American Evil God, starting with the American rebel leader raising poisonous insects.

"Wow, this sewer is teeming with life, everything's thriving!"

In the divine realm, Luo Huan's gaze had just shifted from the dark green, bubbling, constantly merging and writhing torrent of slimes.

This is even weirder than her!

Our gaze shifts to Seattle.

The blue light beads representing Qian Liren remain stable.

He uploaded himself, his physical anchor buried deep within the nuclear-level safe house in Alexandria, while his consciousness roamed the network of the Noah AI.

Meanwhile, the Alexander family, empowered by the ultimate tool Noah AI, is devouring everything in Seattle with astonishing efficiency.

Those tech companies that are teetering on the brink of collapse or have even gone bankrupt under the impact of AI are having their remaining patents and equipment rapidly acquired, dismantled, and restructured at scrap prices by shell companies under the Alexander family.

As for talented individuals, they can be directly transferred to [Compassionate Embrace]~

The operating companies of several hydroelectric power stations on the Columbia River, the closest to Seattle and the city's main source of electricity, are being acquired by Alexander.

Water resources?

It's simpler.

The largest water company in the Puget Sound region was originally a privately owned property controlled by the Alexander family for three generations under the guise of a municipal cooperation project.

Now, it's just a pretext to further tighten the supply network and pricing power under the guise of "optimizing cooling water for AI data centers."

Capital, energy, water, and data—the lifeblood of modern cities—are converging towards the same source, driven by Noah AI's calculations and Alan Alexander's proactive approach.

"boring."

Luo Huan lost interest after just one glance.

To her, this drama of old-money families using new technologies to consolidate or even expand their monopolies was like watching a dull symphony played according to a fixed score, without a single wrong note.

She prepared to turn her attention back to Michigan to see what new tricks Carl Jensen and his gang of rednecks had come up with this time.

Just as the gaze shifted to the rednecks, the "Artistic Joy" icon lit up.

"Oh? There's new work!"

Luo Huan instantly perked up, her gaze shooting towards him like an arrow.

The Florida Keys, an island group that appears on map applications with only a string of official nature reserve designations and no detailed markings.

The island is vast and densely vegetated, with a simple airfield and deep-water pier in the central area.

The security system is independent and rigorous, with patrol boats bearing the logos of private security companies patrolling the island's perimeter, and air traffic control is strict.

A private Gulfstream aircraft bearing the Adams family crest taxis onto the runway.

The hatch opened, and Lucien Alden stepped onto the concrete floor covered with fine coral sand.

A salty, warm sea breeze swept over me, carrying the intense fragrance of tropical plants.

He was wearing a light linen casual suit, no tie, and two buttons on his shirt were undone.

This is the "White Sand Bay Club." He knew of its existence—a place that existed only in the innermost circle, known only by word of mouth.

Previously, because he was the useless second son of the Alden family, who did not have to shoulder the heavy responsibilities of the family, and whose future was already a matter of waiting to die, he had never received an invitation.

"Blessed by God!"

Lucien muttered to himself, a subtle, enigmatic smile curving his lips.

A convertible electric sightseeing vehicle came to greet us.

The driver/waitress was a tall, impeccably beautiful blonde woman wearing a very fitted white short uniform that revealed her long legs and most of her back.

Her smile was perfect, her eyes gentle, and as she opened the car door for Lucien, the angle of her bow perfectly showcased the deep curves of her chest.

A very high-class sacrificial offering.

Lucien made the judgment subconsciously.

The car moved slowly along the path shaded by palm trees.

Along the way, you can see several other similar sightseeing vehicles carrying passengers deeper into the island.

Occasionally, when passing oncoming vehicles, Lucien could catch a glimpse of the faces of the passengers inside.

He had seen some of them in financial news or on social media; they were veteran traders on Wall Street.

Some are names that only appear in family records: the octogenarian but still sharp-eyed leader of the Adams family; the official successor of the younger generation of the DuPont family; the eldest daughter of the Rockefeller family, known for her art collection and charitable foundation...

Most of them appeared relaxed, talking in hushed tones, or simply closing their eyes to enjoy the sunshine and sea breeze.

The view suddenly opened up as the sightseeing bus rounded a dense forest of flame trees.

A pristine private beach stretches out, ending at a minimalist yet expansive seaside villa.

On the open-air platform in front of the villa, dozens of people were gathered in twos and threes.

The air was filled with the aroma of champagne, the smoky scent of roasted meat, and a more familiar, rusty sweetness.

Lucien's gaze swept over the tender, pinkish-white steak that the waiter was cutting next to the grill.

I then passed by the young, living male and female Gundams standing quietly as exhibits. It was a familiar sight.

Finally, the focus shifted to a figure sitting in a specially made wheelchair not far away.

Even though he was paralyzed on one side and his head needed mechanical braces to be fixed, the scientist's profile and eyes were still highly recognizable.

"Oh, even Stella is here."

Lucien curled the corners of his mouth.

"So, they come here to get an entry ticket too? To study juvenile miniature black holes using science?"

Lucien's arrival, with his unfamiliar face and overly young appearance, attracted some indifferent glances.

But that's about it.

Here, it's not uncommon to see unfamiliar faces; there are always newcomers introduced through some channel, trying to integrate or exchange something.

Just then, a suppressed commotion came from the other side of the platform.

Luke Adams, formerly known as Luke the High Priest of the Order.

Upon seeing Lucien arrive, he reached out and patted Diana Rockefeller, who was pressing down on him and pounding on his chest.

Some of the external props were removed as the excited Diana left.

He couldn't help but let out a soft hum.

Then he haphazardly tucked the hem of his expensive silk shirt into his waistband, with a few grains of sand still stuck to his knees.

Before she could even catch her breath or straighten her clothes, she staggered but walked quickly toward Lucien, who had just gotten off the bus, with the help of two waiters.

His appearance and somewhat disheveled appearance drew even more attention.

Luke stopped in front of Lucien, took a few deep breaths, and forcibly suppressed the trembling in his body and the exhaustion he felt after the overstimulation. He glanced at the curious or indifferent faces on the platform and cleared his throat.

His voice was still a little hoarse from the previous strenuous exercise, but he deliberately raised it, making it clear and distinct:

"Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce myself—"

He turned to the side, fully exposing Lucien to everyone's view.

"This is Lucien Alden, the second son of the Alden family from Georgia."

A few barely audible exhales, carrying a faint sense of scrutiny and assessment.

The second son of the Alden family?

I've never heard of the eldest son dying, so what use is this useless second son here?

Luke paused for a second, his gaze fixed intently on Lucien, then turned back to face the crowd, his voice suddenly rising higher, carrying a mixture of excitement, fervor, and an undeniable, resolute tone:

"at the same time--"

"He is also the Lord's agent! A living saint who truly possesses the Lord's gaze and bears His gifts!"

The moment the words fell.

The rustling of the sea breeze, the clinking of champagne glasses, the sizzling of grilled meat, the snapping sounds of a "state"-style two-pronged attack...

All the subtle background noises seemed to be suddenly wiped away by an invisible hand.

On the platform, dozens of eyes were fixed on it.

An elderly man from the Adams family, the successor of DuPont, the daughter of Rockefeller, a Wall Street tycoon, and a scientist in a wheelchair all freeze in place.

Then, without exception, they were fixed on Lucien Alden's expressionless, pale face.

silence.

Only the eternal rhythm of the waves crashing against the white sand echoes hollowly in the distance.