115: Chapter 115 The Fall of the White House

When A-Zu stepped into the airspace of Washington, D.C., less than four minutes had passed since he had leaped up from the United Nations Building.

Looking down from above the clouds, the neoclassical building with white sandstone exterior walls directly below Pennsylvania Avenue shimmered with a warm, ivory luster in the afternoon sun.

The circular colonnade, the triangular pediment, and the Stars and Stripes flying directly above the dome were exactly the same as what he had seen on television.

He reduced his flight speed from Mach 1.5 to a near hover, then, without any deceleration buffer, plummeted vertically like a precision-guided missile, smashing into the exact center of the White House South Lawn.

A crater with a diameter of three meters and a depth of over a foot was smashed into the lawn, with soil and turf exploding radially outwards, splattering dozens of meters away.

The shockwave shattered the glass of the eight floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides of the South Portico, and the alarm sounded immediately after.

Five nearby Secret Service agents in suits instantly fanned out, shouted "Fire," and opened fire simultaneously.

A-Zu didn't even bother to dodge; the moment the bullets left the barrels, his pupils had already captured the trajectory of every single one.

Three were aimed at his heart and two at his head. A-Zu extended two fingers, caught the two bullets aimed at his head, while the remaining bullets struck his body, emitting a dense series of crisp clinking sounds.

He pinched the bullets between his thumb and forefinger, took a look at them, and then flicked them back casually.

That bullet flew back at a speed faster than when it was fired, accurately drilling into the left chest of the lead agent, exiting through his back, and bringing out a spray of blood mist.

The agent looked down at the small, smoking hole in his chest, his body tipped to the side, and before he hit the ground, A-Zu had already vanished from the spot.

Before the remaining four agents could react, A-Zu had already appeared behind them.

The sonic boom created by his movement sent the four agents flying simultaneously. The two closest to him were sent airborne, spun half a circle, slammed their backs against a stone pillar, and slid down the column.

The other two flew into the shrubbery on either side of the South Portico, crushing a patch of meticulously trimmed holly hedges.

From the moment A-Zu flicked the bullet back to all four agents hitting the ground, only the interval of a single breath had passed.

A-Zu couldn't be bothered with their survival and pushed open the doors of the White House South Portico.

Inside the White House corridors, it was as chaotic as an anthill that had been poked with a stick.

Alarms blared dully in the ceiling plenum. Some people were running while clutching documents, others were running with computers. A young girl who looked like an intern was huddled in a corner, holding her head and crying, while a middle-aged man next to her was desperately pressing the elevator button.

Someone ran past A-Zu, only realizing after a few steps who they had just passed, and froze in place.

A-Zu frowned and reached out to grab the back of the collar of this male employee running past him: "Where is your president?"

The male employee turned his head and saw the two iron-red glowing points in A-Zu's eye sockets staring down at him, his lips beginning to tremble violently: "I don't know."

"They didn't come to work this morning, and no one told us where they went."

A-Zu stared into his eyes for a moment.

Through his orbital bones, A-Zu could see the frequency of his heart beating in his chest cavity and the speed of his blood flowing through his arteries.

These data could easily tell him that the person in front of him was not lying.

A-Zu pulled him an inch closer, his antennae drooping: "Who is the highest-ranking person here?"

The male employee raised a trembling finger and pointed to the other end of the corridor.

Over there, an old man wearing a dark suit vest was bending over, taking down the framed portraits of past presidents from the wall one by one, and carefully laying them flat into a box lined with foam.

His movements were calm, appearing exceptionally out of place among the group of screaming, running White House employees.

A-Zu tossed the employee aside and teleported in front of the old man.

The old man had just placed the last frame, straightened his back, turned around, and bowed slightly to A-Zu.

"Hello, sir. I am the White House butler. Is there anything I can do for you?"

A-Zu swept his gaze from the old man to the frames in the box, and then back again: "Where is your president, or other high-ranking officials who can speak for you?"

The old man folded his hands in front of him and bowed slightly: "I don't know that, sir."

"After all, I am just a butler; the President's schedule is not within my scope of duties."

A-Zu looked at him and found his heartbeat was unusually steady, which indicated that the other party was not afraid of him at all.

A-Zu looked at the presidential frame in his hand and suddenly had an idea: "Do you have a mobile phone on you? The kind that can connect to the internet and post videos."

The old man reached into his trouser pocket and took out the latest Apple phone: "Yes, sir."

"Excellent." A-Zu placed a hand on the old man's shoulder: "Take me to the place where your president usually gives speeches."

"No problem," the old man made a gesture of invitation, "Please follow me."

The old man led A-Zu through the corridors of the West Wing of the White House. The White House staff along the way had long since fled, leaving only the muffled sound of alarms in the ceiling and a forgotten landline receiver gently swinging on a desk at the end of the corridor.

The old man did not walk fast, his pace was steady, and he habitually turned slightly sideways when passing every door, as if giving a tour to a visiting foreign head of state.

He stopped in front of the Oval Office, pushed open the half-ajar oak door, then stepped back to the side of the door, bowed slightly, and made a "please enter" gesture.

A-Zu walked in, went straight behind the Resolute Desk, pulled the high-backed leather chair back an inch, and sat down.

He placed both feet on the desktop, leaned back, and sat in the chair in an extremely arrogant manner.

"Start."

The old butler stood directly in front of the Resolute Desk, holding the phone with both hands, with the camera pointed at A-Zu. He extended his thumb and pressed the live broadcast button.

The platform was the official White House account, which had been livestreaming the Interstellar Court trial this morning, with the pinned title: "Ball Chief Verdict: Planet Wuhu people used excessive force, must pay compensation."

Now this title was covered by a new livestream notification, and over a billion screens globally popped up the same push notification in the same second.

A-Zu waited a few seconds, and when he felt it was about time, he sat up straight: "Lowly people of Blue Star, hello."

"Just now, it took me less than a few minutes to fly from New York to Washington."

"I crushed your most advanced technological missiles, and when I walked into this White House, your president had already run away."

He spread his hands and laughed arrogantly: "Your military did not stop me, and your technology did not stop me."

"Your president didn't even have the courage to stay in this house and wait for me. Do I need to summarize what this means for you?"

He tore down the United States flag behind him: "Undoubtedly, this means your country has completely lost."

He tore the United States flag in his hand to shreds and continued arrogantly: "You think this is the end?"

His eyes gradually began to glow with red light: "The remaining countries, listen to me carefully now."

"From now on, you have one hour. Within one hour, every head of state, and I mean every single one, must publicly announce on my livestream: your country unconditionally surrenders, and from today on, obeys only my commands."

He retracted his index finger: "Listen clearly, this is not a negotiation, nor is it a consultation with you, but an unconditional surrender."

"I don't have the good temper of Commander Chen Mu. After surrendering, all your military forces will be disbanded, and all weapons and equipment will be handed over to Planet Wuhu for management."

"Your government will retain only one function, and that is to collect taxes for me. From tomorrow on, you lowly people of Blue Star will only study one course, and that is how to be an obedient slave."

He leaned back into the chair again and put his feet back on the desk: "I have finished speaking. The countdown begins."