SOTOPIA: Artificial Pseudo-God

Twelve hours before the hotel arson attack, while Steven went downstairs to buy a magazine, Moskevich called Rosa.

This is his first conversation with his biological "sister".

"...I am Moskevich."

The young woman on the other end of the phone was also a little surprised.

"Yes. No offense intended, I don't want to have any further contact with you if I can, but this is an exceptional situation," he said. "I have a request. . . . Yes, about Steven Krebs. . . . I ask you."

For Moskevich, bringing up Steven was a delicate matter, and he couldn't pretend he didn't care.

Rosa made his purpose clear.In fact, as one of the insiders of the whole operation, her mood is equally complicated: "You can choose not to do it at the beginning."

Moskevich squeezed the phone tightly: "In this war, no one can retreat unscathed."

People have died for it.Not just Mrs. Reynolds, not just Kay, but also the Meyer couple earlier, and the martyrs he didn't know.

Moskevich thought he was selfish after all.After all, compared with others, his purpose is much more specific: as long as Steven can survive safely and stay away from danger, nothing else is so important.

So, when Steven appeared on the rooftop with a gun in hand, Moskevich felt something collapse inside him.

Steven's face was livid, and the tips of his hair and forehead were covered with sweat.Obviously came up by the safe passage, Moskevich thought.

"You shouldn't be here, Steven," Moskevich murmured, even if he couldn't hear his own voice.15 meters further forward, is Alexander's helicopter; and 20 meters back, is the person he must protect no matter what. "I really hate your instincts and this damn sense of responsibility."

Alexander, who was shot in the wrist, took a few steps backwards and fell to the ground, with blood gushing down his fingers.

"Don't act rashly, or the next shot will be your head." Steven's gun was still pointed at Alexander's head.He was obviously furious, and this anger prevented him from considering how many enemies were facing him, and also made him unprepared for Moskevich's next move.

Everything happens in a few seconds.

Moskevich quickly picked up Alexander's gun—it was a Makarov gun with the safety on, but to Moskevich, who had never touched a gun before, any gun made no difference— And pointed the gun at Steven.

From aiming to shooting is just an instant, he can almost only rely on instinct.Without the hindrance of the body armor, the bullet pierced Steven's right shoulder directly.Even Alexander, who was about to pull out the spare gun with his other hand, froze in astonishment, not expecting such a bizarre scene to appear in front of him.

The moment it hit, Moskevich's mind went blank. "I have no other choice, Steven," he said to himself.In the next second, he turned the gun around and pressed the hot muzzle to his temple.

Speaking of which, Moskevich himself felt strange: this was obviously the first time he shot, the first time (accurately) to injure someone, and it was Steven who was the most important in his heart, but at this time His body didn't even tremble a bit, as if the violent recoil didn't affect his wrist in the slightest.

Moskevich no longer looked at Steven.He turned his head and stared directly at Alexander: "He is no longer a threat, and he can't stop you from taking me away. So," he walked straight to the helicopter.The grip on the gun was tense, with the fingers still on the trigger, a dangerous position that experienced gunners would rant about, but he didn't care a bit. "You can't kill him. Otherwise, I'll smash my own brain right now."

Such a scene seemed familiar.Alexander knew that Moskevich was serious, and had no doubt that he might pull the trigger at any time. "I will seriously consider your suggestion. But you really like doing this." He took a few quick steps and jumped onto the helicopter, smiling and reaching out to Moskevich outside the door.

The pain, the pain of being pierced by a bullet in the shoulder swept through Steven's nerves.Muscles were torn apart by bullets, and the pain feedback from the nerve plexus was enough to deprive any ordinary person of consciousness.He had to kneel on the ground, gasping for breath, covering the wound with his left hand.The unconscious right arm was drooping, fingers weakly wrapped around the handle of the gun.The gushing blood was taking away his clear consciousness little by little, but he knew that this kind of injury was not enough to kill him, it would only make him unable to move.

"—Moskevich!" Steven couldn't help roaring, staring at Moskevich's back in disbelief.

Moskevich stopped only temporarily.He didn't put his gun down, and he didn't look back.

"Why are you doing this!" The angry question almost took Steven's last strength.No matter how hard he tried to open his eyes wide and let the extreme pain become a refreshing stimulant, the picture in front of him would inevitably gradually fade.He knew he was losing consciousness, and he knew even more that he would be forced to watch Moskevich go.

The white-haired young man remained silent, allowing Alexander's men to drag him onto the helicopter.The moment the helicopter took off, with the sound of the hatch closing behind him, Moskevich seemed to have lost all his strength.The masked captors took the gun out of his hand without much effort.Another person immediately grabbed his arm, rolled up his sleeve, and injected a tube of injection into his body.

"Before arriving at our base, you can have a good sleep." Alexander sat across from him, his face was pale, but he seemed in a good mood.A third man was tending to his wound.

— to save you.

Moskevich answered Steven's final question wordlessly before falling unconscious under the anesthetic and slipping into a coma.

As early as on the battlefield far away from the country, Steven has witnessed countless deaths and injuries.

He was undoubtedly lucky at that time-as the first batch of soldiers to enter Iraq, he did not appear on the death list, but was injured and left the battlefield shortly after the start of the battle.But he was in extreme pain—before leaving Iraq, he was already a murderer with blood on his hands, although he could hardly see the face of the enemy who fell under his gun.

For Steven, treating PTSD was much more difficult than treating physical pain.He soon left the army and found a new job.Being an FBI agent operating only in the Los Angeles area should have been a good thing.At least he no longer needs to set foot on other people's land with a strong sense of guilt, while using the name of justice to whitewash his ambitions, like the god of death sows a batch of deaths on the other side of the earth.

But things will always be worse than he imagined.

In a blur of consciousness, Steven felt himself shaking.

He knew he was in an ambulance.

He didn't have the strength to think, so he could only see some dragging color blocks and lights in his narrow field of vision while barely half-opening his eyes for a few short moments.Steven thought wearily, it was probably the busy emergency personnel and the shadowless lamp beside the hospital bed.The siren of the ambulance and the rapid conversation between the staff seem so remote.

Steven quickly and completely passed out.

When he regained consciousness again, he didn't even know whether it was day or night.

The dizziness has not completely dissipated, the limbs are heavy, and the injury has stabilized after treatment.Steven tried to lift his heavy eyelids, waiting for his eyes to slowly focus.He could only see patches of color that were gradually becoming clear—for example, the white walls, the white ceiling, which reminded him, inappropriately, of the Clovis Hospital where he had "encountered" Moskevich.

Then, still lying on the hospital bed, Steven carefully moved his head on the pillow, trying to see clearly the person sitting beside his bed.

Even if he was less than half a meter away from himself, what he saw was a combination of color blocks - he could only vaguely see that it was a white man.The hair may be a very light blond, or, rarely, simply gray.The man was wearing a simple white top, but Steven couldn't see the lines of it.Like an ordinary sweater, but also like a shirt.

"...Moskevich?" Steven subconsciously said the name based on the impression of this blurred patchwork of colors.He had a terrible headache, and his voice was horribly hoarse, like a wanderer in the desert without water.He knew perfectly well that Moskevich could not be here.

The man was sitting on his side, but when he heard the slight movement of Steven waking up, he turned to face him.

As the picture became clearer and clearer, Steven finally saw the person in front of him clearly.

"Sorry, Rosa."

"No, don't worry about it." Rosa smiled wryly, bent over and stood up, reaching out and gently brushing away Steven's sweaty hair.Her movements were gentle, mixed with a subtle apology.

The white-haired young woman was wearing a shirt with a dark coat draped over the back of the chair. The appearance that was extremely similar to Moskevich made Steven feel indescribable.But at this moment, he suddenly found that he didn't even have the thought of questioning.

Rosa would appear here, and he guessed the general outline of the matter.

After he gradually got used to his current physical condition, looking at Rosa sitting beside his hospital bed, Steven finally had the intention to ask: "How long have I been in a coma?"

"Not long, just 28 hours."

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the open laptop next to the bed, and Steven recognized it as his own: "Are you helping me with my parents' emails?"

Rosa didn't deny it.She glanced at the computer screen and replied honestly, "Yes. I copied your wording and concealed what happened as much as possible. They will think you just happened to have a hotel security incident and made a false alarm." Tight Then, she sincerely apologized to Steven: "I don't want to invade your privacy, but... there are still some technical means-in short, I'm sorry."

"No, don't mind. Thank you for not scaring Caroline," Steven said quietly.He stared numbly at the ceiling, and suddenly remembered Moskevich's unfinished sentence at a certain subtle moment.After a long time, he spoke again: "I didn't expect Moskevich to shoot me."

Steven moved to sit up, but Rosa lightly pressed his shoulders and reminded him to pay attention to the infusion tube on his arm with his eyes.He had to give up.

"May I comment on your behavior—it may be offensive." Rosa pursed her lips.

Steven shook his head: "Please."

After getting permission, Rosa was not polite: "Both of you did stupid things."

The man on the hospital bed smiled wryly and did not refute: "We are just doing what we think is right."

"It's not that you are too emotionally affected, but you don't have to torture each other like this. Damn antinomy."

"You summed it up quite right."

Rosa sighed, closed the computer at hand, and continued, "I want to tell you another thing—about the kidnapping of Moskevich."

Steven raised his eyes and said wearily: "I know, you have cooperated with the FBI."

Rosa nodded slightly in acquiescence: "In fact, we have conducted a risk assessment on the relevant personnel who may become the enemy's target, and implanted such a GPS locator-although it is impossible to determine whether the target will be hijacked or killed on the spot, but After all, this is a reliable means of tracking the enemy. For example, Director Fraser you may know, as well as important members of the society like Mrs. Reynolds, and us, the original test subjects of the Inspector Project, eight of the 14 people participated in this program."

Having said that, Rosa stood up straight.With a calm expression, she pulled the hem of the shirt out of the waistband of the long skirt, frankly showing her waist and abdomen that was usually wrapped in clothes.And on her fair and soft skin, there was a surgical scar that was so pale that it was almost invisible. "Moskevich is just one of them, and so am I." Rosa's voice was gentle and steady, with calmness and determination beyond age and gender. "The difference is that Alexander chose him."