Dual-wielding! 100x proficiency, I'll grind my way to godhood!

The next second, the entire wall exploded.

The M2 heavy machine gun, the M240 machine gun, and the weapons on the armored vehicle fired simultaneously.

No warning was given.

There was no announcement.

There was no negotiation.

Bullets swept into the clubhouse from all directions.

All the glass in the lobby shattered, large sections of the wooden walls disappeared, chandeliers crashed down from the ceiling, and sparks flew everywhere on the marble bar.

The armored vehicles outside were firing continuously.

This is not a strong attack at all.

This means erasing the entire building along with the people inside.

The ghost and the Naga originally wanted to retaliate.

But the enemy's firepower was too dense; the moment the two looked up, the wall above them was blown through.

The two fell to the ground at the same time.

Naga covered his head and crawled forward, close to the floor.

"God, damn it! They're not here to rescue people! They're here to wipe this place off the map!"

The ghost crawled along, protecting its head as it went.

His suit was covered in dust, and his glasses had a crack.

The two climbed into the wine cellar and hid behind a load-bearing pillar.

Whitman and Coleman had already squeezed into the corner formed by the marble bar and the metal wine rack.

Bullets kept whizzing past their heads.

The bottles exploded one after another.

Red wine mixed with shards of glass spilled all over the floor.

Coleman clutched his head, trembling like a leaf.

"Fuck! They know we're here! They know!"

Whitman lay on the ground, her voice changed.

"Stop firing! We are here! We are the hostages!"

No one stopped firing.

The gunfire outside actually intensified.

Only Chen Mo remained seated in his original chair.

The notebook was placed in front of him.

The cameras were still pointed at the governor and the attorney general.

An invisible and colorless shield of internal energy covered him and the notebook.

As the bullets approached him, they seemed to hit an invisible wall, deforming and falling to the ground.

All American audiences could see were Whitman and Coleman.

They couldn't see Chen Mo.

I don't know why the live streaming equipment was always working perfectly.

All they saw was the wall behind the two important figures constantly exploding.

I saw red wine flowing across the floor like blood.

I saw the California governor and attorney general lying face down on the ground, like two dogs about to be beaten to death.

In a bar in Los Angeles, no one spoke.

A young man was staring at the screen, so engrossed that he didn't even notice his wine glass had fallen to the ground.

"They're killing people! They're even trying to kill the governor!"

The firing lasted for a full ten minutes.

The lawns, driveways, and area around the armored vehicles were also covered with scorching hot shell casings.

The concrete walls of the wine cellar were riddled with holes.

The metal wine rack was twisted into scrap metal.

Half of the marble bar counter is missing.

All that remains of the clubhouse are the load-bearing pillars and a few sections of broken walls.

The gunfire finally stopped.

The scene was deathly silent.

Dust rose slowly from the ruins.

Everyone thought there couldn't possibly be any survivors inside.

The live stream screen was still lit up.

Whitman and Coleman slowly crawled out from behind the bar.

Their faces were covered in ash.

Whitman's suit was ripped open, and Coleman's tie was reduced to half.

They stared at the breached wall and the exposed steel bars overhead, speechless for a long time.

The ghost stood up from behind the supporting column and brushed the dust off his suit.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was loud enough for the two of them to hear clearly.

"Boss, this isn't a rescue, this is an execution."

Naga spat out the ash in his mouth and cursed out loud.

"These bastards have turned the entire club into a damn shooting range!"

Whitman finally realized what was happening.

Even though the people outside knew they were inside, they still ordered the guns to be opened fire.

From beginning to end, no one intended to save them.

The White House doesn't want governors and attorneys general to go back alive.

What the White House wants are two mouths that will never speak.

Whitman suddenly laughed, but his laughter was hoarse.

As he laughed, he suddenly slammed his fist on the marble bar counter.

"Those sons of bitches!"

"Thirty years! I've worked for them for thirty years! I've raised money for them, campaigned for them, and suppressed one scandal after another!"

"Now that this has happened, just have the California National Guard open fire on me!"

Coleman also broke down.

He ripped off half of his tie from his neck, his eyes bloodshot.

"Fuck Washington! Fuck Allen! You bunch of bastards, go to hell!"

After he finished speaking, he straightened up and looked at the laptop's webcam.

"I am the Attorney General of California! I know all the dirty secrets in Sacramento and Washington! They're not trying to save me; they want me to lie in a flag-draped coffin and be silenced forever!"

Whitman turned to look at the camera, her fear turning into madness.

"Fine. If you want us to die, then let's die together."

"I have a name. I have accounts. I know where every penny of the stolen money went, and I know the evidence of the crimes committed by those people in the Black House."

Coleman immediately rushed in front of the camera.

"I have recordings! I have documents! I have all the backups! Nobody can kill us and bury those things!"

The ghost looked at Chen Mo and suddenly realized something.

"Boss, you knew all along they would silence us."

Chen Mo looked at the two people in the camera without offering any explanation.

"People like them only understand one language: bullets."

Chen Mo looked up at Whitman.

"Then let's start with your sugar daddies."

Whitman stared intently at the camera, her eyes frighteningly red.

"No. Let's start with Washington."

Countless people across America held their breath in front of their screens.

Whitman stared into the camera, her voice hoarse, and began to expose scandals and crimes within America's high society...

Coleman would occasionally add a few words.

The live stream room completely exploded.

Torture, murder, cannibalism... These seemingly polite upper-class people actually have a completely different face in private!

The Black House press office was inundated with calls.

Everyone is waiting for an explanation.

Chen Mo sat behind the camera and opened the bounty page.

He knew very well that the Black Palace would not wait any longer.

If heavy firepower didn't kill anyone, the next step will definitely be a ground assault.

Those who rushed from afar were too late.

He had to force the people near the stadium to take action immediately.

Chen Mo added new rules at the top of the bounty page.

[Final window: 30 minutes.]

[The bounty will be closed immediately if the timer expires or the live stream is interrupted.]

The final rescue reward of 5 billion will be awarded solely based on the safe escape of all three individuals from the encirclement.

The countdown starts.

29 minutes and 59 seconds.

29 minutes and 58 seconds.

The red numbers kept changing.

The whole of America felt like someone had stepped on the gas pedal.

Those who were previously observing are now extremely anxious.

Several highways in downtown Los Angeles leading to the stadium were completely blocked.

Some people abandoned their cars and ran forward with their guns on their backs.

Someone rode a motorcycle through the gaps in the traffic.

Some people attach action cameras to their helmets and stream live while shooting.

The TV presenter stared at the countdown, his voice strained.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the bounty has just entered its final window. In the next thirty minutes, Los Angeles could become a real battlefield."