60: Chapter 60 Welcome to the World of the Dead

The wheels rolled over the puddles, the sound like tearing through some viscous fabric.

The black sedan drove into an abandoned auto repair shop in Maryland.

The rolling door slowly lowered behind them, cutting off the torrential rain and sirens outside.

Jessica Vance sat in the passenger seat, still dripping wet.

She gripped the empty backup pistol tightly in her hand, her eyes unfocused, staring at a half-dried mud splatter on the windshield.

"Get out." Chen Mo turned off the engine and pulled out the keys.

Jessica didn't move.

Chen Mo walked around the front of the car and opened the door.

Cold wind rushed in, and she shivered, as if just waking up from a nightmare.

"Miller is dead," she said, her voice raspy as if she had swallowed sandpaper. "And Davis, Susan... they're all dead."

"I know." Chen Mo reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her out.

"If you want to burn paper for them, I can buy you a lighter. But for now, you need to dig your own grave first."

He didn't give Jessica time to be sentimental, leading her through a corridor piled with old tires and kicking open a rusted iron door.

There were no lights in the room, only the eerie blue glow from several monitors.

Old George sat in front of the pile of screens, a cigar clamped in his mouth, his fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard.

"Done?" George didn't even turn his head.

"Cleaned up." Chen Mo took off his dripping trench coat, threw it on the sofa, and sat down at another computer. "Seven of them, all professionals. But I left them a little souvenir."

"What souvenir?"

"The sniper's head. I placed it on lincoln's lap."

Chen Mo's fingers danced across the keyboard, and a black terminal interface popped up on the screen. "That is the greatest mockery of their so-called 'freedom'."

Jessica stood at the doorway, watching the two men.

One talked about killing like discussing dinner; the other typed code like playing the piano.

"Come here." Chen Mo didn't turn around, just crooked his finger.

Jessica walked over. On the screen was the FBI personnel file system.

It was a high-privilege area only accessible to the director level, but under Chen Mo's hand, the firewall was like paper.

"Watch closely, Agent Vance. These are your last five minutes in this world."

Chen Mo pressed Enter.

The photo on the screen was Jessica's ID photo.

It was taken three years ago, back when she still believed in oaths, her eyes full of light.

Chen Mo entered a string of commands.

[Status Change: At Large -> Confirmed Dead]

[Cause of Death: Fell into river, missing, presumed drowned]

[Supplementary Report: Large amounts of blood and human tissue found at the scene, confirmed via DNA analysis. Witnesses claim the suspect was intercepted at the Potomac River bridge and fell into the river after being shot.]

"I... am dead?" Jessica looked at the red text on the screen, feeling a sense of absurd unreality.

"Not just dead." Chen Mo switched windows, bringing up the Washington Police Department's internal notification system.

"George, did you handle that homeless person's body?"

"Don't worry." Old George chuckled, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"I dumped an unidentified female corpse at the downstream drainage outlet. The face was too decomposed to recognize, but I knocked one of Agent Vance's spare teeth into it. As long as the coroner isn't too meticulous, that DNA comparison report will be out tomorrow morning."

Jessica subconsciously touched her cheek, her stomach churning.

"Stop touching your face. That tooth came from the dental mold you left behind when you saw the dentist last year."

Chen Mo pulled a USB drive from his pocket and plugged it into the computer. "Now, we need to add some seasoning to your funeral."

He pulled up the surveillance footage from around the lincoln Memorial.

The footage showed a blurry, rainy night, but one could vaguely see a figure flipping over the railing, followed by a burst of gunfire.

That was a "digital ghost" forged by Chen Mo using the [Thousand-Faced Deceiver] ability.

He inserted this video into the police's chain of evidence.

"Done."

Chen Mo leaned back, the chair creaking, and pointed to the TV on the wall.

The TV screen had just cut to breaking news.

A field reporter stood by the Potomac River, her raincoat whipping in the wind, with police boats dredging the water in the background.

"...According to the latest police news, former FBI Agent Jessica Vance, suspected of murdering multiple federal agents and leaking state secrets, fell into the river at 10:30 tonight while evading capture. Police discovered a suspected body downstream and are currently confirming its identity. This marks the end for the key suspect in the Senator Gore scandal..."

Jessica watched herself on TV.

That name, that face, that identity.

Dead.

As that "Confirmed Dead" caption appeared, she felt something inside her truly die.

It was the heavy shackles, and also the entire weight of her past thirty years of life.

"How do you feel?" Chen Mo handed her a glass of whiskey.

Jessica took the glass, her hand still shaking, but she tilted her head back and downed it in one gulp.

The spicy liquid burned down her throat, spreading like fire.

"I'm a ghost now." She put down the glass, her voice devoid of sadness, holding only a hollow calmness.

"Ghosts are good." Chen Mo stood up, walked over to her, and looked down at her.

"Ghosts don't need to follow laws, don't need to write reports, and don't need to listen to their superiors' nonsense. Ghosts only need to do one thing."

"What?"

"Claim lives."

Chen Mo took a black box from the drawer and tossed it to Jessica.

Jessica opened it; inside was a new passport, a few credit cards, and an encrypted phone.

The photo on the passport was still her, but the hairstyle had changed, the eyes had changed, and the name column read: Elizabeth Wayne.

"From today on, Jessica Vance rots in the silt of the Potomac River."

Chen Mo's voice was low, carrying a certain bewitching magic. "The one who lives is the 'Nightingale.' You must learn to sing in the darkness like a bird, singing for those about to go to hell."

Jessica stroked the cover of the passport.

Nightingale.

The bird from legend that sings on thorns until it bleeds to death.

"What do I need to do?" She looked up, the hollowness in her eyes filled with two ghostly flames.

"Go to sleep." Chen Mo pointed to the inner room.

"Tomorrow morning, you need to see a plastic surgeon. Tweak your cheekbones and nose bridge, and dye your hair blonde. You're too easy to recognize as you are now."

Jessica was silent for a few seconds, then grabbed the black box and turned toward the inner room.

When she reached the doorway, she stopped.

"That money," she said. "The thirty million from Senator Gore. I want to know where it ended up."

Chen Mo's lips curled into an arc.

"You will know, but not now."

The door closed.

Old George spat out his cigar and turned his chair to look at Chen Mo.

"That girl has a ruthless streak; she's faster than I thought."

"Hatred is the best catalyst." Chen Mo sat back down at the computer, the screen's light reflecting on his face, flickering.

"Now, our 'Nightingale' is in the cage. It's time to see what our 'White Glove' is doing."

He opened an encrypted chat window.

The ID displayed: Jack M.