"It's not unreasonable, but if the Queen were to die in some petty, underhanded assassination, that would be way beneath her status. Besides, I doubt either of us would show up in the same outfit." With everyone watching, Jill Young flicked her right hand, and with a loud pop, an apple seed shot out, smashing into the fleeing assassin’s jaw with a burst of blood and bone.
A dozen agents swarmed in and easily subdued him. As for the cyanide hidden in his teeth, he never got the chance to use it.
"Your Majesty!" Several agents rushed to the fallen Queen Elizabeth, while others leveled their guns at Jill Young from a distance. With someone this suspicious, you control her first and ask questions later. Jill ignored them all, strolling away as she tossed the bullet she’d caught in her left hand. It spun through the air in an arc and landed squarely in Queen Elizabeth’s palm.
"Keep it as a souvenir."
Queen Elizabeth stared blankly at Jill Young’s retreating figure, then at the bullet in her hand. Finally, she managed to stand and called out loudly to Jill’s back: "Who are you? And thank you!"
"No problem! I’m just your run-of-the-mill superhero." Jill Young grabbed Kensington L. Orland, her glow fading fast as she melted into the crowd. "One last pitch: Need a bodyguard? Need a protector? Need a top-notch expert? Or maybe you’re missing your youthful good looks?" Jill shot Queen Elizabeth a wink and a finger-gun: "Come to SkyEase—just GO for it! Don’t forget to add me on WeChat later!"
None of the crowd or the swarm of agents could stop her—she slipped away in the blink of an eye.
Five minutes later, behind Buckingham Palace.
"Hey, hey, hey, don’t smash it! This is my new tea spot, so let’s keep the damage to a minimum. See, this lock looks complicated, but if I just fiddle with it—hmm? Let me try again—oops?! One more time—damn it, I hate high-tech stuff! Die, you piece of junk!" Crash! A window exploded, sending shards of bulletproof glass flying like butterflies in every direction.
"Aaaah—!!" With an elderly scream, three figures leapt out of Buckingham Palace.
Whoosh—a figure moved as fast as the wind, light as a cat, landing soundlessly and vaulting over Buckingham Palace’s fence in a few leaps. They slipped into a black Mercedes SUV parked at the corner.
Bang—the car door flew open and the elderly Kensington L. Orland was practically shoved inside by Jonathan Black, rolling in like a ball. Jonathan fired up the engine and the SUV roared to life, tearing off down the road. Nearby, sirens blared as London’s police swarmed out like a hive of startled bees.
Don’t think that just because they saved Queen Elizabeth, MI5 won’t try to arrest them.
"An assassination—there really was an assassination!" Kensington L. Orland fumbled with his glasses, trying to sit up properly as he shouted, "Oh my God, there really was an assassination!"
"Of course there was." Jill Young sat in the back seat next to Kensington L. Orland, flashing him a relaxed smile. "Now you know I wasn’t lying. Oh, that face—are you doubting me?"
"Me? What face?" Orland stammered, trying to pull himself upright. "I’m just… I’m just worried the assassin hasn’t given up and might try again!"
"Your pupils, your heartbeat, and that little reaction when we exposed you—clearly, you’re still suspicious of us." Jill didn’t even look at him, just gazed out at the London night like she was savoring the last moment of peace. "You’re wondering if I staged everything today just to trick you."
"I…" Orland was instantly speechless.
As he blanked out, Jonathan Black suddenly jerked the steering wheel. The Mercedes’ tires screeched, leaving four black streaks on the pavement as the SUV drifted wildly off the side street and onto Grosvenor Road. The main road was packed with cars, horns blaring at the rampaging SUV, headlights flashing everywhere. Jonathan kept his cool, gunning the engine and weaving through the chaos.
"Good grief, can’t you let me sit up for one second?!" Orland was tossed around like a rubber ball, nearly rolling under the seat. He yelled, "I need to buckle up—let me buckle up!"
"Honestly, in this situation, just lying low is your best bet. And don’t worry about any more assassination attempts—because they’re already here." Jill Young pointed behind the car. "See those police cars coming at us all guns blazing? I don’t think regular cops are supposed to have that kind of firepower."
"What?!" Kensington L. Orland scrambled up, pressing his face to the window, eyes wide. Sure enough, a whole fleet of police cars was barreling down on them, looking downright murderous. Even from a distance, you could feel the deadly, violent energy swirling around those cars—enough to give anyone the chills.
Orland shivered, still in denial. "Heavy firepower? This is a Level One anti-terror alert—heavy firepower is normal, right? Maybe they really are just regular cops—oh my God, MOVE, RPG incoming!"
Whoosh—a barrage of anti-tank rockets fired from the police cars behind, trailing hot flames as they shot straight toward the SUV.
Boom! Explosions erupted across the London streets, shaking the night. Screams and shouts filled the air, chaos everywhere. The peaceful London night was instantly drowned in smoke and fire. Jonathan Black, face set like iron, went full throttle—dodging, weaving, doing everything to escape the killers on their tail.
Rush hour—this main road along the Thames was packed, making it nearly impossible to speed up. Not great for escaping. Jonathan stayed silent, but you could practically see flames in his eyes. Bam! The SUV smashed through a taxi, just missing a rocket that whizzed by. Another explosion sent hot air blasting at the car’s rear, nearly lifting it off the ground, but the SUV powered through the fire and kept charging ahead.
This chapter isn't over yet~.~ Click next page for more chaos!
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!" Orland gasped for breath. "That’s real heavy firepower! No way those are just cops! Run, run for your life!" He turned to Jill Young in panic, then stopped short. "Why do you look so chill right now?"
"Hiss—whew—mmm, that burnt explosion smell, it’s been a while." Jill squinted, actually smiling a bit. "Classic street chase, classic rocket rain. Too bad the helpless passenger isn’t a cute little girl, but an old dude. Oh, speaking of, here—take this box of pills."
"Pills?" Orland took them, dazed. "Heart attack pills? Why do you just carry these around?"
"Lately, I’ve been hanging out with a lot of old guys. And every time, these come in handy."
"Wha—?!" Orland’s face turned pale at the thought.
Rat-tat-tat! Gunfire erupted from behind—fake cops, real killers, rifles blazing. They didn’t care about civilians or the city, just kept the bullets flying.
"Ahhh!!" Orland’s face went ghostly white. He ducked and rolled into his seat. "This car’s bulletproof, right? For a mission this important, it’s gotta be bulletproof, right?!"
"Bulletproof?" Jill shot him a look. "We’ve only been in London a couple days—how could we get a bulletproof car?"
Orland went even paler, lips quivering. "I’m begging you, I’m really begging you—please don’t tell me you just grabbed a random car!"
"Come on, we’re not that reckless."
"Thank goodness..."
"I rented it." Jill gave a big thumbs up, beaming. "London Car Rentals—highly recommended!"
"You—me—this—" Orland was losing it, nearly out of breath, really considering those heart pills. Bang bang bang! The rear window shattered under a hail of bullets, the roof peppered with holes. Glass shards rained down like a waterfall, but Orland just felt numb to it all.
Whatever, just let them shoot—hanging out with this crazy woman, I’m doomed anyway. Might as well let the world end!
"Don’t be so dramatic, and don’t be such a rookie. Honestly, bulletproof mods are nothing." Jill’s cool, pro driver attitude caught Orland’s attention, and he waited for her wisdom.
Jill’s wisdom: "Because even the toughest bulletproof mods can’t stop a bomb."
"A bomb?" Orland scoffed, rolling his eyes. "What bomb?"
"Right here in the car—and not just one. For example, did you notice your suitcase is glowing?"
Orland shot up like a fried fish, screaming his lungs out: "What? It’s really—fa~~ck~~~!!!"
Orland’s screams mixed with gunfire and explosions, echoing through the London streets. But let’s rewind the timeline for a moment—yep, we love messing with the timeline, always rewinding.
This time, let’s jump back two days.
Two days ago, the famous Professor Orland was strolling down the street, feeling on top of the world. About to receive a big honor, he had every reason to be proud. But, as the saying goes, good fortune brings trouble, and trouble hides in good fortune. On a perfectly ordinary afternoon, in the golden glow, on a quiet campus, with leaves everywhere and nothing suspicious in sight—he got kidnapped.
Wham—a simple karate chop, a quick strike, and that was that.
Before passing out, he heard a voice.
"BIG-BOSS, target secured."