Invasion of the United States

A gust of wind blew through, and the corpse hanging from the beam rotated gently like a dry leaf, its shoe tips casting trembling shadows on the floor.

A note was pinned to the collar of the deceased, bearing a farewell letter scrawled in hasty handwriting. The edges of the paper lifted in the night breeze, producing a slight rustling sound.

"Oh, unknown person, please accept the sincerest apologies of a dying man. Forgive me for choosing such a disgraceful way to say goodbye.

My wife passed away, and this house turned into a coffin; I don't have the courage to continue living.

Perhaps this is the intention of the ones in power, feeling we're bothersome, thinking we're wasting resources, and preferring not to see us anymore.

I tried to resist, but could not hold on.

Being dead, I can no longer argue anything. You may take away the items in the house; if they can be of use, it would be my honor."

The handwriting suddenly became blurry here, with water stains smudged at the bottom of the page.

Zhou Qingfeng instinctively looked up, directly facing the livid face of the deceased.

The old man's relaxed eyelids were half-closed, yet the corners of his mouth were eerily turned up, as if mocking something.

A coarse hemp rope was deeply choked into the wrinkles of his neck, carving a purple-black trench into his pale skin.

"Rest in peace, Mr. Brown." Zhou Qingfeng untied the knot on the beam and laid the old man's body on the lawn in the backyard. "I'm sorry I can't do more."

After a slight bow to give the deceased some dignity, Zhou Qingfeng entered Mr. Brown's house through the back door.

The interior was very clean, with items neatly arranged, obvious evidence of the owner's diligence and refined nature.

The dining table was tidied up neatly, the refrigerator still held quite a bit of food, showing that the old man had not eaten much before his death.

The second-floor bedroom door was ajar, and Mrs. Brown's body lay in a reverent sleeping position, hands folded over her chest, gray-white hair spread like a web over the pillowcase.

But the overturned medicine bottle on the bedside table, the crumpled sheets, and several disordered marks on the floor silently spoke of a final struggle.

The landline phone flashed with a red indicator light.

Zhou Qingfeng pressed the playback button, and an electronic voice coldly reported a string of emergency center numbers, none of which had been dialed successfully.

An emergency medicine kit lay discarded on the floor, bandages, scissors, and empty medicine bottles scattered everywhere.

The bedside table was crowded with various unused medications, including fever reducers, pain relievers, antihypertensives, and sleeping aids, all fully stocked.

The genuine article resides on M|V|L&EMPYR.

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Zhou Qingfeng silently exited the bedroom and headed to the adjacent study.

In sharp contrast to the cleanliness of the bedroom, this room was somewhat messy—three walls were densely packed with yellowing maps of Washington D.C., some edges already curled and fixed with thumbtacks.

The most prominent spot held a map of Washington D.C.'s underground networks, covered with red pen annotations and amendments.

As early as the mid-nineteenth century, Americans began constructing underground networks in the capital, such as the basement of the Congress Building and short-distance transportation tunnels.

As time progressed, Washington D.C. initiated subway construction, and the underground transit network gradually became increasingly complex.

By the mid-twentieth century, driven by nuclear defense needs, the 'White House underground bunker', 'Capitol Hill underground defense project', and 'Dulles Airport secret tunnel' were initiated.

The entire underground infrastructure in Washington D.C. has become a vast grid.

By the twenty-first century, subway extensions and data center constructions made these transit networks 'layered', 'multi-directional', 'huge', and interconnected the central district with Arlington.

The study also contained a drawing whiteboard, upon which was sketched a convoluted escape route in black marker.

Dashed lines led from the Congress Building subway station to Dulles Airport, with red arrows from the White House bunker to Arlington National Cemetery—these lines interwove into a massive underground web in Zhou Qingfeng's eyes.

Certain key nodes were marked with post-it notes written by Mr. Brown: "blind spot for monitoring", "ventilation shaft renovation point", "guard shift interval".

Zhou Qingfeng leaned in to closely examine, noting small numbers next to the routes—these were precise calculations to the minute.

The edge of the whiteboard bore several notes, with the latest one reading:

"Martha can't hold on anymore, blood oxygen dropped to ninety percent, emergency center numbers are forever unreachable, what am I to do?"

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Zhou Qingfeng pulled out a note, carefully transcribing the routes and text from the whiteboard.

He then meticulously removed the travel maps pinned to the walls, filled with pencil-marked symbols, some official routes and some secret passages Mr. Brown had discovered himself.

Zhou Qingfeng rolled them up one by one and stuffed them into the document tube beside the desk.

After finishing tidying up, he surveyed the surroundings to ensure he hadn't missed any crucial information, then turned to leave. But just as he set foot to move, the phone on the desk suddenly vibrated.

Buzz—buzz—

Zhou Qingfeng stared at it for two seconds and eventually picked it up, pressing the answer button with his thumb, "Hello?"

An urgent male voice came from the other end of the line, anxiously asking, "Mr. Brown, is your route map ready? We can no longer wait here!"

Zhou Qingfeng was silent for three seconds, his gaze scanning the document tube in his hand, he slowly responded: "Mr. Brown's wife has passed away. He couldn't bear the grief and committed suicide by hanging."

"What?" A chaotic exclamation abruptly erupted from the phone, followed by a tangled conversation, clearly more than one person was listening.

A few seconds later, the voice on the other end was heard again, noticeably more tense than before: "Who… who are you?"