United Nations Conference Hall.
Today, it seems rather quiet.
The photos of the Brazilian Rosinia Slum spread out on the wooden tabletop, French representative Pierre Lemel pushed the photos to the center of the table and began to challenge.
"Mr. Joachim Ribbentrop!"
Pierre's voice wrapped in a Parisian accent, "Can you dare to look directly at these images? Houses collapsed with babies still nursing buried inside, crying mothers clutching their children injured by shrapnel—this is Mexico's so-called 'iron-fisted drug control', it's outright slaughter!"
Seated at Mexico's spot, Joachim slowly lifted his gaze, dressed in a neatly pressed dark gray suit with a meticulously tied tie, but his eyes slightly bloodshot, looking very weary.
He didn't answer immediately; instead, he reached for the photo at the very edge, showing a narrow slum alley with several drug traffickers in camouflage pants aiming guns at a photographer, with "Red Command" graffiti on the wall in the background.
