59: Chapter 59 Searching for People on Aliens, Family Takes the Blame

On the western defensive line,

the former army infantryman's chest was struck dead-center by the 9mm bullet fired from his own Beretta M9.

He threw his head back, and without even having time to let out a muffled groan, he collapsed onto the sandy ground.

The machine gunner beside him had his throat and collarbone pierced by a five-round burst from his own M249. He fell at the edge of the bunker, the machine gun sliding from his hands, its trigger still stuck in the continuous fire position.

The sniper tumbled down from his high vantage point. His chest had been pierced by the 7.62mm Winchester round he had fired himself, the entry wound located less than two feet behind where his scope had been when he shot.

In less than a second,

the fire teams on the western defensive line, the northern outpost, and behind the eastern bunker—everyone who had just fired a shot—were all struck down by their own bullets.

Some died on the spot, while others lay on the ground twitching, their chests still rising and falling with difficulty, though the movement grew smaller and smaller.

Over two hundred people.

From where he stood, Harlan could see the entire process clearly.

He had worked in assassinations at the grassroots level of the CIA and had handled grey operations for three generations of the Hopkins Family. He had seen more dead people than anyone else in this estate.

But he had never seen anyone use a single wave of their hand to make over two hundred bullets turn around and fly back simultaneously within half a second.

That right hand wearing a black glove was not a gun, not a shield, and not any protective device that humans could understand.

It was a direct rewriting of the laws of physics themselves.

And the way that Grey Alien waved it was as effortless as swatting away a mosquito near its ear.

Then came the sound of kneeling.

Thud, thud, thud...

Starting from the outer perimeter, it spread rapidly across the entire estate like dominoes.

The remaining three hundred or so combatants, most of whom had just recovered after the heat radiation beam swept over them, hadn't even managed to stand up straight before they were struck by what they had just witnessed.

Their knees didn't buckle because of an order; it was purely because their legs no longer obeyed their brains.

On a level of willpower, these people had all undergone the Hopkins Family's most rigorous loyalty screening and were all prepared to die in someone else's place at any moment.

But when faced with the absolute crushing power of a higher-dimensional existence, that submission rising from the base of their spines—carved into their genetic instincts—could not be suppressed by training or oaths.

Some among them were still trying to raise their gun barrels,

but their hands were shaking more violently than if they had been standing in extreme cold for ten hours; they couldn't even hold the trigger guard steady.

Meanwhile, in Diana's communication channel, the commander's voice was no longer the eager, combat-ready urgency it had been before.

His tone now contained a layer of fear he had never had before, a fear he had never shown to anyone on the battlefield.

He wasn't shaking because he was afraid of death, but because he didn't recognize what it was he was encountering.

"Miss... that... that guy killed over two hundred people just by waving his hand. If he waves it one more time..."

Diana spoke before the commander could finish.

Her voice, when transmitted through the channel, was kept very low, but her enunciation was clear, and every syllable carried the control that a command should have.

"Everyone, do not fire another shot."

"Those who have already fired, take your fingers off the triggers and put your guns on the ground."

"Without my direct order, no one is to make any move that could be judged as hostile by the other party."

She clutched the communicator in her hand, trembling uncontrollably.

The image of that short Grey Alien waving its hand was still replaying frame by frame in her mind.

And with every replay, her own face automatically appeared in the corner of that image.

She had almost sent the entire Hopkins Family onto the death list just now because of the uncontrollable fear response of the outer perimeter personnel.

This Deep State composed of Aliens was already terrifying enough;

if the people below kept firing randomly and provoking the other party, then the Hopkins Family would truly disappear from the history of the Lighthouse Country today.

She strode out towards the courtyard, her pace still fast and steady,

but between each step, there was a layer of extremely subtle hesitation—something that had never appeared in her stride in her entire life.

Harlan reached out to stop her, but her gesture was faster than any dissuasion; it was she who stopped Harlan.

Keating and Beatrice exchanged a look, said nothing, and followed her at the same time.

Then came the few high-level special agents of the Colt Association who were still standing on the outer defensive line, as well as the few groups of personal bodyguards who had just run out of the main building.

They formed an uneven line behind Diana, their steps hurried and heavy, most of them still bearing the unwashed sweat stains and paleness from being scorched by the heat radiation on their faces.

Diana stopped at a position less than ten feet from the two Grey Aliens, moved her hand away from the holster at her waist, spread her palms, and bowed slightly forward and downward.

Harlan, Keating, Beatrice, and the bodyguards behind her also lowered their heads simultaneously.

"Noble Alien masters, I did not know it was you yourself who came this time, nor did I know that the Deep State was composed of such great existences as you."

"I apologize to you for the misunderstanding just now."

"We failed in our duty; we did not complete the task you entrusted to us."

"Edward Warren and Elon Musk—we failed to kill them in time, and let them get away."

"This is my failure."

"I assure you that the Hopkins Family will use all its power from now on, sparing no cost to track and eliminate these two targets, ensuring there is absolutely no possibility of the secret of Alien technology spreading."

"Please give the Hopkins Family one more chance."

She lowered her head even further.

There was no slickness of a politician in her voice, no sophistry of a merchant,

only a sincere fear born of survival instinct after being crushed by absolute power.

The two Grey Aliens stood where they were, watching her finish saying all those words.

Then the short one turned its head and glanced at the tall Grey Alien.

The black oval eyeballs on the tall Grey Alien's large head turned slightly, and it spoke in a tone Diana had completely not expected.

It was very confused.

"Deep State? Edward? Musk?"

The tall Grey Alien's voice, converted directly into human language through some kind of device, was dry and flat in timbre, but the rhythm carried obvious confusion.

"What are you people talking about?"

"We came to Earth this time to find our teammate, Prince Dao Dun."

"He lost contact while carrying out a mission a few days ago. The last signal records show that he was captured by your people in the underground garage of the City Hall in Las Vegas."

"Release Prince Dao Dun immediately!"

"Now!"

After hearing this, Diana's mouth opened slightly, but she didn't say anything.

Not just her,

behind her, Keating, Beatrice, and Harlan, who were still enduring the lingering pain of the burns and dizziness while trying to remain standing,

as well as those armed death squads in the courtyard who were kneeling and hadn't yet managed to stand up,

all turned into the same expression at this instant:

completely not understanding what the noble Alien masters were talking about.

Their collective confusion was written on their faces—it wasn't faked, it wasn't a delaying tactic, it was real,

they simply didn't know who "Prince Dao Dun" was.

The short Grey Alien was obviously extremely dissatisfied with this silence.

The fingers of the black glove on its right hand tightened slightly, emitting a faint, low hum that didn't belong to any human mechanical device, and its arm began to lift...

The tall Grey Alien spoke.

It raised its left hand and, with two long, thin fingers, pressed down on the front of the short Grey Alien's right arm that was about to be raised.

The movement was very light, the force not heavy, like reminding a subordinate at a dinner table who was eager to use their knife and fork to wait a moment.

The short Grey Alien's movement was completely cut off at that moment.

Its right arm, fully charged with power and ready to swing, stopped in mid-air.

Its entire body simultaneously tilted about fifteen degrees toward the tall Grey Alien, and it only took a single pause to switch its posture from "about to attack" to "awaiting orders."

"Rabu." The tall Grey Alien's tone was calm, gentle, and even carried a hint of the patience that only an elder would have when correcting a junior's etiquette.

But when this voice appeared from a creature with grey-white skin and large eyes that had nothing in common with human civilization, it was even more chilling than any threatening roar.

"We are the Kanal Expeditionary Reconnaissance Squad from the Zeta Binary Star System, representing the Sixth Spiral Arm High Civilization Sequence."

"When facing inferior existences from a low-level civilization like Earth humans, we should treat them with courtesy."

"Get the reasoning clear first, then it won't be too late to decide to take action."

"Only in this way can we demonstrate the demeanor of our Zeta civilization."

After the tall Grey Alien finished speaking, the short Grey Alien's right arm, which was about to swing, retracted to its side in an instant. Its posture was calm and decisive, as if it had been returned to its position by some iron law higher than any free will.

It turned its head toward the tall Grey Alien and responded, word by word, in a serious tone that was precise to the point of being mechanical, completely disproportionate to the "treating with courtesy" just mentioned.

"Yes! Commander Bibi!"

Seeing that nearly mechanical response from the short Grey Alien, a string that had been taut in Diana's mind for a long time snapped.

She wasn't guessing; she directly recognized that attitude:

that was a chain of command, the biological reflex of an absolutely obedient subordinate toward a superior.

Keating opened his mouth slightly to the side, and Beatrice repeated "Commander Bibi" in an extremely low voice.

From now on, they all knew that the tall one was the real mastermind.

The short Grey Alien turned back to Diana.

This time it didn't raise its right hand again, but its tone remained dry and sharp, as if it were reading a notification document that had already passed the final negotiation deadline.

"This is our respected Commander Bibi, commander of the Zeta Binary Star System's Kanal Expeditionary Reconnaissance Squad, and a high-level reconnaissance envoy certified by the Sixth Spiral Arm Civilization Sequence."

"My name is Rabu, technical adjutant of the expeditionary reconnaissance squad, responsible for all navigation, communication, and tactical support for this mission to Earth."

"Our teammate, Prince Dao Dun, is the team's ground advance scout, responsible for conducting forward reconnaissance and sample collection operations on the surface of Earth."

"Within the mission window half a month ago in your surface time, our communication link with him was suddenly interrupted in the underground garage of the City Hall in Las Vegas."

"The last positioning signal and vital sign signal disappeared at the same time."

"Before he disappeared, the last image he captured was of you humans hitting the back of his neck with some kind of arc weapon, and then putting him into a grey bag and taking him away."