SOTOPIA: Artificial Pseudo-God

This was the first time Moskevich had seen the sea.And it was on a large-tonnage cruise ship, standing on the edge of the deck, surrounded by gradually warming sunlight.In a bustling city, it is difficult for people to see such a smooth skyline, nor can they cast their sights on such a distant place.The fly in the ointment is the tension that has not yet fully subsided after the skirmish, and the occasional voice of dissatisfaction among the captured militants.

Now, at last, he has the energy to deal with the problems he has always wanted to solve.

Moskevich looked back to observe the situation of the crowd: the man who rescued him was observing the situation of the prisoners, Belikova sat on the other end, talking with the military doctor who treated her wound; Frank seemed to be discussing with Maynard wearing something.He hesitated for a while, and was about to walk towards the two of them.

But Frank noticed Moskevich's movements first, ended his conversation with Maynard first, and walked towards him with a calm expression that easily made people nervous.

"What are you going to do with the 'web' system?" Moskevich asked.

Frank crossed his arms, and his tone was terribly relaxed: "It's very simple, destroy."

"I thought you would use it, even if it was just to study the data they left behind. After all, this is a rare technology."

"But its existence has violated our philosophy. Sotopia never thought of trampling on the individual's right to life for a few brains, but using a more humane method to regulate the process of society."

Moskevich set his sights on Maynard.Even though he was quietly listening to the reports of his subordinates, this sullen and powerful man was still so oppressive.

"This cruise ship is temporarily immobile, and you will leave with us by helicopter," Frank said.

That's obviously not what Moskevich wanted to know: "I want to know about Steven," he said bluntly.

Frank smiled.

"I wounded him with a gun. Someone should pursue my legal responsibility. For example, Maynard or something." Moskevich looked calm. "I deserve to be held accountable for this."

Frank looked at him, but the words in response seemed to be irrelevant: "The former agent's injury is stable and he woke up early. According to Rosa, he misses you very much."

"I'm not going to say this—"

Moskevich's words were easily interrupted by Frank - this man obviously had his own plans.He didn't give Moskevich another chance to speak, but just stated the previous situation on his own.He knew Moskevich was smart enough to pick up on his overtones quickly: "After Rosa left, Steven Krebs gave a statement to the police. He described in great detail how Alexander shot and wounded him. , and even the first model is accurate.”

Moskevich froze.

"Of course, I'm afraid I can't find that PMM. The rooftop of the hotel happens to have no monitoring data."

——I'm afraid it's not that there is no one, but that it was dealt with by Rosa or someone else.

"By the way, what he said privately to Rosa earlier was quite different from the official testimony. However, the nature of this shooting is different from ordinary cases, and the local police know this. In short, we have successfully suppressed this matter. "Frank said with a smile, while observing Moskevich's subtle look, his tone unconsciously brought some gloating lightness.He held up a finger and added, "Don't give in to Maynard, I don't know anything."

In this way, things become clear.

"He didn't need to do that." Moskevich looked at his hand, feeling that he was about to forget the heavy texture of the gun, but the pain that hit his heart at that time was still clear.

Frank once again showed a look of understanding: "I don't know if the relationship between you can be described as 'love'. But people are always like this. The more they cross the boundaries of their hearts, the more helpless they are for each other. They are afraid of hurting each other. I have met the other party’s expectations, but I’m afraid that I owe too much and I can’t feel at ease.” He spoke like someone who had experienced it, but his tone was detached and comfortable.

Moskevich looked away awkwardly, but he still couldn't hide the nervous look on his face: "Stop talking."

"Such an expression is not like you."

"I know. I'm so thankful you guys saved me and Steven, but now please give me that damn phone."

"Oh?" Frank raised his eyebrows, "But it's not yet nine o'clock, and he may still be resting. Think about it, Steven is a seriously wounded man with a gunshot wound."

Having said that, Frank still asked others to bring the satellite phone, and communicated with the person on the other end of the phone in front of Moskevich.After a while, Frank handed him the phone.

Although he made the request first, Moskevich hesitated for a few seconds before making up his mind to accept it.

Even though he and Steven had been separated for less than a week, he actually felt the uneasiness and throbbing of the upcoming conversation as if they were reunited after a long absence.He hates the uneasiness and danger brought about by these changes, and the near-instinctive interdependence under desperation makes him unconsciously addicted to it.

Steven's voice was somewhat tired: "Who, what can I do for you?"

At this time, Moskevich suddenly found that he could not find a suitable line to speak.Apologize directly?Or should I say something irrelevant to calm down my mood?Or do you pretend that there is no disturbance in your heart, and tell him "everything is fine" like business affairs?

He was so hesitant to say anything, until Steven said in a tentative tone: "...Is it Moskevich? I heard your breathing."

Moskevich took a deep breath, and finally responded: "It's me." His voice trembled slightly like his fingers, and he subconsciously straightened his back.Sometimes it takes a lot of courage to say simple words. "Are you okay, Steven." He waited for the other person's answer, his face burning unconsciously - an experience he almost never had.

Steven laughed twice: "I have the experience of being seriously injured, and it is not difficult to adapt to the pain again."

He didn't even mention Moskevich's shooting. This subtle attitude of not knowing whether to forgive or cover up made the "assailant" far away on the high seas feel more at a loss.

"You made Rosa and the others perjure." Moskevich quickly licked his lower lip, and unconsciously clenched the microphone.

He heard Steven sigh loudly across the way—Moskevich could almost see Steven rolling his eyes, but he didn't care.

"God—" Steven drawled. "I'm an 'unemployed'."

"……I know."

"So it's impossible for them to make me unemployed again."

— This is not logical at all.

But Moskevich decided to leave it alone.A few seconds later, he said again: "I apologize to you." It was not difficult to say this sentence, but it took a lot of Moskevich's energy to speak in a tone that was not too weak.

"Huh?" Steven's puzzled voice came from the other end of the phone, as if he didn't understand why Moskevich said that. "Why are you apologizing?"

Moskevich just wanted to stare at him fiercely with those sharp but lacking murderous eyes: "Otherwise you want me to happily say 'ah, that shot was awesome'? It's unreasonable."

"To be honest, there was a moment when I hated you."

Moskevich pursed his lips and squeezed out a sentence: "You should really hate me."

"But rather than hating you, I want you to live the life you deserve."

"If the so-called 'deserved life' means danger to you and Caroline, I don't think the price is worth it." Moskevich retorted forcefully.

Steven snorted perfunctorily, and suddenly said, "Moskevich, now I hope you don't have the speakerphone on."

Moskevich frowned: "What?"

"Well, whether it will be heard or not, I said it."

"what do you want to say in the end?"

"I love you."

Moskevich held his breath for a moment.

It's not that he never expected the other party to say such a thing, it's just that at this moment, such a frank confession has taken away all his confidence and poise.Moskevich will not admit that he has been waiting for this sentence, but the reality is that his blood rushes and his heart beats faster for such a simple word.

"Steven, you—" Moskevich wanted to say something, but Steven cut him off.

"Okay, don't say anything until you get back to me. I feel a little embarrassed myself. Fortunately, there is no one around now. Hey - I have to admit, that shot hurts... I have to call the nurse Miss, give me some more painkillers." The older man said casually.

Moskevich nodded blankly, although he knew that the other party could not see his movements. "I'll go back as soon as possible." He whispered while holding the microphone, while secretly blaming himself for his words and deeds as if he was restrained by the other party.

"I'll be waiting for you, always."

"I know."

In the early spring of 2013, they came to Poland.The weather in Warsaw in March is still cold, and the gradually melting snow has soaked the soil in the outer suburbs to make it wet and muddy.

Steven drove a rented car on a country road away from the city.Moskevich sat in the passenger seat, facing the criss-crossing routes on the map.Caroline was lying on the back row, hugging the temporary pillow, taking a nap to the weak music of the car stereo; and a bouquet of flowers was placed on the seat beside her.

A few weeks ago, with Rosa's help, Steven and Moskevich found the Komorowskis' current home.And now, there is only one thing Moskevich wants to do.

At 70:[-] in the morning, the car stopped beside the courtyard of a private house.It was a common Eastern European country house, and the light-colored exterior walls looked a little old; the spacious front yard was paved with gravel paths, and the European beeches in front of the house were nearly two stories high, with dead leaves and bare branches Let's wait for the real spring together.A white-haired old man in his [-]s is sitting in the shade of a tree, busy with carpentry work-he is sanding a wooden board, and there are already piles of finished parts beside him.As long as you take a closer look, you will find that the face of the old man is somewhat similar to that of the deceased Christian Reynolds.

Moskevich stood outside the wooden fence in the courtyard with the bunch of flowers in his arms, making the final psychological construction for himself.The morning dew hung on the fresh bouquet, and his light brown coat was already wet.

"Don't worry, go in, Caroline and I are waiting for you outside." Steven whispered in his ear, and at the same time quickly and gently shook Moskevich's wrist, which was both comfort and encouragement.

Moskevich smiled at Steven, his eyes were calm and relieved.Then he knocked on the courtyard door of Komorowski's house.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Igor Komorovsky?" Moskevich asked politely.

The old man raised his head and looked at the strange visitor suspiciously: "Yes. Are you...?"

"My name is Moskevich, and my mother is Elena Komorovsky."

The author has something to say: release the rest of the content at once... Thank you readers and friends who saw this, 1 thanks (thank you