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Chapter 184 Remember to Say Thank You

Natalie's knuckles turned white.

She didn't think it required much courage.

It's actually too easy.

Press down, one inch, two inches.

Just a little bit more—

Did you say thank you?

Suddenly, a familiar voice came from behind.

Natalie snapped back to reality, the knife tip hovering over Hollen's back.

She turned her head.

The smoke in the banquet hall had mostly dissipated.

The surroundings were eerily quiet.

Corpses were piled up, the walls were charred black, lamp stands were hanging down, and blood had pooled into rivers.

No more than a hundred people survived.

They were all lying on the ground, trembling.

Except one.

The man was wearing a suit with a ripped open abdomen and was holding a rifle in his hand.

An elderly man, upon hearing the question, froze at the doorway, too afraid to move.

"Did you say thank you?" Zhou Yi repeated.

The man's face turned deathly pale, and he stammered as he spoke:
"We...we thought you were—uh, I mean..."

He pointed to Zhou Yi's black mask, and after struggling for a while, managed to say, "Thank you for saving us. You're a good person."

"You're welcome."

Zhou Yi raised his hand and pulled the trigger.

"boom."

The man's neck went limp, like a puppet with its strings cut, and he knelt down by the door.

There was total silence.

Soon, someone had a mental breakdown and frantically ran towards the exit.

Gunshots rang out one after another, like a pre-programmed sequence—raise, aim, pull, and fire.

Once the situation stabilized again, Zhou Yi stopped what he was doing and bent down to change the magazine.

Rogers lay in the center of the carpet, having been hit by a stray bullet earlier, and was now barely breathing.

Natalie saw him stroll over.

"It was a pretty novel experience," Zhou Yi said.

Before he could finish speaking, he casually fired a shot.

The bullet pierced his forehead.

The president, who had not yet taken office, died suddenly, his eyes wide open, as if he hadn't even understood what was being said.

The next second, a whimper came from the left, mixed with a strong smell of urine.

Natalie frowned and turned to look.

A Black woman was squatting next to the platform.

Tamara Hughes, Rogers' running mate, the 48th Vice President.

Of course, barring any unforeseen circumstances.

"You three, stand up."

At this moment, Zhou Yi spoke up.

Tamara pretended not to hear, her lips trembling slightly, her eyes staring blankly.

Hollen made the first move.

He pushed himself up from the floor, without trying to speak or make any unnecessary movements.

Next up was Natalie.

She sensed that Zhou Yi was unwilling to reveal their relationship, and she understood immediately.

Hollen knew.

He already knew it.

Therefore, this concealment must have other intentions.

So she went to Tamara.

"never mind."

Natalie spoke softly, half-squatting down to support her arm.

"Come on, let's stand up."

Thank you, thank you.

The woman's legs trembled as she thanked him in a barely audible voice.

Hollen stared coldly at the perfectly coordinated performance.

Then, Zhou Yi slowly began to speak:

"One of you three must die."

"Now, convince me."

Tamara suddenly raised her head.

Her survival instinct urged her to speak, but she didn't know where to begin.

"I...I'm not. I mean, I can."

"No, no, I can do that. I'm fine with anything."

She became increasingly flustered as she spoke, and finally shut her mouth, sobbing uncontrollably.

Natalie, standing behind her, couldn't help but look away.

"And you?" Zhou Yi turned to look at Huo Lun.

Hollen glanced at him.

No words were spoken.

It didn't move.

Not even the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched.

Zhou Yi nodded, as if he had expected this.

"You don't want to live anymore?"

Hollen remained silent for a long while, then said softly, "This is meaningless, you and I both know that." Zhou Yi neither laughed nor got angry.

“It’s not fun,” he said, “but it’s necessary.”

Tamara was in tears and couldn't understand the riddles the two were exchanging.

Her brain was overloaded, making it impossible for her to think.

Explosions, deaths, executions, more deaths—a vicious cycle of hell.

Zhou Yi sighed, took out his pistol, ejected the magazine, leaving only one bullet.

The sound of metal clashing startled the woman.

"Please don't kill me. Please."

"I can, I'll do anything—"

“Very good,” Zhou Yi said. “Kill him.”

For a moment, Tamara froze, her mouth agape, forgetting to breathe.

"There's only one bullet."

"If you want to live, then take action."

Upon hearing this, Tamara lowered her head and stared blankly at the gun.

A few seconds later, she hesitated before gripping the gun handle; it was cold and heavy.

"Fire," Zhou Yi said.

Tamara's hands were trembling, and her teeth were chattering involuntarily.

"I don't want to kill anyone. I don't want to choose."

"You choose. Please don't do this."

"I can't."

The woman displayed her ugly side, yet Hollen remained standing ramrod straight.

He surveyed the "performance art" with a mocking gaze, without uttering a word.

Perhaps because of the man's expression, Tamara cried even harder, her limbs went weak, and she almost dropped the pistol.

Please don't let me go.

"I really don't know what to do."

"I'm just... just a—"

"boom!"

She almost closed her eyes when she pulled the trigger.

"Pfft."

Heavy objects fall.

Tamara's knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, her eyes lifeless.

Zhou Yi took the gun from her and put it back into the magazine.

“Good girl,” he said.

In the corner, the survivors huddled together.

They didn't understand what had just happened.

It's also impossible to predict what will happen next.

In despair, all one can do is pray silently.

They were a hundred times more devout than during any Sunday Mass.

Finally, a miracle happened.

The footsteps fade away.

The assassin is gone.

When someone starts coughing, it's a muscle reflex caused by suppressing their emotions for too long.

A white female congresswoman carefully grabbed the edge of the table and staggered to her feet.

The movements were extremely slow, as if afraid of disturbing something that wasn't quite dead yet.

"Is it all over?"

"Rogers is dead?"

No one answered.

"Was that... an enemy? Or... someone else?"

"What do we do now?"

no one knows.

The woman swallowed hard, took out her phone, and said, "Yes, call the police."

She spoke incoherently, as if trying to calm herself down.

"We need to tell you about 9/11. Many people died in the attack."

The woman turned on the screen and frantically swiped through her contacts.

"do not move!"

A shout rang out from behind.

The woman suddenly covered her head and squatted down, only then realizing that it was the acting interim speaker speaking.

"Haven't you noticed? Half an hour has passed already—"

The man's forehead was cut open, and blood flowed into his eyes, but he was completely unaware.

"No one came in."

"This building has special access; it should respond within five minutes, let alone ten!"

"But there are no Capitol Police, no Secret Service agents."

"No, nothing."

The banquet hall suddenly fell silent.

Someone uttered "God bless."

People began to involuntarily back away.

The man licked the dryness from the corner of his mouth, remained silent for a long while, and then said:

"If you want to live, go to Blue State."

"The closest one is Maryland."

　There's a poll pinned to the top of the book club page.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)