Mysteries: Arcana Wars

Mrs. Misty smoked one puff after another, and the white cigarette butt was dyed red by the hot lipstick. The chaotic emotions flashing in her eyes burned along with the expensive tobacco, and gradually disappeared in the smoke.

"Lori and I met in that research institute."

The burnt cigarette butts fall quietly to the ground, and the bleak autumn night always makes people recall the past.

After the forced brainwashing before leaving her job, Mrs. Misty could no longer remember the real name of the institute, nor was she sure whether Scott was from the institute. She only knew that as a member of the Steam Church, he would sometimes contact them and ask them to do some informant activities.

"I can't remember, sir, but I think you helped us a lot at that time."

Maybe, Scott thought, wondering if getting you home quickly would count.

Sometimes, what I think are insignificant things may be of great help to these researchers.

"I had the same idea as Luo Rui at the time. We thought that we would dedicate our lives to the great god of steam and machinery anyway, so we might as well work in that laboratory until we die.

"Until I saw my legs being mashed into pulp by a machine."

The woman wrapped in the coat smiled faintly, and then subconsciously reached into her pocket for a cigarette. After hesitating for a while, she took Scott's second cigarette.

Scott had some impression of this incident. The pump sparks were far away from the surface and were ruled by the powerful extraordinary silence. Whenever such a vicious accident occurred, both ordinary and extraordinary treatments would be difficult to take effect in time.

The limit of human medical technology here is the boundary between life and death. Even with the advanced technology of limb reattachment today, no doctor can use pure medical treatment to turn a lump of flesh into a leg again.

If they were to be sent to the surface to receive extraordinary medical regeneration, the Mathisons, who had only been working for a short time, could not afford the sufficient contribution points, nor were they willing to overdraw and borrow such a huge sum of money from the church in advance.

“So we thought at the time, let’s just throw away the weak flesh and blood, and just make a new one.

"It's not that we no longer trust the great God of Steam, but we feel that there is a big difference between voluntarily working for the church for a lifetime and then getting rewarded and working for the church for a lifetime with a huge debt...

“No, it should be said this way: We have a vague feeling that the more we gain present gifts in the Church, the more we lose future freedom.

“So we simply took this opportunity to submit a report and quit, and started the research as a two-person operation.

"As it happens, I come from a family of jugglers. After my prosthetics were repaired, the two of us simply founded the Matheson Circus, earning money through performances while continuing our prosthetic research.

“Then Rory Matheson became Dodger Lamar and I became Phil Lamar.”

Talking about that time full of cheers and applause, Mrs. Misty's face took on a different look. She stared at the bright lights opposite in a trance, and even the movement of exhaling cigarettes slowed down a bit.

“I didn’t expect Dodge Rama to become so popular.

"With more funds and manpower, our technologies gradually matured, so we started to invest in a factory for commercial production and opened up patents at a low price.

"Our circus, our factory, our technology, our ideals... everything seems to be thriving..."

She stopped talking again, lowered her head, covered her plush coat, and smoked heavily.

Scott also sat silently with Mrs. Misty, colorful neon signs flashing above their heads.

The cigar burned out and Scott stood up to leave, but Misty suddenly reached out and grabbed Scott's clothes.

"Mr. Cartwright, for your own sake and for the sake of the Steam Church, would you be willing to buy our Matheson Circus?"

"Huh?" Scott was a little surprised, "Don't you want to be free?"

"That was just angry talk, sir.

"If it were more than a decade ago, Luo Rui and I could indeed pursue our freedom without restraint. But now, if I also die on the road to freedom, what will happen to the people who follow me?"

Mrs. Misty turned around. Scott also looked behind the door and saw that in the half-lit performance hall, many actors were lying at the entrance of the auditorium, looking at the two people on the steps from a distance and cautiously across the hall.

The actors include both men and women, young and old, but all have varying degrees of prosthetic modifications.

"In this era, there are only a few crazy people like Luo Rui who cut off their own arms to get prosthetics. Most prosthetics are simply because of limb loss. Even Luo Rui gave up his body without hesitation because of congenital muscular atrophy.

"Perhaps a few hundred years later, everyone will use prosthetics, and everyone will replace a few metal parts. But now, even if prosthetics are not expensive, who would still choose prosthetics if they are to be used?"

In the dim performance room, more than a dozen pairs of eyes blinked and stared at Scott.

"After performing outside for so many years, I have long understood, sir. In Backlund, our destiny never belongs to ourselves."

Mrs. Misty raised her head and exhaled a puff of smoke, muttering to herself as she stared at the neon lights.

“Just like the exclamation mark above my head, for those noble people, our heads have already been marked with a price.

"I think my last freedom is to choose who to sign the contract with and then sell it to myself for a good price."

Scott looked at Mrs. Misty, was silent for a moment, took the cigarette butt out of her mouth and stomped it out.

"It's time. I have to go. Contact me if you need anything."

He turned and left, raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and the neon lights in the theater went out.

"You're off work, go home and rest."

******

David fumbled with the switch and heard a noise in his ears.

Squeak.

light is on.

As his steps floated, David staggered and fell onto the tattered sofa, stirring up a cloud of dust.

The whole world seemed to come alive, chattering impatiently to him in a language he could not understand.

This made David very annoyed. He stretched out his foot to split the chattering coffee table in front of him in half, but found that even his two pairs of feet had turned into mechanical prostheses.

The high-quality components faithfully transmitted signals of movement and feeling to the flesh, but David felt that everything he touched was so strange.

He suddenly didn't know how to walk, but he just lifted his muscles slightly, and his strong lower limbs automatically sensed the command and completed all the remaining steps.

Is this the price of becoming a "broken-winged angel"...

Headaches and dizziness came over me like a tide.

David could not remember the second half of his memory in the basement of the vault clearly. He only remembered that he was beaten half to death by a powerful opponent in the vault, but he could not remember how he escaped and became a "broken-winged angel". He did not know how he had his legs replaced and survived. All that was left was endless darkness and whispers.

Is everything I know now coming from my physical perception, or a counterfeit product carefully constructed by circuits and machines? Or is it actually nothing, but a spiritual intuition brought about by some extraordinary characteristics?

The conscience that had been entangled and restless was completely extinguished due to the extraordinary promotion. No matter who originally owned this house and why it was abandoned and uninhabited, David occupied it without hesitation. He wanted to take a look, but the spinning world made him fall back on the sofa again.

Now that things have come to this, what should I do next? Should I go get some money?

The body and soul are full of holes, but the desire for money rises like a raging fire.

A woman in a red dress walked in David's chaotic world, tapped the broken TV in front of her twice, and the news with flashing screen was broadcast on the big screen.

"The Ishdar Group will always stand with social morality! And stand with the Backlund Police Department!"

Massimo Ishtar, who survived the disaster, was seriously injured and had a white bandage on his head. He was still waving his arms in indignation and making eloquent speeches in front of the camera.

During his escape, David heard rumors about Massimo being bombed in a bank. Some said his hand was blown off, some said his brain was damaged, and some said he died in the attack. But now, he is still standing in front of the camera and acting.

"We at Ishdar firmly oppose all terrorist and evil forces."

That muscle, that line, that little scar…

David sat up suddenly from the sofa.

What Massimo reattached was his arm!