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After being suspended, Kongges not only lost his badge and gun, but his longtime partner would also team up with other officers.
As he walked out of the police station doors full of anger, his partner was leaning against the car door, on a phone call with someone. Seeing him coming down the steps, he called out, "Hey, boss, there's a case in the third district..."
Kongges pushed his partner away, "There's no case anymore, I've been forced on leave. Handle it yourself."
He walked up to the police car and instinctively reached to open the door, only to remember he no longer had access to it. Frustrated, he kicked the tire and walked away on foot.
At that moment, two plainclothes FBI agents got out of a car parked near the police station.
After showing their badges, they mercilessly took Kongges away under the pretense of 'assisting in an investigation.'
Minutes later, everyone at the police station knew that William Congers had fallen. Half an hour later, the news had spread throughout White Beach Town.
Everyone knew that without his police identity, this 'tiger' had been defanged.
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Zhou Qingfeng had long left the bustle of White Beach Town behind, not to mention the mundane campus life—fifteen billion US Dollars were about to be his, who would still care about going to school?
His mood at that moment was like the old saying, "Spring wind triumphant, the horse's hoof swift," and he was filled with an unprecedented sense of ease and joy.
The Miami sunshine fell on his shoulders as Jennifer held his arm, and the two strolled through this exotic city, wandering aimlessly.
After getting his green card, the first thing Zhou Qingfeng did wasn't enjoy the beach views, but head straight to a local gun shop to satisfy his craving for firearms.
To him, guns weren't just tools for self-defense; they were his companions in surviving the apocalypse.
Among the array of firearms, Zhou Qingfeng quickly selected several quality handguns and went directly to the shooting range to test them out. The one that intrigued him the most was the "Kimber" M1911 series.
Although this gun was still called the 'M1911', it was nothing like Browning's original design from over a hundred years ago.
He lightly touched the gun, feeling the cold metal, and couldn't help but marvel at the exquisite modern craftsmanship.
Whether it was the material, the craftsmanship, or the internal design, the modern M1911 had been significantly improved.
The lightweight aluminum frame, the precisely machined barrel, and the optimized feeding system all showcased advances in modern technology.
Gripping the handle and feeling the perfect balance and grip, any gunman would inwardly admire it.
In the gun shop's shooting range, Zhou Qingfeng test-fired several different models of "Kimber" handguns. Each shot hit the bullseye, leaving dozens of tightly grouped holes in the target paper.
Jennifer was quite amazed, "Victor, where did you learn to shoot? I recall that most Chinese people don't use guns."
Zhou Qingfeng shrugged and nonchalantly replied, "I guess I'm an exception."
In truth, his shooting skills weren't top-notch; the harsh environment of the apocalypse didn't provide enough bullets for him to practice his aim.
His strengths lay more in his mental composure—calm, ruthless, and experienced, having faced all sorts of troubles.
Whenever any problem started to emerge, he'd either avoid it or snuff it out.
As for marksmanship...
Although his eighteen-year-old body was young and energetic, it wasn't strong enough, lacking the power to perfectly control firearms.
But real combat relied not just on physical strength but on a calm and decisive mindset.
"Can I buy these guns?" Zhou Qingfeng eyed five handguns, all priced over fifteen hundred US dollars.
They included two compact models and accessories like magazines, flashlights, and sights, yet they still weren't as expensive as the Hasselblad camera Jennifer had wanted to throw away.
The store clerk, seeing the customer was a young Asian, shook his head, "Sir, you need to be 21 to buy handguns, but you can purchase a rifle if you're over 18."
The store had hundreds of rifles at various price points. Zhou Qingfeng was about to choose a few to test when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket.
On the screen was an unfamiliar number.
Seeing this, Jennifer wisely stepped aside to continue browsing other guns. Zhou Qingfeng answered the call and brought the phone to his ear.
"Victor?" A strange voice came from the other end, distorted as if altered, sharp and twisted like a duck quacking.
Zhou Qingfeng's heart sank; his intuition told him this call was trouble.
Quickly, he swiped the screen to start recording the call, then lowered his voice and asked, "It's me, who are you?"
The caller didn't answer his question, instead, they mocked, "I want 1 billion US Dollars, or I'll send the video of you killing Toto and Raul to the FBI.
Don't think your actions went unnoticed. Quite the opposite, I know. Get the money ready."
Zhou Qingfeng's eyes narrowed, his grip on the phone tightened involuntarily, and images of Toto and Raul flashed through his mind.
His voice turned cold, suppressing his anger as he asked again, "Who are you?"
A low, contemptuous laugh came from the other end, followed by the beep-beep sound of a disconnected call— the caller had hung up.