Chapter 211

Isn't this a line from Taken? Are you cosplaying Liam Neeson?

Li Cheng rolled his eyes, tucked his phone into the 3D warehouse, and severed the remote network connection to the surveillance cameras.

Caroline in the back seat sat dumbfounded, unable to utter a word. She never expected the company to arrive so fast—if Li Cheng hadn't appeared suddenly, she would already have been captured.

"Wake up."

Li Cheng snapped his fingers to bring her back to her senses. "It's not realistic to cross half of America in this broken car. Didn't your original escape plan include flying?"

"Yes. I planned to head to Des Moines International Airport in Iowa as soon as morning came, then fly to Angel City."

Caroline pulled out her flight information; Li Cheng didn't even look at it. "Don't bother. The company can find you—they can find the channels that issued your fake passport."

"They've probably already sent people to stake out the major airports."

"Then what do we do?" Caroline hesitated. "We still can't reach the Avalon Organization."

"If you can't take a commercial flight, you'll take this."

Li Cheng pulled out another phone, logged into Google, and quickly searched for maps of nearby farmland. "Now it's a race against Pioneer Company—see who moves faster."

He yanked the steering wheel sharply, drove off the highway, and plunged into the vast farmland.

————

At the explosion site of the motel, Alexander issued orders methodically.

Police cars will arrive within ten minutes. Before they get here, prioritize evacuating the wounded and stage the scene as a gang shootout.

Considering the sniffer's claim that residual scent still lingers in the air, Caroline hasn't been gone more than half an hour. Mark a thirty-minute driving radius on the map and send teams ahead to key transit routes and international airports to screen families with children.

Everything he did was transmitted via action camera—video and audio—back to headquarters in Chicago.

Cervantes stood in the tiered intelligence command center, rubbing his chin.

The grenades in the room and the blood-written characters on the wall were clearly the work of another player.

That person was unexpectedly… gentle?

Otherwise, they could have planted a far more powerful bomb—enough to collapse the entire motel and ensure every agent inside died. The only cost would be a few more innocent lives.

"Agent Alexander, you've done well."

Cervantes pressed a button on his desk and spoke to Alexander, who wore a Bluetooth earpiece: "All resources from every outpost in neighboring states—safe houses, special operations teams, helicopters, spy satellites—are under your command."

"Also, I've updated the bounty amount and location on the dark web. Get every psychic who sees it to come here."

"With all due respect, sir,"

Alexander couldn't help saying, "Those civilian psychics are useless—they just cause chaos and increase our cleanup and cover-up workload."

"I don't expect them to be useful,"

Cervantes smiled. "Just have them hold off the Level Four psychic near Caroline until our people arrive."

The difference between native NPCs and players in the script world is this: the former must consider too many things—social impact, personal interests, morality, law, operational risk—

But players don't care about any of that. Even if they blow up a city, what does it matter? Once the mission ends, they just walk away.

Cervantes smirked, secretly sneering at the unknown player—overcautious, sentimental, foolish. There are countless ways to deal with such a person.

————

Li Cheng sped down country roads, crushing through a vast cornfield.

Most of Iowa consists of flat, open plains, with fertile soil, abundant corn and soybeans, earning it the nickname America's granary.

Following Google Satellite Maps, Li Cheng found a large farm with a hangar, tore open the perimeter wire fence, and motioned for Caroline and the others to pass through.

Then he stored the car they arrived in inside the 3D warehouse, walked into the farm, and swiftly disabled the hangar's alarm system before pulling open the hangar doors.

"Shhh~"

Grey Rain whistled. Inside the hangar, a yellow-painted, twin-seat agricultural aircraft, the AT-802, sat quietly, with an 18-meter wingspan.

This aircraft, developed by the famous Air Tractor company (yes, that's its real name), features straight wings, a humped dual cockpit, and a Pratt & Whitney PT6A-67AG turboprop engine, with an empty weight of three tons and a maximum takeoff weight of seven tons.

It is commonly used for pesticide spraying and aerial firefighting—a highly capable agricultural aircraft.

How capable? In 2008, Air Tractor partnered with IOMAX to launch the armed AT-802U Sky Watcher, which simply added extra armor, sensors, and communication equipment to the AT-802.

After mounting rocket pods or laser-guided bombs, it transforms into a propeller-driven attack aircraft, specialized for low-intensity ground-attack missions.

Finding an AT-802 in this farm was quite lucky.

With full fuel tanks, its range reaches one thousand kilometers—enough to fly to Denver, Colorado; after refueling, fly from Denver to Las Vegas, then to the West Coast.

Grey Rain rubbed her hands together, eager to go. She'd long wanted to fly a plane.

Li Cheng stood still, frowning as he scanned the dim hangar, then said calmly: "Don't hide anymore. Come out."

After a brief silence, footsteps echoed from the dark corner of the hangar. Six figures stepped forward.

Four more figures approached from outside the hangar, surrounding Li Cheng and the others.

The group included men and women, armed with firearms, all wearing leather jackets emblazoned with skull motifs. Their exposed arms bore large tattoos—clearly resembling American motorcycle gangs from movies.

Or perhaps they were exactly that.

Li Cheng observed their tattoos with interest: 【AFFA】 meant "Eternal Angel" or "Angel Eternal"; 【1%】 signified the most notorious 1% of criminals; the teardrop tattoos beneath their eyes indicated they had each killed someone.

Their composition was complex: not only motorcycle gang members, but also psychics of varying strengths.

"How did you find us? We masked our presence."

A fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl with black smoky makeup and a buzzcut squinted at him. She appeared to be their leader; her name, according to the Info-Synthesizing Glasses, was Ella.

"I didn't find you. I just habitually shout this whenever I enter a new place."

Li Cheng spread his hands casually. "Like in subways, classrooms, bathrooms, toilets, insane asylums, graveyards—"

?

You yell at graveyards to summon ghosts?

Ella's eyelid twitched. She spoke calmly: "We hate Pioneer Company too. But they offered ten million dollars. Business is business."

"Since we're all psychics, don't resist."

"After seeing the updated address on the bounty notice, you didn't head to the airport, train station, or other transportation hubs first, but instead came to lie in wait at the airplane farm—proves you're very smart.

However—"

Li Cheng suddenly raised his arm and slammed an ability-user's head, which was in an invisible state, hard into the ground. "You've got one thing wrong—I am not an ability-user."

"I am far stronger than all of you."

(End of chapter)