As the reflection of the Washington Monument shattered into a thousand silver scales on the surface of the Tidal Basin, Lin Mo’s tactical goggles suddenly erupted with a blinding red light. He jerked backward, the back of his head slamming against a marble pillar of the Lincoln Memorial, a metallic, rusty tang filling his throat.
"Vital signs scan complete." The System Spirit’s voice grated in his ear canal like a rusted gear. "The Sixth Host is in the West Wing of the White House, but that signal..."
Lin Mo’s fingertips hovered over the virtual keyboard, the projection screen casting an unnatural blue glow into his pupils. An image of Su Yuqing coughing up blood suddenly cut into the system interface; those metallic, glowing blood droplets rolled through his memory, while a countdown timer hovered in the upper right corner of his field of vision: 43:17:26.
Chapter 178