Chapter 190: The Mad Hatters Tea Party!

Chapter 190: The Mad Hatters Tea Party!

High atop the rooftop of the Hilton International in Boston, Virginia, a tense atmosphere gripped the command center.

Charles Brandon, better known throughout the global underworld as Tin Man, paced behind a long row of sleek laptops, overseeing his crew as they ran coordinated operations across all thirteen states of the United Kingdom.

His elite team of ten professional master-level hackers had served as the undisputed brains of the Oz mercenary group for six long years now.

Not even Lion, Dorothy, Crow, or the legendary Oz himself had contributed as much raw technical dominance to the organization as Tin Man had achieved through his digital warfare.

"Sir, Alaska's Capital has been seized by Crow's team with the aid of Southern Cross, what are your orders to them, sir?" a senior technician asked, looking up from a glowing monitor.

"Tell them to take the Senator hostage, so we have political leverage," Tin Man ordered, his voice cold and analytical. "How are the other State Capital City's fairings?"

A female hacker operating another terminal shifted her gaze to her display, tapping rapidly on her keys before answering. "The Mad Hatters and Southern Cross are struggling with Florida's Capital, it was like they knew our plan?!" she reported, a frown deepening on her face. "The same thing is happening in Toronto and in Ohio."

She paused, checking a newly updated status log from the west coast with a look of utter bewilderment. "California defected and let the Hatters right in with no fuss, and are currently serving the leader tea," she added.

Suddenly, one of the primary communications officers jumped out of his chair, screaming at Tin Man in pure panic. "SIR! SOMEONE SANK OUR BATTLESHIP!"

Just as Tin Man's face drained of all color, the absolute damnedest thing occurred across the entire rooftop grid.

Every single internet protocol, shortwave radio signal, and secure satellite connection collapsed instantly into pitch-black dead space.

Tat Tat Tat Tat Tat!

In the distance, echoing clearly from the front gates of the nearby Royal Estates, the lopsided breakthrough that the combined forces of the Mad Hatters, Southern Cross, and Oz had been enjoying suddenly met a brutal, wall-of-sound retaliation from the government defensive lines.

Tin Man yanked his binoculars from his belt, adjusting the focus toward the smoke-filled horizon to see their advanced armored personnel carriers taking catastrophic damage.

Out of nowhere, the royal military forces had brought heavy fifty-caliber machine guns over the perimeter walls, completely unloading a devastating hail of lead on the advancing mercenary units.

He clicked his tongue in absolute frustration, turning toward his command staff to bark out frantic new instructions. "It's a trap! Give orders to Oz to retreat," Tin Man shouted, his composure shattering. "Somehow, they knew we were coming! Hurry, we need to retreat. With our ship gone, we need to escape to Fort David!"

Click! The sharp, terrifying sound of a heavy revolver cylinder cocking echoed right behind his ear, the cold barrel pressing hard into the back of his skull.

A large man with the rugged appearance of a lumberjack spat on the roof, speaking down to Tin Man with a thick Chinese accent. "Oz is not leaving the fight! You are paid by my Southern Cross, and you will keep the fight going, until America dies!"

Nearby, a detachment of ten heavily armed men stood holding old-fashioned Tommy guns aimed directly at the trembling hackers, each mercenary wearing a different distorted animal mask.

They stood perfectly still, listening intently to the eccentric individual who led the Mad Hatters gang.

The leader wore no mask at all, possessing a striking, whimsical resemblance to the classic cartoon character of the Mad Hatter himself as he reclined comfortably in a plush chair.

He twirled a gold pocket watch casually between his fingers, taking a slow, elegant sip from a porcelain teacup before addressing the bickering commanders. "You two need to stop. My Tea Party has not had its Revolution!" the Mad Hatter declared, a theatrical pout forming on his lips. "My brother sits on the throne, and I say... Off with his head!"

He slammed his teacup down onto the saucer, his eyes flashing with a manic, unhinged ambition. "No one is retreating here," he insisted, leaning forward. "If we give up now, we will never take over North America! This is a Revolutionary War, and you two are committed, so let's get along, shall we?"

His striking charm and twisted charisma forced everyone to listen, even as thick plumes of black smoke began billowing into the sky all across the Boston skyline.

In the chaotic background of the city, while the Royal Estate remained under direct military assault, local gangs and the criminal underworld were actively exploiting the massive power blackout.

Savage rioting, widespread looting, and senseless murder broke out like a viral infection across every neighborhood, transforming normally sane citizens into desperate crooks and killers.

Tin Man ignored the distant gunfire, staring back at the armed men with an icy, calculated glare. "Second Prince Pendragon, I don't care about revolution," Tin Man said coldly, addressing the unmasked leader. "I care about money and my men. My men are dying out there and we do not know why our main base was destroyed!"

He gestured wildly toward the dark monitors lining the rooftop command post. "If my Battleship was sunk, it means the enemy knows what our plans are, and thus, we need to flee, or we will all die here!" Tin Man argued.

The towering Southern Cross commander let out a mocking laugh, gesturing with his revolver toward his execution squad. "Southern Cross, shoot dead anyone trying to leave," he ordered bluntly. "Now, get to work Tin Man, show us why we paid you well!"

Realizing that escape was completely impossible, Tin Man turned his attention back to his ten incredibly nervous technicians. "Don't just sit there, get our connections back on to coordinate our battle!" he yelled.

"Um, Sir, my computer is frozen!" one hacker stammered, frantically slamming his hands against the keyboard. "It is only showing me the Harem-Chat home page, and it is asking for my credit card information to unlock my computer?!"

"Same here Sir!" another tech cried out.

"Me too?!" a third shouted.

"And me..."

Tin Man, being a master-level hacker himself, stared at the screen as a sudden, sickening realization washed over his mind.

"Fuck, we have been had!" he growled, slamming his fist onto the desk. "Valentine was not a helpful program, but our jailer! We were tricked to hack it..."

A mercenary wearing a camel mask, casually puffing a cigarette through the mouth opening of his animal disguise, pointed a gloved finger toward the eastern sky. [Are those the 6 attack choppers we are waiting for?] the camel-masked man asked.

Tin Man hoisted his binoculars once more, confirming the familiar profiles of the incoming aircraft before nodding grimly. "Find a way to contact them, do not let them land in the Royal Estate, it is a trap!" he ordered.

The hackers scrambled over their locked keys, trying every override protocol they knew, but they completely failed to establish any functional link.

Several nearby Oz foot soldiers tried leaning over the roof edge, executing frantic military hand signals to communicate an immediate withdrawal from the airspace.

Unfortunately, with so many chaotic figures waving up at the sky, the airborne pilots assumed it was an enthusiastic greeting from their triumphant comrades.

The flight crews simply smiled and waved back with total confidence, continuing their rapid descent toward the designated landing zone to deploy their elite ground troops.

The six massive attack helicopters swept past the Hilton rooftop, racing into the distance before hovering over the massive inner courtyard of the Royal Estate.

The moment their landing gear touched the pavement, a series of earth-shattering explosions rocked the entire courtyard.

Mercenary troops who had prematurely leaped from the open bay doors were instantly blown to pieces upon impact with the ground.

Bright orange fireballs consumed five of the aircraft in rapid succession, leaving only a single pilot desperate enough to yank his stick back and flee the carnage as they realized the truth.

The entire open landing zone had been meticulously seeded and transformed into a dense, lethal minefield...

Watching the horrific destruction of their aerial reinforcement wave caused the binoculars to slip directly from Tin Man's stunned grip, clattering loudly against the concrete.

"Oz and Southern Cross, I think Second Prince Pendragon sold us out!" Tin Man whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the smoke rising from the palace. "The Royal Palace has baited us into attacking, and are killing us all!"

The Mad Hatter's face contorted with rage, his mouth opening to scold Tin Man for the accusation, when a hacker suddenly let out a triumphant shout.

"I got past Valentine, use my connection!" the tech screamed.

The remaining nine hackers immediately routed their terminal data through the single open line, desperately trying to assess the true status of their global operations.

"Sir, terrible news, the California group was... poisoned to death..." the first technician reported, tears welling in his eyes. "The tea they drank... Killed them all."

"Sir, the 6 helicopters that went to assist in the Smith invasion, have stopped reporting... We only have the one last helicopter, sir!" another yelled over the noise.

The final hacker stared at a breaking global data feed, his voice dropping into a horrified whisper. "Reporting to sir... World Wide News is reporting that orbital satellites are falling onto Antarctica, and 7 major settlements there... are gone..."

The entire Southern Cross contingent froze in absolute horror, their blood running cold as they processed the reality that their sovereign home territory was being systematically annihilated while they were busy invading America.

The towering commander's eyes turned bloodshot with pure, unadulterated fury as he lunged forward, grabbing the lead hacker by his collar. "Who dares attack us?!" he roared into the man's face.

The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence as none of the technicians possessed the courage to answer, staring palely at their flickering monitors.

"Who brought them down?" Tin Man demanded, stepping between them.

The trembling hacker pointed a weak, shaking finger directly at the glowing source code on his laptop screen. "Our computers sent instructions to the Star Wars Satellite to bring them all down, but we did not do it!" the tech cried out defensively. "Someone is framing us!"

At that exact second, every single laptop screen on the rooftop froze simultaneously, replacing their tactical data with a massive, mocking image accompanied by terrifying bold text.

[YOU HAVE BEEN HACKED!]

Whoosh Whoosh! The lone surviving helicopter from the palace disaster battered the air as it touched down on the Hilton rooftop, its rotors whipping up a fierce gale as the crew prepared to evacuate the high-value leadership.

The mercenary named Joe in the camel mask, still holding his lit cigarette, pointed back toward the eastern horizon with a look of numb confusion. [Is that our reinforcements?] he asked softly.

Every man on the roof turned to look one final time, spotting a dark, incredibly fast shape emerging from a steep downward dive through the clouds.

Tin Man snatched his fallen binoculars from the ground, bringing them to his eyes to get a clear look at the incoming object.

The sleek, unmanned drone bomber was locked into a terminal supersonic dive aimed directly at the apex of the Hilton hotel tower.

Tin Man slowly lowered the binoculars, letting them drop to the floor as a calm, defeated smile spread across his face. He didn't bother to run, closing his eyes as his last words left his lips before the world dissolved into fire.

"I did not get to see the Wizard behind the curtain..."

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

A colossal, blinding mushroom cloud erupted from the upper floors of the luxury hotel, visible from every single point in the Boston metropolitan area like a second sun bursting into existence.

The entire helicopter, the elite hacking command staff, and the top half of the concrete skyscraper were instantaneously vaporized into a molten, twisting mess of slag and ash.

Down on the chaotic streets below, fleeing witnesses looked up to see a single, charred green top hat fluttering down through the falling debris, drifting silently until it landed at the base of the Clint Eastwood memorial statue...

Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh!

The deafening roar of cutting rotor blades shattered the midday air as all six combat helicopters fully broke through the low clouds, locking their sights onto the mansion.

I bared my teeth in a sharp grin, propping the heavy four-pack rocket launcher firmly against my shoulder as I tracked the lead four targets through the digital reticle.

Click Swoosh! Click Swoosh! Click Swoosh! Click Swoosh!

Four violent bursts of backblast erupted from the launcher tubes in rapid succession, sending a volley of high-explosive projectiles tearing through the sky.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

My Grandmaster Firearms skill completely covered the mechanics and deployment of this heavy ordnance, meaning my deliberate aiming sequence was entirely for theatrical show.

From the cockpit perspectives, the pilots had initially only spotted a lone police officer standing exposed on the roof before a massive block of rockets leveled in their direction.

Before the flight crews could even process the tactical threat, the four screaming streaks of white rocket exhaust slammed directly into their fuselages, violently vaporizing their lives in mid-air.

The remaining two helicopters immediately executed violent evasive maneuvers, banking hard to opposite sides to avoid the raining debris and secondary concussive shockwaves flashing directly in front of them.

At that exact microsecond, a heavy, dark-painted armored personnel carrier shattered the perimeter peace, ramming straight through the reinforced front gates of the Smith estate with a horrific grinding crash.

I immediately tossed the empty, smoking launcher box onto the roof tiles, grabbing a smaller, heavily loaded tactical pack from the ridge line as I sprinted down the steep slope of the roof.

Reaching the gutter edge at full speed, I leapt blindly out into the open air, catching the sturdy branch of a nearby oak tree and utilizing the momentum to execute a flawless backflip safely onto the grass below.

The high, ornamental bushes provided instant tactical concealment as I squeezed deep into the thick foliage, my hands moving with practiced efficiency into the open equipment pack.

My fingers wrapped around a pair of heavy military fragmentation grenades, cleanly ripping the metal pins free with a sharp tug before tossing them toward the driveway. I aimed the high arc specifically at the rear entrance of the newly arrived APC, just as the heavy side doors swung open for the specialized assault troops to deploy.

Boom Boom! By tossing the ordnance with a high, looping trajectory, I ensured the entire four-second fuse timers expired almost completely in mid-air, leaving the troops zero time to react or hurl the explosives back.

Out of the ten fully geared men actively exiting the vehicle bay, six were completely neutralized or dying instantly on the pavement as the shrapnel tore through their ranks.

I broke into a low, aggressive sprint from my hiding spot behind the shredded bushes, the predictable enemy communication echoing through the clearing just as I anticipated.

"He is there, shoot!" a voice barked.

Rat A Tat Tat! The four surviving gunmen immediately opened fire, a relentless hail of automatic rounds ripping the shrubbery I had occupied just seconds ago into tiny green shreds.

I noted the final two helicopters circling back around the estate to suppress the courtyard, a tactical development that promised to make my defensive sweep incredibly difficult.

Glancing past the smoking APC, I also spotted a heavily armored luxury limousine idling just outside the ruined perimeter gates, its darkened windows lowering slightly to reveal two highly familiar faces tracking the firefight.

It was Laura and Scott.

My tactical focus snapped instantly back to the immediate threat as the two low-hovering helicopters began deploying their secondary infantry waves just feet above the ground. It was an all-or-nothing engagement scenario.

I began rapidly pulling the pins on my remaining ordnance, hurling the final seven fragmentation grenades in a blurring, sequential volley toward the hovering aircraft. I specifically targeted the exposed bay doors where the reinforcement troops were assembling to jump, while reserving the final two throws to clip the spinning tail rotors.

"Here I goooo~! 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... And the last 1...! Phew!" I yelled over the din of battle.

Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom!

A wave of temporary soreness flared through my shoulder muscles from the rapid, high-velocity throws I had to execute, but the resulting chain of explosions resembled a high-budget action sequence.

BOOOM Whoosh Whoosh! BOOM!

I stared in absolute disbelief at the unfolding physics of the wreckage.

My throws had completely failed to directly destroy the second helicopter, but the primary blast had utterly severed the tail rotor of the first aircraft. The crippled machine swung violently in a massive, uncontrollable kinetic arc, smashing its main blades directly into the cabin of the neighboring helicopter. Both multi-ton aircraft collided with catastrophic force, ripping each other apart in mid-air and crushing the majority of the deployment troops instantly beneath the burning fuselage.

It was a stroke of absolute, chaotic dumb luck.

With the original four gunmen and the three surviving infantrymen crawling out from the chopper wreckage, I had exactly seven hostile targets remaining on the field, alongside Laura's armored limousine.

I tightened the straps of my reinforced tactical gloves, charging directly into the path of the mercenaries who were scrambling to re-align their weapons on my position.

The custom black leather gloves I wore featured a specialized, integrated metal plate strip directly across the knuckles to mimic the devastating impact of brass knuckles. Beneath the rigid metal plating layer sat a thick layout of high-density foam padding and heavy-duty leather, allowing me to deliver immense kinetic force without damaging my own hands. The specialized design allowed me to punch straight through solid wood paneling or tree bark without sustaining a single fracture.

I sprinted forward using the exact aggressive flanking maneuvers my father had utilized during the historic bank siege, intentionally driving myself deep into their crossfire trajectory.

By entering the center of their formation, I drastically reduced their firing angles, making them far more likely to riddle each other with bullets than hit a moving target.

I closed the distance to the lead soldier within seconds, unleashing a blindingly fast, explosive punch directly into the center of his face.

Smack Crunch!

Tat Tat Tat!

I angled the strike slightly upward on impact, driving his nasal bone fragments cleanly into his frontal lobe to end his life instantly before grabbing his tactical vest.

I hoisted the dead weight of his body up as a makeshift human shield, absorbing a heavy volley of automatic fire that coincidentally cut down three of his own comrades.

I reached down to rip a sleek combat knife directly from the tactical vest of my dead shield, executing a fluid, spinning throw that embedded the blade deep into the throat of a remaining gunman.

Letting the dead weight drop to the pavement, I lunged toward the next closest soldier, using an open-palm strike to bat his rifle barrel offline. I forced his weapon to discharge into the chest of the gurgling man with the knife in his neck, accelerating his death before the soldier could clear his line of fire.

The final gunman panicked, swinging his rifle stock up in an attempt to crush my skull from the side.

I yanked the unarmed, disoriented soldier directly into the incoming trajectory, letting him take the lethal blow before using my boot to kick a discarded M-16 cleanly up into my waiting grip.

Tat Tat Tat! I squeezed the trigger, unloading the remainder of the magazine directly into the back of the final runner until he collapsed motionless onto the driveway.

I tossed the empty, useless rifle back onto the gravel, rolling my shoulders out as I began a slow, deliberate walk toward the idling armored limousine.

Inside the secure cabin, Laura stared through the ballistic glass in sheer horror as the lone police officer systematically decimated an elite tactical unit like a man pulling common dandelions from a lawn.

She turned a pale, frantic face toward the front seat, screaming at the driver to initiate an immediate retreat. "Driver, let's go! AHHH!"

Laura's voice abruptly dissolved into a sharp, choked shriek as a white-hot, burning sensation flared through her back the exact moment she leaned toward the window.

The distinct, suffocating agony of a cold steel combat knife piercing straight through her lung cavity paralyzed her movement. She forced her head around with immense effort, her wide eyes locking onto Scott as he held a heavy-caliber service pistol directly against the driver's temple.

Bang! The heavy round detonated through the cabin, painting the front windshield with a gruesome layer of red and grey brain matter as the driver slumped instantly over the wheel.

Scott knew with absolute certainty that his small standard sidearm would never penetrate the reinforced armored hull of the car from the inside, his face settling into a tired, defeated smile.

Laura lunged through her pain with manic fury, her fingers clawing at his wrists to disarm the weapon as her eyes burned with absolute hatred. "What have you done?!" she hissed, blood bubbling at her lips.

"Cough! Even Rick can't open an armored car with his bare hands, so I have a can opener! Hahahaha!" Scott coughed, his chest rattling as he grinned up at her.

Laura's gaze dropped down to his opposite hand, her pupils dilating in pure terror as she recognized the heavy round object cradled in his palm.

"For my mother... Bitch!" Scott snarled, his thumb violently releasing the safety lever...

As I continued my steady approach toward the heavy luxury car, I realized with slight annoyance that I hadn't retained a single explosive rocket to pry the armored passenger doors open.

I paused in my tracks roughly ten yards away, watching through the dark window tint as a brief, violent struggle played out between Laura and Scott.

Scott appeared to mouth a final, silent sentence directly into her face before the entire interior of the limousine was instantaneously painted in a horrific, high-pressure spray of crimson fluid and shredded tissue. The localized blast blew out the inner seals, leaving a thick silence hanging over the smoking vehicle.

A complicated mixture of grim respect and cold detachment settled in my chest as I processed Scott's absolute, decisive sacrifice. He had chosen to live and die entirely on his own terms, ensuring through his actions that his innocent children would never want for wealth or security growing up.

I raised a hand to tap the activation switch on my secure earpiece, initializing the link back to the command terminal. "Laura and Scott killed each-other, please send Lan to pick me up," I reported, my voice flat.

[She is on the way... Are you fine?] Mei's voice came through the receiver, laced with genuine concern.

"Hmm? Yeah, but I feel like Superman who lost Lex Luthor... Life won't be the same," I murmured, staring at the burning courtyard.

[Just come home to me, Superman...] Mei replied softly, her tone aiming to cut through the post-battle adrenaline.

A faint smile touched the corner of my mouth at her attempt to lighten my mood, but I forced the sentiment away as I looked out over the extensive cleanup operation ahead of us.

Within minutes, the distinctive, high-performance roar of a muscle car engine echoed down the block, a sleek convertible Mustang sliding to a halt right beside the perimeter gates.

Lan sat behind the wheel, her sharp gaze scanning the carnage before she looked up at my uniform with a flawless, serious accent. "Officer, I think I need to be given a ticket for speeding? Want a ride?" Lan asked, a subtle glint of amusement in her eyes.

I stepped over the debris and climbed smoothly into the passenger seat, immediately pulling my encrypted laptop onto my lap.

"Yeah, I will cuff you later and give you a warning... Now let's go find the two witnesses," I replied, booting up the primary tracking grid.

Lan slammed her foot down onto the accelerator, the rear tires spinning with a loud, smoking squeal as she launched the Mustang down the downtown avenue to erase our final loose ends...