I put monsters and super powers in America

82. The new monster is a man-girl with a milky scent?

Consciousness, like floating in warm amniotic fluid, finally found its home in a brand new, powerful body.

The newborn "rat-toothed beast" slowly opened its obsidian-black eyes.

In those eyes, the cunning and vigilance that once belonged to the beast had taken a back seat; instead, there was an absolute loyalty to the sacred tree and the will of the "Supreme Heaven" that was almost religious fanaticism.

"very nice."

The main dragon looked at his "freshly baked" "apostle" who possessed the soul of the former Black Panther Party, and nodded with satisfaction, just like a creator with a bad taste who was admiring his most proud work.

As he focused his awareness on this new creature, full of possibilities, its abilities surfaced in the Archdragon's mind.

[Skill 1: Nesting]

—Derived from the ultimate pursuit of safety and concealment etched into its ancestors' genes, it can excavate complex underground nest networks with numerous exits at an efficiency far exceeding that of any other engineering machinery, increasing its combat effectiveness near these nests.

[Skill 2: Stealth]

——As a top opportunist struggling to survive in the dinosaur era, it is extremely good at restraining its breath and hiding its whereabouts.

[Skill 3: Soil Affinity]

The earth is its best ally. No matter the geological environment, it can easily sense the slightest vibrations and the most vulnerable structural points underground, thus selecting the most efficient and safest excavation route.

[Skill 4: Keenness]

- Although the Myodon was the strongest mammal in the area, it could be hunted by everything from medium-sized pterosaurs to small dromaeosaurs and troodonts; therefore, using keen perception to detect natural enemies everywhere was a necessary condition for survival in the Mesozoic hell.

[Skill 4: Nutrient Secretion (Active)]

When nursing their offspring, specialized glands on the surface of their skin secrete a thick, protein-rich "sweat." This "sweat" is both a top-tier nutrient and a potent all-purpose elixir. Both males and females can secrete it.

The main dragon looked at the description of the last skill, touched his chin with interest, and a malicious smile full of bad taste appeared on his face.

"[Nutrient secretion]? Secretion of milk? Does this thing work for both males and females?"

"Oh, yes, I remember now." Zhu Long was, after all, a scientist who participated in scientific expeditions in his previous life, so his knowledge was quite sufficient. He quickly dug up a lesser-known piece of knowledge, "On Earth, it seems that the males of two species of fruit bats can indeed secrete milk under certain circumstances, although the amount is very small, only a few drops."

"Furthermore, the most primitive mammals, the sarcodon, didn't evolve the highly specialized organs for milk secretion like modern mammals. The 'milk' secreted by early mammals was actually nutrient-rich 'sweat' secreted by certain specialized sweat glands. Perhaps, back then, when male and female mammals raised their offspring together, to provide more nutrition for their cubs, they would... uh, become 'little boys and girls', exuding the fragrance of milk?"

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"What will these skills become when they are reduced to the real world? It's really... exciting."

"The most important thing is, the price of this 'new hero' is so damn affordable!"

[Release the 'Rattooth Beast (Soul Fusion)' into the real world, consuming 50000 willpower.]

A full fifty thousand! Half the price of that spitting Dallas Dragon! This price-performance ratio is simply unmatched!

"What are you waiting for? Send him to the real world!"

The main dragon confirmed the deployment in his mind without hesitation.

……

Pentagon, Situation Room.

The atmosphere was as oppressive as a sinking submarine, every inch of air was filled with suffocating pressure and...anger.

The Minister's eyes were wide and bloodshot, his mouth wide open from a snarl, each of his back teeth visible. The veins on the side of his neck throbbed, as if ready to burst. Sweat trickled down his meticulously combed blond hair, reflecting a greasy luster under the cold, glaring studio light.

"Live broadcast?! Another fucking global broadcast?!"

The defense minister's roar was like thunder, echoing between the thick soundproof walls, shocking the staff officers in suits and ties standing in front of him into silence, not daring to even breathe.

"Didn't I order you to send out the most advanced signal jammers long ago to turn the entire Tulsa area into an information island?! Huh?!" He grabbed a document on the table regarding the "Emergency Plan for Public Opinion Guidance" and slammed it hard on the forehead of the technical officer in charge of information security in front of him, making the papers rustle. "Tell me! How on earth do you, a bunch of useless people with annual salaries of hundreds of thousands of dollars, get anything done?!"

"Also, how come the signal jammers we spent billions of dollars developing are completely useless?!"

"Damn, have you guys lost your mind trying to make money? You've made a project that's just a shell, and you've made me a defective product that doesn't even work!?"

The technical soldier with a slightly sparse head and a pair of thick glasses on his nose was dizzy from being hit by the documents and wanted to smash the defense minister's internet celebrity face with a punch; but he still endured the humiliation, adjusted his glasses, and explained tremblingly in a language full of professional terms and blame-shifting skills.

"We...we did immediately deploy the most powerful 'Hawk Eye-3' mobile electromagnetic pulse jamming system."

"I guarantee that even though this project cost a lot of money, the jamming system hasn't fully met its design specifications, at least not as well as the PowerPoint presentation said. But the PowerPoint presentation was at most a bit exaggerated in terms of coverage."

"In any case, the network of several jammers is enough to turn the entire Greenwood area into a giant signal jamming cage!"

"But... just like what happened last time in South Dakota, an extremely powerful and stable electromagnetic wave signal of unknown origin erupted from the center of the battlefield in a way that we currently cannot understand! It's like an invisible, one-way energy shield, perfectly offsetting all our interference signals, while allowing those damn live broadcast signals to be transmitted unimpeded!"

"In other words, right now, we can do nothing but watch helplessly and passively accept the world's 'judgment,'" the technical officer concluded, the implication clear: "I don't take the blame. This is a supernatural phenomenon, a technical issue, not my responsibility."

"Fuck! It's like this again!" The Defense Minister was so angry that he almost had a cerebral hemorrhage on the spot.

"Please calm down!" The Chief of Staff, a veteran political figure known for his maturity and steadiness, quickly stepped forward and spoke in his calm, soothing voice. "Now isn't the time to assign technical responsibility. A thorough investigation into the failure of the signal jammer is a matter for later. Our most urgent task is how to respond to this out-of-control wave of public opinion and how... to justify our actions!"

He turned to another special adviser in charge of media relations who had remained silent.

The special adviser immediately understood what he meant. He cleared his throat and put on a smile that was full of "professionalism" and confidence.

"Yes, Mr. Defense Minister. Crisis often also presents opportunity." His voice was gentle yet inspiring, like that of a top-tier psychiatrist. "Although we cannot control the dissemination of information for the time being, we can...control its 'interpretation.'"

"Now, Fox News and all the media outlets we control, take action immediately! Full force!"

"The first, and most crucial, step is to firmly label that black man named Jamal Washington with a label that can never be torn off and is full of sin - an extraordinary terrorist!"

"We're going to mobilize all our resources to dig up dirt on him! Has he ever joined Antifa? Does he have a criminal record? Has he colluded with street gangs? Even if he hasn't, we're going to invent it! Have our writing team fabricate a story about him hating society and attempting to overthrow the country through violence because of his family and personal experiences! We're going to portray him as a sociopath, a violent maniac brainwashed by extremist ideologies!"

"Secondly, we must fully highlight the heroic image of our 'Super Marun' troops!" A shrewd gleam shone in the advisor's eyes. "Immediately contact the families of all the soldiers killed in this operation! Provide them with generous compensation! Have them tearfully accuse the 'Bone Blade Killer' of brutality and evil before the camera! We must portray their husbands, their fathers, their sons as great national heroes who heroically sacrificed their lives protecting local civilians from the threat of terrorists!"

"We must convince the public that our military is not suppressing protests, but is waging a difficult and arduous war against terrorism! It is protecting them from harm by extraordinary thugs!"

This combination of punches was swift and fierce, and its logic was impeccable. It was a textbook example of a horse-calling-a-slave manipulation of public opinion.

The expression on the Defense Minister's face, which was distorted by anger, finally gradually relaxed, and was replaced by a smile full of approval and satisfaction.

"Very good, very good!" He nodded to the consultant. "Then don't just stand there! Are you waiting for me to praise you?!"

"Now! Right now! Get out there and work!"

Just as those senior military officers were preparing to flee this office that could erupt at any time as if they had been pardoned, the heavy oak door leading to the outer corridor was suddenly slammed open with a "bang"!

A young communications officer in charge of monitoring global emergencies, forgetting even to knock, stumbled in like a mad deer. His face was pale, his forehead covered in cold sweat, and his eyes, wide open with extreme fear, were filled with unbelievable, apocalyptic despair!

He didn't even bother to pay attention to the murderous look of the Minister of Defense. He just raised the emergency intelligence briefing that had just been printed out and was still warm from the printer high above his head, and screamed at the top of his lungs in his voice that was trembling with tears due to excessive fear.

“No… This is bad… Mr. Defense Minister…!!”

The Defense Minister was startled by his ghostly look and shouted impatiently: "What the hell is going on again?! Is the sky falling?! Are those 'vigilantes' going to jump out and save the world again, and we're the ones taking the spotlight?!"

"No... not... it's a hundred times more serious than... than that!" The communications officer's voice was completely broken by fear. He slammed the intelligence in his hand heavily on the "Resolute Table", and pointed at the title on it with trembling fingers.

"It's... it's the Greenwood area...! Suddenly... suddenly, out of the underground of that damned black community... a beast... a beast even bigger and more terrifying than... than the last 'dragon' that landed in New York State..."

“…Super monster!”

"What?!" The defense minister suddenly stood up from his chair, his eyes, bloodshot with anger, staring at the intelligence officer.

He felt as if his heart was being tightly grasped by a large, cold hand, and it was almost stopping beating.

"Why are they here again?! Did these monsters have a plan?! They had to pick the time when I was having the most trouble and pop up one after another?! Do they really want me to live?!"

A deep feeling of powerlessness, as if being targeted by the whole world, mixed with endless irritability and violence, instantly rushed to his mind.

He was silent for a long time, as if exhausting all his energy to digest this barrage of bad news. Finally, he slowly raised his head, his blue eyes no longer showing any emotion, only a cold, almost numb calm.

He looked at the officer in charge of the extraordinary weapons project beside him and spoke calmly in an emotionless tone, as if they were discussing what to eat for dinner tonight.

"How's the progress of the 'Titan' project?"

The officer was slightly stunned, then replied, "The first prototype of the 'Titan' project has completed final debugging and is ready for actual combat at any time."

"I remember that big mecha, it seems to be called 'War Hotbed', right?"

"Yes, sir. Codename 'War Bed'."

"Very good." The defense minister slowly sat back in his chair, crossed his fingers, and supported his chin. For the first time, his face, which was always full of confidence and vitality, showed an expression that was almost "tired".

“I’ll call the White House and ask to have it activated.”

"Then, let it go to Tulsa and take that new monster..."

"...break it into pieces."

83. The Black Sacred Beast Walks the Earth! (Two Chapters in One)

The gunfire finally stopped.

But the night sky in Tulsa's Greenwood district was heavier and darker than at any time before.

The air was filled with a mixture of gun smoke, dust, burning rubber, and a faint smell of blood.

Disgusting.

The streets, once tangled but at least somewhat presentable, were now reduced to a ravaged landscape. Fallen utility poles lay scattered across the ground like the skeletons of fallen beasts, and snapped cables flickered with dangerous blue sparks. The wreckage of overturned cars still burned, the flames licking the twisted metal like greedy tongues, blackening the surrounding walls.

What is even more heartbreaking is the homes of ordinary people that were affected by the war.

A two-story, white-painted wooden building had lost most of its roof to the blast. Shattered windows, like weeping eyes, silently told of the owner's misfortune. A few blocks away, a row of businesses, from grocery stores to barbershops, were completely destroyed. Their shutters were riddled with bullet holes, and their windows were shattered.

Although Jamal intentionally and tried his best to lead the battlefield towards sparsely populated industrial areas and abandoned warehouses during the battle, the destructive power of the battle between extraordinary people is not something that mortals can control.

During the pursuit, those "Super Maruns" wearing exoskeleton armor did not care whether their grenades would hit the nearby houses, nor did they care whether the stray bullets they fired would tear the terrified children into pieces!

The wreckage of a school bus engulfed in flames lay quietly on the street corner, the colorful cartoon graffiti on the bus body now blurred by the thick smoke.

The car windows were shattered and the wheels flew away, leaving only a charred metal frame, twisted and deformed in the flames, like a huge burned steel skeleton.

Not far away, a teddy bear doll was lying in a pool of blood. One of its eyes had fallen off, and its body was covered with dust and dried blood. It was staring blankly and silently at the hellish night sky with its remaining black, plastic eye.

Crying sounds came from every corner of the ruins.

A young mother was kneeling in front of the wreckage of her house which had long been razed to the ground. She was frantically digging at the rubble mixed with gravel and wood chips with her hands. Her nails were broken and bleeding, but she was completely unaware and just shouted her child's name at the top of her lungs.

A white-haired old man was sitting on the street in a daze, holding the cold body of his wife who had been hit in the chest by a stray bullet. No tears could flow from his cloudy old eyes, only endless numbness like ashes.

This is the Union Army's style.

They may not have "intentionally" intended to clear out the civilians here, but they also don't "care" about the lives of these civilians. In their eyes, the lives of these black people living in the dilapidated community are probably less valuable than a screw on their expensive exoskeleton armor.

Just like in Philadelphia in 1985, when police were trying to crack down on a black armed group called "MOVE", they could not hesitate to drop two military-grade C4 explosives from a helicopter on a townhouse crowded with women and children, eventually causing a raging fire that engulfed 65 houses and killed 11 people.

Just like in Waco in 1993, when the FBI wanted to capture a mansion called "Davidian Branch", they were able to use tanks to break down the walls and fire hundreds of flammable tear gas bombs into it, which eventually led to an equally tragic fire. More than 70 believers, including more than 20 children, were burned to death inside.

"Collateral damage"?

No, that was just a cold word written in the report to appease the media and public sentiment. It was full of arrogance and lies.

At this moment, in this land long forgotten by the federal government, history is ruthlessly repeating itself in a more "extraordinary" and more ironic way.

In their eyes, civilian casualties have always been just a cold, acceptable statistic called "collateral damage."

And now, these cold numbers are being presented to every survivor in the Greenwood community in the most intuitive and bloody way.

……

Vernon African Methodist Episcopal Church, basement.

Pastor Elijah knelt on the cold concrete floor, his knees calloused from excessive prayer, long numb. In front of him, a crude shortwave radio, cobbled together from various scrap parts by a young man in the community who knew radio, was intermittently transmitting the panicked and chaotic calls from the local police station.

Next to him, dozens of black residents crowded in this small basement were gathered around a tablet computer with cracks on the screen, which they had obtained from nowhere, staring at the blurry but bloody and violent images.

Their faces no longer showed the previous solidarity and excitement, but only a cold despair that penetrated deep into their bones.

They saw Jamal, the Washington child whom they regarded as "hope", struggling in a desperate and futile manner like a beast trapped in a cage under the siege of those steel monsters.

They also saw that their homes and their already dilapidated communities were being ruthlessly destroyed bit by bit in this "battle between gods" that had nothing to do with them.

A loud explosion was heard from a nearby block, and the entire basement shook violently, with dust falling from the ceiling.

A young mother let out a suppressed sob as she held her two or three-year-old child tightly in her arms, shielding his tiny head with her body. The child was too frightened to cry out loud, only burying his face in his mother's chest, his small body trembling constantly.

"Oh God……"

Old Pastor Elijah raised his head. His eyes, which were always full of wisdom and compassion, now looked like a dry riverbed with all the water drained out.

He looked up at the ceiling, as if he could see through the thick cement and soil to the night sky dyed red by the flames of war.

His lips moved slightly, and his voice was as hoarse as two pieces of rusty iron rubbing against each other.

"Do you...see? Is this the 'promised land' you promised us?"

"A hundred years ago, they used planes and fire to take everything from us. A hundred years later, they are using stronger armor and more deadly weapons to repeat the same thing."

"What have we done wrong? Yes, theft and murder happen every day in our community, gangs are rampant, and various sexually transmitted diseases are spreading, but is this entirely our fault?"