Chapter 37

In a large forest, all kinds of birds can be found. Among the refugees, there are also all sorts of people.

Back then, a major earthquake occurred, shocking the entire nation. People from all over the country donated money and supplies, and some even volunteered to help with the rescue efforts. However, there were also those who took advantage of the earthquake to rob and loot. They dared to rob jewelry stores, gold shops, and even banks, profiting from the national disaster. They were truly scum and the dregs of society.

Among these refugees, there were also lawbreakers. The man who was robbing now was certainly not a good person.

Muhammad happened to pass by. When he saw what was happening, the man who was robbing was right in front of him. Without hesitation, Muhammad immediately blocked him.

"Get out of the way." The man said, waving the sharp curved knife in his hand.

Seeing that Muhammad had no intention of moving, the man immediately lunged at him with the knife, aiming straight for Muhammad's chest, without any delay.

Muhammad stared at the curved knife, and with his left hand, he grabbed the man's wrist holding the knife, then raised it up. Following that, he raised his right knee and struck the man's chest forcefully.

"Clang." The curved knife fell to the ground, and the robber collapsed, curling up.

Muhammad's attack was very heavy, instantly rendering the man unable to fight. Seeing the man's hunched body, Muhammad couldn't help but kick him hard on the back.

"Crack." With a clear sound, the man's rib was broken, and he screamed in pain.

Several refugees gathered around, looking at the man being beaten, all of them were delighted.

"He deserves it! In the refugee camp, he always bullied others!"

"Right, he even stole things at night!"

"Beat him up!" More and more refugees gathered, and a few of them couldn't resist and started punching and kicking the man.

Muhammad stepped back from the crowd, holding the bag, and watched as the limping girl slowly approached.

In this era, Western liberalism was prevalent, and Pakistan's discipline was not strict. It was common for girls to dress like this.

"Thank you for your help," the girl said to Muhammad, with a charming smile on her face.

"You're welcome," Muhammad replied. Just as he finished speaking, he saw the girl's smile freeze and turn into a look of pain: "Ouch."

Her foot was hurting again.

"Come, sit down," Muhammad said to the girl. Watching her sit on the steps by the roadside, Muhammad bent down and gently rubbed her ankle, saying, "Look over there, that guy has been arrested by the police."

The girl turned her head and, just as she saw the two police officers, she felt a sudden pain in her foot.

"Done," Muhammad said. "Your foot was out of place, but I've corrected it. However, the swelling will take a few days to go down."

Muhammad had merely distracted the girl, and with a bit of force, he had helped her foot return to its original position.

The girl stood up and walked, and indeed, it didn't hurt as much as before. She couldn't help but say to Muhammad, "Thank you, sir. What's your name?"

"Muhammad," Muhammad replied. "The bus has arrived. Are you getting on the bus?"

The girl limped onto the bus, and Muhammad watched her silhouette by the window as the bus drove away. He continued walking forward, and when he reached Peshawar, he would be home. First, he would get a good night's sleep!

When Muhammad woke up again, it was already evening.

Although Peshawar was close to Afghanistan, there were no incidents of Soviet air force crossing the border. Peshawar did not have air defense restrictions, and there were still dim lights on the streets.

In the distance, the pointed roofs of the mosques were visible, and the wind blowing over the roofs made a whistling sound.

Muhammad came out of the guesthouse. Without receiving orders from the chief of staff, it was likely that the Americans had not agreed. Muhammad walked, thinking about what to do.

He needed someone to introduce him; otherwise, the CIA would not contact him on their own. The chief of staff would not let him meet the Americans directly. What method should he use?

Muhammad thought as he walked. Looking up, he saw a brightly lit corner of the street, with large English letters shining brightly.

A bar? This bar must be newly opened. In Peshawar, or in all of Pakistan, there were no bars.

Pakistan was a country that prohibited alcohol, and the official ban began in 1977. It had only been four or five years since then, and many people still missed the days when they could drink. However, Muslims were absolutely forbidden to drink alcohol.

In Pakistan, there were also non-Muslims, especially now in Peshawar, where there were many foreigners, such as Americans and Europeans, who were assisting Pakistan in the war in Afghanistan. Their presence stimulated the development of other industries, such as the bar in front of him, which only served foreigners, making it a good business.

Muhammad watched several Americans go in and out, and he immediately had an idea. He might as well go inside and try his luck. Perhaps he would even meet someone from the CIA and contact them directly!

With this thought, Muhammad took large steps towards the bar.

"Sorry, you can't go in," Muhammad was stopped by two doormen at the entrance.

With his beard, high nose, and head wrapped in a towel, Muhammad's Muslim features were too obvious. This bar, operating on the edge, strictly adhered to Pakistani law.

Muhammad had to step back. He wanted to find a place to climb in. Just as he took a few steps back, he heard hurried footsteps from inside.

"James, I can't drink anymore," a woman's voice said loudly.

"Aisha, if you drink this one, I'll give you ten dollars more," another voice said.

Hearing this, the woman stopped, and then Muhammad heard the sound of beer being poured into her mouth.

"Good, all these tips are yours. Daniha, if you're willing to spend the night with me, you'll get even more," James's voice continued in Muhammad's ears.

"No," the woman's voice trembled, and Muhammad heard the sound of clothes being torn.

Damn! Muhammad couldn't stand it anymore. He took large steps and rushed into the bar.

"You can't go in," the doorman tried to stop him, but Muhammad waved his arm and pushed the blocking arm aside, rushing in.

In just a few steps, Muhammad saw four or five Americans surrounding a girl. The girl was covering her chest with her hands, her strap broken, and her chest barely visible.

The girl had drunk a lot, her eyes were blurry. When she saw Muhammad, her eyes immediately filled with a plea for help.

It was the same girl from earlier. When she got on the bus, Muhammad had thought she was just an ordinary office worker. Who would have thought she would be a hostess at night.

Seeing Aisha's eyes, Muhammad knew he had to help her. Being a hostess was one thing, but being forced was another, especially since Aisha was unwilling.

"Hey, brother, this isn't America. Pakistani girls don't casually sleep with foreigners," Muhammad said.

Hearing Muhammad's words, the Americans surrounding Aisha turned to look at him.

"FUCK! How did you get in? Do you know the rules here?" James said, picking up a beer bottle.

Aisha's foot was still twisted, and the excessive alcohol made her head dizzy. She knew Muhammad was there to save her. She ran to Muhammad and hid behind him.

These Americans looked tall and strong, but their fighting experience was limited to this kind of thug-like brawling. Muhammad watched as James approached with the beer bottle, standing still.

Just as James raised the beer bottle and swung it at Muhammad's head, Muhammad quickly dodged, grabbed James's arm with both hands, and with a force from his wrists and waist, he twisted hard.

"Crack," a clear sound was heard, and James's arm hung limply.

Muhammad didn't intend to kill. After all, he needed the Americans' help. In theory, he shouldn't have gotten into a conflict with these Americans. Since the conflict was inevitable, Muhammad was trying to control its scale. He had only dislocated the man's shoulder. If it were a real battlefield, Muhammad would have broken the man's arm and then twisted his neck.

The beer bottle fell to the ground, and with one move, James was subdued.

Another American rushed at Muhammad, holding a sharp military knife.

Muhammad pushed off the ground with both feet, jumped up, and kicked the man's wrist, causing the knife to fall. As the man bent down to look for the knife, Muhammad landed and clamped the man's neck with his arm and waist, applying pressure to the carotid artery.

In just five seconds, the American's body collapsed, unconscious.

Muhammad easily subdued these two men. The other Americans didn't dare to come forward. They were all emboldened by alcohol and had been away from America for too long, but the man in front of them was too skilled. After weighing their options, they decided not to attack.

Aisha looked at Muhammad with admiration. She hesitated for a moment, then held onto Muhammad's arm, wanting to leave with him.

"Two people were injured here. Do you think you can just walk away so easily?" A voice came from behind.