Invasion of the United States

"Lucy, look, it's your Grandpa Bruto." Old Hammer's voice suddenly came from the back seat, pointing out the window.

Lucy turned her head. Through the car window, she saw medical personnel lifting an elderly man with white hair into an ambulance.

The elder's head hung limply at the edge of the stretcher, a breathing mask covering most of his face, revealing only his tightly closed eyes.

"Grandpa Bruto... he doesn't look too good." Lucy's voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

"Take out 'doesn't look', he's definitely not good, he might already be dead." Old Hammer didn't shy away from discussing 'life and death'.

Outside the car, the medical personnel were fully armed, wearing heavy protective suits, their faces completely hidden by masks, showing only a pair of cold eyes.

They moved swiftly and mechanically, like a group of emotionless robots completing a transport task, prioritizing efficiency.

Zhou Qingfeng stepped on the gas pedal, rapidly leaving this neighborhood, and after a dozen minutes, they stopped outside the Thomas Family's townhouse.

-----------------

As a senior agent of the Ministry of Efficiency, Thomas led a rather pleasant life before his death.

His residence was in the upscale residential area of the Arlington Community, a modern-style two-and-a-half-story villa.

The red brick exterior walls complemented with white pillars, the neatly trimmed lawn in the front yard hosting a small fountain, the backyard surrounded by tall oak trees, making it private and serene.

Opening the garage door, inside were still parked the couple's two cars. The car keys were still hanging on the hooks on the wall, as if the owners might return anytime to take them.

Entering the villa from the garage, there was still a faint hint of blood in the air.

On the living room floor, the police had placed several yellow evidence markers outlining where the bodies had fallen.

The genuine leather surface of the sofa was splattered with dark brown blood stains, and there were several shocking splash marks on the wall.

On the dining table in the dining room, half-prepared dinner left by Thomas's wife remained—a half-cut salad, seasoned steaks waiting to be grilled, and a half-empty glass of red wine beside them.

The food had already gone bad.

"Make do with it for now." Zhou Qingfeng swept all the spoiled items into the trash bin, then opened the refrigerator, feeling a rush of cold air.

The fridge was packed with fresh ingredients—milk, eggs, vegetables, fruits, and even a few boxes of high-grade steaks.

The freezer was filled with frozen foods and semi-prepared meals. He estimated that these provisions could sustain the three of them for six or seven days.

Water and electricity were fully operational, all appliances were functioning, the kitchen, bedrooms, and bathrooms were clean, as if the owner of the house had just stepped out briefly and could return at any moment.

Old Hammer sank into the living room sofa, habitually grabbing the remote and pressing the power button.

The TV screen lit up, and the CNN news anchor was reporting the latest news with a grave expression:

"The White House has just issued a special executive order; the Vice President has declared a national state of emergency..."

The screen switched to show the Vice President, often mocked by the media as "the country bumpkin," appearing on camera, looking serious and speaking in a low voice:

"Due to a sudden public health event, Washington D.C. will be under a full lockdown starting immediately, with entry and exit forbidden to all non-essential personnel..."

The reason?

The President was ill.

Over twenty senior staff and employees within the White House exhibited severe symptoms of discomfort.

The situation in Congress was even worse—dozens of senators and representatives had been urgently hospitalized, with over a hundred staff members on leave.

The entire Washington D.C. administrative system was nearly paralyzed, and panic was rapidly spreading.

A large number of government employees were instructed to work from home. However, they tried to flee and were stopped at the lockdown's borders by military police.

Power had already been transferred to the Vice President, who assured on television: "The lockdown is to control the situation."

But strangely, no official agency came forward to explain why so many politicians and civil servants suddenly fell ill collectively.

The American public, always enthusiastic about conspiracy theories, exploded on social media.

"Democratic Party's comeback?" "Deep State coup?" "Military supports Vice President as a puppet!"

All sorts of outrageous guesses were rampant, but no one seriously discussed the possibility of a "virus outbreak," all believing it was a façade.

Zhou Qingfeng stared at the TV screen, brow furrowed. He took out his phone, the signal bar still displaying "No Service," and the public communication network was paralyzed.

"Victor, what do we do now?" Lucy finally realized the situation was far beyond expectations, and the refuge they prepared may not have been overkill.

"What else can we do? Stay put for now." Zhou Qingfeng shrugged, remaining calm, "The Vice President can't keep Washington D.C. locked down forever, right?

This is the most concentrated area of elites in the entire United States, not to mention the people in the various embassies—just making them go hungry is enough to give the government a headache.

If they're not panicking, why should we?"

Outside, night fell, with the distant wails of ambulances echoing, the city's and even the country's order gradually disintegrating.

-----------------

Not long into the night, Zhou Qingfeng squatted in the garage, rummaging through toolboxes for copper wires, and found several aluminum cans in the garbage bin by the door, assembling a makeshift Yagi antenna.

Fixing the antenna onto the pickup truck's roof, he tuned the shortwave radio frequency, and the crackling static gradually cleared, making communication with Chen Rui and eventually Gray Shark more convenient.

For the safety of himself and his mother, Gray Shark had indeed gone to an abandoned nuclear missile silo in Montana, over two thousand kilometers away from Washington D.C.

In the kitchen, Lucy was busy preparing dinner. Steaks sizzled in the skillet, the aroma of the fat wafting through the air.

Old Hammer lay on the living room sofa, his eyelids heavy, the remote slipping from his hand to the floor. When he woke up again, he might forget who he was.

In the TV, the news anchor was still tirelessly reporting the political unrest.

The Vice President's face occupied half the screen as he announced the formation of a temporary cabinet. The administrative machinery of the United States struggled to operate amidst the chaos, trying to maintain a semblance of order.

-----------------

Meanwhile, in Dias's study, only a desk lamp was lit.

He stared at his computer screen, where the video conference window showed the faces of several colleagues, blurry and their voices breaking up.

This mode of remote working made him irritable—without face-to-face intimidation, subordinates' reports were perfunctory, colleagues' responses were indifferent, even he couldn't muster any energy.

"Is the President really sick?"

The thought swirled in his mind. Dias was highly suspicious of it; he was well aware of the government's current predicament regarding the pandemic—they couldn't admit it, nor shirk responsibility.

Ignoring it would only waste valuable time.

All the senior government officials had been vaccinated, how could they all fall ill together?

But from a political standpoint, this "illness" was too convenient—the President sidestepped responsibility and even became a victim.

The Vice President took over, while the real crisis remained buried under layers of lies.

"The military dumbasses screwed up the research, and now they want us to clean up their mess..."

No politician would admit that this virus outbreak was caused by the US Military, even if the military's secret research facility had confessed to the blunder, the government would never publicize it. Chесk fоr thе lаtеst updаtеs оn Мy Virtuаl Librаry Еmpirе (М-VL-ЕМР-YR).

"This dirty water still has to be splashed elsewhere."

One of the duties of the Department of Homeland Security was to "relieve" the President's burdens. Even without evidence, they had to manufacture some.

Throwing the blame to Dongda was still the best solution.

Dias's gaze fell on a file on his desk—Zhou Qingfeng's photo coldly stared back at him.

The desk phone suddenly rang, interrupting Dias's thoughts.

Monica's voice came through the receiver, filled with edgy excitement: "Dias, I've found the person sheltering that kid."

At Zhou Qingfeng's former country house, Old Lady Grey was being brutally forced into the kitchen sink by a burly man.

Cold tap water rushed into her nostrils, causing a violent coughing fit, her aged fingers clawing at the edges of the stainless steel sink.

The burly man yanked her white hair, repeatedly submerging her face in the water and pulling it out again.

The old lady trembled all over, tears mingling with water droplets. She regretted it—she should not have hesitated during the day; had she left with Zhou Qingfeng, she wouldn't be suffering such torment.

"Enough, I'll tell..." The old lady screamed in agony, "Victor left with a pickup truck, he's most likely trapped inside Washington D.C..."