bioinnovel Chapter 597 [3 Chapters Combined] Seizing Power and Usurping the Throne
Chapter 597 [3 Chapters Combined] Seizing Power and Usurping the Throne
After a moment's thought, Riley stood up. The symbiote suit spread out from his shoulders and neck as if it were alive. The dark nanofibers quickly spread along his arms, torso, and legs, and the white spider patterns shimmered slightly in the sunlight.
Although Riley was genuinely delighted that Israel had been "planted" (i.e., given the perceived threat of being "planted" by the virus), he was actually quite pleased.
However, in order to avoid any unexpected changes in the subsequent plans, Riley still intends to go to Israel in person to conduct an on-site investigation.
Just then, a pop-up call request window appeared in front of Riley's eyes, with the contact listed as Sheriff Black.
The moment Riley pressed the call button, Sheriff Black appeared on the other side of the screen with a serious expression.
"Riley, we might be in trouble... Not long ago, the magic detection system you provided detected a signal that the Gates of Hell were opening. It's in a prison; I'll send you the exact coordinates now. Jackie Chan and the others are ready and can leave at any time."
"The gates of hell opened in the prison... Oh, and this time, it's the Wind Demon Howling Wind that's been released..."
Upon hearing this, Riley muttered to himself, searching his memory for information that matched the criteria, while his brow furrowed slightly, just like Sheriff Black's.
If Riley remembers correctly, in the original storyline of "Jackie Chan Adventures," in order to open this gate to hell, Valmont and his friends first deliberately robbed a bank to attract the people from District 13 to arrest them, thus making it easy for them to sneak into this prison.
After that, Uncle Long, disguised as a prisoner, accidentally helped the Black Hand Gang, successfully opening the Hell Gate that sealed the Wind Demon and releasing the second demon.
However, given Riley's presence, this behavior was tantamount to deliberately throwing one's life away.
Even if Shendu, who possessed Valon's body, chose to remain behind the scenes, he would never have instructed the trio of idiots to carry out this mission alone.
Because he couldn't guarantee that during his time with Riley, the trio wouldn't ask Riley for help. And when they returned to his side, wouldn't they be equipped with tracking devices and surveillance cameras? Or perhaps, like in the parallel universe when Shendu possessed Valmont, they would directly defect to the enemy!
Therefore, from the day Bo was rescued, District 13, which had been searching for the whereabouts of the Holy Lord and others with all its might, could not find them, as if they had vanished into thin air.
Only now, after receiving news of the alien invasion crisis in New York City, has the Holy Lord led Rasu and the others to begin a new round of operations!
The timing was perfect.
It was as if they knew in advance that the Chitauri were going to invade Earth!
If Riley hadn't deliberately collected data on the energy fluctuations emitted when the Gates of Hell in Pogan opened and closed during that trip to the island nation, and hadn't started developing a completely new detection system...
I'm afraid that if the Holy Lord and the others swagger out of the prison with Xiao Feng, Riley won't even receive a single word!
"Am I playing General Trump's script? He really doesn't want me to have a moment's peace..."
With his mind racing and faced with one unexpected crisis after another, Riley couldn't help but start complaining.
He then abandoned his plan to go to Israel for on-site investigation, changed the coordinates of the dimensional wall, and responded.
"Don't worry, Sheriff Black, I'm on my way."
Meanwhile, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu was sitting in his office, a symbol of the nation's highest power, facing the most daunting situation of his life.
The online public opinion has completely spiraled out of control.
Although Tony Stark's post wasn't a lengthy essay, every piece of information it provided was solid, practical data. It was like a precise scalpel, dissecting his carefully constructed public opinion defenses layer by layer.
Today, the comment section of the official account of the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which is suffering from a backlash from public opinion, is flooded with insults in various languages.
Even local residents spontaneously took to the streets, holding photos of their loved ones who perished in the nuclear bombing, and tearfully chanting slogans such as "Give us the truth."
Even worse, whether out of emotional outburst or at the instigation of someone with ulterior motives, he has begun to incite the masses to put pressure on him, the prime minister, to resign and step down from his position ahead of schedule!
The constant stream of bad news made his fingers tap restlessly on the desk, the same thought recurring in his mind...
Deliberately allowing a nuclear bomb to explode?
Who? Me?
Wow! You have to have a conscience when you speak! A conscience!
Who would be so stupid as to do something like that!
He has only a few months left before his term comes to a successful conclusion.
On the surface, his past achievements, while not particularly outstanding, at least allowed him to maintain a relatively stable period of governance for several years.
Relying on the network of connections he had painstakingly built up, it should have been a sure thing for him to be re-elected as prime minister in the new round of elections.
Of all things to do at this critical juncture, this absurd thing has happened!
Shouldn't that nuclear bomb have been heading towards New York?
The Security Council vote had already passed, and the fighter jets took off on schedule...
Which link in the chain went wrong?
Who on earth was the unscrupulous person who pulled this stunt behind the scenes?
In the end, he was unfairly burdened with this blame! His approval rating plummeted!
Let alone being re-elected, whether he can even last until a normal retirement is uncertain! He has already tarnished his reputation in his later years!
If he finds out, I'll tear that bastard to pieces!
No, that kind of death is too cheap. We should...
"Who goes there? This is the Prime Minister's office, no entry allowed—"
Just as the prime minister was getting angrier and angrier, imagining how he should retaliate if the real culprit were caught, a sharp shout from the corridor pulled him back to reality.
At first, the prime minister thought it was just some ignorant civilian who had wandered in, or perhaps one of his political enemies had come to kick him while he was down.
Unexpectedly, the originally powerful warning voice quickly turned into a heart-wrenching and miserable cry.
Interspersed throughout were a series of cracking sounds of bones breaking and muffled thuds of bodies falling to the ground, until everything fell silent.
This made Netanyahu's heart skip a beat, and he jumped up from his chair.
Before he could react, his heavy, tightly closed oak door was forcibly smashed open by a figure that flew in.
The "uninvited guest" was wearing the Prime Minister's Office uniform and was one of his most trusted bodyguards, an elite warrior who could easily defeat ten opponents with his bare hands!
At that moment, he was like a rag doll tossed around by a naughty child, flying off the ground and crashing heavily against the wall next to the Premier.
The force of the impact was terrifying.
With a clearly audible sound of bones cracking, half of the guard's body was embedded in the wall. His limbs were twisted and deformed at horrific angles that defied human anatomy!
His neck was twisted to one side, and dark red blood mixed with fragments of internal organs spilled from the corner of his mouth. He died instantly without even having a chance to scream in pain.
This caused Netanyahu's pupils to contract sharply.
His gaze passed over the corpse embedded in the wall and looked out through the open office door.
Several other guards were lying haphazardly in the corridor.
Without exception, they all lay in pools of blood, their seven orifices bleeding a pitiful sight.
Some arms were bent backwards at impossible angles.
Some chests were caved in so badly that it looked like they had been hit hard by a high-speed truck.
There were no survivors, no signs of struggle, and no one even had time to draw their gun and fire.
The entire corridor, which not long ago was filled with the footsteps of security personnel patrolling and their hushed conversations, is now as quiet as a tomb.
Standing outside the door was a monster far beyond Netanyahu's comprehension.
It was a humanoid robot assembled from various metal parts.
Its main body is an abandoned industrial boiler, and the rusted metal shell still bears the faded factory nameplate.
A ring of still-hot car exhaust pipes was embedded in the chest cavity. Every breath—if the hoarse, metallic vibration could be called breathing—was accompanied by scorching air and the pungent smell of engine oil.
The sturdy hydraulic arm was covered with steel bars and chains that had been salvaged from some construction site.
At the end of each chain hangs a heavy gear or iron hook, gleaming with a cold, metallic light under the corridor chandelier.
Its head is a piece of old engine hood that has been forcibly shaped into a ball. The surface is uneven, and the traces of the original car logo can be faintly seen.
The eyes are occupied by two light bulbs, one large and one small. Each flicker is accompanied by a buzzing sound like an electrical short circuit, like two miniature thunderstorms trapped in metal eye sockets.
It stood there, its bulky and enormous body completely blocking the doorway.
The corridor lights shone from behind him, casting a grotesque and distorted shadow on the floor, shrouding Natanyahu and his mahogany desk, a symbol of power, in darkness.
After a brief silence, Natanyahu abruptly pulled open the drawer on his right.
As the prime minister of a country, in order to deal with emergencies such as assassination, he always keeps a custom-made pistol with a full magazine in a hidden compartment of his drawer.
That was a self-defense weapon he had commissioned from the best gunsmiths at great expense, with his initials engraved on the grip; it was the only one of its kind in the world.
This time, however, he reached into the hidden compartment with practiced ease, only to find nothing.
The velvet lining of the hidden compartment is still there, but the gun is gone.
His face turned ashen, and he no longer cared whether the monstrous robot in front of him would attack him. He lowered his head and frantically searched for the object.
He pulled the drawer open and closed it again, turned the filing cabinet next to it upside down, and even kicked open the hidden panel under the table to check it.
"Is this what you're looking for?"
Just then, a childish yet unfamiliar voice echoed in his ears without warning.
Netanyahu's pupils suddenly contracted, and he instinctively looked up at the sound.
A silver-haired boy wearing goggles and a trendy silver-gray vest had quietly appeared in front of him, leaning slightly forward.
The boy's left hand rested casually on the mahogany table, while his right hand idly twirled a small pistol that looked very familiar to Natanyahu.
It was that custom-made pistol that he relied on for self-defense, but now it had vanished without a trace!
Before he could even figure out when and how this suddenly appearing boy had taken the pistol locked in the hidden compartment right under his nose, the boy stopped spinning the gun, as if he had gotten tired of it.
He then raised his gun, aimed it at Natanyahu's head, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
"Bang!"
Gunshots rang out in the closed office, making Natanyahu's eardrums ring.
His muscles were taut to the point of spasm, and the flash of gunfire reflected in his pupils.
Just when he thought his life was about to end in such an inexplicable way, his adrenaline surged, and in slow motion, he saw a silver afterimage.
The boy who fired the shot actually used his left hand, which was originally supporting him on the table, to catch the bullet in mid-air at a speed that was impossible to detect with the naked eye, just as it left the barrel.
His movements were so fast that his fist had already retracted before the gunshot had even echoed in the air.
Then, the boy tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes behind his goggles.
He met Natanyahu's stunned gaze, extended his clenched fist in front of him, and slowly opened his fingers.
A bullet, still carrying terrifying heat, lay quietly in his palm.
The boy tossed the bullet gently upwards, and it tumbled several times in the air before landing in Natanyahu's outstretched hands, which he instinctively reached out to catch.
The next second, a wave of scalding heat swept from my palms throughout my body.
Natanyahu felt as if a bucket of boiling water had been poured over his palm, causing him to wince in pain and shake his hand repeatedly, throwing the small, hot metal object directly onto the table.
The bullet struck the mahogany table with a crisp clang. A few wisps of faint smoke rose from the impact.
Seeing his disheveled appearance, the silver-haired boy tried to hold back, but finally couldn't help but burst out laughing.
He propped himself up on the table with one hand, took off his goggles with the other, wiped the dust off the lenses, and then grinned as he leaned closer to Natanyahu's pale face. He spoke in a mischievous tone, as if he had discovered a new toy.
"No way, no way, the Prime Minister of a country, and you have this little bit of courage? When I fired the gun just now, your eyes were wide open, I thought you were some kind of tough guy who wasn't afraid of death, but you couldn't even catch a bullet and were trembling from the burn... Is the standard for applying for Prime Minister here just that whoever does the most despicable things gets to sit in this position?"
Natanyahu covered his reddened palm, looked at the still-hot bullet on the table, then at the silver-haired boy in front of him who was casually adjusting his goggles. His lips moved for a long time, but he couldn't utter a single word.
Having lost his only weapon for self-defense, and judging from the opponent's demonstration of catching bullets with his bare hands...
No conventional weapon could possibly harm this strange young man...
So now his only hope is to seek help from outside.
Faced with the boy's undisguised, cheek-to-cheek taunts, the Israeli prime minister, who had no intention of retorting, instinctively opened his mouth, wanting to shout loudly to attract the attention of reinforcements as much as possible. At the same time, he bent over, desperately reaching his right hand under the table to try and press the hidden emergency call button to summon more guards for a rescue.
But before his finger even touched the edge of the button, a red-haired girl who bore a striking resemblance to the silver-haired boy stepped out from behind the strange robot.
She looked like the silver-haired boy, no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Her long, deep red hair cascaded over her shoulders, the ends gleaming with a dark red sheen under the cold white light of the corridor.
With just a casual glance at Natanyahu—or more precisely, at his hand frantically reaching for the buttons under the table—the girl saw through his intentions. With a disdainful snort, she raised her own right hand.
The next second, a sudden burst of crimson light flashed in the girl's bright eyes. Crimson chaotic magic silently surged from her fingertips, traversing the entire office at a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye, enveloping Natanyahu completely.
This caused Netanyahu's body to stiffen abruptly, like a puppet with its strings cut, completely losing the ability to act independently.
He remained fully conscious, but like a paraplegic, he could not feel the existence of any part of his body except for slight movements of his head.
His limbs no longer obeyed his commands; his fingers could not move an inch; even the rise and fall of his chest became weak and difficult.
He wanted to shout, to cry for help, to question who these hostile freaks really were.
But even though he had tried his best, and the words were already on the tip of his tongue, an invisible force forced them back down into his throat.
In the end, despite his best efforts, he could only manage a few barely audible sobs, fainter than a mosquito's buzz, from deep within his throat. He looked utterly pitiful.
However, the girl, having done all this, didn't even bother to glance at the Israeli prime minister in front of her.
She didn't even glance at him again, as if this prime minister, who held the reins of power in the country, was nothing more than an insignificant speck of dust in her eyes.
At the same moment, as if telepathically connected with the girl, the silver-haired boy flashed—so fast that no movement trajectory could be seen, only a silver afterimage remaining in the air proved that he had indeed moved—and returned from beside the Israeli Prime Minister to the left side of the robot. The two of them, one on the left and one on the right, looked up at the tall, ugly, and ferocious robot.
The robot slowly moved its hands—if those two crude mechanical claws assembled from hydraulic clamps could even be called "hands"—and placed them on the heads of the two people, gently stroking them with an approving air.
Its movements are slow, even clumsy.
Those rough metal joints made a piercing metallic scraping sound with every movement, as if they might break down completely at any moment due to excessive wear.
But the force with which it caressed their heads was perfectly controlled. The movement was as gentle as if it were stroking two newly hatched chicks, as if afraid of breaking something.
The red-haired girl and the silver-haired boy squinted at the same time, revealing satisfied and radiant smiles like children who had received a favorite gift.
That smile was pure and without a trace of impurity. It formed a chilling contrast with the corpses lying haphazardly in the corridor.
"I'm sorry, my two children have just regained their freedom and are full of energy. Please forgive them if they have offended anyone."
The robot's voice came from deep within its chest, a low rumble like scrap metal being squeezed together.
The voice vibrated in the air for several seconds before coalescing into barely recognizable sentences.
His tone was polite and restrained, even carrying a hint of sincere apology, as if the guards who had just been killed were merely an accidental misunderstanding.
Then, the tall robot took a step forward, subtly shielding Wanda and Pete behind it.
He then slightly bowed, like a gentleman removing his hat in greeting, and began to introduce himself in a leisurely manner.
"Let me introduce myself. I am the compassionate hero, the artificial intelligence codenamed 'Gauss.' I am also the mastermind behind the alteration of the nuclear missile's trajectory that you were just looking for."
Natanyahu's eyes widened suddenly. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a few muffled sobs escaped his throat.
The robot who called itself "Gauss" paused for a moment to give him time to process what he had said. Then it continued, its tone still unhurried, as if it were reading a pre-prepared verdict.
"From this moment forward, Israel will be under my full control."
"Based on my investigation, the crimes you have committed are too numerous to count—unauthorized arms deals, supplying weapons to multiple conflict zones, and the secret execution orders that were never allowed to see the light of day issued in this office…I have a complete chain of evidence for every single one of them."
"So, I'm sorry to inform you—there is no place for you in the new world I've planned."
It spoke to itself, raised the right hydraulic clamp, and firmly clamped it onto Netanyahu's head.
The icy touch of the metal seeped into his bones from his scalp, causing the prime minister, who had once signed countless orders in this very office and boasted of being able to manipulate the world at will, to tremble uncontrollably.
He struggled to move his lips, trying to say something—perhaps a plea, perhaps a question, perhaps a final curse—but no matter how hard he tried, only a few indistinct sobs, fainter than a mosquito's buzz, could escape from his throat.
"Wanda, Pete, close your eyes, okay?"
The red-haired girl and the silver-haired boy obediently closed their eyes. The girl tilted her head slightly, resting her face against the robot's rough hydraulic arm. The boy put his hands back into his pockets, looking down at the tips of his shoes. Gauss's hydraulic clamps slowly tightened.