three giants have all fallen, The Pentagon no longer has a leader, which means the army's highest hub has been eradicated, you get what I mean?" Hobert said calmly.

With these words, Richie's pupils shrank, he was no ordinary SEAL, but a Lieutenant Colonel, he surely understood the implications of these words.