Oh, just crap.
Those marchers really don't respect the rules; they're throwing crap everywhere, goddamn it.
You thought you were throwing a star, huh.
Meanwhile, in the distant National Palace in Mexico City, Victor had just finished his breakfast, looking at the newspaper in his hand.
Victor put down the British newspaper:
"Casare, did you see this? Full of major flaws, serious delays, regrets... Typical British tone, turning a disaster into a technical error, like they just spilled a cup of tea."
His voice was very calm.
"Their deep-seated arrogance swallows humiliation and becomes hypocrisy."
Victor's gaze swept over the statement, "Acknowledging the Mexican Commander's exemplary model? That's harder to take than insults. These shit-stirrers publicly concede defeat but harbor ill intentions, won't let it go easily, and will only engage in more covert maneuvers."
