Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 655, Section 69: One Person

When everyone realized that a firefight in such a place could hit critical equipment in the control center and cause catastrophic consequences, they unanimously put away their weapons and drew their melee weapons instead.

The woman who had been stabbed by Li De's boot knife—most likely a technician from the White Hawk Squad—was now curled up on the ground, convulsing.

Blood seeped from between her fingers as she instinctively covered the wound on her chest. Her life was slowly slipping away with each weak spasm, but no one paid her any attention, neither the instigator Li De nor her remaining five teammates.

The tall captain raised and drew his tactical knife, the blade tracing a silver arc under the cold light. As if receiving a silent command, the other four team members simultaneously drew their tactical knives and approached Li De in a fan shape. Their movements were as precise as gears meshing, and the sound of their shoes rubbing against the ground was particularly jarring in the confined space.

Li De read the answer in their eyes: they recognized him.

This isn't right.

When Li Delai arrived, he had disguised his face, and the FIA ​​kept his identity under extremely high secrecy. However, the White Hawk team saw through his carefully disguised face the moment they engaged in combat. What was even more deadly was that they did not hesitate for a moment—the direction of the blade, the tension in their muscles, and even the rhythm of their breathing all exuded a deep-seated killing intent.

The hairs on the back of Li De's neck stood on end.

Five emotionless faces were reflected in the cold glint of the blades—this was not the reaction one would expect in an encounter. Their hostility was too precise, like a programmed instruction that had 'killing FIA agents' etched into their very bones.

In an instant, all the clues connected to a cold conclusion: their mission was the complete opposite of their own.

If they were there to protect the president, then the White Hawk team's presence meant only one thing—they were clearing obstacles for the assassination. Ironically, both sides firmly believed they were the true patriots.

In Li De's America, the Stars and Stripes represent the order granted by the Constitution, and the president is the last guardian of the democratic system; while in their eyes, the one sitting in the Oval Office is probably a traitor who must be eliminated long ago.

Li De and the White Hawk squad were like the blue-gray uniformed soldiers who met in the wheat field of Gettysburg on that sweltering July afternoon in 1863—one side shouting "For the Union," the other roaring "For the Confederation." They both firmly believed that they were the rightful heirs of the United States, yet in the smoke of battle, they personally hurled lead bullets into the chests of their compatriots.

The emergency lights in the control room crackled, casting the shadows of six people onto the metal bulkhead. The distorted, twisted shadows intertwined, like the Stars and Stripes burning in front of the Capitol when the old United States collapsed.

Li De's gaze was fixed on the captain's right little finger—the West Point graduation ring was so worn that the insignia was almost illegible, but it still gleamed stubbornly in the dim light. How ironic, he thought.

The old America has long since fallen apart, and the new America was built on the ruins, but West Point still stands on the west bank of the Hudson River, continuing to train generations of officers. The tall man in front of me is clearly their most outstanding creation: his straight spine is like an unbroken saber, the scars of nerve enhancement surgery are visible on his neck, and even the rhythm of his breathing is as precise as a mechanical clock on the parade ground.

"It's really sad."

Li De's body sank slightly, his titanium skeleton supporting the enhanced muscle groups woven from bioplastics. The artificial adrenaline pump emitted a venomous hiss from his spine, and the chill in his voice made the temperature in the control room seem to drop ten degrees: "We could have used these abilities to deal with real enemies—such as the parasites that are gnawing at the foundations of this country."

“Solomon Reed.” The tall captain’s voice was like an unsheathed military knife. His gaze pierced through the gradually dissipating optical camouflage, focusing on Reed’s face as it returned to its original form—a face that had all the standard templates of an elite American agent: hawk-like eyes, a taut jawline, and that template-like posture.

"Responsibility, honor, country." The captain recited the school motto word by word, his knuckles tracing the image of Lincoln engraved on the hilt of his tactical dagger. "Take Lincoln as our role model, and learn from his life experience and fighting spirit—especially the determination he showed when he signed the Emancipation Proclamation."

The cold light of the emergency lights drew a silver river between the two men. Li De noticed something strange about the Lincoln image on the captain's dagger—the face of that great man had been re-carved into the image of a radical revolutionary holding a torch.

"Remembering the school motto, through the years," Li De softly recited the West Point school song, a drop of blood appearing as his boot knife sprang out—it was the mark left on the blade by the technician who had just fallen. "Never Don't forget your duty, let your glory shine."

Two military knives reflected two similar faces: the same extremely short sideburns, the same standard tactical posture, and even the interface used to implant tactical chips was exactly the same. They should have been brothers under the same flag, but now they faced each other like reflections in a mirror.

The instant the White Hawk captain made a tactical hand gesture with his left hand, the Sianwistan systems of all four team members activated simultaneously. The overloaded hum of the neural amplifiers created a teeth-grinding resonance in the confined space, and their figures suddenly blurred, turning into several distorted afterimages—

A glaring, blood-red warning exploded on the retina of Li De's prosthetic eye.

The first enemy came from the three o'clock direction.

The tactical dagger flashed, aiming straight for the kidney, but its trajectory had already been predicted. Li De dodged to the side, deliberately letting the blade tear through his uniform, revealing the grenade at his waist. In the instant the enemy's pupils contracted, Li De's elbow thrust out like a cannonball, the ulna's beak striking the Adam's apple precisely—crack! The muffled sound of cartilage shattering was drowned out by the metallic hum.

The second enemy, using the fallen body of his comrade as cover, gripped his dagger tightly and attacked from the side.

The moment Li De leaned back, he smelled the strong scent of synthetic adrenaline in the other's breath. He stomped his boot on the other's knee, the hydraulic joint bursting under the pressure, the liquid metal shock absorber scattering everywhere. Before the other could kneel down, Li De stabbed backhand, the tactical dagger precisely inserted into the data interface behind the neck, twisting it fiercely—the neural link chip was completely paralyzed in the sparks.

The blood reflected distorted human figures on the ground.

The third and fourth enemies used mirror tactics, flanking from both sides. Li De retreated three steps, his back against the main control panel. Two daggers crossed and slashed, and he suddenly squatted down. His strengthened tendons unleashed a jumping force that defied human ergonomics, and he leaped into the air like a spring.

He twisted his body in mid-air, his boot blade drawing a cold, semi-circular arc.

The blade flashed, and two streaks of blood bloomed simultaneously at the enemy's neck, gushing out like a fountain, splashing in an eerie fan shape under the pale light. Before the corpse could fall, Li De had already landed steadily on the ground, his boots making a sticky, soft sound as they stepped into the pool of blood.

In just a moment of clash, the White Hawk Elite Squad was reduced to only its captain in front of Li De.

(End of this chapter)