118: Chapter 118 Strange Phenomenon Appears, Multiple Parties Respond Emergency

At this moment, high in the sky outside the window, that line of π = 3, simple to the extreme, still hung silently.

Moran looked up at it one last time, then raised his hands high.

Lewis, Rivera, and Owens also raised their hands above their heads one after another.

At the end of the corridor behind them, armed agents from the FBI's Internal Affairs Division had already rushed into the office with their weapons drawn.

The beams of their tactical flashlights hit Whitfield, who was slumped in the corner, and then quickly shifted to the four people standing with their hands raised in complete surrender.

When Moran was pressed against the wall and handcuffed, a happy expression still hung on his face.

Prison was the path he had chosen himself.

Once in prison, he would no longer have to face any of the bullshit involving the Deep State and the Alien princes.

...

Virginia, Langley, Central Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Third Underground Level Archives.

After leaving the Federal Detention Center, Heinlein did not return to his office, nor did he change his clothes.

He didn't even spare a glance for the cup of Americano on the Director's desk, which his secretary had brewed six hours ago and had long since gone cold.

He went straight down to the third level with Kevin Mosby and Ali Wu, pushed open the titanium alloy door that required triple fingerprint verification to unlock,

and walked along the narrow aisle between dense rows of filing shelves, illuminated in a ghastly white by cold fluorescent lights, toward the very back.

This archive level stored all the "non-standard classified" files that had not been included in the White House's regular intelligence briefing channels since the Central Intelligence Agency's inception in 1947.

These were special intelligence materials that past Directors of Intelligence had deemed "not worth reporting to the President" or "would not produce any executive effect if reported."

In other words, if all clues about the Aliens were not hidden here, they could only be hidden in non-existence.

Ali Wu stopped at the deepest part of the archives and pulled a faded, old-fashioned label folder from a row of dusty, sealed iron cabinets. A yellowing, handwritten note was stuck to the cover:

[Grudge Memorandum, 1952, Unfiled, Confirmed Source Unknown].

Before she could even open the cover, the fluorescent light tubes overhead suddenly flickered.

Then, the entire archive was plunged into complete darkness, only to be immediately relit by the ghastly white emergency lights.

Then darkness again, then white light...

The frequency of the alternating cycles was extremely fast, accompanied by a harsh, grating "crackle" sound that was still clearly audible through several layers of concrete walls.

Ali Wu pressed the file folder against her chest and turned to say to Heinlein:

"Director, this is the same phenomenon mentioned in those eyewitness reports when the fleets were engaging over the Hoover Dam yesterday."

Heinlein did not speak; he only looked up at the flickering light tubes overhead, as if counting the interval between each flash.

Kevin Mosby had already instinctively placed his hand on the grip of the gun at his waist.

After about dozens of cycles of darkness and daylight, it suddenly stopped, and the emergency lights returned to a steady glow.

Then followed a weird, brief silence.

Ali Wu suddenly put the folder down, pulled her phone from her pocket, took one look at it, and then looked at Heinlein. Her voice was two octaves lower than a few minutes ago, but her speaking speed was faster:

"Director, that formula in the sky outside, π = 3, was projected onto the firmament by the Zeta Star."

"Everyone is watching."

"We urgently need to figure out what this actually means."

Heinlein clenched his right hand, which had been resting on the railing of the archive shelf beside him, then turned and strode toward the archive exit, issuing an extremely brief order to Kevin Mosby without looking back.

"Find someone to go to the American National Academy of Sciences and figure out the true meaning behind this thing, within half an hour."

Then he paused for a moment, turned his head to look at Ali Wu, his tone cold and clear.

"Yesterday, before the incident during the direct confrontation between the Deep State and the Alien fleet, we were a step too slow and were almost wiped out indiscriminately."

"Today, this π = 3 is definitely not just a mathematical formula."

"This is very likely the second window of opportunity for us to avoid being wiped out completely while still in the dark."

"Proceed immediately, now!"

Ali Wu closed the folder, tucked it under her arm, and without wasting any words, turned and walked quickly toward the stairs.

...

Nevada, highway on the outskirts of Las Vegas, Rockefeller motorcade.

The motorcade of Rockefeller III and Samuel Astor was on the way to Spring Mountain Manor.

They were on their way to find that young master Link of the Warren Family for a "polite and friendly" meeting.

The motorcade had been traveling for about a few hours when

Rockefeller III looked up from the stack of family files he was reading and suddenly felt the light outside the car window changing continuously within a very short period.

He turned his head to look, and Samuel Astor also looked out from the other rear side window.

The entire sky was rapidly and violently switching back and forth between night and day; darkness swallowed the end of the road several times, only to be lifted again by daylight in the next second.

The armed personnel accompanying the Astor family quickly jumped out of the escort vehicles in front and behind, dispersed into a formation surrounding the main car, and kept their weapons trained outward, guarding the sky and their surroundings.

Rockefeller III and Samuel stepped out of the car one after another.

Samuel looked up, staring at the still-flickering firmament, his brows furrowing tighter and tighter.

He did not speak, only kept a grim face, watching the sky gradually stabilize from a static-filled screen, and then, at the moment he saw π = 3 appear, he shook his head slightly.

It was not a denial, but a small gesture that a person who had been accustomed to controlling everything for many years would only make when seeing something completely beyond their control.

Rockefeller III stood on the edge of the highway, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto those three characters.

He quickly deduced the general content from the structure of the symbols themselves and the behavioral pattern of the Zeta Star previously projecting a blood-red ultimatum on the sky, without showing any unusual expression on his face.

"The Grey Alien is telling us: The Solar System where humanity resides is a distorted, erroneous space-time."

"In this erroneous space-time, humanity will never be able to attain cosmic truth and will forever be locked within the Solar System."

Samuel withdrew his gaze from the sky, looked at Rockefeller III, paused for a moment, and his tone held a fresh sense of scrutiny he had never used with him before:

"I never noticed before, is your math this good?"

"It's not that my math is good."

Rockefeller III uncrossed his arms, turned, and walked back toward the car door. His tone was flat and calm, as if he were discussing whether to add sugar to his coffee tomorrow morning,

"It's just that those within the Warren Family who don't know how to calculate can't sit in this position."

Samuel followed quickly, brushing off the fine dust that had gotten on his cuffs when he got out of the car, and tilted his head to look at him. His tone recovered that usual coldness of an old-school aristocrat, but his speed was faster than usual:

"Fine."

"Then now... are we continuing to Spring Mountain Manor, or are we going to discuss this π = 3?"