252: Chapter 252 Global Live Streaming of Debt Collection

Da Biao lifted his right leg, which was covered in an Extreme Pressure Soft Gold coating, and stepped into that blinding white light.

A sense of weightlessness instantly enveloped his entire body, and two seconds later, the dull, solid sensation of crushing soil came through the soles of his feet.

Washington, D.C., 6:00 AM.

Above the central lawn directly in front of The Pentagon, a swirling vortex of space exploded out of thin air.

Bang.

Da Biao's massive, dark-black frame slammed down from the sky; the three-meter-tall Hellhound Mecha landed heavily on the manicured lawn, sending soil and grass clippings splashing a dozen meters into the air.

Behind him, the spatial vortex continued to churn.

Fifty, one hundred, five hundred.

Five hundred fully armed vanguard Death Squad Soldiers stepped out from the white light one after another, landing on the lawn in perfect unison and instantly forming a lifeless, pure-black steel phalanx.

The morning mist had yet to dissipate, and the alarms around the perimeter of The Pentagon were screaming frantically.

"Enemy attack alert, unidentified flying objects landing on the central lawn."

Distorted English roars blared from the loudspeakers on the exterior walls.

Four seconds.

The automatic defense anti-aircraft guns on the outer wall of The Pentagon suddenly extended their barrels, and fire-control radar directly locked onto this group of steel monsters on the lawn.

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

12.7mm heavy machine gun bullets poured down, mixed with over a dozen micro close-in armor-piercing missiles.

The flashes of gunfire instantly lit up Washington's gray sky.

Da Biao stood at the very front, not even raising a hand.

As the dense barrage of bullets and micro-missiles slammed into the mecha's outer layer, a pale blue Magnetofluid Shield flared to life half an inch away from the pitch-black armor.

Clang, clang, clang, clang.

The piercing sound of metal collisions merged into one; the bullets were all deflected, striking the surrounding stone pillars and glass, sending shards flying everywhere.

Several micro-missiles exploded outside the shield, and as the flames dissipated, the 2,000-degree explosive tail flames hadn't even scorched the primer on the mecha's surface.

Not a ripple.

Da Biao twisted his neck, his metal joints emitting a teeth-grinding friction sound.

He sneered.

"Is this all the firepower you've got? It's not even enough to scratch an itch for me."

"Boss, these bastards have no sense of honor; they opened fire without even saying hello."

Death Squad Soldier No. 037 stepped forward.

Da Biao waved his hand.

"The boss said we aren't allowed to fire first. If they hit us, we just take it. Let's get to business."

Da Biao reached behind his back and pulled out a huge, long, black metal box.

"Everyone move aside."

He swung his arm around and slammed the metal box hard into the mud in the center.

Click.

The metal box automatically disassembled, extending wildly to both sides. In less than three seconds, a giant polymer alloy board, fully ten meters high and six meters wide, rose from the ground and stuck firmly right at the main entrance of The Pentagon.

In the center of the board was printed a high-contrast, supersized QR code for payment.

Below the QR code, a row of glaring red digital numbers began to flash.

23:59:59.

The countdown had officially begun.

Da Biao tapped the communicator inside his helmet.

"Old Wu, the board is set. It's your turn now."

Jiangcheng, Underground Level 3 command room.

Wu Dong's eyes were bloodshot, and he grinned with extreme arrogance.

"Brother Da Biao, watch closely. Today, I'm going to make the whole world help you collect this debt."

Wu Dong slammed his hands onto the Enter key on the keyboard.

The code spread wildly through the hijacked underlying network nodes to servers across the globe.

6:10 AM, Washington time.

The giant billboards in New York's Times Square had been playing the morning news, but the images suddenly stuttered. With a crackle, they switched directly to a high-definition live feed of The Pentagon lawn.

On the streets of Shinjuku, Tokyo, the idols singing and dancing on the big screens vanished instantly, replaced by a massive, dark swarm of steel mechas occupying the screens.

London, Paris, Berlin.

The screens of over five billion internet-connected devices worldwide—whether mobile phones, tablets, or televisions—were forcibly taken over at the exact same second.

Countless netizens were scrolling through short videos when their fingers froze.

"What's going on? Did my phone get a virus?"

"Holy crap, look at those big black things on the screen. What are they? Filming a sci-fi movie?"

"The background looks like The Pentagon in the United States. Is there a military exercise today?"

"Are you guys blind? Look at that sign in the middle. That's a QR code for payment, right? And there's a countdown below it."

"Who has the guts to run to the entrance of The Pentagon and post a QR code to collect a debt?"

Public opinion exploded within a minute; comments and messages scrolled frantically across every major social media platform that had been forcibly hijacked globally.

The White House.

The bedroom door was kicked open by the Chief of Staff.

The President of the United States woke up in a panic, wrapped in pajamas; the encrypted dedicated line on the bedside table was vibrating so hard it nearly fell to the floor.

"What happened? Did a nuclear war break out?"

The President roared, rubbing his eyelids.

The Chief of Staff shoved a tablet directly into the President's face, his hands trembling.

"Sir, we've been blocked in at our own door, and the whole world is watching the live stream."

The President narrowed his eyes and took a look. His heart gave a violent jolt; the ten-meter-high QR code in front of The Pentagon slapped him hard in the face.

The President grabbed the red phone.

As soon as the call connected, the hurried panting of the Secretary of Defense, Smith, came through.

"Smith, you waste of space, what kind of trouble have you gotten us into?"

The President spat saliva all over the floor.

"Where did those monsters come from? Who allowed them to set up a collection sign right under our noses?"

Smith was hopping mad in The Pentagon's underground command room.

"Sir, I was just about to report to you. It's that Lu Chen from Jiangcheng. That batch of experimental machines... they really did fall into his hands."

Smith wiped away cold sweat.

The President's vision went black, and he nearly fainted.

"You went behind my back and deployed Ghost Fighters to provoke that lunatic."

The President roared.

"Now they've brought the bill and killed their way to our doorstep! I don't care what method you use; within fifteen minutes, get those tin cans off my lawn! Use armored vehicles to crush them, missiles to blow them up, jam the signal! You've completely disgraced the United States!"

"The communication network can't be cut at all. Even the military frequencies have been locked down by them."

Smith's voice trembled.

"The troops outside have already been deployed, but I'm afraid of triggering uncontrollable consequences."

"If you don't open fire, are you waiting to die? Crush them!"

The President slammed the phone down.

Outside The Pentagon.

The lawn was already tightly surrounded by heavy troops, layer upon layer.

Fifty M1A2 main battle tanks rumbled into the plaza, their 120mm smoothbore gun barrels pointing in unison at Da Biao's mecha phalanx.

Overhead, a dozen Apache attack helicopters circled; their rotors kicked up a gale, and Hellfire anti-tank missiles entered pre-fire status.

Fully armed National Guard soldiers hid behind armored vehicles, their muzzles pointed rigidly ahead.

Sweat streamed down the forehead of a private in the front row and into his eyes.

"Sir... what exactly is that thing?"

The private swallowed his spit.

"How come the automatic cannons didn't even leave a mark on them when we fired?"

The captain gritted his teeth.

"Shut up, keep your hand steady, and wait for the order to fire."

The atmosphere was stretched to the breaking point; a needle dropping to the ground could have triggered a massacre.

However.

Da Biao, in the center of the lawn, yawned out of boredom.

"Really boring. They made such a big spectacle, but no one dares to pull the trigger."

Da Biao patted the shoulder of the Death Squad Soldier next to him.

"Go, take the folding chairs out of the storage compartment; my legs are sore."

Several Death Squad Soldiers unloaded metal boxes from the backs of their mechas, pulling out dozens of outdoor folding lounge chairs and several huge, colorful patio umbrellas.

Under the gaze of five billion people worldwide.

This group of murderous mecha monsters actually set up sun umbrellas in the middle of the encirclement of cannons and tanks, brazenly sitting on the lounge chairs.

No. 037 pulled a high-energy nutrient bar from somewhere unknown, leaning back in the chair and chewing it unhurriedly.

The scene was extremely ridiculous, yet it exuded a bone-chilling arrogance.

Global netizens exploded.

"Awesome, drinking afternoon tea with a hundred cannons pointed at their heads."

"Is this really debt collection? This is clearly slapping the US military in the face."

"I unilaterally declare that QR code sign to be the craziest collection notice in human history."

The standoff lasted for ten minutes.

A white fat man in a sharp suit squeezed out from behind the armored vehicle line; he was the highest-level negotiation expert urgently dispatched by the US side.

The fat man held a loudhailer, hiding behind two shield-bearing soldiers, trembling as he inched forward.

"Listen, unknown armed personnel."

The fat man shouted at the top of his lungs.

"This is the highest military hub of the United States. Your actions already constitute serious war crimes. You have three minutes to surrender with your hands up and disarm."

Da Biao slumped in the lounge chair, not even lifting his helmet.

He extended a thick metal finger and casually pointed twice at the ten-meter-high QR code behind him.

He didn't say a word.

The fat man felt insulted, his courage growing slightly.

"Don't think we have no way to deal with you just because you're wearing a high-tech turtle shell."

The fat man raised his volume.

"See the main battle tanks around? With just one volley, not even your bone fragments will be left. If you don't want to die, shut off that countdown sign immediately."

Da Biao was annoyed by the noise of the loudspeaker.

He stood up slowly from the folding chair; the three-meter-tall mecha brought an extremely strong sense of oppression.

The fat man subconsciously took two steps back.

Da Biao reached his right hand to his waist.

Zing.

A piercing sonic boom from drawing a blade echoed across the lawn.

The ultra-high-frequency vibrating combat blade was drawn casually, its dark red edge emitting a buzzing, deathly hum in the morning air.

Da Biao didn't even glance at the fat man; he gripped the hilt and exerted force with his arm.

Pshhh.

He stabbed the blade fiercely into the hard concrete ground in front of him.

The ultra-high-frequency physical resonance wave attached to the blade instantly conducted through the concrete beneath the ground.

Boom.

With Da Biao as the center, the surrounding concrete ground shattered inch by inch.

That terrifying shockwave was precisely conducted to the underside of the tracks of an M1A2 tank ten meters away.

With a dull crack.

The main battle tank, weighing over sixty tons, jolted violently, and its chassis armor was cracked open by a thumb-thick fissure from the resonance wave, caught completely unprepared.

Oil leaked all over the ground.

The surrounding soldiers were so scared they scrambled away, rolling and crawling.

The fat man's legs went weak, and he fell directly into a puddle, smashing the loudspeaker to pieces.

"Cut the crap."

Da Biao snorted coldly.

"The boss said: either scan the code and pay today, or this sign stays stuck here forever. If you dare point your scrap metal at me again, I'll rip all your tracks off and sell them as junk."

There was dead silence.

The camera cut back to Jiangcheng.

At the very bottom of the underground pit, the scorching temperature made the air slightly distort.

Wei Jianguo, wearing extra-thick heat-insulating gloves, directed the crane to move the massive refractory crucible laterally.

"Chief Engineer Song, align the edge interface."

Wei Jianguo yelled into the walkie-talkie.

Song Changming stared fixedly at the physical structure dashboard, nodding while drenched in sweat.

"Interface calibration complete. Pour the material."

The dark gold Extreme Pressure Soft Gold liquid flowed down the guide channel, precisely and accurately pouring into those dangerous microscopic cracks on the edge of the chassis.

The moment the liquid metal touched the titanium alloy keel, it emitted a piercing sizzling sound, and white smoke rose up.

A miracle occurred.

The gravitational field vortex, which had been twisting wildly and nearly tearing space apart, seemed to be fitted with an invisible, hard shackle the moment it touched the Extreme Pressure Soft Gold.

The blue electric arcs were forcibly constrained back into the interior of the chassis.

"The readings have stabilized."

Wei Jianguo snatched off his goggles and punched the air in excitement.

"Magnetic containment edging is complete. The gravitational field inside the chassis is fully closed-loop. Jiangcheng is saved."

Old Zhou let out a long sigh of relief nearby and plopped down on the steps to wipe his sweat.

Lu Chen sat behind a dilapidated desk, holding an enamel tea mug with two cheap tea leaves floating on the surface of the water.

He blew on the steam and took a sip.

"Old Wei, well done. With this 'Iron Shirt' on, even if Freemasons throw all their trump cards down, this hunk of iron won't be falling down."

Lu Chen set down the tea mug and cast his gaze back to the main screen.

"Old Wu."

Lu Chen spoke.

"Boss, the feed is steady."

Wu Dong pointed to the scene on the screen where Da Biao drew his sword and forced the tanks back.

"These bastards don't even dare to make a peep anymore."

"It's not that simple."

Lu Chen pulled out a lighter to light a cigarette.

"If Smith doesn't pull some dirty tricks, he wouldn't be able to hold onto that seat. Keep an eye on the frequency changes in the perimeter."

Across the ocean.

The Pentagon's underground war room.

Smith watched the footage of the tank chassis cracking, his fingernails nearly digging into his flesh.

"That was resonance cutting."

The technical director's voice trembled.

"This technology is two generations ahead of us. In a direct engagement, we would suffer at least several thousand casualties just to wear down their shield."

"We can't open fire. The whole world is watching. To open fire is to bow down to this terrifying power. Even if we win, the President's votes will be gone."

The Four-Star General gritted his teeth.

A flash of malice crossed Smith's eyes.

He walked to the control console and pushed the technical director aside.

"Conventional thermal weapons are useless, then we'll use something unconventional."

Smith entered a long string of high-level passwords.

"Sir, you're going to deploy the infrasound matrix."

"That defense system was originally meant for anti-riot control. Turn it to maximum power."

Smith's expression was ferocious.

"Sheet metal can't block sound. If we vibrate the people inside the mechas to death, the mechas will become scrap metal."

The order was issued instantly.

Several camouflage panels on the outer wall of The Pentagon flipped over, revealing dozens of huge, honeycomb-shaped infrasound generators.

Low-frequency infrasound waves spread silently.

On the lawn.

The surrounding birds instantly fell to the ground dead, and the US soldiers in the armored vehicles felt a violent wave of nausea, covering their ears one after another.

This sound wave, capable of shattering the internal organs of an ordinary person, crashed like a tsunami toward Da Biao's Death Squad Soldier phalanx.

Smith stared fixedly at the monitor, waiting for this group of people to bleed from their seven orifices.

Da Biao sat in his chair and reached out to tap his helmet shell.

"Brothers, the other side is playing music for us."

Hundreds of Death Squad Soldiers let out a low laugh.

Under the horrified gaze of netizens worldwide.

Da Biao reached out and pressed the buckle at his neck.

With a hiss of exhaust.

Da Biao took off his heavy metal helmet and tossed it casually onto the grass.

Exposed to the air was a head covered in dark cyan metallic luster, with bulging veins.

Then, five hundred Death Squad Soldiers took off their helmets in unison.

The infrasound waves swept frantically.

But these monsters, who had withstood water pressure and magma at a depth of ten thousand meters in the deep sea, let alone vomiting blood or fainting, actually narrowed their eyes in comfort, their faces full of enjoyment.

"This massage intensity is decent."

Da Biao grinned, revealing his stark white teeth, and gave the middle finger to the surveillance camera in front of him.

"Smith, if you're out of tricks, hurry up and scan the code to pay. I don't have time to play house with you."

In the underground command room, Smith watched those inhuman, dark cyan faces on the screen, his legs went weak, and he collapsed in his chair.