46: Chapter 46 Fake News Exposed, Chaos Becomes a Weapon

The television remained on, automatically cycling through several mainstream news channels and local emergency broadcasts around the clock.

This was a default program set by Musk's security duty officer seven days ago, intended to monitor in real-time any public opinion trends that might involve manipulation by the Deep State.

A commercial on the screen was only halfway through when it was automatically cut to a Washington noon news briefing.

The anchor was broadcasting a message using that signature tone, deliberately slowed down for official obituaries.

"...The Department of Homeland Security issued an obituary statement today, stating that Mr. Eli Walsh, Director of the Office of Intelligence and Analysis, unfortunately passed away three days ago from a sudden heart attack while on duty, at the age of fifty-seven."

"Since taking the helm of the Office of Intelligence and Analysis, Director Walsh has always served the Federal Government with great focus and loyalty... presiding over the modernization of the intelligence integration and analysis platform, enhancing the sensitivity of the suspicious incident reporting network across various regions, and..."

Musk was stunned at first, then let out a snort from his nose—a laugh that contained no hint of joy.

The laugh was short, like something hard being snapped and then forcefully suppressed.

"Sudden heart attack? They really managed to write that down."

He waved the remote control vaguely toward the TV, as if raising a glass to a corner of an empty chair, his tone cold and mocking.

"If I hadn't been hit in the arm that night, but had instead been shot dead."

"I guess today's news would probably say that I collapsed at my Starship Base in Texas due to overwork from staying up too late, with a test report for a Starship thermal protection tile still in my hand before I died..."

"That would actually be quite convincing, because I'm never without those things in my hands."

Edward did not laugh.

His gaze was fixed on the screen, and he listened to the entire obituary without saying a word.

There was no obvious emotional fluctuation on his face.

But unlike his composure back at Gold Lake, the wrinkles around the corners of his mouth tightened slightly inward at this moment;

That was a subtle change visible only to someone who had been an old classmate of Walsh for decades.

He lowered his head slightly toward the TV screen, just once, very low and very slowly.

"The number three figure in the Department of Homeland Security was shot right between the eyes in a warehouse parking lot, yet it didn't cause any stir, and they even concocted a news story about him dying of a sudden heart attack on the job to cover it up."

He pulled his hands out of his jacket pockets and placed them on the edge of the long iron table, his knuckles slightly bent.

Walsh was killed by a sniper rifle, but not at the time stated in the news.

The actual time of death was in the early hours seven days ago, but the obituary broadcast on TV claimed he "died on the job three days ago."

Before this news was pushed to the national audience, it had to pass through at least three layers of censorship:

The local coroner, the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, and the Department of Homeland Security Office of Public Affairs.

The person who could make all three of these checkpoints publish the same piece of fake news at the same time is no ordinary person of power.

"To be able to suppress news of this level into what it is now..." Edward's voice was unhurried, as if stating a theorem he had verified many times himself,

"The person who orchestrated all the shooting incidents possesses absolutely extraordinary power."

"This person has at least the means to modify death certificates within the Federal Government's public health system."

"Within the Department of Homeland Security, they can bypass the Deputy Secretary and directly issue the obituary narrative."

"At the media management level, they are capable of making any mainstream news network refrain from questioning the difference between a heart attack and a gunshot wound."

Before he could continue, the news on the TV screen automatically switched to the next segment.

The tone of this news report was noticeably lighter, returning to the usual rhythm of accident briefings on local news channels,

But the visuals and the voiceover content caused the entire command room to instantly drop several degrees in temperature.

"...In San Bernardino County, California, a serious gas explosion occurred last night at a private hunting camp near Yucaipa."

"Preliminary investigations by local fire departments indicate that the explosion was caused by a leak in aging liquefied gas pipelines, and the entire camp building was razed to the ground in the explosion."

"A total of five victims' bodies were found at the scene. Due to the high intensity of the explosion, the identities of the bodies are still being identified through forensic dental records and off-site DNA matching..."

Musk and Edward locked their eyes on the aerial photograph on the screen almost simultaneously,

The empty lot, blasted down to nothing but steel rebar and wood splinters, surrounded by a circle of fire trucks, was identical to the typical "remote area accident" imagery seen in news briefings.

But Musk could no longer laugh.

He leaned back against his folding chair, flipped the remote over, and placed it into the pile of clutter on the table, the sarcastic inflection in his tone instantly going flat.

"Five bodies... five snipers."

"Our people checked the remnants of the positions at the water tower and the high-voltage electricity pylon afterward and only found shell casings and a few discarded night-vision mounts. There were no bodies, which means that after the shootout, they gathered at another safe point and then went to collect their payment."

He turned his face to look at Edward, his voice dropping very low,

"And then they were blown into five piles of charred meat."

"In that case, the boss behind the scenes who wanted to snipe us isn't soft on their own subordinates either."

"It's not a question of being soft."

Edward pushed the remote control on the table aside a little, his fingers pressing down on the corner of the electronic signature pad he had just put down,

"Even if the five of them had killed you, hit me, and brought Walsh's body back intact to complete the job at that time, the outcome would probably have been the same."

"Gas leak, car accident, drug overdose, accidental fall while taking a hot shower and hitting the back of the head... take your pick."

"That is the style of the Deep State; all the peripheral pawns who do the dirty work for them immediately become liabilities once the job is done."

"And liabilities don't need to stay alive."

He withdrew his fingers from the table and folded them across his chest, his expression as flat as if he were talking about something he had experienced too many times and which no longer surprised him.

"After all, I am also a member of the establishment. Although in that small patch of desert in Nevada, my rank is incomparable to these people, the style of doing things is the same."

"They never skimp on any one-time monetary expenses, but they never leave any survivors."

After he finished speaking, the grandfather clock in the command room struck twice with a dull metallic sound.

The morning light had slid completely from the east wall to the edge of the long table in the center, and the newly healed scar on Musk's arm gave off a faint glimmer at the edge of the light.

He pushed his half-empty coffee cup to the corner of the table, rested his hands on his knees, and straightened his upper body slightly,

Edward could tell that this was his steady posture when he intended to lay out the issues thoroughly, completely different from when he was mocking the news just a moment ago.

"Edward," Musk lowered his voice to a low, flat tone matching the conference room mode, without any unnecessary gestures,

"You go back to Nevada to manage the iron-clad defense now, while I will take this eyeball first and do my utmost to refine them into longevity data that will disrupt their minds."

"These two steps are what we already discussed."

"Then tell me the next step..."

He looked up at Edward, his face devoid of the usual aggression found in challenging conventions or business negotiations.

At this moment, his tone was calm and straightforward, carrying a rare, unmasked request for advice:

"Things like framing people, defending against them, conspiracies, and calculations—I've fought hundreds of battles with the US Congress and the SEC, but I'm still far behind. And you grew up watching these things in Reno and Carson City."

"I need you to point me in the right direction."

Edward was silent for a moment.

He unscrewed the bottle cap in the morning light and took a sip, then placed the bottle by his hand and slowly drew two circles on the iron tabletop with his fingertips,

That was an old habit he occasionally fell into unconsciously when thinking about complex problems; the old professor who taught strategic deduction at the Naval Academy decades ago used to do exactly that.

"Direction... I have indeed thought of one." He raised his eyes to face Musk, his tone slow and steady but resolute,

"No matter how mysterious the Deep State is, they are still the establishment."

"I have thought about this judgment repeatedly while here these past few days."

"Their way of doing things, their obsession with secrecy levels, the operational paths they use to filter potential threats by utilizing the existing architecture of the Federal Government, and most importantly, their choice to research 'longevity' after obtaining alien technology, rather than anything else—all point to the same conclusion: they are the establishment."

"Perhaps even the oldest, most deeply rooted establishment in the Lighthouse Country."

Musk tilted his head slightly, signaling him to continue.

"Since they are the establishment, no matter how strong their power is, and no matter what level of alien technology they possess, there must exist a natural weakness unique to and inherent in the establishment..."

Edward paused for a beat, looking at the eyeball still slowly rotating on the surveillance screen, before continuing:

"...They fear chaos."

"Stability is the lifeblood of the establishment's survival."

"The reason they would rather pay such a huge price to sever all information chains across the entire planet concerning the investigation of the Hoover Dam is precisely to maintain an order that has been frozen deep underground for generations."

"Whoever touches that stable order, they kill. From Gore to Kramer to that reporter to Walsh, they all died for this reason."

He stopped speaking, moved his gaze from the surveillance footage of the eyeball to Musk's face, his pupils filled only with calmness.

"But precisely because of this, as long as we can grasp a possibility that can shatter this stable order, and push that Pandora's door open a crack at any time, letting them see the shadow of chaos about to emerge from within, they will inevitably switch from offense to defense."

"Even if we actually only have a crack, a set of molecular data, or a biological cognitive breakthrough that they haven't managed to obtain in eighty years, it is enough to make those people sitting in bunkers filled with satellite surveillance screens tremble with fear."

"And this 'possibility'..."

Edward raised his finger, his knuckles pointing toward the laboratory, his fingertips clearly directed at the laboratory building that locked away the translucent small box,

"Is now in your hands."

"As long as you can research even the slightest bit of real existential data related to life extension from this eyeball, we will possess the key that can open up chaos."