Invasion of the United States

The president of the 'Holy Light' Group, a young mogul worth billions, has stirred up significant controversy online, controlling a tech company that could change the future of the world.

He didn't even bother to conceal his identity, such an arrogant genius."

Shanni tried to recall, and then suddenly realized, "Victor, I remember, he was once arrested by the FBI and IRS together, it was on the news."

The professor tapped the table with his hand, his voice suddenly becoming light, "Relax, nurse. On these terrible days, we need someone who doesn't care about the rules."

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Shanni walked through the noisy corridor back to the ward area. She stopped, her gaze falling on the now empty bed.

Sir House's nameplate was still hanging on the head of the bed, but the sheets had been changed to new white ones.

Two orderlies were passing by her with a stretcher. Through the thin sheet, she could see the emaciated outline of the former deputy minister.

The old man's tracheal tube had been removed, replaced by a small square of gauze on his neck. His eyes were half-open, with cloudy pupils reflecting the flickering emergency lights on the ceiling.

"Make way, nurse." The orderly's voice drew her back to reality.

Shanni stepped aside, noticing the direction they were pushing the stretcher was toward the end of the corridor marked "Zone A"—known as the "Angel Corridor," the final destination for all terminal patients.

As she turned, her gaze met a pair of bright eyes.

On the neighboring bed, a boy about eight or nine years old was curled up on a stretcher, his small body almost swallowed by the adult-sized sheets.

The boy was holding a faded teddy bear tightly in his arms, the infusion needle stark against the pale skin of his hand. This tеxt wаs асquirеd frоm М|V|L0ЕМРYR.

"They're disinfecting my new bed," the boy explained proactively, his voice hoarse from fever, "The nurse said I'll get to use the breathing machine soon."

Suddenly, Shanni felt something melt in her chest. She crouched down, tucking the boy's blanket in: "What's your name?"

"Tommy." The boy offered a weak smile, "My dad says, once I'm better, he'll take me to watch the National team's game."

Behind her came the crisp clatter of medical equipment.

The nurses were reassembling the artificial lung on Sir House's vacant bed.

The silver tubes gleamed coldly under the light, as the monitor screen lit up, awaiting the green line of life pulses.

At this moment, all moral dilemmas became incredibly clear. In the face of death, age became the fairest counterweight.

Passing by the central nurse station, Shanni noticed the data changes on the registry board.

The once densely packed list of elderly patients was rapidly vanishing, now interspersed with many young names.

The pediatricians were finally no longer idly standing in the corners, but busily shuttling between the beds.

Most surprisingly, she actually heard laughter—some of the sick children frail, yet responding to the nurses' comfort.

Those elderly officials, no matter how well cared for, could only emit dying sighs.

Shanni took a deep breath, suddenly understanding the humanity hidden behind Zhou Qingfeng's 'cold-bloodedness.'

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"Nurse Shanni, you're now acting as the head nurse, correct?" Two Department of Homeland Security agents appeared in the underground hospital, flashing a warrant.

"Have you seen this person? Asian, black hair, about six feet tall, strong build..."

Shanni glanced at the warrant and curtly snapped, "Get out, this is the intensive care unit, who allowed you in?"