130: Chapter 130 The Biggest Terrorist

The pungent smell of gunpowder hadn't even dissipated before sirens began to wail frantically just a few blocks away.

The Governor slumped in a pile of wood chips on the podium, his expensive handmade suit covered in dust and the blood splatter from that dead zealot.

His legs were still trembling, his eyes fixed blankly on the corpse with the mangled hand not far away.

"It seems your speech will have to be postponed."

Chen Mo ejected the empty magazine and tossed it to his feet, the metal clattering crisply against the wooden planks.

He didn't look at the Governor, walking straight toward the zealot's corpse.

Click.

A new magazine was pushed into the chamber.

"Don't... don't go over there, there might be a bomb!" The Governor's head of security finally poked his head out from behind cover, his voice cracking.

Chen Mo ignored him.

He walked up to the zealot, whose chin had been crushed, with only a bellows-like wheezing sound coming from his throat.

Chen Mo bent down, his fingers hooking into the collar of the tactical vest emblazoned with the "Legacy Defense" logo.

Riiip—

The sound of fabric tearing, amplified by the speakers, was as harsh as fingernails scraping a chalkboard.

The tactical vest was torn open violently, revealing the black tight-fitting T-shirt underneath, and a large tattoo extending from the zealot's neck to his collarbone.

It was a lone star entwined with thorns.

This pattern was too common in Midland; it was printed on every oil tanker, on every worker's uniform, and on every thug kept by Lone Star Energy.

"What is this?" Chen Mo grabbed the zealot's hair, forcibly lifting the head to face the camera lenses below the stage that hadn't yet managed to withdraw. "Come on, give it a close-up."

Flashbulbs flickered like crazy.

The tattoo was revealed in every detail under the high-definition lenses.

"Lone Star Energy..." The Governor stood up, holding the edge of the podium, staring at the pattern, his teeth chattering. Once the fear faded, all that remained was shame turned into anger.

He was on his own turf, in front of thousands of voters, nearly blown to bits by his own people.

This wasn't just an assassination attempt; this was a slap in the face, trampling his political future into the dirt.

"McLean has gone mad." Chen Mo let go, letting the head fall heavily to the ground. "He didn't just want to kill me; he wanted to replace you with a more obedient Governor while he was at it."

He turned around, looking at the Governor, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.

"This is the big taxpayer you've been shielding all along. Using imitation uniforms to stage a suicide attack at your rally. What is this? Texas-style business competition?"

The Governor's face turned the color of liver.

"I will kill him..." The Governor squeezed the words through his teeth, suddenly looking at the National Guard Colonel beside him.

"Mobilize the National Guard, surround that estate for me. That is a terrorist attack! This is a declaration of war against the government of America!"

"Sir, mobilizing armored vehicles requires authorization from The Pentagon, it will take at least forty-eight hours..." The Colonel looked troubled.

"Forty-eight hours?" Chen Mo sneered. "By the time your authorization comes down, McLean will have long been sitting on a beach in Mexico drinking tequila."

He raised his hand to press his earpiece.

"Ava, send it out."

Almost simultaneously, the big screens in Times Square and the live feeds of major news networks across America were suddenly forcibly cut into by a set of images.

That wasn't just a regular leak.

That was hell.

Dim underground laboratories, human-shaped monsters locked in iron cages, and human experiment data stamped with the "Lone Star Energy" official seal.

Finally, there was a recording.

"...Dispose of those immigrants. If the reagents aren't enough, use the workers... As long as we get the finished product, it doesn't matter how many people die..."

McLean's signature raspy voice sounded like a devil's whisper at that moment.

The square exploded instantly.

The rednecks who had originally supported McLean were now looking at the screen, some retching, some angrily stomping the Lone Star Energy flags in their hands into the dirt.

"He is not an entrepreneur." Chen Mo walked up to the Governor and straightened his crooked tie for him.

"He is a terrorist. And in Texas, there is only one way to deal with terrorists."

The Governor looked at Chen Mo's emotionless eyes and suddenly shuddered.

He understood.

Chen Mo didn't need his approval, nor did he need the support of the National Guard.

All he wanted was an attitude, a license to kill.

"I don't want to see any survivors." The Governor took a deep breath, his voice very low.

"This matter must end tonight. The authorities will cooperate by blocking the surrounding roads, but the assault... we are not in a position to intervene."

"A wise choice."

Chen Mo turned and walked toward the perimeter of the square.

There, twelve black armored vehicles were already lined up, the roar of their engines drowning out the clamor of the crowd.

The doors opened, revealing the sixty-plus veterans who had been drinking and bragging just moments ago.

At this moment, they were fully armed, and every single one of them wore that look of wanting to eat someone alive.

Someone daring to impersonate Legacy Defense to stage an attack was harder for these veterans, who valued honor more than their own lives, to bear than being killed themselves.

"Boss." One-Eyed Dragon held an M249 machine gun, his lone eye bloodshot. "Those sons of bitches broke the rules."

Chen Mo jumped onto the running board of the lead vehicle, grabbing the door with one hand.

He didn't make any pre-battle pep talk.

He simply holstered his M1911 and pointed north, toward the estate located deep in the desert.

"All units, attack."

Chen Mo's voice echoed over Midland through the vehicle's loudspeakers.

"Flatten that estate for me."

...

Lone Star Estate.

McLean watched the overwhelming news of the crusade on television, and the whiskey glass in his hand shattered.

"Those politicians... those ungrateful bastards!"

He roared like an old lion trapped in a cage.

Outside the window, the police and National Guard, who should have been obedient to his every command, were now setting up roadblocks a few kilometers away—not to protect him, but to cut off all his land escape routes.

"Boss, the helicopter is ready."

The trusted bodyguard pushed the door open, his face pale. "But the radar shows a convoy is approaching rapidly, heavy firepower, very fast."

"Go, leave now."

McLean grabbed the black briefcase on the table, which contained his final trump card—two vials of undiluted Tyrant serum, and bearer bonds worth two hundred million.

As long as he reached Mexico, to the territory of the Juarez cartel, he could make a comeback.

BOOM—!

A loud explosion shook the entire study.

McLean rushed to the window.

The cast-iron gate of the estate, rumored to be tank-proof, had now turned into a twisted pile of scrap metal, flying into the air amidst the soaring flames.

Several black armored vehicles, like a pack of steel beasts, ran directly over the burning wreckage and charged into the garden.

The tongues of fire from the vehicle-mounted machine guns instantly shredded the guard post at the entrance.

Chen Mo's cold voice came through the loudspeakers, piercing through the explosions and screams, clearly drilling into McLean's ears.

"Mr. McLean, your Legacy order has arrived. Please sign for it."