"Good luck." Armand Hains pretended to leave.

Hassan Hussein finally stood up and urged, "Agent Armand Hains, please wait a moment..."

Armand Hains turned his head to look at him.

Hassan Hussein spoke again, "Give me half an hour. I'll try to find out the whereabouts of Hard Abbas, but I can't guarantee it."

Maitita Abbas's face turned a bit unsightly, "Sheikh..."

Hassan Hussein waved his hand, signaling him not to speak, "Go find him."

"But..."

"Do as I say." Hassan Hussein's tone was calm, yet exuded an undeniable authority.

"Yes." Maitita Abbas glared at Armand Hains and left the small courtyard in dejection.

Luke didn't say a word, just sat quietly on a chair watching. He was curious about this immigrant community.

They were very united, preferred living together, and retained their ethnic characteristics and religious culture.

They didn't want to integrate into mainstream American society and mostly engaged in marginal work related to construction.

Of course, more people disliked working and preferred staying at home having children, living on various benefits and subsidies.

20 minutes later.

Maitita Abbas returned to the small courtyard, holding a white slip of paper, and handed it to Hassan Hussein, "Sheikh, I found Hard Abbas's address."

Hassan Hussein did not take the paper, gesturing for him to hand it directly to Armand Hains.

Maitita Abbas reluctantly handed it over.

Armand Hains glanced at it and handed it to Luke beside him, "Thank you, by the way, your restaurant's grilled naan smells great. When I have time, I'll come as a customer to taste it."

Maitita Abbas was not buying it, "You're not welcome here."

Armand Hains glanced at Hassan Hussein, "Sheikh, this guy is far worse than you."

Then, Luke and Armand Hains walked out of the restaurant together.

As soon as Luke stepped out, he happened to see a person entirely clad in a black cloak, leaving only two eyes exposed, walking by the roadside.

At that moment, he felt a tinge of revulsion towards this group.

In the small courtyard of the restaurant.

Hassan Hussein sat back down on the carpet, expressionless, as if nothing had happened earlier.

Maitita Abbas remained respectfully standing beside him, though his expression was complicated. After a long while, he said, "Sheikh, I don't know if what I'm doing is right. Hard Abbas is an idealistic young man. We..."

Hassan Hussein closed his eyes and slowly said, "Having ideals is good, but they also need to be pursued in the right way. This is America, a country of 300 million people, and everyone is armed. It's impossible to conquer this country through so-called terrorist attacks, which will only be suppressed and eliminated by its mechanisms.

That's why they come looking for us immediately after a terrorist attack occurs.

They don't trust us at all. If we were really involved in terrorist attacks, they would not hesitate to eliminate us."

"In what way should we realize our ideals?" Maitita Abbas asked, feeling somewhat dejected, yet unwilling to concede, "Do we really have to learn and integrate into American culture?"

"No, I never thought that. We just need to avoid crossing the line, developing within the rules of the game, and one day we will become a force they cannot ignore. By then, even the FBI won't bully us at will."

"What do we need to do to wait for that day?"

Hassan Hussein slowly opened his eyes, his voice deep, "As long as our community continues to grow, as long as we have enough votes, we will have a place in this country and the capital to fight for more rights."

Maitita Abbas's eyes revealed a peculiar glow, "I understand."

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