SOTOPIA: Artificial Pseudo-God

For Steven, the presence of such an atypical witness as Moskevich made the interrogation in the hospital feel less like an interrogation.He was frank enough, but it was precisely because of his excessive unreservedness that it made the credibility of the testimony doubtful.

In the middle of the conversation, Steven directly expressed his thoughts: "Although I like dealing with smart people, people who are too smart are sometimes more trouble than stupid people."

Moskevich responded with a smile: "I am by no means a very smart person, otherwise I would not have been imprisoned here by you in such embarrassment. I should have escaped unscathed long ago."

"That's because you're unlucky, like me." Steven teased. "You should be glad that it is me who is talking to you now. If it was my ruthless and violent boss, I'm afraid you have already been stuffed into the inquiry room with a hospital bed. That person is dozens of times more difficult than me."

"The recording is still on," Moskevich reminded kindly.

"I just told him."

"Haha, you're such an interesting person."

"No, I'm actually a boring middle-aged uncle." Steven shrugged, disapproving of Moskevich's evaluation, and seemed to be used to such self-deprecation.

Moskevich looked puzzled: "You don't look too old—at least not more than 40 years old."

Steven replied helplessly: "No, I'm actually only 32 years old." Looking at the time on the watch, he reached out and pressed the stop button on the recording pen, and asked the last question of the day: "The investigation is over. After that, if we give you a new identity, what are you going to do?"

This seemed to stop Moskevich.He stared up at the ceiling and thought for a while, then answered frankly: "I don't know. Or are you going to give me some advice? Living in the city and avoiding it is better than completing a great project in an office with a large group of people noisily. It may be more in line with my taste to write some pornographic novels that can shock the senses freely without the noisy crowd, and it seems that I can also earn a good income.”

Hearing the unexpected answer, Steven, who had been a little depressed and tired, couldn't help laughing: "If you really become such a maverick writer, I will contribute sales to you. I hope You can practice your signature."

"Doesn't this answer need to be recorded?" Moskevich asked with a smile.

Steven lowered his head to confirm the latest email on his mobile phone, and replied, "It's not necessary."

"You are such an interesting person." Moskevich once again gave such an evaluation.

"It should be said that he is a person with bad luck."

Steven handed back the book on the window sill, put away the recorder, and waved his hand to leave.At this moment, Moskevich stopped him: "Mr. Krebs."

"Just call me Steven."

"You're not on the same side as Sotopia, are you?"

As if he had found a key point to counterattack, Steven sneered mercilessly, but responded with a comforting tone: "Don't you think this question should be asked from the beginning?" But soon, he made it clear "I can't guarantee that your freedom of movement will be restricted in the future, but one thing is certain: you will never go back to the lab—at least not the Sotopia lab."

Moskevich's eyes lit up visibly.It was precisely because of noticing this moment that Steven almost had the illusion that he was pure and harmless, and he felt unspeakable guilt from it.

—Mr. Greert has just given me unofficial orders.

Starting from the small hotel where he lived temporarily, and before starting formal contact with Moskevich, Maynard told him this on the phone, with obvious fatigue and helplessness in his voice.

——Transfer him to the city hospital as soon as possible, and transfer him to the research center to control him after recovery and prepare for long-term observation.In order to avoid accidental escapes, devices and drugs that restrict movement are allowed under special circumstances.That is a very rare 'evidence', and it must not be mistaken.

It was too obvious that several orders contradicted themselves.At that time, Steven once questioned Maynard directly on the phone with the determination to "resign when he goes back", but the other party's statement was still ambiguous, and it seemed that he decided to put the contingency tasks and powers directly on Steven himself. .This points directly to the reasons why ad hoc departments cannot be "under the sun": tacitly sanctioned deception, and special means not included in the archives.

He is very clear about what these words mean, but still like every mission in the past, with an unusual tone and expression, he is relaxed and sincere to the lost person who just got his name less than an hour ago, and his background is as pure as white paper. Speak words that are tantamount to deceit.

"Thank you." Moskevich thanked him with a smile.

"You're welcome, I'm nothing more than a courier and thug sent by my superiors—the kind who just want to resign. Maybe you'll see me in a free place outside the FBI soon." Shi Ti Wen replied with a hint of joke in his tone, and his expression was so perfect that he was complacent and blamed himself.

Moskevich's voice pulled him out of his conflicted self-doubt again. "Steven, can I ask you something?"

"Of course I can, if I can."

"It's not going to be difficult... probably." Even though he was sitting on the bed, his face was haggard with injuries from natural disasters, Moskevich's demeanor was still upright and even solemn. If it was another occasion, maybe would be regarded as a son of a well-born and well-bred family. "As I said just now, in Sotopia, all I met were researchers who regarded me as an experimental subject. They would provide me with materials to survive, and tell me what to do according to the experimental list—bring me Stacks of books, telling me what happened in the past or now, let me understand, analyze, and predict everything that has nothing to do with me. However, they never told me what they were thinking, nor did they communicate outside of the experiment. After leaving Sotopia, you are the person I communicate with the most. Although my concept and positioning of these things may not be accurate, if possible, I hope you can become my first friend."

"Leave your and my identities aside... Even if this communication is just a routine inquiry?" Steven asked with a wry smile.

"As a start, the requirements should not be too high. Besides, this is already interesting enough." Moskevich sat up a little bit, and stretched out his right hand to him.The sleeves naturally slid down to the elbows, exposing the wrapped bandages and pale skin on the arms. "Can you?" He asked again, even with a hint of sincerity in his expression.

After a moment of contemplation, Steven still reached out to him.When he clasped his hands, Moskevich's body temperature, which was slightly lower than his, ironed into his palm without any gaps. "This kind of informal social interaction doesn't need such formal words at all." Steven's throat overflowed with a barely audible sigh.

The more Moskevich trusted himself, the deeper Steven felt guilty—even if this trust was mixed with too much alienation and distance brought about by etiquette.