Song Heping noticed that the muzzle of the corporal's gun was slightly trembling.
This young man was at most twenty years old, with a fresh scratch on his forehead, obviously frightened by the earlier explosion upstairs.
"BBC?"
The corporal eyed the group suspiciously.
"What are you doing here at a time like this?"
Song Heping stepped forward slowly, responding in standard English, "We were doing a special report on Sena's economic development, and hid here when we heard the explosion."
He deliberately let his voice carry a slight tremor, "Thank God, you're finally here, this place is terrifying."
The corporal visibly relaxed a little, but still didn't lower his gun, "Let's see your IDs."
Song Heping pulled out a forged BBC ID from his vest pocket and handed it over.
The other team members also handed over their IDs.
These IDs were provided by MI6, genuine forgeries, they would even pass a verification call to the BBC.
As the corporal was repeatedly examining the IDs, a call suddenly came through over the radio.
"Report, sir, a corpse has been found in the radio station!"
A soldier reported through the radio.
"There are six corpses in the broadcasting room on the third floor, all executed!"
Clearly, someone had already entered the third floor!
Song Heping was slightly taken aback.
He hadn't expected the radio station guards to have set up the ladder so quickly and climbed to the third floor again...
The corporal's eyes suddenly turned sharp, raising the gun once more, "Did you come down from the third floor?"
Song Heping felt a cold sweat on his back, but outwardly remained calm, "We were hiding in the parking lot the whole time, we only came out looking for an exit when the gunfire stopped upstairs."
"You were in the parking lot the whole time?" The corporal's eyes still filled with doubt.
Song Heping firmly asserted, "That's right, we just arrived intending to conduct interviews, but then we heard the gunfight and explosions upstairs, not even knowing what happened, we could only hide."
The corporal suddenly sniffed and sneered, "Then why do you smell of gunpowder?"
The air instantly froze.
Song Heping's right hand inconspicuously moved closer to the Glock inside his vest.
At that moment, a series of explosions suddenly came from outside the parking lot, followed by intense gunfire and screams from the crowd.
"What's going on?"
The corporal turned his head to look toward the exit.
The sudden situation left him somewhat at a loss.
Urged dialogue came through the radio from other soldiers—
"There's a riot in the East District! Thousands are storming the government building!"
"There's also a riot in the North District, things are bad!"
Taking advantage of the corporal's distraction, Song Heping quickly stepped forward, "Listen, soldier. This city is about to descend into chaos, are you sure you want to waste time questioning a few reporters?"
He lowered his voice, "Where does your family live? Are they safe now?"
Exploiting others' psychological weaknesses.
Song Heping was very adept at it.
When a country descends into chaos, anyone would worry about their family.
Moreover, the soldier wearing a ring on his ring finger, judging by his age, likely hasn't been married for long, and probably has dependents both old and young.
Sure enough, the corporal's expression visibly wavered.
Song Heping pressed his advantage, "Let us leave; we don't want to stay in this hellhole any longer, and you can continue to do your duty. Otherwise..."
He looked meaningfully at the increasing riot noises outside.
"Get out of here!" The corporal finally waved his hand, "Leave through the west exit, don't let me see you again!"
"Thank you!"
Song Heping thanked him repeatedly, leading Jiang Feng and the others past the soldier, quickly heading towards the interview vehicle.
After rounding a corner, Ferrari asked in a low voice, "Boss, how did you know he'd fall for it?"
"Fear and worry." Song Heping answered briefly, "Fear makes people make irrational decisions. He's more concerned whether the riot outside will affect his family's safety, and won't scrutinize us closely."
When they finally emerged from the radio station building, crossed the open space and reached the street, the scene before them made everyone stop in their tracks.
Butare was burning.
In the distance, at least three plumes of smoke rose straight into the sky, the flickering flames vaguely visible, staining the night sky a sickly orange-red.
On the street, the crowd surged like a tide, some holding hastily made signs, while more wielded sticks, machetes, even homemade Molotov cocktails.