SOTOPIA: Artificial Pseudo-God

2011 is coming to an end, but winter in Los Angeles still doesn't feel like winter.Steven suddenly found that Moskevich was more and more silent than when they lived together before.

Although he has a unique alienated temperament, he only politely responds to most people with a socially reserved smile, and often turns his words in such a way that outsiders can't figure it out.But compared with the current state of being immersed in depression and sadness, sometimes even in a trance, the provocative style in the past is obviously much better.Maybe it's the unreasonable sense of crisis after Kay's death, or the terrible intuition that the rainstorm is coming, any of which can be explained to a certain extent.

Steven saw it, but the actions he took were quite limited.He knows exactly which step he should take, and which step he can only do.

It was Moskevich who agreed to meet Mrs. Renault, and it was Steven who took the initiative to contact Sotopia.He kept Rosa's contact information, and when he sent her an email, out of the corner of his eye, he still looked at Moskevich, who was sitting on the sofa holding a book and trying to be calm.

Steven could almost see what Moskevich was thinking.

Halfway through the last time, Moskevich suddenly widened his eyes and stared at the ceiling in a daze. Steven stopped immediately in fright, leaned down, and patted his still hot skin lightly. cheek, and asked in a low voice with concern: "What's wrong?"

After a few seconds, Moskevich slowly refocused his eyes on Steven's face, and it seemed that he had made great efforts to ensure that his voice would not tremble. "Suddenly I don't want to be here anymore."

Steven froze in place, and the heat of sex slowly froze.But he was still very calm - he looked at Moskevich's forbearing expression seemingly without any waves, even though his heart was overwhelmed.

"You think too much." Steven's voice was muffled.He tried to counsel: "Although the situation here is complicated, it is safer than you think." But when he thought of Kay who died unexpectedly and the recent high frequency of vicious incidents that threatened public safety, he himself felt that these words were not convincing.

Moskevich raised his wrist, covered his eyes with the back of his hand, and laughed twice.To Steven, the laughter was bitterer than the wailing of despair.

"I want to live," said Moskevich softly. "But you deserve a safer life. If the status quo doesn't change, it's only a matter of time before you get involved."

Steven didn't let him go any further—the older man gagged Moskevich with a kiss.He didn't want to hear what the other party said next, partly because he had already guessed the content, and partly because even if those were the truth, he couldn't accept it naturally.

"Stop talking." Steven murmured in Moskevich's ear, but it was more like a hint to himself. "As I said, the choice is yours. But one day, I will also make a decision."

Moskevich may have been crying, but there was a forced smile on the corner of his mouth: "Will you include me in your decision?"

Between "if you wish" and "you'll be there anyway," Steven chooses a silent hug.

In the Oleg Cafe, Moskevich still saw his "mother" whom he hadn't seen for many years, while Steven sat a few tables away and observed silently.Their appearance is very inconspicuous, and they blend into the ordinary guests very naturally.

"Elena," Moskevich first used this name habitually, but quickly changed to the usual name of Steven and others. "Madame Reynolds."

The woman sitting across from him smiled and nodded.

She is already old.

Christian Reynolds, born Irina Komorowski, was an immigrant from Eastern Europe, a victim of the violence of nearly half a century ago, and now a sociologist with a sharp edge.Before leaving teaching and fading out of academia, she was already a member of the Sotopia Society and participated in several experimental scientific research projects in another "dark" field.

And Moskevich was one of the experimental subjects she observed at the research base in the suburbs of Los Angeles.

In all fairness, Moskevich didn't know how to judge the relationship between Mrs. Reynolds and himself—she was obviously not his biological mother, but in terms of sociality, the relationship between the two parties was also based on the indescribable research and the researched. In the process, this makes the "mother-child relationship" seem nondescript here.

What Moskevich lacked was not sleep, but a relaxed state of mind.Compared with Mrs. Renault, who was younger than her actual age, he looked much haggard.During the conversation, Moskevich also remained more silent.He doesn't dislike the reserved and elegant lady in front of him, on the contrary, he is even very grateful to her—it was the question about "freedom" in his childhood that became the starting point for him to escape from the cage, although it has also become his endless love at this moment. source of pain.

The wise and mature Mrs. Renaud can fully understand this.She looked at the young man in front of her lovingly, thinking that the last time she saw him was in the underground base several years ago, when Moskevich was still in the growth period of his body, and his appearance was just the subtle femininity in the process of transformation Rosa, who was still young, couldn't see such a resemblance to her "brother" at that time, she was just an ordinary and beautiful little girl.

Look at yourself again, from a young researcher at the time to the current high-level academics, the hidden tragic past, the excellent qualifications that have reached the pinnacle of the discipline, together made her change from the innocent victimized Eastern European girl "Irina Komorowski" Becoming "Christine Reynolds", the existence of Moskevich seems to have just become a testimony of her experiences.

"You have a name," she said first.The graying light blond hair is well combed, which is very in line with the typical positioning of intellectuals of this age.The long time makes her old, but also generously gives her a unique charm that matches the years.

Moskevich stared at the teacup in front of him, and the food in his hand remained untouched.He nodded, and said in a low voice: "In the outside world, I must have a name." He didn't know what to say.

Mrs. Raynor did not hesitate to express her feelings, nor did she make a high-sounding defense for the past lack of humanitarianism of the Seeker project-in this regard, Moskevich's personal traits may have been inherited from her.On the contrary, she lowered her head, and took out an old file bag from the exquisite bag beside her. From its heavy weight, it is not difficult to see that there are a lot of paper materials in it. "I've come to say goodbye to you."

This sentence made Moskevich puzzled, but an ominous premonition appeared in his heart again.

The sociologist chuckled, and his tone was so tender that Moskevich thought inappropriately of Steven's mother—perhaps that's how a mother spoke to her child. "Steven has probably told you my story. He was a student of the Mayers. We met in lectures. I have some impression of him."

Moskevich nodded hesitantly: "...I said some, but not much."

Mrs. Reynolds took a sip of coffee, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes seemed to be full of nostalgia: "But that is not a good story. It seems to be the second year of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and it is also the fourth year after our family moved to the United States." year." She was seated by the window, and she looked sideways at the idle tourists in the city park across the street, with a flat tone as if she was talking about other people's affairs. "Probably out of hostility to foreigners, or simply being unable to control my criminal impulse, I was looking for a suitable target nearby. On a very ordinary weekend afternoon, I was killed by a few young people who lived nearby. Beaten and raped."

——This matter, Steven had mentioned to him cryptically, but at that time Moskevich did not expect that the facts pointed to by those puns were so cruel.

"My father and brother failed to avenge me, but someone else did. The pain and fear made me feel like I couldn't survive there, so, not long after I left the hospital, I left the house alone. I stumbled and wandered When I went to the nearest city, I couldn't survive the cold winter, so Mr. Renault took me in." At this moment, Mrs. Renault's eyes were full of gratitude to her mentor.

"Piero Reno?" Moskevich had read his works, and he always had some strange feelings in connecting theorists who seemed to exist in books with real events.

Mrs. Renault nodded: "His child died of illness very early, and I became the adopted daughter of the Renaults. They didn't know what I had experienced, and they never asked about it. They just let me go to school and socialize normally. Until I became an adult, I Only then did I tell them the truth about myself. After that, following my adoptive father on the path of academics and living as 'Christine Reynolds' became a matter of course. I used to think that this society was hell, But he gave me a second possibility in life."

Moskevich frowned and said, "But in the lab, you told me that your name is 'Irina'. That is obviously the past identity you want to forget."

She shook her head with a smile, and sighed slightly: "Indeed, I once wanted to forget that incident, and even my own past. But later, perhaps because of the research field I was in, I gradually realized one thing: For my tragedy, I don’t need to pay the slightest bit of guilt and self-blame. The perpetrators should be punished—and they did get the ending they deserved. These two different identities are already for me. Not a burden of memory, but a necessary means. Besides, do you know why I said those things to you?"

Moskevich thought for a while, then asked: "You mean—the questions about 'freedom'?"

"Yes. To be more specific, it is why I poured more emotion into you that is closer to that of a mother to her child." Mrs. Renault gently held Moskevich's hand on the table, no longer under the young skin The temperature of the blood is surging; the other hand is pressing on his abdomen. "At the time, due to the physical trauma of the violence, I had to have some of my organs removed - and the immediate consequence was that I could no longer be a mother."

The young man with his head bowed was shocked, and he suddenly understood the dull pain of life hidden in many details.

"My adoptive father was a core member of the Sotopia Society. Before I came across the Insight Project and volunteered as a researcher, he said to me: 'You can't be a mother, but you can at least be a mother in these The love of a mother is poured into children. They are not only experimental subjects, but also a possibility of society. What's more, the value of women is not only in family status. Your excellence is not because you have achieved this step as a woman. It’s about being good enough without gender bias.’”

"You have indeed achieved this." Moskevich had to admit that at this moment, his admiration and respect for Mrs. Renault had reached its peak.