I put monsters and super powers in America

He even felt that the "Thunder King" should be awarded a Medal of Freedom.

"Now, nothing can block my path to the Senate." Stam took a sip of whiskey with satisfaction. The spicy liquor slid down his throat, bringing a burning warmth, just like his current hot political future.

The campaign rally was bustling with people and colorful flags fluttering.

Thousands of supporters packed the square, holding up signs with slogans such as "Stam, for the real America!" and "Make tradition great again!", with fanatical and pious expressions on their faces.

Harry Stam stood on a high podium, bathed in the thunderous cheers of his supporters.

He was wearing an expensive dark blue suit and his hair was meticulously combed, glossy in the sunlight.

The rising political star opened his arms as if embracing the whole world, with his signature, friendly and contagious smile on his face.

"My compatriots! My brothers and sisters!" Stam's voice, resonant and full of emotion, spread to every corner of the square through the high-powered sound system. "Look around us! This country is sick! Very sick! Those so-called 'progressive elites' use 72 genders to confuse us and imprison our minds with the shackles of 'political correctness'! They allow illegal immigrants to flood into our homes and steal our jobs. They advocate decadence and chaos and try to destroy our traditional values ​​based on faith and family!"

The audience erupted in thunderous applause and roars of approval.

Stam watched all this with satisfaction, enjoying the feeling of being the center of attention and the power of manipulating the crowd's emotions. He took a deep breath and prepared to make a more inflammatory speech.

At that moment, an assistant dressed in a campaign uniform, looking very capable but a little unfamiliar, quickly walked up to the stage and respectfully handed him a folded note, whispering, "Sir, a concerned voter asked me to give it to you."

Stam frowned slightly, "Who would disturb me at this time?" But he still maintained his composure, took the note and unfolded it casually.

On the note, there was only a line of cold and unfamiliar handwriting printed out by a printer.

"Michael Grohart sends his regards, sir."

Stam's pupils suddenly constricted, as if pricked by a needle. His face, once adorned with a confident smile, froze in an instant, the color draining away at a visible speed, turning as pale as paper. The fingers gripping the note trembled subconsciously.

Michael Grohart!

This name, like a black lightning, instantly split open the psychological defense line that he thought was impregnable!

This name, which should have been completely forgotten in the dust of history with the demise of the White Eagle Gang and the passage of time, this ghostly name, why did it appear again?!

He suddenly looked up, wanting to ask the assistant where the note came from, but he was nowhere to be seen...

"Uh... cough cough," Stam suddenly came back to his senses. He subconsciously crumpled the note into a ball and held it tightly in his palm, as if he wanted to crush the name.

He forced himself to force a smile that was uglier than crying, and faced the supporters in the audience who were waiting for him to continue his speech.

But his voice trembled uncontrollably and barely perceptibly.

"I...we...must...unite! For...for the future of the United States..."

In the following speech, he spoke incoherently and confusedly. He got stuck several times and forgot his prepared speech. The supporters in the audience looked at each other, and the enthusiasm on their faces was gradually replaced by confusion.

After the rally ended hastily, Stam almost fled back to his car.

"Bang!" He slammed the car door shut, blocking out all sounds from the outside world.

He leaned back against the soft leather seat, breathing heavily, his forehead covered in sweat. He spread out his sweat-soaked palm, and the crumpled piece of paper he had crumpled up looked like a poisonous spell.

"Michael Grohart...isn't he dead? He died in the 'accident' on Capitol Hill four years ago! His body has turned to ashes!"

“Who the hell is that guy wearing my campaign uniform?!”

"Who's behind him?! Those Democrats? Impossible! If they really knew about my connection with the White Eagle Gang, and knew about Michael, they would have already released the deadly evidence. There's no need for this kind of elaborate tricks!"

"Are they remnants of the White Eagle Gang? That's impossible! That madman Louis van Gaal wiped them out completely! Could it be... that there are still some that slipped through the net? Or is it someone who knows the inside story and wants to blackmail me?"

For a moment, countless possibilities swirled in his mind, each one sending a chill down his spine. That ghostly name dragged him back into the nightmare of bloodshed and betrayal from years ago.

At the same time, in Anduriel's underground base.

Dragonite and Tifa were watching all this silently on a high-resolution monitor. On the screen, a tiny drone disguised as a wasp transmitted real-time HD footage of Stam panicking and sweating inside the car.

The people of Anduriel are indeed very reliable, whether they are in disguise or sneaking into a

"Serves you right." Tifa looked at Stam's face on the screen, which was distorted by fear, and squeezed out two words from between her teeth.

Her clenched fists relaxed slightly, her tense jawline softened a bit, and a gleam of revenge glimmered in her eyes.

[+300 Willpower, derived from Tifa's pleasure and the slight satisfaction brought by revenge]

[+50 Willpower, from Stam's panic and fear]

"This is just the beginning." The master dragon had a calm smile on his face, as if he was enjoying an interesting drama.

He looked at Atlas, who was looking at him with admiration.

"I need Anduriel's information support," the Dragon Master said. "All of Stam's public schedules, contact information, and network vulnerabilities within his campaign team."

"I even need Anduriel to leak some information about Tifa and me to that hysterical guy at a specific time to lure him into the trap."

"Of course, there's still the finishing touches to be done, and I don't want to be bothered by flies."

"You guys, can you do it well?"

Atlas smiled slightly and made a "please" gesture.

"Don't worry. Given your performance in the 'Evil Dragon' incident, even if the federal authorities do discover something, they'll have to think carefully about it."

"Although this generation's top management is a makeshift team, they're not stupid. As long as you don't cross any high-pressure red lines, they'll turn a blind eye to many things even if they know about them."

"Furthermore, Mr. Elon's frenzied layoffs at DOGE have effectively crippled many departments. The authorities are also devoting a significant portion of their attention to researching those extraordinary monsters. The current federal authorities are practically blind and deaf."

"Don't worry, you won't be exposed."

22 (Part 2). The disgraced enemy

Atlas was really happy to help Dragonite and Tifa.

After all, eliminating a treacherous politician like Stam, who colluded with the mafia, was in line with Anduriel's mission to 'cleanse the filth.' Furthermore, it could also be a favor to Dragonite and Tifa, so why not do it?

The next few days were a never-ending nightmare for Harry Stam.

The harassment of the "ghost" is like a shadow, penetrating every corner, but no trace can be found.

During an important live TV debate, Stam was engaged in a fierce confrontation with his rival over the issue of immigration. He spoke eloquently, citing classics, and was about to overwhelm his opponent with momentum.

Just then, a call came in from the audience hotline.

"Candidate Stam, I'd like to ask you: We've completed the task of 'cleaning up fallen leaves in the yard.' Are you satisfied? Over."

"Clear the fallen leaves in the yard" was the code word he agreed upon with the leader of the White Eagle Gang when he ordered the murder of Michael Grohart!

Stam's mind went blank with a buzzing sound; he opened his mouth and faced the camera, but could not say a word. The cold sweat on his forehead was clearly visible in the high-definition close-up of the camera.

Millions of viewers across the country saw him lose his composure as if he had seen a ghost because of a harassing phone call.

Once again, at one of his large outdoor campaign rallies, as he was passionately preaching his political ideas, the huge LED background screen behind him, which had been scrolling his slogans, suddenly flashed and turned into a line of glaring red characters:

"10/27, West Pier 5, remember to bring the 'cleaner'."

That was the exact time and place when he ordered the disposal of Lord Dragon's father!

The supporters in the audience were completely bewildered, not understanding what this nonsensical statement meant. But Stam, on the stage, felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him, chilling him from head to toe. His previously passionate tone suddenly became halting, and he ultimately left the stage in dismay, as his supporters gazed at him in bewilderment.

What made him most upset was late one night.

Alone in his study, he tried to numb his growing nerves with alcohol.

Suddenly, there was a slight "buzzing" sound outside the window.

He cautiously opened the curtains and saw dozens of drones like fireflies arranged in a neat word in the night sky outside the window.

The word sparkled with a faint blue light, standing out particularly in the dark night - GROHART.

Stam screamed "Ah", fell to the ground, and the wine glass in his hand shattered.

He called the police like crazy and said someone was harassing him with a drone.

But the police found nothing, and since this was not a homicide, they just called a few days later to say "we are investigating", and then there was no further news.

He even spent a lot of money to hire a private detective, but the detective was soon reported for tax evasion and went to the IRS for questioning.

After his first plan failed, Stam tried to use his acquaintances in the political and economic fields, hoping that they could help him solve his problems; but everyone ruthlessly rejected him. Even if they did not reject him on the spot, they would put the blame on others afterwards.

Stam could feel as if a huge net was tightening, making him feel terrified.

The collapse in mentality also led to the deterioration of election performance.

A series of inexplicable and catastrophic poor performances caused Harry Stam's support rate to plummet; he went from a rising political star to a "crazy clown" ridiculed by the media and the public.

Eventually, the RNC lost all patience.

A cold notification email was sent to his troubled campaign team - the Republican Executive Committee unanimously decided to revoke Harry Stam's candidacy and choose another capable candidate.

His political future was completely cut off.

House seemingly endless rain.

The Democratic prosecutors, smelling blood, immediately pounced on them like hungry wolves.

Although they have not been able to find any conclusive connection between him and the White Eagle Gang, they have uncovered some financial "flaws" in Stam's resume during his military service - several unclear kickbacks on arms purchases.

Soon, several of his bank accounts were frozen and he was under investigation by the FBI.

Despite being completely desperate, Stam calmed down.

In other words, it is like a trapped beast fighting madly.

He locked himself in the study for three days and three nights without sleep, desperately recalling all the details, trying to find the "ghost" hiding in the dark that pushed him into the abyss.

"It's not the Democrats... they're not that patient. It's not the remnants of the White Eagle Gang either... those rubbish don't have the brains or the ability."

"Who is it...who knows those secrets..."

He used his last connections and resources to piece together the clues.

At this time, a miracle happened. An employee of Palantir Defense who had some relationship with him provided some clues to Stam.

Finally, two seemingly unrelated documents were placed in front of him.

One is an internal report from the 110th Precinct in Queens, New York, on the destruction of the White Eagle Gang bar. It mentioned that a shooting also occurred in an apartment building near the scene on the same night.

Two people from the White Eagle Gang were determined to have died in a gunfight, but there was no record of their opponent; this made the case a "headless case"; however, since the two killers from the White Eagle Gang were troublesome people to begin with, and the entire White Eagle Gang was in vain, no one investigated it at all.

The other is the student file of No. 499 High School.

Harry Stam's eyes were fixed on the two names and photos in the file.

"Tifa Grohart...Michael's daughter..."

"Master Dragon... that damned Chinese accountant's son..."

"Michael's daughter happened to live in the apartment building where the shooting happened; and that guy who demolished the apartment was also there that day."

"This is such a coincidence..."

A clue formed in Stam's mind - Tifa and that kid were related to the shooting, or even they were the protagonists of the shooting. They might have known something from the two White Eagle Gang members.

"So it was you two little bastards!" Stam gritted his teeth, a ferocious grin on his face. "I don't care how you knew those secrets! I don't care how you pulled off those horrific performances! Since you've destroyed everything I have, I'm going to make you... pay with blood!"

499 High School, Library.

The main dragon was sitting side by side with Tifa, enjoying the rare afternoon tranquility.

Suddenly, a long-lost yet extremely familiar prompt sound rang in his mind.

[+300 Willpower, derived from Harry Stam's murderous intent and madness]

"The fish is finally struggling to bite the hook."

The Lord Dragon's lips curled up in a cold, long-awaited arc. He put down his book and looked at Tifa, who was immersed in her homework beside him.

"Tifa, I guess that guy is about to arrive."

23 (Part 1). Are there any additional benefits to recycling capabilities?

The lives of the Arch-Dragon and Tifa have returned to some strange sort of "normal" track.

Under Atlas's arrangement, Tifa moved into an apartment building next to her original home; that building recently became an asset of Nasir Capital, a subsidiary of Atlas, and the surrounding "neighbors" were all trusted employees of Anduriel.

The main dragon took over Tifa's previous apartment with peace of mind. Although it was not big, it was kept clean and warm by her.

The traces of the gunfight had long been erased, and now the two had become neighbors, with windows facing each other, only twenty meters apart in a straight line; every day when they opened their eyes, they could see each other's figures behind the curtains.

Going to school together and going home from school together became a matter of course.

The path after school also became fixed and full of ritual.

They would first walk side by side through the alley that was always filled with the smell of urine and was populated by homeless people with dull eyes like "zombies".

Before awakening her powers, Tifa would lower her head and pass quickly every time she passed by here; but now, she would just straighten her back and scan the surroundings with her bright and determined eyes. The invisible deterrent force made those homeless people who originally wanted to come up and ask for money give way.

Then, in the deserted park that witnessed the first "arrival" of the lacewing monster, the two would sit side by side on the rusty swing, swaying gently in the afterglow of the sunset, chatting about interesting school stories, discussing profound physics formulas, or just staying quietly, enjoying the calm before the storm.