Naturally, Ian Song didn’t tell Faye Shangguan that both the white youth who drew fire in the mall and the apartment owners were under his control using Puppet Mastery Divine Art.
Half an hour later, the apartment owners brought out freshly cooked steak and even opened a bottle of brandy they’d saved since their wedding.
Both Faye and Cynthia Murong were a bit overwhelmed by this hospitality. They couldn’t understand why the owners were so enthusiastic, but in the end, they figured it must have something to do with Ian.
The steak itself was just average, but Faye and Cynthia ate with great appetite. After over an hour of being chased by the CIA and city SWAT teams, they still hadn’t calmed down completely. Eating was a good way to ease their fear.
As for the brandy, it tasted pretty authentic, but most of it ended up in Faye and Cynthia’s stomachs.
After such emotional ups and downs, it’s easy for people to get drunk—and both women did.
People often do things completely out of character when drunk; it’s commonly called acting crazy from alcohol.
Maybe because she’s a singer, Cynthia started singing nonstop after getting drunk—but her pitch was all over the place, like something out of an anime. If her fans saw a video of this, they’d never believe it was really her.
Faye, meanwhile, started dancing after she got drunk.
She danced the "Three Little Bears," a routine for children—singing as she danced.
After more than an hour of chaos, the two women finally settled down.
Once he’d sent them off to rest in their room, Ian began to think over his plan.
His main purpose in coming to the U.S. was to seize the alien spacecraft. If he couldn’t get it, he’d destroy it.
If he hadn’t run into Cynthia Murong or gotten chased by the CIA, he probably would’ve headed straight for the Colorado Desert.
But right now, that wasn’t his plan.
He decided to stir things up in Los Angeles—really turn the city upside down.
He took over the male owner’s computer and started searching for information about the Los Angeles police department.
After searching, he found that there were eighty-seven police stations in Los Angeles, and over a thousand police kiosks of various sizes.
No wonder the U.S. claims to have the fastest police response in the world—it’s really because they have so many kiosks.
He grabbed a pen and paper, pulled up a map of Los Angeles, and after some scribbling, mapped out a rough route.
An hour later, Ian disguised himself as a white youth and left the apartment.
This was downtown Los Angeles, with more than fifty police kiosks and one central police station nearby.
Soon, Ian arrived at the nearest police kiosk, where four officers were stationed.
"Sir, can I help you?"
A young officer asked.
Ian didn’t answer. He simply smiled, a strange glint flashing in his eyes.
The next moment, Ian turned and walked away, while the young officer stared blankly after him.
"Jack, what’s going on?" the middle-aged sergeant asked.
"Nothing, just a weirdo," Jack said, scratching the back of his head. But in the next instant, Jack suddenly pulled out his service pistol and aimed it at his three colleagues.
"Jack, what do you think you’re doing?" the sergeant shouted.
"Shut up, old man!"
A shot rang out—the sergeant was hit in the shoulder. The other two officers were stunned; they had no idea why Jack suddenly opened fire.
Quickly, Jack confiscated the guns from the sergeant and the other two officers, knocked them out, dragged them out of the kiosk, and set the whole place on fire.
By the time Jack set the kiosk ablaze, Ian—still disguised as a white youth—had already reached the next one.
This kiosk had only three officers. Ian hypnotized them all, and they set fire to the kiosk together.
One kiosk.
Two kiosks.
Three kiosks.
Ten kiosks.
......
In just half an hour, more than twenty police kiosks in downtown Los Angeles were all ablaze.
The central police station was nearly driven mad by all the citizen reports.
At this moment, Ian arrived at the central station.
Five minutes later, the huge central police station was burning too.
Eight hours later.
Ian returned to the apartment. In those eight hours, every police station and kiosk in Los Angeles had gone up in flames.
He turned on the TV. It was now 2 a.m.
The emergency news was all about the fires at police stations and kiosks across Los Angeles.
"What the hell is going on?"
At the CIA’s Los Angeles field office, Director Lear was roaring in frustration. He’d already sent all his agents out, just to get to the bottom of this massive fire.
But the information he got left him utterly speechless—the ones responsible for the fires were all police officers.
Should he arrest all the officers who set the fires?
Forget it! There were over five thousand officers involved—how could they all be arrested?
He was sure that if he tried, it would trigger a riot—and the rioters would be the officers’ families. Besides, even the LAPD Chief Roosevelt was involved.
Time ticked by, second after second.
The Director of the CIA headquarters had already called him three times. If he couldn’t figure out the cause of the fires within a day, he’d be out of a job!
......
"Snap!"
Ian turned off the TV, planning to rest for a while. At dawn, he’d head for the Colorado Desert, leaving Faye and Cynthia here for now.
With his Silverglow Skiff, he was confident he could seize the craft within an hour.
Washington State, USA. Inside an ordinary building.
The area within a five-mile radius of this building was a restricted zone—because this was the headquarters of America’s most mysterious agency, the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs.
The Bureau stands apart from both the military and the government, holding extremely high authority.
Inside an office at the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs.
A blonde beauty sat at her computer, watching footage of the massive arson case in Los Angeles. Her unusually sharp eyes spotted a white male who appeared repeatedly at fire scenes.
An ordinary person would have missed him.
But she wasn’t ordinary. Her name was Clarissa, and she was an A-grade operative at the Bureau.
The Bureau’s members are ranked in five grades: S, A, B, C, and D.
S is the highest, D is the lowest.
"Mark, looks like we’ve got work to do!" Clarissa called out to the young black man reading a magazine on the couch.
"Oh, really?"
The young black man put down his magazine and whistled playfully at Clarissa. "Ordinary missions don’t interest me!"
Five minutes later.
Clarissa and Mark appeared together in the director’s office.
"Director, I suspect all those police officers who set the fires were hypnotized by a master hypnotist!" Clarissa declared. "And I’m certain this person’s ability is at least A-grade."
Director Thomas watched the video Clarissa provided and felt her theory was very likely.
He asked, "Clarissa, Mark, how much time do you need?"
"Twelve hours at most. I’ve already basically locked onto the target," Clarissa replied confidently.