boyutpedia Chapter 13 The Death of Biden
Chapter 13 The Death of Biden
Forty-five meters underground at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, the emergency lights in the corridor cast a stark white glow.
The twelve expressionless Secret Service agents, dressed in black suits and with miniature earpieces in their ears, were on the body.
They were all enhanced soldiers who had been injected with "Kowloon Serum".
Its reaction speed is four times that of a normal person, and its bone density is three times that of a normal person, enabling it to withstand a frontal collision with a car traveling at 60 kilometers per hour without wearing any protective gear.
At that moment, they were forming a circle, protecting one person in the center.
Biden, in a wheelchair, wearing a dark blue suit and clutching an encrypted tablet, moved quickly.
The tablet showed surveillance footage of people outside New York, with monsters emerging from the sewers and attacking them.
No more than five people knew he was coming to New York today. Even his bodyguards only just found out their mission was to protect the president.
Originally, his public schedule at the White House stated "spending the weekend with family at Camp David."
The entire press corps in Washington assumed he was vacationing in the mountains of Maryland.
It all started because of those harassing letters.
For the past three months, no matter which state he attends a conference or event in, a letter would be delivered to his vicinity every evening at 7 p.m.
"I hope you can come to Brooklyn, New York. I need your help."
There were a total of 89 letters, the source of which could not be found, nor could anyone have been identified as the sender.
Even though surveillance cameras and secret agents were standing right next to it, the letter just appeared out of thin air.
He simply couldn't take it anymore.
Despite the strong objections of several party whips, he still came to New York.
Before anyone even appeared, the riots had already begun.
"The monsters are still spreading." Several bodyguards reported the latest situation, standing behind him.
"The National Guard has blocked all bridges across the river."
Biden did not respond.
He'd been through so much in his life. He became a senator at thirty, lost the presidential election at forty, became vice president at fifty, and lost his eldest son at seventy. He didn't become president until he was eighty-three.
He hesitated for a moment and then said, "I'm gone. Go back to the White House."
A bodyguard immediately stepped forward to respond.
Soon, a Gray Eagle helicopter was ready to land on the hotel helipad.
This is a military-modified version, originally used for troop transport, now specifically for the emergency evacuation of the president. Inside the cabin are two rows of folding seats, where seven enhanced soldiers sit, holding their guns to their chests, none of them speaking.
An M134 rotary machine gun was mounted at the rear of the cabin, its muzzle pointed at the closed rear hatch, and ammunition boxes piled up to half a person's height next to it.
Biden sat by the window, looking down at the scene below. Queens was burning, Brooklyn was burning, and the Manhattan skyline was shattered by plumes of smoke. From hundreds of meters above, the streets looked like crushed anthills.
He felt that he was lucky enough to still be standing here, and that he wasn't so unlucky as to deserve dying here.
There was someone sitting in the corner.
He stood in the shadows at the rear of the cabin, his back pressed against the cabin wall, lost in thought.
Marcus. His Secret Service codename was "Venom".
A soldier waved to him. "Hey, are you alright?"
Venom turned his head. The whites of his eyes were dark red. "No."
He uttered a single word. Then he turned his head back and continued staring at the ground.
The soldier shrugged and turned back to check his gun. His captain had told him when he joined: "Don't talk to Venom, that guy's not quite right in the head."
Inside the cabin, a high-ranking officer is giving Venom orders: "If any enemy approaches the plane, stop them. By any means necessary."
Venom nodded.
The blood under his skin began to flow slowly, like some kind of mucus wriggling beneath the skin.
His blood is his strongest weapon; he can release his blood and instantly shape it into tentacles, shields, and spears, combining offense and defense.
The plane flew low over the edge of Queens.
This area is outside the main urban area; below are highways and scattered warehouses.
The plume of smoke was left behind, and ahead lay the grey-green canopy of suburban trees.
"Sir," the captain's voice came from the cockpit, "radar indicates an unidentified flying object 800 meters ahead. Small, hovering."
"Everyone, prepare for battle."
The soldiers pulled back their gun bolts.
Their guns were the MK-19 electromagnetic rifles manufactured by Kane Industries. Although they only had twelve-round magazines, each shot could penetrate a tank.
"Target distance - 600 meters - 500 meters"
Despite attempts to stop him, Biden peered out of the cabin door.
The visitor turned out to be an old friend.
In the sky, Armstrong hovered below a cloud.
Three-quarters of his body was replaced by machinery he designed himself; his right arm was a deformable cannon barrel, his left eye was an optical sensor, and a light blue ring-shaped power core was embedded in his chest.
Steel frame.
He was the world's richest entrepreneur, the owner of Kane Industries, and that was what appeared in front of the plane at that moment.
His carapace is cracking.
The tungsten carbide shell flips open from the midline of the spine to both sides, revealing the internal honeycomb-shaped emission array.
One hundred and twenty "Hummingbird" micro-missiles, each only the size of a syringe, have a destructive power comparable to fifty times the weight of TNT.
Without hesitation, Cyborg used all the weapons in the suit of armor.
All 120 missiles were launched from the launch array, their tail flames igniting simultaneously, exploding into a fan-shaped white light behind the steel skeleton.
Venom moved.
He bit his wrist, the blood flowing but not dripping, instead gushing out against gravity.
It deforms, splits, and stretches in the air, turning into red tentacles.
More than a dozen dark red tentacles shot out simultaneously from the rear of the cabin, weaving into a large red net.
The missile hit the tentacle like it had fallen into water, failing to trigger. It wasn't until Cyborg was about to press the mech's switch to manually detonate it that...
Those missiles have already been dropped to the ground.
The seven cyborg soldiers were not idle either; their guns formed a barrage of fire.
The entire "Greywing" turned, and the machine guns suspended below fired bullets at the Steelbone.
Cyborg cursed, "Damn it!"
With the jets on his feet and the calculator in his left eye working overtime to calculate the trajectory of the bullets, he dodged and weaved through the air to avoid them.
And on the ground about 300 meters below this aerial battlefield.
A man is running.
The treetops cast green shadows on either side of him, and the wind was pushed aside by his body.
He wore a pair of iron shoes with a ring of miniature rotors embedded in the soles.
That was the equipment his employer gave him; he was the fastest man in the world, but he still couldn't fly.
This device converts the kinetic energy generated by running into storeable elastic potential energy with each step, which is then released in full with the next push-off.
It made him jump higher than if he were flying.
He wasn't wearing his signature yellow today.
Instead, it was a red bodysuit.
That color represents the second fastest person in the world, the only person Huang Lightning has ever lost to on the field.
The world's fastest Horizon.
He gazed at the helicopters in the distance.
I mentally estimated the distance.
This was a premeditated battle. He had been arranged to undergo countless jumping training sessions, all for the sake of landing the perfect jump this time.
The enhanced soldiers were busy firing at the steel skeleton.
The venom's tentacles also extended like whips, lashing out.
After a run-up of more than ten kilometers, the yellow lightning bolt on the ground leaped up and soared into the air at its fastest speed.
Instead of grass and trees, there was only air and blue sky. A parabola flew over the heads of the soldiers who were busy firing their guns as it landed in the plane through the open hatch.
He was too fast; the soldiers only saw a red afterimage.
But in Huang Shandian's eyes, everyone else, including Biden who was too surprised to even react at that moment, was like someone in slow motion.
He reached out and placed his hand on Biden's neck.
He even voted for this old man during the election years ago.
"sorry"
With that, he snapped Biden's neck, leaving his head bent at a bizarre 90-degree angle. Huang Shandian was a little worried, given the large number of mutants and the advanced medical technology available today.
So he simply tore off Biden's head and held it in his arms.
This time-stopping effect only occurs when he accelerates to the extreme, and will return to normal over time.
Several soldiers had already turned around, and they were moving much faster than before.
Huang Shandian jumped off the plane.
The soldier, whose eyes had been following the afterimage as he turned his head, saw only the president lying limply on his back, his neck bare and blood gushing like a fountain.
Even though all the soldiers present had returned from the front lines and witnessed the horrific scenes, they were still at a loss in the face of the current situation.
After all, they really only saw a red afterimage.
It wasn't until then that people realized what was happening.
"Someone's come in—someone killed the president—someone—"
A young soldier's shout was interrupted by gunfire. It wasn't the enemy who fired—his comrade next to him had a shaky hand, and the bullet accidentally hit his teammate's leg.
Chaos erupted inside the cabin because of the president's death.
"Medic—has anyone here ever been a medic before?!"
"He's dead—the president is dead—"
"Who did it—it was him—"
The steel frame hovered in the distance.
He looked at the plane—the rear cabin door was open, Venom's tentacles hung limply in mid-air after losing their command, and the rotary machine gun was firing randomly at something.
Soldiers were pushing and shouting inside the cabin, and some knelt beside the president's body to perform chest compressions. The man with the broken neck could not be saved despite heart and lung resuscitation efforts.
His optical eye captured all of this.
Then he looked down at his right shoulder.
He hadn't managed to dodge all the bullets; his armor was badly damaged in many places. Fortunately, he had very little muscle left, otherwise it would have been incredibly painful.
He watched coldly and said with a smile
"You damaged my armor, this is a return gift."
As he spoke, the ring-shaped power core on his chest began to glow. The light changed from pale blue to pure white, then from pure white to a dazzling gold. Ionized air formed an arc of electricity around his body, each arc crackling loudly.
He channeled all his energy into his chest cannon.
The chest cannon fired. A platinum beam shot out from the steel skeleton's chest, piercing through the clouds, through the bullets still firing wildly, through the tentacle fragments of venom scattered outside, and through the open hatch—it exploded.
The entire "Grey Eagle" turned into a fireball.
The plane's fuel tank exploded a second time after being hit, tearing the entire aircraft to pieces. The burning wreckage, like a punctured beehive, plummeted into the woods below, trailing black smoke.
ground.
Abandoned industrial site in the suburbs of New York, filled with rusted iron frames and collapsed sheds.
The largest piece of aircraft debris crashed into a concrete factory, smashing a large hole through the roof. Next came the tail section, then the engine, followed by fragments of the seats and human remains, all clattering and scattering across the ruins within a radius of several hundred meters.
After the dust settled, Venom crawled out of the cement factory.
His entire body was blackened. His clothes were burned off, half of his skin was charred, and a section of his left arm was severed, with blood slowly gathering at the cut and reshaping itself.
Because he had lost too much health in the defense during the plane crash.
His abilities are not limitless; he's running out of blood.
He limped across the ruins, his feet crushing plastic cups and scattered documents in the cabin.
He stopped at a relatively intact open space, looked back at the still-burning wreckage behind him, and then looked down at his severed left arm.
The president is dead.
He remembered signing a document before boarding the plane. The woman who delivered the document to the cell had said that the pardon would end upon the president's death.
He gained his freedom by protecting the president.
The president is now dead.
His only possibility is going back to jail.
After all, when he first gained his superpowers, he "innocently" slaughtered an entire town.
He didn't know where to go. After hesitating for a long time, he smelled the scent of living things. Maybe it was a bear or a wolf. Anyway, where there are living things, there is blood, and where there is blood, there is healing.
Venom burrowed into the woods
In the sky, Steelbone looked at the firelight below, expressionless.
He accessed the encrypted channel on his communicator and connected directly to Huang Shandian.
"How's it going over there?"
"That tentacle monster is still alive. I have no more abilities or weapons. The remaining electricity can only power me to fly back to the factory."
Huang Shandian's voice was steady, with the howling wind in the background: "Anyway, the president is dead, so it doesn't matter who else is."
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the call. Then Huang Shandian's voice came through again, sounding like he was laughing: "Alright, I've already run back to New York. It's too late to catch up now."
"You're fast enough to run, Presidential Assassin."
"Don't call me that, I'm just following the boss's orders."
Have you seen the boss?
Huang Shandian remained silent for a moment before answering.
No, what about you?
"I didn't do that either. I only agreed to this mission because he promised to help me improve the core reactor."
"To kill the president for something like that, Cyborg, you really are..."
Steelbone laughed and said, "And what about you? What did he offer you to invite you here?"
Huang Shandian did not answer, and communication was shut down.
In New York, rescue teams and sanitation workers are now on the streets as reconstruction begins.
Huang Shandian changed into a hooded jacket, just like the other passersby who came out of the shelter and were preparing to go home.
He walked into an alley, threw away the red battle suit he had been carrying under his arm, crumpled it into a ball, and tucked it back under his arm. Then he took out a lighter, lit it, and watched as the suit turned into a charred mess of fibers.
As for Biden's head, it has already "fallen" into the Hudson River bend.
He started running again, rushing all the way home. He wanted to watch television because tonight, the news of the president's death would spread throughout the world.