SOTOPIA: Artificial Pseudo-God

Immediately afterwards, Mrs. Renault changed the topic, which made Moskevich's spirit tense again: "I believe that if you stay in the academy, you will have the same outstanding achievements."

Moskevich shook his head decisively.

Before he could express his attitude in words, Mrs. Reynolds laughed dumbfounded, and immediately clarified her true intention: "I don't want you to come back—" She crossed her hands and rested her chin, looking at Moskevier with interest. strange. "I just want to tell you one thing from my own experience: do what you want to do, it's okay to be selfish. I'm old, and now I think about it, and I don't have any chance to think about myself. It's just for a It’s nothing more than a distant goal, using yourself as a tool to operate rationally for decades, and I’m enjoying it. Unlike you, you haven’t made the final choice. Whether the sacrifice is worthwhile, whether you expect that result at all, shouldn’t matter. It’s a topic that others should dabble in.”

Speaking of this, the question that has been frozen in his mind for several years has already been answered clearly.But this is not the end of everything. Sacrifice is still needed, and Moskevich has secretly made up his mind.He subconsciously glanced at Steven who was sitting nearby, and Steven was also watching him.

Mrs. Renault had a panoramic view of the details of the gaze.She tapped the rim of the cup with a small iron spoon, turned Moskevich's attention back to herself, and said with a smile: "It seems that you have a new support."

Moskevich gave a rare smile.He looked at his cup with a helpless expression: "But it's not for a long time. I don't intend to cause him any more trouble. I thought I could become a complete egoist as I wished, but I couldn't."

"Even though you said you wanted to get rid of the relationship, you still looked at him several times. I'm afraid you didn't realize this habit yourself." She teased, her expression actually looked very relieved.

"Maybe, I don't know." He responded perfunctorily.But Moskevich's tense nerves were not completely stretched.Thinking of what Mrs. Renault said at the beginning of the conversation, he frowned again: "You said, I came to say goodbye, don't you—"

Madame Renault still looked at him calmly.

Moskevich's brain was running fast, and compared with the surrounding environment, he quickly came to a conclusion: "At first I thought there would be someone secretly protecting you, but now it seems that's not the case. Forget those troublesome explanations, In the worst case scenario, I am afraid that you intend to use your life to represent Sotopia to the opposition in the United States."

Faced with such a judgment, she actually showed a relieved smile: "Exactly. As long as I walk out of this cafe, I'm afraid I will die immediately."

Moskevich's face was tense, and his distaste for Sotopia's style of behavior returned for a moment: "How could they let you—"

"This is my own choice. They just agreed with the feasibility of this approach." Mrs. Renault replied decisively. "I hope to maximize the meaning of my death, just like I tried my best to squeeze the value of my own existence in the past."

"Is death something simple and refreshing?" Moskevich asked dryly.

"As long as you choose the right method, it never procrastinates. Besides," Mrs. Reynolds finished the last bit of coffee in her cup. "Even if I don't die today, terminal illness won't keep me alive for long."

"Why are you all so extreme?" Moskevich muttered to himself.

Madame Reynolds just laughed it off.She handed the file bag to Moskevich, solemnly as if handing over a treasure: "So, before death comes, I hope to see you again, even if I can't get your understanding. At the same time, I hope to Return all that should belong to you. Here are most of your experimental data - from genetic sources to experimental records, the things in it can at least cover the first 20 years of your life. The materials for the next few years are too long If you get too close, it may cause you trouble, I have already destroyed it. If you hate it so much that you don't want to take another look at it, you can always burn it. This is your right. I can do it for you There are only so many of them.”

The twisted and chaotic words were like a clump of thorns blocking Moskevich's chest, making him want to hold on to the last chance to say something, but he couldn't say anything.

From this point of view, Mrs. Renault, who puts life and death aside, has indeed reached the realm of freedom and ease.Her light brown eyes are no longer as bright as they were when she was young, and the wrinkles and pigmentation on her skin also prove the effect of time.But she still smiled quietly, as if death and work were both natural and inevitable without hesitation.

"I may never be able to be a competent mother. I don't ask for your forgiveness for the cruel sacrifice planned by the seer. I only hope that you can grasp the second possibility of life. Besides," she stroked Moskevich There seemed to be tears in his cheeks, but there was a smile on his mouth. "Your sixteen or seventeen-year-old appearance is almost exactly the same as my brother in my memory."

Madame Reynolds stood up and straightened her sleeves and skirt.His movements are elegant and his expression is reserved, like a nobleman about to go to a banquet.She nodded slightly to her "child" - maybe an apology, maybe a farewell.Immediately afterwards, she picked up the empty satchel and walked towards the door of the cafe without looking back.

——No matter what choice you make, you are my pride.

Moskevich felt his throat was tightly blocked by something, which was very sore. "...Irina?" He turned his head and unconsciously called her name in a low voice, vaguely remembering the situation when his young self was thrown helpless in the laboratory several years ago.

But she didn't look back.

Christian Reynolds - Elena Komorowski stood on the sidewalk outside the cafe, breathing the stale air of the city streets, with a long-lost expression of relief on her face.

She no longer has to recall those painful experiences, nor does she need to torture herself between beliefs and morality.A laser-aimed red spot beats at the location of her heart on her off-white coat.She even reached out to touch the red dot like a girl who didn't know the importance of things, and said softly in her native Polish language that she hadn't spoken for a long time: "Come, sweet death."

A large-caliber sniper bullet from the top floor of the opposite building instantly pierced her heart.Mrs. Renault's thin body only swayed a few times before falling to the ground. The gushing blood quickly flowed into one piece, soaking her clothes and hair red.Another shot was placed in the head.A few seconds later, her mouth no longer overflowed with blood bubbles, and her gradually expanding pupils were facing the haze above the city.

This is their reunion and their farewell.

The murderer used meth.Compared with the direct panic brought by the gunshots, the crowd was first silent for a while, and then fell into clueless noise and chaos.Just like previous terrorist attacks, many passers-by screamed and rushed into the cafe to seek shelter, and the unsuspecting customers in the cafe hid in the corners and under the tables in a panic, lest the gunman in the dark would attack him. Appeared out of nowhere and shot wildly at the innocent crowd.The waiter hid behind the counter and tremblingly called the police.

Among the anxious and frightened crowd, Moskevich stood up staggeringly, walked towards the door with an expression of disbelief, his eyes widened in a trance: "Wait, Elena——"

Steven rushed up, hugged him by the waist, and dragged him into the nearest corner to squat down. "Calm down! The outside is a dangerous area within range, do you also want to die under their guns for no reason?!"

Moskevich broke free with unexpectedly great strength, and Steven could hardly control him.The former agent's anger also rose, and he almost punched him.He gave a loud "tsk", grabbed half a glass of ice water on the table beside him, and poured it on Moskevich's head, making him shiver from the cold.

Steven clutched Moskevich's shoulder tightly, and his voice squeezed through his teeth: "I also admire her very much, but I don't want to see the tragedy happen again. I must prevent you from dying together."

The terrified noise of passers-by is like a sea of ​​noise, engulfing Moskevich's brain and floating alone.The water from his hair seeped into his collar, and he shivered, staring blankly at Steven in front of him.

Moskevich's lips moved, but no words came out.He grabbed Steven's sleeve helplessly, who hugged him tightly.

"I'm here." Steven repeated, with the gun in his hand, ready to confront the assailant at any time. "I'm still here."

—There is nothing more hopeless than this.

"You can't die." Moskevich buried his head on Steven's shoulder with a low voice and trembling hands.

The assassination without warning was like a cloud of bloody black mist, which suddenly appeared and left a corpse, and then disappeared without a sound. The panic and chaos created were like aftershocks, leaving many witnesses with an indelible spirit. trauma.

This time, Steven failed to help Moskevich stop the police's questioning, so he could barely seize the time difference and hide the file bag left by Mrs. Renault in the mezzanine of the car to avoid the police's search.

The distraught young man changed his soaked coat and put on a dark blanket issued by the police-this kind of thing has the practical effect of keeping warm on the one hand, and plays a psychological role in soothing on the other.

Moskevich hardly knew what questions he was asked and what answers he answered.He was in a trance, and his mental state was extremely unstable. Every question and answer was a subconscious behavior, and there was no time for any thinking.

Steven was right: Moskevich had always tried to create the illusion that he was flawless with ease, but now it seems that he is almost full of flaws.

He was the last person to meet Christine Reynolds, and Steven, who was with him, was a former FBI agent, and there were problems in any way.Steven, who had been disarmed and was being questioned, looked at Moskevich sitting alone in the corner from a distance, and wanted to step forward to comfort him, but he couldn't get away because of a series of questions from the police.

Fortunately, this shooting incident with only one death was quickly handed over to Maynard due to the special identity of the deceased.

Maynard Russell, the head of the Special Office of Statistics and Surveillance of the FBI's Los Angeles Regional Bureau, still has the vigorous, mean and indifferent appearance of a few years ago.But Steven still found something different.

Maynard seems to be smoking more heavily than ever, smoking the cigars he rarely touches in the past.The bloodshot eyes flickered with unscrupulous madness, appearing a little nervous.

After hesitating for a moment, Steven still greeted his old boss. "You don't wear glasses?" he asked.

The black-haired man replied with a half-smile: "My eyes are fine."

Maynard looked around and saw Moskevich at a glance, and most of the whole story became clear.He winked directly at the subordinate who was following him, and ordered in a low voice: "Take him away." He didn't even look at Steven.

Moskevich was pulled by the arm and stood up.He didn't resist, just raised his eyes, silently watching the chaos in front of him.

"Wait a minute—Maynard!" Steven was anxious.He tried to break away from the people in front of him, but more people grabbed him immediately, and a strange agent directly handcuffed his hands.

Maynard finally turned around, looked up slightly at Steven's anxious expression, the corners of his mouth subtly raised—an expression Steven had never seen before. "Since you care about him so much, why don't you come here too. After all, who are you?" There was an undisguised smile in his tone.

Steven, who had attempted to resist, panted heavily, and replied frankly: "I'm his boyfriend."