usenovelgroup Chapter 78 needs to be sent!
Chapter 78 needs to be sent!
Chapter 78 needs to be sent!
The screen went dark, revealing his own face, puffy with deep eye bags.
The chamber pot stared at the black screen, its fingers unconsciously tapping on the oak tabletop.
He knocked seventeen times, then stopped.
Two days ago, when Nailong shouted "City upon a Mountain" and "Lord, are you watching me?" in front of the camera, he was having dinner.
The secretary rushed in and handed him the tablet. The man in the live stream looked radiant, and the reporters below were snapping photos like pilgrims.
He paused the video and watched it frame by frame.
There were no signs of editing, no projection equipment, and the expressions on the reporters' faces were not acted.
He recognized the CNN reporter; he had met her in Geneva three years ago—she was professional to the point of being cold.
Now she's kneeling in the video, holding up her phone, her lips trembling, her eyes full of tears.
The intelligence department’s first report was delivered to his desk four hours later.
Biometric comparison:
The facial muscle activity pattern differed from previously released images by less than 3%, but the skin elasticity index indicated a physiological age regression of approximately eight to eleven years.
Public opinion monitoring:
Global social media searches for the keywords "miracle" and "chosen one" surged by 4,700 percent in the four hours following the event.
The second report arrived eighteen hours later.
The encrypted channel is silent.
All regular contact points at the Black House did not respond to appointment requests.
The Ministry of National Defense hotline was transferred to an automated response system.
The third report arrived early this morning.
Utah.
Satellite images show that large-scale violent incidents occurred simultaneously at more than 300 locations, with heat signatures remaining intense for about six hours before rapidly decaying.
Preliminary estimates of the death toll: 2.7 million to 3.1 million.
The central point of the event:
Temple Square, Salt Lake City.
Executor: Lucien Alden.
Qualitative: The internal communication document uses the term "divine punishment".
The chamber pot turned to the last page of the report and closed it.
He stood up and walked to the window.
Outside is the night view of Tel Aviv, with lights stretching to the edge of the Mediterranean Sea.
As a wartime president, he was well aware that the city existed for two reasons:
One is geography, the other is religion.
Geographically, it's a nail driven into the Middle East, stuck in a shipping lane, sitting next to an oil field.
It can be used to exert pressure when needed, and as a bargaining chip when not needed.
Religiously, they are God's chosen people in the Old Testament who were rejected but were watched over by the Lord.
Evangelicals believe this.
So they gave them money, gave them guns, and vetoed the resolution at the United Nations.
It's like creating a hell with your own hands before you can summon a savior.
Hell is still here, but the script has changed.
The Lord spoke directly.
On camera, the miracle of rejuvenation is demonstrated through the mouth of a blond former reality TV star.
Then another nobleman in Utah used the lives of three million people as fuel to light the Olympic flame.
If the Lord is truly about to descend, then the mission of hastening His descent is complete.
If the Lord has already chosen new agents, Nymph and Lucien, then the promises of the Old Testament are outdated drafts.
What about its geographical value?
He walked back to his desk and pulled up a dynamic map of the U.S. military's global deployments.
The USS Stennis carrier strike group, which was originally cruising in the eastern Mediterranean, turned and headed toward Gibraltar 72 hours ago.
The B-52 fleet stationed at Qatar Udeid Air Base received a relocation order to Lorraine Air Force Base in Maine.
The real-time monitoring data stream of Iran's missile array in the Israel Defense Forces' shared intelligence network was interrupted starting at 11 p.m. last night, and the US technical interface did not respond to requests for investigation.
shrink.
The entire sector contracted.
It's not a strategic adjustment, it's a strategic abandonment.
The chamber pot sat back in the chair and reached out to press his temples.
"They should wage internal holy war or something like that,"
He whispered, "No, we have to run."
He pressed the internal communication button: "Prepare the helicopter for Ben Gurion Airport. Inform the crew that the destination is yet to be determined, but fly towards Cyprus first."
"Mr. Prime Minister, we need to inform the Cabinet..."
"Need not."
The communication had just been cut off when the encrypted phone rang.
He is the Minister of Defense.
"The Chamber Pot President,"
"The U.S. Central Command has officially notified that the USS Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group will depart the Persian Gulf within 24 hours and return to its home port of Norfolk."
"Escort mission and regional air defense handover — no follow-up arrangements."
The chamber pot remained silent for three seconds.
"understood."
He hung up the phone.
"Spicy Balls"
While thinking to myself, I took out my passport and a small metal box from the drawer.
The metal box contained cash—US dollars, euros, Swiss francs, and even sergeant—in various denominations, none of them consecutively numbered.
He stuffed the tin box into his briefcase and walked towards the door.
The corridor was deserted.
New York, Lower Manhattan, 40 Wall Street.
Bobert Goldstein stared at the money flow chart on his computer screen.
The seven red lines represent asset transfer requests from seven offshore accounts, all of which are currently under "regulatory review".
He hasn't slept for forty-eight hours.
He watched the recording of Nailong's speech twenty-three times.
He read the intelligence summary from Utah six times and also paid for a private assessment from a former CIA analyst. The conclusion was consistent: true, with no reasonable technical explanation.
The miracle is real.
This means the rules of the game have changed.
The old network of money and power still exists, but it's been superseded by something new: divine authority.
Theocracy does not follow conventional rules or distribute benefits according to its own will.
He had to buy a new ticket to enter.
I swiped through my phone's contacts to find "Adam Rockefeller" and dialed.
Five rings, connection established.
"Adam, that is me, Bobbert."
"Bobbert".
The other person's voice was very steady, and there was a faint piano sound in the background, probably from the living room.
"Did you see the news?"
"I've seen it."
"I need to—we need to talk. There might be some misunderstandings. We were still on that island last year—"
"Bobbert,"
Adam interrupted him, "No, please don't call me."
The piano music stopped.
Bobby gripped his phone tightly: "Adam, give me a chance? We can renegotiate. I still have people at Credit Suisse, if you need them—"
"I'm afraid the president will misunderstand."
The phone hangs up.
busy tone.
Bobert slowly put down his phone and looked out the window.
Outside the window is the night view of Wall Street, dazzling with lights, but at this moment those lights look like phosphorescent lights in a graveyard.
He dialed another number.
DuPont's.
The number you dialed is no longer in service.
Another one.
Morgan's representative.
Transferred directly to voicemail.
He opened his email and wrote a message. The recipient list contained seventeen names, all of whom were partners with whom he had had "deep exchanges" over the past twenty years on Lolita Island.
The email body contained only one line: "We can offer new liquidity solutions with very attractive terms."
Click send.
Three seconds later, bounce messages popped up one after another.
"Delivery failed: Recipient address does not exist."
"Delivery failed: Domain name is empty."
"Delivery failed: Server refused."
All seventeen letters were returned.
Bobert leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
The hum of the central air conditioning in the office suddenly became very loud, like some kind of insect flapping its wings next to my ear.
He knew it was all over.
It's not a business failure, it's an erasure of existence.
His name is being crossed off a list, not the Treasury's list.
He opened his eyes and accessed the private banking interface on his computer.
The last available account is in the Cayman Islands.
Balance: US$47 million.
He entered the transfer instructions, and the recipient was a digital asset escrow wallet in Zurich.
Confirmation: fingerprint verification, dynamic password.
The progress bar is stuck at 99%.
A pop-up window appeared: "In accordance with Section 7-A of the National Security Emergency Financial Control Regulations, this transaction has been frozen. If you have any questions, please contact the Office of Foreign Assets Control, Ministry of Finance."
The time in the bottom right corner of the screen jumped: 23:59.
A new day has begun.
Bobert Goldstein sat in his $80,000 ergonomic chair, looked at the red freeze notification on the screen, and suddenly laughed.
The laughter was soft and intermittent, finally turning into a long sigh squeezed out from deep within the chest.
He released the mouse and let his hand hang down by his side.
The light from outside the window reflected on the computer screen, overlapping with the red pop-up window, like blood splattered in neon.