SOTOPIA: Artificial Pseudo-God

Of course, it was not Maynard himself who was monitoring the movement in Houston, but this "civil servant chief" who no longer had any emotional concerns did not let go of his authority to act-he had realized this ridiculous reality: himself and Roberts Gerry Walter is almost identical in some places.

Alexander was in the dark, and the focus of the FBI's intelligence acquisition turned to information technology.As for the accusation of "violating the privacy of ordinary citizens", it is better to say that Maynard has fully legalized it on a psychological level than falling on deaf ears.Only in this way can the guilt of agents in key operations be reduced to a lower level.

"The helicopter movement of the National Guard is abnormal." Observer feedback.

Maynard propped his hands on the table, approaching the computer screen displaying classified information, with a dangerous and fanatical smile on his face: "Very good. It seems that the state government also needs to clean up. Congress may be very happy."

The observer just watched Maynard's face carefully, and didn't dare to say anything.

For Maynard and his immediate superiors, this was a rather intriguing development.This has become a war that cannot be made public, and most people in the game don't even know who their enemies are.

Moskevich and Steven sat across the dining table, with a simple breakfast in front of them.

The seemingly relaxed atmosphere between the two has been subconsciously replaced by a tense feeling. While acting as if nothing happened today, they are quickly calculating the other party's real purpose.From quietly cutting bread and spreading butter, to sharing a pot of instant juice in such a "harmonious" way, Moskevich has never found a chance to speak.

Perhaps, he thought, it was his superfluous attempts that made Steven suspicious.

During their cohabitation days, they often went for walks together—and, of course, Caroline and Lehman, like a family with too much free time.Caroline liked to feed the birds, but Lehman was interested in the jumping water column in the fountain. Steven and Moskevich often looked at each other, surrounded by the moist smell of vegetation.

"On my eighth birthday, my father brought back a puppy and said it was a gift for me." During a routine walk about half a year ago, Steven shared some of his childhood with Moskevich experience. "My brother is even closer to it than I am, and even built a wooden hut."

Steven sat on the lawn, watching Lehman chasing after Caroline, who was trotting in circles, with a dog leash in his mouth.Moskevich leaned against the shade of the tree with folded arms, listening to what Steven said.After a while, Moskevich leaned over to Steven, pointed to the sales cart by the lawn, and said, "I'll go buy her something to drink."

Steven nodded, and quickly squeezed Moskevich's wrist: "Bring me a bottle." The voice carried a mature and lazy smile, and the gun calluses on his fingers slid over the dry and soft skin around his wrist The joints quickly loosened again.

Different from his calm and conservative first impression, Steven has always liked this kind of subtle and ambiguous physical contact, so that Moskevich gradually enjoyed it, and even fell in love with this kind of tacit little game.Perhaps because of her young age, Caroline didn't know the actual relationship between them-although neither of them deliberately concealed their libidinal impulses that were easily induced by each other when they were together.Including the meaningful look in the eyes when talking, the rising tone with a sense of ridicule, or the warmth of the body when accidentally touching each other in a narrow space such as the kitchen.

Moskevich once thought that he could always live such a mediocre but beautiful life, although he quickly "woke up" himself.

——For this person, I can do anything.

He suddenly had such an idea, and this idea would never have appeared before leaving the laboratory.

--but why?

Moskevich found himself unable to answer this question: In the past period of time, he and Steven have been able to plan and share every income together, divide the labor between walking the dog and shopping, planning vacation trips, and spending time with Carlo. Lin's precocious suitors battle wits and courage, but almost never talk about abstract and ethereal things like "love".

For Steven, Moskevich is always generous with his face-to-face praise: very good, to my taste.There will also be some deliberate cunning and playful flashes in the sharp eyes, as if reminding the other party with their eyes that they can always have the upper hand.

Depending on the context behind the statement, Steven might wave his hand awkwardly and say "stop teasing me" wryly, or he might just laugh it off and pop into Moskevich's ear just when he'd almost forgotten about it. Reciprocate with "You always say that".

Moskevich felt a little regretful.He's never been good at saying goodbye, especially not saying goodbye to Steven.Like the town where the hurricane passed through, like the ordinary to impersonal regional hospital, like the hospital bed that smelled of thin disinfectant.Moskevich recalled the scene at that time: his eyes were closed, his breathing was slow, and his limbs were numb like a seriously injured person who was really unconscious.Although he has not lost consciousness, his brain is still floating between sobriety and chaos, and his thoughts stretch out tentacles to spy on the surrounding movement.

Then, he heard Steven's steady and steady footsteps even though he deliberately relaxed them.

— FBI agent.It should be a middle-aged man who is difficult to deal with.Don't like the job at hand, but still do your duty.At least for now, he doesn't intend to hurt me.

In his imagination, this man was completely different from the Sotopia researchers wrapped in lab coats and masks, with the breath of a world completely unfamiliar to him.Moskevich, who couldn't open his eyes, could only use his limited imagination to outline the man's appearance. Even the air current that disturbed the air around him seemed to be the source of the floating images in his mind.

The man said: "Is it so interesting to pretend to be unconscious and observe others?"

At this moment, Moskevich really woke up.

"Moskevich."

It was only when Steven spoke that Moskevich realized the unnatural silence had lasted too long.He raised his head and looked at Steven with questioning eyes.

Steven said, "What do you want to say to me." Another declarative sentence with no room for it.As much as Moskevich loved this way of speaking in the past, he wanted to escape it now.

But he still pretended to be calm and smiled and asked, "How did you tell?"

Steven pointed to Moskevich's eyes: "Look at my way," he said. "I think I know you well enough, especially when you keep something from me."

Moskevich twitched the corner of his mouth: "You can directly describe my eyes as 'disgusting'-I know this is not popular."

But the older man's response made Moskevich feel an untimely throbbing: "Actually, I like your gaze very much."

"Don't say such things again." If the conversation continued, Moskevich felt that he would collapse before completing the task.

"Why?" Steven frowned slightly, but his expression was still relaxed.

"...that would make me—"

Moskevich's soft reply was cut off abruptly by the blaring of the fire siren.Soon, the hotel corridor outside the room was filled with the chaotic footsteps of other guests.

Steven had already stood up: "It's the fire alarm." He grabbed the backpack that was put aside, which contained the most basic things for the two of them - documents and money. "We have to go outside." Steven quickly patted Moskevich on the shoulder, signaling him to move, and then he walked through the narrow aisle and opened the door.

They live near the old town of Houston. The hotel building is still in the shape of decades ago, with large scale and high floors. Most of the rooms are filled with ordinary tourists from all over the world. The emergency system is not very advanced, as if deliberately following World War II After the old style.The corridor was carpeted, but the softness of the soles of the feet failed to reconcile the panicked cries of the residents, and the unknown source of smoke and burning smell exacerbated the panic of the crowd.

Perhaps no one knows better than Moskevich what the uproar means.

——everything has already begun.

He nodded obediently, followed Steven out of the room, and was almost immediately drawn into the crowd moving towards the nearest staircase.Steven, who was originally side by side with Moskevich, was quickly pushed to the front because he was close to the center of the corridor. "Moskevich!" he shouted back at Moskevich, still clutching his bag.The smell of smoke in the building is getting heavier, which makes him feel more anxious like other ordinary tourists.

"Don't shout, I'm still here." Moskevich frowned, and simply responded, but the speed of his actions had slowed down significantly, and he approached the edge of the corridor that was not moving so fast without any trace.Obviously, he did it on purpose.

If this arson incident was man-made, then the purpose of the arsonist could not be clearer.

And Moskevich was waiting for this moment.

So, when his arm was grabbed from behind, and an object suspected of being a gun barrel was hidden and dangerously pressed against his back, he almost tensed his nerves while letting out a deep breath.

But this feeling of "right in the middle" was quickly replaced by instinctive anger.

"Shh, we have to go up."

The deep voice rang directly in the ear, as if condescending and jokingly announcing the ruthless judgment of the doomsday.As soon as the man spoke, Moskevich recognized him.

"...Alexander." Moskevich gritted his teeth and said the man's name, the fisted knuckles on his side turned white, and some almost traumatic scenes flashed through his mind.

This is his nightmare.

Alexander, disguised as a foreign tourist, even wore a heavy camera around his neck.He smiled, and the dangerous atmosphere around him was the same as before: "Long time no see, Moskevich. We need to find a place to catch up."

The barrel of the gun pressed against Moskevich's back through his clothes, hard and cold.With this gesture that could easily be overlooked in the panicked crowd, he was coerced and pushed to gradually turn to another deserted corridor—there led to the elevator that was supposed to be deactivated.

Everything is working as planned.Moskevich was even thankful for the situation: Steven was pushed too far away from him by the crowd, which brought convenience instead.He did not resist Alexander's coercion: "What is your purpose?" The loud siren in his ears disturbed his thinking almost to confusion.

"Your brain." The terrorist who was full of mysteries smiled, and his tone was as relaxed as discussing the livestock in the pasture.

Alexander hastened his movements.The moment Moskevich was pushed into the elevator, he raised his gun and knocked out the camera in the corner.Moskevich was pushed and staggered, and his back hit the handrail beside him, his face turned pale from the pain.In the next second, his eyes flashed, and while the opponent let go of his arm, he raised his fist and hit Alexander's face.As Moskevich expected, Alexander dodged the attack and twisted his wrist, forcing him to turn around and half kneel on the ground in embarrassment.

This time, Alexander's muzzle was directly on Moskevich's heart from behind.

Alexander's tone made Moskevich very unhappy: "You always overestimate your ability."

Moskevich didn't struggle anymore: "I don't like being pointed at by a gun, especially someone like you."

"Oh? It's okay if you change someone?"

"It would be better if we shot directly," said Moskevich coldly.

Alexander laughed.Perhaps because of the age, the speed of the elevator is a bit slow.When the elevator finally stopped, he roughly pulled Moskevich up and pushed him through the open elevator door: "Don't be so cold, I'm very sad."

As they climbed the last flight of steps, Moskevich heard the roar of helicopter rotors.Alexander opened one of the security doors leading to the hotel's empty rooftop.Had he known it beforehand, Moskevich would have recognized a light helicopter in service with the National Guard.

The helicopter hatch was open; five militants pointed their guns at several access passages on the rooftop.But Alexander did not immediately take Moskevich to the helicopter. "There is still some finishing work left." He explained patiently. "We can't have everything under control."

Moskevich sneered unceremoniously: "Don't make arson seem like a great cause."

If the ridicule at this time was Moskevich's unconscious relaxation after thinking that Steven was far away from the center of the storm, then the despair in the next second undoubtedly came from the unreasonable anger and sadness when he miscalculated.

A sudden gunshot tore through the monotonous and noisy roar of the helicopter - the small-caliber pistol bullet directly penetrated Alexander's wrist holding the gun.

"Let him go."

That was Steven's voice that Moskevich didn't want to hear at the moment.