The "Aegis Net" over Washington D.C. was a masterpiece of modern paranoia. It was a shimmering, invisible dome of reality-stabilizing particles, designed by the brightest minds at DARPA to ensure that no "Sovereign-level" distortions could manifest. In theory, it was the ultimate cage.
In practice, Chen Feng found it rather itchy.
Chen Feng stood on the National Mall, wearing his signature red blazer and his "I ❤️ Chicago" hat, which he now wore with a sense of ironic defiance. Beside him, Gary was wearing a fake mustache and carrying a briefcase full of "distraction snacks."
"Boss, the sensors are everywhere," Gary hissed, ducking behind a statue of a famous general. "If you so much as sneeze with a hint of spiritual energy, the Aegis Net will collapse on us like a wet blanket."
"Then I simply won't sneeze, Gary," Chen Feng said, walking toward the U.S. Federal Treasury with the casual gait of a man looking for a bathroom.
As they reached the perimeter, the Aegis Net hummed. The "Reality Stabilizers" began to ramp up, trying to lock onto Chen Feng's molecular structure. Chen Feng simply adjusted his tie. He didn't fight the net; he bored it. He projected an aura of such intense, "Salted Fish" laziness that the sensors dismissed him as a harmless piece of drifting driftwood.
Inside the Treasury, the security was "Level Zero-G." Lasers, thermal cameras, and guards with pulse rifles lined the halls. Chen Feng bypassed the retinal scanners by simply holding up a pair of googly eyes he'd bought at a craft store.
"The problem with modern security," Chen Feng whispered to a frozen guard, "is that it expects a monster. It doesn't expect a man who just wants to share."
He reached the main vault, where the national reserves were stored in rows of shimmering gold bullion. Chen Feng didn't take a single bar for himself. Instead, he placed his hand on the cold metal and closed his eyes.
"Molecular rearrangement," he muttered. "A Sovereign's specialty."
In a flash of violet light—so brief the cameras missed it—the gold didn't vanish. It transformed. The bars of 24-karat gold remained gold, but their shape and texture changed.
Ten minutes later, the sirens blared, but not because of a robbery. They blared because the roof of the Treasury had spontaneously converted into a series of massive, spring-loaded catapults.
"Gary, pull the lever!" Chen Feng shouted, standing on the Treasury roof.
"I've never felt so patriotic!" Gary yelled, yanking a handle.
The catapults fired. Thousands of "Golden Waffles"—actual gold-plated, honey-infused, perfectly edible waffles—soared over the city. They rained down on the crowds at the Lincoln Memorial, the commuters on the Beltway, and the tourists at the Smithsonian. Each waffle was wrapped in a napkin with a hand-drawn stick-figure crown and a message:
"You've spent billions on a net to catch me. I've spent the net's budget on your breakfast. Eat up, the economy is delicious."
As the city descended into a bizarre "Waffle Riot"—where people were simultaneously delighted by the free breakfast and confused by the literal gold flakes—Chen Feng and Gary slipped into a waiting taxi.
"Why are the helicopters still following us?" Chen Feng asked, opening a fresh comic book as they sped toward Dulles Airport. "I've literally solved the hunger crisis for the next three hours. I should be getting a key to the city."
"Boss," Gary said, his hands shaking as he looked at the news. "You turned the Federal Gold Reserve into syrup-delivery vehicles. The Secretary of the Treasury is currently having a stroke on live television. They aren't trying to manage you anymore—they're trying to find a way to turn breakfast back into currency!"
"Nonsense," Chen Feng yawned, leaning back. "Gold is far more useful as a topping than a bar. Now, let's get out of here before the Aegis Net tries to 'stabilize' my digestion. Next stop: The UK. I hear they're very fond of tea and taxes."
As the "Aegis Net" satellites frantically tried to recalibrate, they found themselves tracking thousands of high-value waffles instead of the Sovereign. Chen Feng had turned the world's most expensive security system into a high-stakes brunch.