I'm Going After the US Military

With its engine roaring and speeding along, the black sedan sped through the wide streets.

The vehicles and pedestrians on the road watched in horror as the car sped away recklessly. The window rolled down, and an arm holding a pistol fired a shot into the air.

"I am Ian Crook! I serve in Military Intelligence Section 5! Remember my name!"

"I am a persecuted fighter, a scapegoat about to be silenced by the government. I will fight for freedom, and I will expose the truth the government has concealed to all of Britain!"

His voice was unusually loud, filled with sorrow, anger, and fearlessness.

"We shall never surrender!"

Faced with the loud gunfire and the rampaging car, everyone obediently gave way and dodged, letting the official vehicle with the unusual license plate speed along A3212 Road, heading south.

An exasperated voice crackled through the car's communicator. "Ian! What are you doing! We need to talk! Don't be impulsive! We'll consider any demands you have!"

"Die, David!"

Ian's voice was unrestrained and ferocious. "I will no longer believe your damned lies! I will expose what you have done to the whole world! Expose the cruel truth of the world!"

"Oh no! Damn it! You can't do that!"

"We'll see, you old man!"

The entire London police and military system is about to erupt in excitement.

"FXCK-YOU! David! FXCK-YOU!" The golden retriever's furious roar rang out again from the deputy director's phone, "You motherfucker! You motherfucker! Fuck!"

The old gentleman had lost all his previous composure and elegance; his refined aristocratic bearing had vanished. He stammered, "Sir, we must control the situation! This is an unexpected and unforeseen circumstance!"

"Oh really? Just a few minutes ago you were telling me, 'Sir, everything is under control,' you lying old codger, you Wales sheep-manipulator!"

The Prime Minister roared, "You actually let a prisoner escape and steal a car! Are you planning to let those Rockstar guys do on-site research?!"

"Do you even know where your headquarters is? It's one kilometer from the Houses of Parliament! Two kilometers from the Queen's residence! One and a half kilometers from my house! Damn it!"

"Do you know what this means? It means he can drive to my doorstep in minutes! And then what? Am I supposed to send a rat-catching minister to repel the enemy?"

David took a deep breath. "Sir, please don't be agitated. Since the accident, we've raised the security level by two levels. Whether it's the Capitol, 10 Downing Street, or the Queen's residence, our security forces are extremely robust, and we also have special operations personnel stationed there..."

He gradually calmed down, regaining his composure as an intelligence expert. "Moreover, the trackers show that Ian headed south, which means his target isn't our political heartland..."

"So? Is he going to buy fish cakes? 'Don't worry, I'm just picking up takeout, I'll be right back,' are you planning to wait for him to burst through the Queen's fence with a salted fish in his mouth?"

"--prime minister!"

David's sharp rebuke interrupted the golden retriever's incessant chatter on the phone. The old man said in a deep voice, "I'm out of the game, Prime Minister. I am undeniably responsible for what happened, but the most important thing now is not to strip me of my position or throw me in jail, but to deal with this unexpected event."

"Ian Crook has awakened superpowers. He must be filled with rage and resentment. He possesses information unknown to the general public, and he has superhuman strength. We don't know what he wants to do, and that's the most terrifying thing—we must do something!"

The Prime Minister said angrily, "I've already given orders to the counter-terrorism forces..."

"--But Ian Crook is a Military Intelligence Section 5 member, a former student of mine, and only I know him!" David said in a deep voice. "Moreover, he's no longer an ordinary agent. We must deal with him precisely, swiftly, and fatally. Ordinary counterterrorism forces may not be up to the task!"

"Then send out that damned superhuman squad!"

"No, that won't do."

The old man rejected the prime minister's suggestion. "This is what I must remind you of—you can dismiss me now and detain me for dereliction of duty, but I must remind you that you cannot send superhumans who are subservient to the government to deal with Ian Crook."

"Why?" the Prime Minister shouted, "Are all the extraordinary individuals we've spent so much money and resources training and nurturing unable to defeat a newly awakened guy? What use are they then! They were even scared to death by that China guy in Moyani! You lot..."

David paused for a moment, then said calmly, "Because Ian knows too much, and we can't let our superhumans know about the Round Table... absolutely not."

The Prime Minister's voice abruptly stopped.

"Yes, we cannot, Your Excellency," the old man said in a low voice. "Our superhumans are recruited, trained, restrained, and controlled by the government. We are wary of them and impose many restrictions on them. We use material things to win them over and satisfy them. They are quite satisfied now, except for some complaints about personal privacy—but you know, they are not satisfied, they just haven't seen anything better."

"When they learned that there was such an organization that accepted, recruited, and nurtured extraordinary individuals, whose members possessed unimaginable wealth and power, enjoyed privileges akin to those of ancient nobility, and could even do whatever they pleased, acting almost like gods, and that we had no good way to deal with them because the Round Table was rooted in Britain and had intricate connections with the country's true power structure..."

David said in a deep voice, "What will these superhumans who serve the government think? What will they do?"

"We have been avoiding further expansion of the Round Table. We must ensure that we have a superhuman force that is loyal only to us, and what we can give them will always be less than what the Round Table can give them. The Round Table is not trying to win them over right now, but rather based on a certain tacit understanding, consensus, and balance."

"And now, Ian Crook is likely to reveal the truth about the superhumans—we cannot allow him to have any contact or communication with our superhumans."

"Do you understand, Mr. Prime Minister?" He gripped his phone, gazing at the gloomy sky outside the window. What a terrible day. "We cannot allow our superhumans to know that there are superhumans affiliated with the Round Table who can indiscriminately slaughter mortals, indulging in endless pleasure and doing whatever they please."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

"So," the Prime Minister suppressed his anger, "What are you trying to say?"

"Let the Round Table go. Let the Round Table send their superhumans to kill Ian Crook," David said in a deep voice. "This whole affair started because of the Round Table; it's their responsibility."

He said softly, "Please negotiate with them as the Prime Minister."

After a moment, the Prime Minister took a deep breath. "I curse you, David, damn it—I'm giving you one last chance. The outcome of this matter will depend on whether you can exit with dignity."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

After hanging up the phone, David slumped back into his chair, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

No, now is not the time to despair.

He slapped his face hard, stared at the computer screen, his expression turning cold, and grabbed the phone beside him. "Real-time tracking of Ian's vehicle, continue with verbal communication, contact the counter-terrorism forces, and devise a one-shot kill strategy—to hell with the snipers! Let them use missiles and machine guns!"

He made another call, "Go get Ian's family—fuck you! Do you want me to teach you again how to get a prisoner's family to cooperate in persuading him to surrender? He's become a vicious criminal, about to cause enormous damage and impact on Britain interests. To hell with the rules! I'll ask you one last time, do you want Ian's wife and daughters crying and begging their husband to surrender, or do you want to be homeless with your family right now, receiving food stamps? Do you want your family and children to cry, or do you want Ian's family to cry?"

After David finished yelling, he hung up the phone, his eyes turning fierce.

Spending too much time in the intelligence service can make one's sense of morality extremely weak and one's personality warped. He is old, but not too old. Even if he is out of the picture, he can still continue his life with the properties he has acquired over the years—but all of this depends on the fact that this incident can be resolved in a dignified manner.

Only by handling this matter with dignity can one maintain dignity oneself.

Otherwise, the Prime Minister's threat was not unfounded, and he would become a scapegoat and a victim of venting his anger, just like that bastard Ian Crook —yes, now that Ian has awakened his abilities and broken free, he wants to make a big splash, while he faces leadership responsibility, how absurd.

Just over ten minutes ago, he was plotting how to make Ian take the blame for everything.

But now, it's his turn.

--no way.

His expression was grim as he picked up the phone for the third time. "Where is he now?"

"A gunfight has broken out! The target has stormed the checkpoint, overwhelmed the bridge police, and is now on Vauxhall Bridge, heading towards the other side of the River Thames!"

David immediately pictured a map of London in his mind. Where Vauxhall Bridge led was almost an instinct etched into the DNA of every Military Intelligence Section 5 agent.

"MI6!"

"--Wow, this can be considered a pilgrimage to a sacred site!"

Ian watched as he took pictures of the unremarkable Vauxhall Bridge with a miniature camera from the car, the devil's amused cheers echoing in his mind.

He had just recovered from the shock and confusion, and upon hearing this, he said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Kang De exclaimed with delight, "This is the place where Mary Akai was fed by Vermouth and turned into a legitimate junior high school student!"

Ian exclaimed in surprise, "Huh?"

The United Kingdom agent had clearly never watched Japan detective films, but he heard the roar of the River Thames, the sound of helicopter engines approaching from afar, their dark blue paint clearly visible.

"AS365-N3 Dolphin helicopter! It's Blue Thunder!"

He shouted, "The Army Special Air Service has arrived!"

Blue Thunder is an elite counter-terrorism unit belonging to the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment. It was established before the London Olympics, has seventy members, reports directly to the Home Secretary, is stationed in London, and focuses on counter-terrorism missions.

"SAS?" Ian hadn't expected the devil to be even more excited than him. "The old bastards' army? Oh right, speaking of which, I was involved in counter-terrorism in London when I was a kid! I even raced cars on the subway! Your Parliament was blown up!"

This time, Ian understood. It was a United States game, Call of Duty 8. He knew about this because its London mission recreated the 2005 bombing, which led to opposition from survivors and restrictions from censorship departments. This matter also attracted considerable attention from Military Intelligence Section 5 —they feared that the game's London setting would provide some kind of "inspiration and motivation" to certain Ireland people.

But the problem is...

The United Kingdom were shocked and unsettled. "Who are you? How could you...?"

--Even demons play United States games? Like when they were kids?

The demon chuckled darkly, "Are you sure you want to know?"

Ian's soul trembled with fear.

As they spoke, the car had already sped across the hundreds-of-meters-long bridge. The checkpoint on the other end was no match for the overpowered "Ian." The railings shattered upon impact, and the police hiding behind cover were beaten so badly they couldn't even lift their heads. The bulletproof car steadily blocked the pistol attacks and sped away.

"No one has approached MI6 —MI6 security forces are preparing to pursue them."

The incident happened suddenly, and the reaction time was too short—it's only a little over a kilometer from Military Intelligence Section 5 across the Vauxhall Bridge, and they arrived in minutes at full speed. Apart from the SAS, who are on standby and operate by helicopter, ordinary police officers hadn't even received the information.

In the intelligence room of Military Intelligence Section 5, David stared grimly at the map displayed on the large screen. The staff were urgently analyzing the data, building operational models, communicating with various departments, and analyzing Ian Crook's next moves in order to intercept and block him in advance.

"The target has entered A203 Road and is heading south!"

David said urgently, "He said that if he wants to announce a message to the world, he will definitely need the power of the media, but the media is under our control and will not interview him. If he wants to release the information, he can only do so by threatening us with coercion—for example, by kidnapping civilians to negotiate with us."

"Moreover, as a former MI5 employee, he is well aware of our methods and resolve. He will certainly choose sufficiently important buildings and kidnap sufficiently important personnel to threaten us in order to avoid any 'collateral damage' and ensure that the news cannot be kept secret throughout Britain..."

The old man pondered, stroking his chin, and said thoughtfully, "He didn't choose the Queen's Palace, he didn't choose the Houses of Parliament, he didn't choose 5 Downing Street. He went south, away from our core political and business districts, crossed the Vauxhall Bridge to the south bank. Where did he want to go?"

After muttering to himself, he ordered, "Immediately search for the most prominent, well-known buildings in this area, and the buildings inhabited by the most important people! Then make a list for me!"

Upon hearing this, he noticed that the intelligence personnel did not act immediately, but instead turned around in unison, looking at him with strange and subtle expressions.

David flew into a rage, roaring like a lion, "I haven't been fired yet! What do you want?"

"Sir... sir."

One of the directors present whispered, "No need to search... the answer is obvious."

David stared wide-eyed and exclaimed, "What?"

The director hesitated for a moment, then replied, "The United States. Embassy."

The old man was taken aback at first—wasn't the United States embassy in Grosvenor Square? Then he realized that his old impressions hadn't been updated in time; the United States had just moved not long ago!

The hairs on his body stood on end, and the old gentleman's face turned deathly pale. He staggered back two steps, staring at the dot of light on the big screen that was gradually approaching the United States embassy. His expression was contorted, and he spoke with a hoarse voice.

"Ian!"

He roared, "How dare you!"

"Holy crap, I saw it! That's fucking awesome!"

This is Wandsworth District, and the new United States. embassy is clearly visible.

The world's most expensive embassy, which cost a billion dollars to renovate.

The modern cubic building is incredibly impressive, surrounded by a crescent-shaped moat. The main building features a full glass curtain wall, with transparent crystal cubes attached to the glass curtain wall that function as solar panels. According to the designer, this beautiful and unique design aptly conveys the United States government's "transparent, open, and equal" foreign policy toward the United Kingdom.

Yes, that's very much PRISM.

The moat, ramming barriers, blast-resistant exterior walls, and the intricate interior structure and corridors all contribute to the security of the new embassy. Its overly modern design clashes sharply with the surrounding Georgian residences, making it so unique and distinctive that it was welcomed, appreciated, and anticipated by the surrounding residents from the very beginning.

Everyone jokingly said, "Fuck your mother, if terrorists come to bomb you, won't I get caught in the crossfire?"

Incidentally, before the embassy was completed, A Chuan said he would come to cut the ribbon, but after the completion, he immediately changed his mind, stood up Pigeon United Kingdom, and explained the reason on Twitter.

To put it another way: I'm disgusted. That spendthrift Obama sold off that prime real estate of the old embassy for a pittance and built a new one in this godforsaken place, spending a whopping billion dollars, and he even wants me to cut the ribbon? I'm not going to be that sucker. I'm not putting up with this!

The reason for the relocation was quite simple: the old house was dilapidated and small, and the security situation was very tense. The American Empire were feeling guilty and decided to move to a larger house that could prevent theft. Obviously, this decision was very wise—look, the terrorist attack happened.

"Ian" laughed maniacally and floored the accelerator. In the distance, he could already see people fleeing. Humvee drove out, and soldiers in military uniforms were urgently moving sandbags. Some were even carrying Javelin launchers.

The real United Kingdom screamed in his mind's eye, "Damn it! Damn it! Why did you do this! Don't choose this place! That's the United States embassy! No, no, no, no! There are Marines! It's the US military! They've set up machine guns!"

"What the hell is the US military! I'm going to fight the US military!"

The demon shouted, "Let's explore London while we're at it!"

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PS1: Damn, the election is full of good stuff. I've learned a lot. I can refer to the book when it comes to the election.