Invasion of the United States

At the museum site, a large hole appeared in the glass curtain wall on the south side, with shattered glass and aluminum frames scattered in the direction leading to Independence Avenue.

The exhibition hall looked like it had gone through a catastrophe, with messes and piles everywhere, and more than a dozen historically significant old aircraft now turned into wreckage,

like toys roughly dismantled by children, with torn skins, broken wings, exposed dashboards, and propeller blades twisted into abstract art.

More than a dozen agents from the Department of Homeland Security and soldiers from the National Guard were looking around on site, rummaging through the debris, taking pictures and documenting, busy but unsure of what they were really doing.

A few medical staff in protective suits arrived at the scene, looked at the heads of a few victims, and directly opened body bags—there was no need for emergency treatment as their heads were shot.

In the crowd, the US Navy's Operations Chief, Four-Star Admiral Rachel Levine, stepped on the garbage and debris on the ground, furiously cursing on the spot.

"Tell me, who killed my daughter?" The admiral had an unusual face, which at this moment, twisted into something demonic.

As everyone on the scene watched, even Dias couldn't help feeling a chill down his spine.

Monica was placed under Dias by the admiral, intending to have her be watched over by security personnel with high authority in the department, where she wouldn't be wronged and would be safely supervised.

Dias intentionally placed Monica alongside Zhou Qingfeng, realizing that the lady was more prone to causing trouble than resolving it. Giving her a serious job would surely lead to chaos.

It was better to place her with Zhou Qingfeng, where she could earn a high salary without causing much trouble—after all, Zhou Qingfeng was just an Asian upstart under twenty.

As the stereotype goes, Asians are easygoing, or to be blunt, 'weak,' 'obedient,' 'easy to bully'—most Asians are indeed like this.

Because of this stereotype, Dias thought he had control over Zhou Qingfeng and could easily handle him, but now he truly regretted it.

The ability to cause trouble was unmatched, and the action was incredibly strong. Monica had suffered at his hands and resolutely decided to fight him to the end.

Now the situation was irretrievable. Dias lowered his head, not daring to look at the admiral's face—this woman, to be precise... this 'transwoman' was truly ugly.

Admiral Levine was originally an assistant to the Ministry of Health in the United States, having benefited from LGBT policies in early years, rising rapidly in ranks.

When the Democratic Party came to power, he transitioned into 'her' and mixed into the Navy; when the Republican Party came to power, 'she' immediately stressed America first, switched sides, and mingled with the 'real estate tycoon.'

With such a shameless 'mother,' Monica's extreme arrogance was understandable. But to rise to the position of a four-star admiral and become the top military echelon, her abilities and connections were evident.

As a senior intelligence officer, Dias could be omnipotent in front of outsiders, but when the admiral questioned him, he truly had grievances he couldn't express.

"Miss Monica was killed during a pursuit task, the perpetrator is likely an Asian named Victor. I will personally investigate, definitely..."

While saying this, Dias slightly raised his eyes.

Opposite him, the transwoman admiral's gaze was like a poisoned dagger, viciously shouting, "I don't care who the killer is, bring him to be buried with my daughter."

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At the moment DC-3 took off, Zhou Qingfeng was also dumbfounded—was this escape a success or a failure?

To say 'success,' almost all the core members of the team were dead; to say 'failure,' the old, weak, women, and children suffered but all boarded the plane and escaped.

Now the museum was in disarray, with heavy casualties, leaving only Zhou Qingfeng standing amid a pile of debris, stunned—more than a dozen National Guard soldiers were now nowhere to be seen.

Forget it, better take care of myself.

Zhou Qingfeng didn't dare linger on the spot and even less dared to wander outside the museum. He retrieved the cart with survival supplies, collected some weapons scattered at the scene, and returned underground.

It's obvious that the 'J-12' maintenance channel cannot be used; the official personnel investigating afterward aren't blind and will definitely explore it.

Find the source of this chapter at M|V|L-EMPYR.

The good news is, the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum is located right in the center of Washington D.C., its underground parking lot is indeed a nuclear defense project.

On the map drawn by Mr. Brown, the underground transportation network of the US capital is multi-layered, spreads out in a radial pattern, as dense as a spider web, and extremely intricate.

When Dias judged that Zhou Qingfeng might have escaped on the DC-3, he was actually wearing a fire mask, opening an inconspicuous cast iron manhole cover, and descending even deeper underground.

Relying on a flashlight and supplies carried by the cart, he groped along the maintenance channel for a day, eventually reaching a kilometer away beneath Capitol Hill.

Capitol Hill has an extensive underground facility, including subways, parking lots, traffic tunnels, and nuclear defense works.

It and numerous government office buildings surrounding it are interconnected, the underground network vast enough to drive trucks through.

For instance, there is a dedicated electric conveyance passage between the Capitol building and the nearby Library of Congress for transporting books and other paper documents, which outsiders find unimaginable.

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Zhou Qingfeng aimlessly wandered in the dim passage until he pushed open a normally closed fire door, met by blinding fluorescent light and the smell of disinfectant.

Behind the door wasn't the anticipated escape route, but a subterranean hospital converted from an air raid shelter.

Hundreds of temporary hospital beds were densely arranged, with each bed occupied by a patient tormented by illness.