5 November, evening, London.

The remnants of the sun, like blood, swept over the tops of the tall buildings, casting shadows on the netted streets.

Dark-uniformed London police officers are evenly distributed on every street corner, mostly expressionless, just shaking their heads back and forth at the sparse pedestrians walking down the street, like rudimentary surveillance cameras.

Most of the police were armed with guns, and batons and walkie-talkies were scattered on either side of their belts, like soldiers with swords and shields in ancient legions.

Occasionally, some police officers wore sunglasses and held the leashes of the police dogs, and the cold and humidity made the black-backed dogs shiver a little.

On the street where a police officer stood, there was a video store with medium-sized televisions on cabinets playing an editorial program in unison.

"Tonight, anyone who protests, incites, or demagogues will be severely punished to set an example."

On the television, a news host shouted loudly: "Our country is in a difficult time, and we need each of us to unite ....."

Unfortunately, not much attention was paid to his speech, but more precisely, the pedestrians on the street were so sparse at this moment that even one or two hurried people passed by would tighten their necks and stand up collars to avoid the scrutiny of the police, and only make eye contact with each other.

Commonly known, the road to the eye.

A solemn and oppressive atmosphere lingers in the city, and the old buildings engraved with the traces of time are like some kind of ruins standing on the earth, filled with the "rotten smell of capitalism" that has not been washed away for more than 100 years.

Leon, who was in a suit and leather shoes, took his cane and walked leisurely down the street.

His existence is like a drop of ink that does not dissolve in water, whether it is temperament, clothing, eyes, or smile, it is completely incompatible with London at this moment.

Leon, who had cast an invisibility spell on himself, calmly passed in front of the police and walked in the direction of Whitehall.

After a few streets, the road ahead was blocked by a steel fence gate, and the "No Traffic" sign on a red background and white letters next to the door was particularly conspicuous.

The steel fence gate is dark green in color, with a dense spike above and a row of pulleys below, connected by the most primitive mechanical lever locks – in this case, the gate is more reliable without relying on any electronic components.

Surveillance cameras are placed on both sides of the gate, and two British soldiers in steel helmets stand on the watchtower next to the gate, holding guns and vigilantly observing the road.

None of them could find Leon.

The Bloodline, who controls countless technology companies behind the scenes, has long provided these urgently requisitioned armies with the most advanced equipment.

Detectors that can detect the slightest aether fluctuations, like two loudspeakers, stand on the side of the street, and no longer accept them all the time - feedback ether information.

However, useless.

Leon took a step slowly, mobilized the aetheric energy of the entire city with a snap of his fingers, carefully concealed his whereabouts, and under the gaze of these two instruments, he relied on brute force to forcibly break the mechanical lever lock of the gate.

Squeak.

The rollers turned, and the gate slid to the sides, revealing a 1.5-meter-high temporary fortification in front of Leon.

These low, high-pitched Great Walls of cement were wrapped around and around fine wires, full of sharp barb-like spikes, which would sink deep into the flesh and flesh if they were touched, and any attempt to break free with brute force would cause the spikes to sink deeper and deeper.

Behind the cement fortifications, there were British troops.

These British troops, with their backs to Whitehall on the third floor and the outer three, had resolute faces, each with a steel spear pointed at the rest of the city.

They are armed groups with political missions, resisting or committing aggression externally and consolidating power internally.

In the Middle Ages, peasants with dung forks and hoes gathered in groups could pose a threat to the sparsely numbered knights, who could storm the castle and burn the powerful lords.

Then the advent of modern times has drawn an end to the law of the wave of independence set off at the bottom.

In the era of breech guns, there was no revolution.

The gap between the combat power of a professional army with sufficient logistical supplies and ordinary people has reached a point where it cannot be erased by numbers, and the lethality of modern firepower is far beyond the upper limit that the crowd can bear.

No matter how tough the body is, it will be pierced by bullets, and even the most noisy people will be crushed by artillery fire, as long as there are 1,000 professional troops blocking the street, with guard towers, barbed wire, and concrete barriers, no matter how many human bodies come will only provide targets.

In other words, a populace without enough firepower to destroy a fortification, no matter how much they boiled over the sky and no matter how furious they were, they couldn't overwhelm the army – provided the army was determined to shoot at the crowd.

"I've never been afraid to speculate on white skins with the worst malice."

Leon muttered to himself and calmly walked towards the British array.

The sudden opening of the steel gate immediately attracted the attention of the British soldiers.

"What's going on?"

"How did the door open? Who opened the door? ”

"Is the detector responding?"

The soldiers standing on the guard tower shouted loudly, the British troops behind the cement fortifications came to check, and the intelligence officers hiding in the tents at the back began to look through the surveillance footage.

While they were genuinely afraid of being busy, Leon had already stepped into the crowd.

The so-called consciousness is nothing more than a bioelectrical reaction under the physiological structure of the brain, and a trace amount of electromagnetic waves are constantly released around Leon's body, cutting off the bioelectrical signals in the brains of the surrounding British troops, and easily controlling these people to move their arms and take steps to avoid him.

From the sky, the British troops standing in front of Leon would automatically disperse like a school of fish, and they looked as usual, and they naturally dodged to the side, and only stood back in place after Leon passed by, not noticing anything wrong at all.

The whole process is silent, harmonious and orderly.

In a few moments, Leon made his way through the British army and made a straight way to the tent that served as the temporary headquarters.

The tent was crowded with people, more than a dozen tables were placed with computers and wires, young men and women in military uniforms were busy in front of the computers, and countless tactical command electromagnetic waves were transmitted back and forth over this tent, communicating with other aspects of the army.

The walkie-talkie was activated, "This is Outer Number Three, the iron door was suddenly opened just now, and we are investigating whether there is an outsider breaking in." ”

"What?" A middle-aged man in military uniform, who seemed to be the leader of the place, frowned, and judging by the rank he was wearing, it was a general, "There are intruders?" ”

"We can't know for sure, but current investigative methods can't detect any more information."

“.... Well, stay in touch at any time. The general frowned and put down the walkie-talkie, he didn't want to complicate the situation, as a soldier he needed to carry out the orders of his superiors, but as a citizen, he also loved his countrymen and did not want blood and conflict to be staged in London.

"Hopefully, no one will come tonight..."

The general muttered to himself, his expression gloomy and uncertain.

Suddenly, the heavy curtain of the tent was lifted by a sudden gust of cold wind, and the eerie chill echoed in the narrow space, and the scarlet and blood-like remnant sun completely disappeared from the edge of the city, like some ominous calling.

A faint laugh of contempt rang out in the tent, and Leon, who was unseen, reclined on the pillars of the tent, watched coldly as the British army fell into anxious waiting again.

On the evening of November 5th, it finally arrived.