In the early morning, the New York subway tunnel was crowded with faces lacking sleep;
In Kansas, farmers were carrying pitchforks toward the barn;
In a Silicon Valley park, young men and women in sportswear were jogging;
In a southern small-town café, a beautiful waitress with a sweet smile served a familiar old sheriff a cup of coffee.
And many others, turning on the TV to listen to the news while eating toast and cereal, planning their day.
At this moment, stirring orchestral music suddenly erupted, marking the beginning of the morning news.
The female anchor's face was solemn with a hint of confusion, her usually fluent speech faltering:
"Good morning, viewers, first we have breaking news this morning."
"Just earlier this morning, a major malicious incident took place at the Stonefield Clan's manor on Long Island, New York, with at least two... over two hundred people confirmed dead, including several high-profile figures from politics and business."
"This is the most serious private estate attack in the United States in the last fifty years..."
Countless people raised their heads in shock, and someone loudly asked, "What is this guy talking about? Is today April Fools' Day?"
All those who heard the opening lines dropped their food, forgetting they had to work or study, calling family and friends to gather in front of the TV.
The camera quickly switched to an aerial view from a helicopter.
The Stonefield Manor, once a world of imagined beauty for ordinary people, now looked like an anthill ravaged by a giant beast.
The manor gates were wide open, with flashing red and blue lights from police cars, ambulances, and news broadcast vans, turning the sky before dawn into a disquieting hue.
Uniformed police officers set up long yellow crime scene tape, outside of which was a crush of people—journalists, onlookers, family members rushing to the scene upon hearing the news, and more with cameras recording everything.
The police couldn't drive everyone away, nor could they handle the unabashed TV helicopters overhead.
Or perhaps, they too were at a loss at that moment.
Some people wearing masks and protective suits mechanically carried out body after body, with stretchers covered in white sheets and gray body bags spread across the normally lush green lawn.
The broadcast didn't show any excessively gruesome images, but just by looking at the shapes bulging under those white sheets, viewers could imagine the terrifying condition of the bodies beneath.
NBC's star field reporter, Catherine, stood at the edge of the crime scene tape, her face a mix of professional seriousness and barely restrained excitement, speaking rapidly to the live camera:
"...We're right at the main entrance of Stonefield Manor. As you can see, it's completely locked down by the police."
"But according to inside information and eyewitness accounts, the scene inside the manor is nothing short of hell on earth!"
"Wreckage, blood, corpses... yes, corpses, I said corpses... lots of corpses!"
"Not just the bodyguards and staff, but also over a hundred distinguished guests invited to the Stonefield Clan's 'private banquet' last night."
"Over there! Rashida, quickly turn the camera over!"
In Catherine's screaming, the camera shook violently before quickly finding its focus—
Dozens of visibly shaken people shivered as they walked toward ambulances under police escort, wrapped in blankets, some crying, some with vacant stares.
Naturally, other information seekers quickly relayed intelligence to Catherine, so the reporter soon explained to the audience:
"These are the lucky ones who narrowly escaped—the personal bodyguards brought by some guests, and some workers who were in the outbuildings or on the outskirts of the manor at the time."
"If they had been in the main hall, they might all be dead now! We have to be grateful that for some unspeakable reason, William Stonefield didn't make them stay..."
"Oh, look! That's the only survivor from the venue—Chris Stonefield, Sir William Stonefield's grandson!"
"Rumor has it, he would take over the Stonefield family... oh!"
Upon seeing the young man's appearance clearly, the reporter couldn't help but exclaim.
This young heir, who just yesterday afternoon attended an award ceremony with a proud demeanor, was now wearing a heavy white straitjacket, hands cuffed in front of him, hair disheveled, face smeared with grime and dried tear tracks.
His eyes were unfocused, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably, sometimes muttering to himself, sometimes suddenly letting out piercing screams.
The camera jerked violently as journalists, like a stampede of wild buffalo, finally broke through the police blockade and rushed directly to Chris, shoving their cameras almost into his face.
"What exactly happened last night?"
"Is Sir Stonefield really dead?"
"Why are you the only one who survived?"
Amidst the chaotic onslaught of questions, Chris suddenly let out a silly laugh:
"All dead... hahaha... grandpa... Paul... everyone! Smashed to pulp... the gift... it's a gift... hahahaha..."
He laughed hysterically, tears and mucus streaming down his face, until police forcibly shoved him into a car.
The camera swung back to the reporter, Catherine, who had to cover her ears and shout loudly through the clamor:
"Chris Stonefield, who witnessed everything last night, has completely broken down!"
"Police state he is key to uncovering the truth of last night's massacre and has been listed as a crucial witness under protective custody."
"Based on what we currently know, what happened at Stonefield Manor last night was far from a simple vendetta or robbery."
"It seems all of this is connected to a shocking conspiracy planned by the late Sir William Stonefield for years..."
Some TV stations, not seizing the chance to enter the manor in time, instead went to interview the families of the victims.
In the footage, a well-dressed middle-aged woman, her makeup ruined by tears, was surrounded by reporters.
She was holding a delicate black gilded invitation, almost soaked through with blood.
The woman wept uncontrollably into the camera:
"This is what my husband took with him last night... Stonefield's invitation... I begged him not to go, I said nothing good ever comes from secret gatherings. I told him our child was sick, I needed him..."
"But he wouldn't listen, he said it was a 'ticket to the top,' he was afraid of offending the Stonefield family... and now look..."
The woman broke down, sobbing, a confused child sucking on its fingers resting in her arms.
The child timidly asked, "Mama, didn't you say we were here to pick up papa? Where is papa?"
The sobbing turned sharp, the woman wailed:
"What Stonefields, they are devils from hell! Give me back my husband!"
The scene cut away, but the painful cries seemed to linger in everyone's ears.