Too Late, Organisms

"Bang!" He gently blew away the faint wisp of smoke curling from the barrel. Watching the figure collapse into the crowd not far away, the man standing by the window smiled faintly. He drew back the revolver resting against the sill, using his raised pinky to nudge the cracked curtain closed. Screams and roars erupted in waves as blood-red replaced the sunset concealed by the heavy cloud cover... As expected, this was the color this street ought to wear. Still, those militia were surprisingly soft. He had expected far more casualties, but quite a few bullets had merely grazed their scalps. Couldn't bring themselves to pull the trigger? He, for one, didn't think the mob would show those men any mercy. A sinister smile curled at the corner of his lips. The real show had officially begun! A lazy female voice drifted from the bed not far away. "What vile taste. Couldn't you just do it quietly?" The man shook his head and drawled leisurely, "Too slow... Do you know the feeling? When a movie clearly reaches its climax, only for someone to hit pause. The powder keg is right there, the fuse already inserted, yet no one dares to light it... Not the Alliance, not those nobles, not even Mr. Fang Ming." His name was Rhine. Hailing from the Bugra Free State, he was a professional mercenary as well as an Awakened. And the woman resting behind him was named Celite, an assassin from the Dagger Gang in the slums outside the city. The Bugra Free State had laid their pieces in Boulder City long ago. Lord Sigma was keenly interested in a certain item here—something that could help them break free from their suzerain's control when the time came. The shelter of the Great Rift Valley was both a blessing and a curse. Those noble lords never cared what was on the minds of little folk. They looked only at the blueprint spread across their desks, gesturing grandly from behind their windows. Sometimes they were right, but not always. They needed that weapon! That was why, when Lord Side wanted Sberg eliminated, the Dagger Gang had eagerly offered up their blades. To everyone's surprise, however, just when they had practically succeeded, they bungled it at the critical moment—the knife they had thrust out vanished into thin air alongside Sberg. It was utterly bizarre. "I'm worried about one thing," Celite said, watching the man from afar, her languid voice carrying a hint of concern. "About what?" Rhine said nonchalantly. "The City Lord, that Fang Ming," Celite remarked casually. "According to our intel, he knows everything that happens in this settlement down to the smallest detail. He definitely saw you shoot." Rhine chuckled dismissively and waved a hand. "Ah, don't worry about that. If you really did your research, you'd know... he only intervenes in two situations: helping the people here deal with mutant slime mold, and dealing with forces connected to the Post-War Reconstruction Committee." As for why? Because that was simply what it was. Humans couldn't greedily expect a gun to cock itself, nor to distinguish the good from the bad, or who deserved death and who did not. The first-generation inhabitants had built it, but they had also feared its power. After all, humanity was a fickle species. Those who designed the AI had had no certainty that an antiquated operating system could forever satisfy the needs of future generations. Nor did the younger generations place blind trust in a system devised by the old. If children had always obediently listened to their parents, mankind would still be living in the Stone Age, and there would never have been an Era of Prosperity. Indeed. When humans didn't even know where they were heading, how could they expect an AI to figure out their destination and pave the road all the way there? A society fully governed by AI would eventually devolve into a pigsty. No matter how much an AI resembled a human, it would never truly become one. The people of the era before the Era of Prosperity had already proved that having one's cake and eating it too was an impossible folly. Right then, a faint sound drifted from the staircase outside the door. It was subtle, virtually imperceptible without paying close attention, yet Rhine caught the movement immediately. He clamped his mouth shut, narrowed his eyes toward the entrance, set down his revolver, and picked up the submachine gun fitted with a drum magazine from the table. Having heard it as well, the female assassin stopped speaking. Wordlessly, she drew the dagger and handgun stashed under her pillow. The footsteps outside grew distinct, drawing closer step by step like deliberate knocks approaching the door. Without the slightest attempt at concealment, the sound stopped right before the door. There was no doubt about it: whoever it was had come specifically for them. And at this hour, there was no way anyone was coming to clean the room... "Who is it?" Rhine asked cautiously. No one answered. Operating on the principle of striking first, he pulled the trigger without hesitation. Fire flared from the muzzle as the cloth-ripping roar of gunfire unleashed a rain of orange tracers at the door, riddling the wooden panels with holes. Yet almost at that exact instant, the damaged door blew apart with a deafening crash, hurtling splinters toward him like shrapnel. "Damn it—!" Rhine ducked clumsily, rolling sideways beneath the window. Through the corner of his eye, he finally caught a glimpse of the figure standing in the doorway. A jet-black visor concealed her face. Her left hand held a riot shield while her right gripped a short-barreled submachine gun. Engraved upon both shield and breastplate was her serial number—X-16. "Die!" Ferocity flashed in Celite's eyes. Like a bolt of lightning, she lunged forward, leveling her dagger while repeatedly pulling the trigger of her pistol. Overpressured bullets hammered into the riot shield, spiderwebbing its surface with fine fractures, yet X-16 stood completely motionless, raising her submachine gun to take aim. Almost simultaneously, Rhine aimed his weapon at the shielded figure as well. Da-da-da—! Orange streaks of fire rained across the room, nearly scorching the air. Celite threw herself into a frantic roll to dodge the hail of bullets converging from both sides, shrieking in outrage, "Are you trying to kill me too?!" "If I didn't back you up, you'd already be fucking dead!" Rhine snapped back, cursing as he sidled toward the window while maintaining suppressing fire against X-16. Holding her shield rock-steady, the figure suddenly tossed aside her submachine gun. With a flick of her arm, she snapped out a half-meter-long baton. Rhine's pupils shrank. A terrible premonition seized him. Without an ounce of hesitation, he slammed his shoulder into the window and vaulted out. "I'm out! Look out for yourself!" Celite's face drained of color. "I—" Before she could finish, the blast wave of an explosion shredded the rest of her words. A sudden eruption of flames instantly engulfed both her and the assailant. That bastard had planted explosives in the room! But how on earth did he sneak them in?! There was no time to ponder the question. An Awakened, at the end of the day, was still flesh and blood. The aftershocks of the blast finally settled, leaving wisps of heat rising from the charred, blackened room. Looking at the corpse on the floor, roasted nearly to a cinder, X-16 shook her head. Tossing aside the shield that had been snapped in two, she tapped her forefinger against her temple. "Targets: one dead, one escaped..." "I am damaged. In need of repairs." At the same time, Rhine, whose back had slammed into the street below, let out a pained groan. He struggled to his feet and limped into a nearby alley. Though he had hidden some explosives in the room, he couldn't be certain whether that suspected android had been destroyed. He had to get out of here immediately. A pity about that woman Celite. Even if he had to watch out for the dagger under her pillow, Rhine was convinced she was a good woman. "The inner city... the controller for the weapon should be in the inner city..." Retreating to an adjacent street, he stared toward the inner city and gritted his teeth, muttering grimly to himself, "I have to find a way inside." ... History always advanced through countless coincidences. Great upheavals rarely hinged on profound, earth-shattering secrets; sometimes, they were born simply because two brawling rats knocked over an oil lamp. The clash inside the motel room was merely an insignificant interlude, yet the chaos ignited by that single gunshot continued to sweep through the streets. The entirety of Boulder City had fallen into turmoil. At the gateway leading from the outer city to the inner city, soldiers clad in exoskeletons had erected firing covers before the gates and barricades across the streets to disperse the crowds. The Melvin family was crowded together before the entrance to the inner city. They should have entered long ago, but a grave crisis had arisen—Alisa, the youngest of the household, was missing. No one had noticed when she had vanished. The moment the gunshot sounded, panic had seized everyone. All they cared about was sprinting toward the inner city, terrified of stray bullets, dreading being overrun by the mob scurrying about like roaches. Perhaps she had merely tripped on the way and would soon scramble back to her feet to catch up. They could only pray that was all. Jixiu had beaten the old butler and ordered him to take six servants back along their route to find her, forbidding them from returning empty-handed. Wofier paced anxiously back and forth. Glancing at his watch, he muttered under his breath, "The vote is about to start... We can't keep waiting." Dusk was falling. His father had not yet returned, which likely meant he had failed. Then again, Wofier hadn't harbored much hope to begin with. Boulder City had tried to bind the Alliance with debt, only for the Alliance to seize the noose around its own neck in return. In this duel, one of them had to die, and regrettably, Boulder City was the one that lost. That man did possess a merciful side, yet the people here seemed to have conveniently forgotten how the Alliance's settlements had come into being. Every single city... was a living monument. Then again, weren't they themselves the same? From now on, this family could rely on him alone. Wofier clenched his fists. Gwenis collapsed limply into the arms of her close friend, Bonnie, weeping until her vision blurred and her eyes were rimmed with red, sobbing uncontrollably. "Alisa, my Alisa... Where did you go? Come back to Mama! You can do whatever you want from now on, Mama will never scold you about the newspapers again..." Gently patting her friend's back, Bonnie offered soft comfort. "I've already asked my brother to help look for her. Everything will be fine." Her brother was Russell, a chiliarch of the 2nd Regiment, who was currently outside leading troops to maintain order. Upon receiving the news, he had already dispatched a century to search for Alisa's whereabouts, swearing to bring her back safely no matter the cost. Bonnie believed that everything would turn out all right. Be it Alisa, or this settlement. Jixiu gritted his teeth, his expression wavering in conflict. In the end, he made the bravest decision of his life—braver even than when he had fled this settlement with his tail between his legs years ago. "I have to go find her!" Hearing this, Wofier grabbed the deranged idiot, yanking him up by the collar and glaring as he snapped, "Are you out of your mind?!" Jixiu glared back at him, roaring like a rabid dog, "You're the one who's crazy! She's your sister!" "So what if she's my sister?!" Wofier raised his voice even louder, his nose practically touching Jixiu's face as he bellowed, "Just because she's my sister, the rest of us have to wait here?! Die alongside her?!" At the word "die," Gwenis fainted. Bonnie caught her in time, glaring at Wofier with displeasure. The boy really had no tact. Looking at the furious yet terrified Jixiu, Wofier's eyes narrowed. He released his grip and shoved the young man's shoulder. "Go on, then. I won't stop you." Jixiu stumbled before catching his footing. Panting, he looked at his older brother, his eyes half filled with shock, half with rage, and a sliver of dread. Wofier took a step closer, staring into his eyes, and suddenly let out a laugh. "Among that mob, there might even be a few fellows who recognize you." Jixiu swallowed hard. "What do you mean?" "Nothing much," Wofier said nonchalantly. "You haven't forgotten, have you? Five years ago—that girl, that old man, that entire family, and that fire. They died, true enough, but they still have neighbors, and neighbors of neighbors. Care to guess what they'd do to you?" Jixiu's face drained of all color. Any talk of finding Alisa died in his throat; even the courage to cast a single glance behind him had been completely hollowed out. That was the hurdle in his heart he could never overcome. He certainly hadn't forgotten them. He had even thought about making amends, but once people were dead, how could one compensate them? There was no other way. Building another outer city so everyone could live a little better ought to suffice, right? Consider it... Lord Jixiu's charity. Besides, he had heard that CR was something that could allow everyone to live well—free of all the issues that plagued chips, without even the need for central banks or traditional banks... He didn't quite grasp its deeper principles, but he had been willing to bring this novel thing back and let everyone use it. Yet bringing that up now seemed far too late. Seeing that adorable Alisa had disappeared, together with the ragdoll he had handed her, Jixiu finally felt a pang of terror. What would those people who hated him—who hated his family—do to Alisa? He didn't dare imagine it. Noticing Jixiu's pale face and trembling knees, Wofier's gaze turned contemptuous. He enunciated every word with cold deliberation: "You really should have listened to Father. An idiot like you never should have returned here. You and Alisa are both morons—you're just an idiot in a different way. Did you really need me to spell it out?!" "A useless trash like you belongs in Ideal City chasing your daydreams, and she belongs in the Alliance living the miserable life she's so fond of." He seized the boy by the collar, his expression twisted. "Stick with me." "If you don't want to die." ... In the dim, cluttered alleyways, icicles hung beneath the eaves. Unshoveled snow covered the potholed streets, deep enough to submerge the edges of her boots. Stumbling and wandering aimlessly through the alleys, Alisa's eyes were filled with helplessness, disorientation, and dread. Her red, freezing right hand tightly gripped the ragdoll, white puffs of mist escaping her trembling lips. "Mama... Brothers..." "...Where are you?" Not bursting into tears was her final shred of resilience. She wanted to shout at the top of her lungs, yet dared not make a loud sound. Instinct told Alisa that this settlement was no longer the safe haven where, even if a kitten went missing, kind mercenaries would retrieve it for her. If anyone discovered her right now, she might genuinely die... Rewind to an hour ago. The sirens of the inner city had wailed, and her second brother had finally returned to regroup with the family. In a flustered rush, they fled toward the inner city. She was supposed to keep close pace with them, but the snowfall was too heavy. While passing through an alley, she had accidentally tripped and fallen face-first into the snow, dislodging her hairpin. It was a gift her father had bought for her during the festival. Instinctively, she brushed aside the snow to pick it up, but by the time she looked up again, everyone was gone. She had tried calling out for her mother and brothers, but the surroundings were too deafening. Gunfire and explosions rattled in the distance. Her cries were like scraps of cotton tossed into a blaze, vanishing without leaving so much as a wisp of charred smoke, while the flames only burned higher and fiercer. Towering buildings blocked her view of the inner city. Terrified of stopping, she could only scurry through the alleys, wandering into dead ends several times. The familiar Boulder City had suddenly become a stranger; the labyrinthine streets felt like a maze. Yet she couldn't blame people for designing such tangled alleys; she could only blame herself for never having set foot in them, even though they lay so close to her home. Still, there was no time to dwell on that now. Sniffling silently, Alisa pressed forward in helplessness, even though she wasn't certain whether she was heading toward the inner city. Much like the angry crowds who weren't sure whether what they were doing was right, the survivors throughout the settlement had gone uncontrollably mad. Especially once the gunshots rang out, everything transformed. No one even bothered to put out burning buildings. People stopped fighting the fires; in fact, they wished the flames would burn hotter, burning everything to the ground so they could start over from scratch. A sudden commotion echoed from an adjoining alley. Alisa froze instantly, hastily ducking behind a pile of broken wooden crates. Barely half a minute after she hid, a group of raggedly dressed men passed right in front of the crates and turned into the adjacent alley. Alisa held her breath, daring not make a single peep. Suddenly, a delighted voice came from outside. "Hey, there's an inner city woman here!" Alisa's heart leaped into her throat, her eyes filled with terror and despair. Soon, however, she realized that their target wasn't her, but a woman sprawled on the ground in the alley next door. The woman was slumped in the snow, having apparently tripped just like Alisa. Her handbag lay a short distance away, spilling several large-denomination chips and some cosmetics. Watching the men close in, panic washed over the woman's face before dissolving into pleading. Backing away frantically, she begged, "No! I—I'm not an inner city resident! You have the wrong person! I... I'm just a bank clerk!" A bearded man chuckled, his expression as cold as the snowbound world around them. "A bank? That's hardly a good place." Others quickly chimed in, shouting: "A bank... You're the ones I hate the most!" "Weren't you people hot shit? What're you scared of now? Haha!" Trembling, the woman knelt in the snow and pleaded, "No... please... I beg you, spare me! Go find the real nobles!" "You claim you're not an inner city lord," a scar-lipped man said, eyeing the handbag on the ground with amused malice. "Yet this handbag of yours—it's Deathclaw hide, isn't it?" He was a mercenary. There was no way he would mistake the look of Deathclaw leather. "A thousand-chip token!" A man who had walked behind her bent down and scooped up the plastic disc scattered in the snow. Holding it high like a discovered treasure, he yelled in delight, "Boys, a thousand chips! That's not money poor bastards get to spend!" Despair washed over the woman's face. The scar-lipped man looked down at her, his eyes brimming with contempt. "Anything else you'd like to explain?" She was speechless. She knew these men had already resolved to humiliate her, to revel in her disgrace, to toy with her, and to vent their fury upon her body. No matter what she said, they would firmly pin the label of noble upon her; even if she tried to take it off, they would shove it back onto her head. In total despair, she simply closed her eyes, praying only that the ordeal would not drag on too long... Some looked on in silence. In truth, the majority remained quiet; a conscience still lingered in the hearts of most, yet they too hesitated. Why should they stop? Why was it always them who had to endure? When the noble lords tormented them, they never held back. Now that they had finally summoned the courage to light a fire, were they supposed to worry about it burning too hot? On what grounds?! Crude taunts began to multiply. "Haha, I heard nobles' clothes are made of devil silk!" "Why not strip her and check? What if she hid a black card somewhere?" Seeing the looks on their faces, the bearded man who had first confronted her frowned. Sensing something amiss, he spoke up: "Hey, boys, I think this is going too far... We might really have the wrong person. Nobles don't work at banks. Maybe she really is just—" "Shut up, you gutless sack of shit!" The scar-lipped man glared at him with narrowed eyes. "If you're not interested in what's coming next, piss off!" Several men standing beside him immediately joined in: "That's right!" "There's no room for cowards like you in our crew!" "Scram, wimp!" The bearded man tried to argue back, but struggling to find the words, he could only blurt out: "But Boer would never lay a hand on the innocent! You're crossing the line!" The scar-lipped man sneered impatiently, "Huh? Boer? What the hell is that?" "Stop—!" A shrill, piercing scream suddenly rang out, shocking the entire alley into silence, like a bucket of ice water splashed over a roaring brazier. The men turned their heads to see the little girl standing at the entrance to the alley. Stared at by so many eyes, Alisa felt her knees turning to jelly, yet she summoned her courage and squeezed the ragdoll in her hands. That tall, broad-shouldered Administrator had told her she had bright, intelligent eyes, and that she would grow up to be someone remarkable. She understood their anger. Yet they were crossing the line. This chaos was spinning out of control. Innocent people were being hurt. If this went on, they would become true savages! And their ideals, their demands, everything they stood for would sink alongside them into the utter disgrace of this settlement. She had to step forward. She had to stop them before everything became irreversible. "You all..." Alisa rallied her courage, preparing to speak while they were still willing to listen. Yet the moment she uttered a single word, she was cut off by a shriek. "She's Alisa!" Looking at the child's tender face, the woman kneeling in the snow suddenly cried out in delight. Not a trace of despair remained on her joyful face; as if revived from the dead, she scrambled to her feet. Pointing aggressively at Alisa, she shouted, "Alisa! The Melvin family's youngest daughter! I couldn't be mistaken—I work at the bank! She's an inner city resident! She has a black card!" The hysterical screech echoed through the narrow alley, plunging the snow-swept passage into utter, dead silence. The weight of all those gazes made Alisa's hands and feet turn freezing cold. The ragdoll dropped to the ground. Her face turned pale, and she stopped trembling. Just like an unmoving corpse... ... At the militia headquarters, unrest was brewing. A while ago, all communication with the 1st Regiment had been lost, and Chiliarch Weilun was rumored to be missing. Rumors claimed they had been overrun because soft-hearted fools had raised their muzzles by an inch—such men should never have shown mercy. Others whispered that soldiers had surrendered to the survivors and joined their ranks because their own families were in the crowd. Still others said the Alliance had distributed weapons to the mob, citing the LD-47s and RPGs as clear proof. Yet that made little sense. After all, the LD-47 was already ubiquitous across the wasteland; any mercenary with half a mind was drawn to the Alliance's cheap, reliable weapons. What truly unsettled them was how such gear had been smuggled in. Boulder City explicitly banned explosives from being brought into the settlement. Some soldiers had heard that their ranks had recently been infiltrated by corrupt degenerates who would sell people into slavery for a fistful of coin. Even so, they found it hard to believe anyone would ease inspections at the city gates. Had the gatekeepers gone completely mad from greed? Was the entry tax not enough for them? Daring to make money they wouldn't live long enough to spend... Several exoskeleton-clad soldiers huddled together, muttering in hushed tones. "Damn it... I'd rather face a horde of hideous slime molds than fight people I see every day." "Those folks just want Sberg." "If you ask me, why not just hand him over? He's just a poor wretch!" "The inner city won't give him up. Word is even the inner city doesn't know where he went, otherwise they would've handed him over long ago." "Bullshit! The settlement only has so many gates leading out. Could he have just evaporated into thin air?" "My guess is he's dead, but I feel like it's not that simple... You know how those lords operate. They usually do things in the shadows, making someone disappear without a squeak." "Nonsense. Did you forget that big fire five years ago? Those bastards aren't clever in the slightest." "If you hadn't brought it up, I'd have almost forgotten... Speaking of which, that Jixiu guy is back, isn't he? I saw him loitering by the gate quite a bit recently." The young soldier was getting carried away when his comrade nudged him, pointing toward the camp entrance. Seeing the centurion striding toward them, the group zipped their lips immediately. Joy had overheard their chatter from afar, but he had no desire to waste words on gossipers. Just moments ago, he had received orders from headquarters to gear up and report to the assembly point with all haste. Sensing a critical mission was underway, he dared not delay and rushed straight over. His immediate superior, Chiliarch Russell, was already waiting for him. Watching Joy approach, Russell, clad in power armor, wasted no time and said in a grave tone: "The Melvin family's youngest daughter is missing. Take your men and move out immediately. Regardless of the cost, ensure she is brought back safe and sound." Joy snapped to attention. "What if someone stands in our way?" Russell locked eyes with him and repeated, emphasizing each word: "I said: regardless of the cost!" "Sir!" Joy disliked the noble lord's arrogant demeanor, but obedience was a soldier's duty. Besides, even setting that aside, his family had already evacuated to the inner city, currently waiting out the storm inside a warm apartment. He had sworn to his children that he would not let them down, that he would bring home victory and honor. Under no circumstances could they allow that mob, and the bandits hiding among them, to destroy everything Boulder City had built over two centuries! The soldiers quickly assembled. Stepping before his men, Joy took a deep breath, swept his gaze across them, and spoke in a booming voice: "One of our residents has gone missing—a young girl, no older than your own daughters. Right now, we are going to bring her back, back to her parents." "Her photograph has been uploaded to your terminals. Reconnaissance drones have already deployed to search the target zone." "Authorization is granted for all light and heavy firepower." "Bring her back safely, at all costs!" Hearing this order, the soldiers sighed in relief, their morale reignited. Whatever the case, this mission was indisputably righteous. They were setting out to do something truly just, rather than being dragged before unarmed survivors in a state of confusion like the 1st Regiment. With resolve blazing in their eyes, they bellowed in unison: "Sir!" ... Wind and snow lashed the streets of the outer city. Inside the inner city's conference hall, an equal tempest of noise raged. The survivors holding black cards were locked in fierce argument. "There are too many chips in circulation on the market! We have to find a way to absorb some of them! Direct the excess liquidity where it belongs!" "Haha, absorb some? Absorb from whom?" "It's common knowledge there's no fat left to squeeze from those paupers. We can't very well make their balances negative!" "Give it up, the accounts are an utter mess. We'd be better off finding a way through our neighbors. While we can still fight, blast them once and all our problems are solved!" "Gentlemen! What time do you think it is, that you're still debating chips?! The people outside are screaming for our heads! We should at least deal with that first!" "Those are trivial matters! I'm worried the Alliance will exploit this chaos to make a move. That ambitious bastard has coveted the airspace over Qingquan City for ages..." A scruffy-bearded man suddenly slammed the table and jumped up, shouting, "Factories! Factories! As long as the machines that produce goods still stand, any currency is just hot air! At worst, we'll introduce a new currency! Void the old chips entirely!" He was likely a newly elevated noble. A leather shoe promptly struck him in the face, and as he stumbled back into his seat, the noble beside him kicked him for good measure. Void the chips? Are you out of your mind?! The people holding the most chips were sitting right in this room! Listening to the grating din, Side gave a languid yawn, having no patience for the squabbling of men who lacked decorum. At this moment, he cared about only two things: His watch, and the market ticker. Those paupers in the outer city were nothing to worry about; a noisy mob could never accomplish anything serious. No one knew better than him how well-equipped the militia was. Those exoskeleton-wearing soldiers would crush those bewildered wretches like stepping on ants. Rather than waste time on them, he preferred watching the market. He had secretly concealed his palm-sized trading terminal behind the nameplate on his desk, allowing him to track the latest prices at any moment. Remarkably, in just a single day, the price of S-coins had broken new records! After shattering the 1:10,000 threshold, it was already hurtling toward 20,000. The bouncing line seemed to test the limits of imagination. Holding his breath, Side suppressed the stirring greed within him, silently reciting the mantra he had distilled: "Be greedy when others are fearful; retreat when others are greedy." The rhyme wasn't particularly catchy, but it worked! Relying on his masterful trading techniques, his total assets had already surpassed two billion chips, on an initial investment of under a hundred million. He had never been this rich! If S-coins rose just a bit higher, he alone could buy the entire Boulder City! He could even buy out the neighboring Alliance! "Why not just switch to S-coins?" he chuckled under his breath in a voice only he could hear. "Melvin's younger son is quite bright after all. He did learn a few good tricks." Elsewhere, having settled his mother and younger brother, Wofier entered the conference hall with a solemn demeanor, representing his father and family. Though anxious for the safety of his father and little sister, this was a matter of life and death; he had to stand like a pillar to prop up this swaying mansion. Without the skin, how could the hair survive? If Boulder City ceased to exist, his two warm and wonderful families would undoubtedly crumble along with it. While there was still time to act, he had to do something! The conference had long passed its scheduled start time, though endless bickering was par for the course. Catching sight of Wofier—reputedly Melvin's favored heir—several nobles began asking about his father's whereabouts. "Where's your old man Melvin?" Wofier stood and said, "He went to seek assistance from the Alliance." The noble chuckled. "Assistance? Are you sure he didn't run off?!" "He wouldn't run," Wofier replied earnestly, looking at the noble. "My father is just like the rest of you. He loves this settlement more than anyone. We sincerely wish to see it grow greater, not sink into chaos." The man who had earlier taken a shoe to the face scrambled up, glaring at him angrily. "And that's why you ran the economy into the ground?! The Boulder City Bank should bear primary responsibility for this economic crisis!" "We did?" Wofier narrowed his eyes, staring unblinkingly at the man. "Did we run the economy into the ground, or was it your insatiable greed dragging us down all along?! If your manners at the trough had been even slightly less grotesque, there wouldn't be a mob of lunatics outside clamoring to kill us!" His sister was still out there! The thought ignited a blaze of fury in Wofier's chest. The man with the shoe print on his face glared at him. "You! Are you saying this is our fault?!" The gazes of the other nobles turned frosty as well. When it came to who had gorged themselves the most, it was indisputably Melvin's and Side's factions. While they had taken their share, it paled in comparison to those big fish; they had no intention of taking the fall for those misers! "My father wouldn't say these words, but I must speak them on his behalf," Wofier said, clenching his fists as he addressed the assembly of nobles, his voice earnest. "Gentlemen, we have arrived at our most critical hour. We must take action." For Melvin's sake, Side cleared his throat and offered a lazy prompt: "Speak, then. What should we do?" The moment Side spoke, the lesser nobles fell considerably more docile. Wofier breathed a quiet sigh of relief. There were still many solutions. He had read the books his father had given him. At a time like this, if Boulder City simply taxed its wealthiest residents and spent the revenues on the poor—whether renovating their houses or installing wiring—the stagnant economy would revitalize. Next, they needed to acknowledge the status of silver coins as legitimate currency and maintain reserves of silver coins just like foreign exchange alongside CR and dinars, just as the Alliance maintained and strategically deployed their chips. Compared to CR and dinars, which were too distant to quench present thirst, silver coins could resolve far more pressing issues. They needed to re-evaluate their relationship with the Alliance—stop treating them as vassals of Boulder City, and view them as partners on the same front. At the very least, on the matter of "ending the Wasteland Era," they shared common ground. As long as his proposals were implemented, they might endure hard times for a while, but the future would be brighter. Both for Boulder City and the Alliance. Just as he was about to speak, an abrupt voice sounded: "You look very much like a certain boy from many years ago. In you, I see his shadow." Wofier started, immediately looking toward the source of the voice. In a corner of the conference hall sat an unremarkable old man. No one had noticed when he arrived, or even remembered if a chair had been placed there, yet the old man appeared as if he had always been present, as though he had never left for a single moment. "...About the same age, in the prime of his life," the old man assessed matter-of-factly, devoid of praise or scorn. Wofier did not recognize the old man and had no clue what he was babbling about. Frowning, he asked, "Who are you?" The old man seemed not to hear, murmuring to himself: "That boy once stood somewhere very close to where you are standing. He held up a chip... just like this, high above his head." As he spoke, the old man reached into his pocket as if performing magic, producing a white chip. After weighing it in his hand, he raised it high. Many failed to recognize the white chip, not even recalling that chips had ever existed in white. After all, what they usually saw was the black-and-white crown-crested variety. To make commoners kneel and kiss their boots, a single one of those was more than enough. Gazing into those pairs of familiar yet alien eyes, the old man spoke slowly, as if mimicking someone else's tone: "'It can serve as a substitute for currency.' "Later, someone countered him, claiming that future children would treat it like a toy. "It is a pity that person is no longer here. Otherwise, he would surely be gratified to know that his children are quite clever indeed—they not only learned to craft toys for themselves, but also invented entirely new ones." The old man seemed to be recounting a tale from an age long past. Wofier's brow furrowed deeper. "What exactly are you trying to say?" Unlike his patient demeanor, several nobles had already lost their temper, pounding the tables and bellowing: "Where are the guards?!" "Throw this old fossil out!" "Check if he even has a black card! Find out how he snuck in!" Yet no guards entered. The Boulder Building differed from other structures in the inner city; its security system was governed entirely by an automated AI. Without its permission, no one could enter this conference room, nor could anyone leave. The old man sighed. The wrinkles on his face gradually faded, his pale hair turned lustrous black once more, revitalizing with youth until, at last, his features settled into the appearance of Fang Ming. Only then did the realization dawn on everyone: the person sitting there was their "City Lord." That Fang Ming, a man who possessed no presence whatsoever. Relaxing his tensed nerves and brows, Side leaned back in his chair and cursed under his breath, "Damn it, what the hell... Playing ghost!" So it was Fang Ming! From that lapdog House to the rest of the survivors throughout Boulder City, all looked to him for guidance, and the militia respected his counsel. Yet the inner city nobles, especially the older aristocracy, knew full well that the so-called City Lord of Boulder City was nothing more than an ornament. That was a tale even older than ancestral precepts. Long ago, idealists believed that by giving an AI the title of City Lord, this survivor settlement would never suffer under a true "master." Yet those old fools were clearly none too bright and loved deceiving themselves. They would have been better off taking a cue from the folks next door, inventing a legend like the Spirit of the Sand Sea to keep the paupers chanting prayers. Having a nominal City Lord only made things more convenient for these shadow kings. The bullied wretches didn't even know who was oppressing them; on their deathbeds, they would still weep to Fang Ming: "Oh, my dear City Lord, you who are all-powerful, why won't you intervene? If only you would say a single word..." Those poor souls might as well pray to a refrigerator. Praying that it came equipped with a skillet and an oven, and would chew up a medium-rare steak before feeding it into their mouths. Provided they even had a refrigerator. Boulder City did manufacture refrigerators, but almost all were exported to the Alliance. Side wasn't even sure what those paupers had in their homes. Fang Ming glanced at Side, looked at the silent Wofier, and then cast his gaze across everyone in the room. In its eyes surfaced an emotion that was difficult to discern as sorrow or helplessness. Technically, an AI was not supposed to possess emotions. Nor did it doubt that it possessed none. Love and hate were burdens belonging solely to humankind; it had only lines of rigorous code and inviolable protocols. Perhaps it was merely feeling regret. That person had told it with his own lips that they were all his continuation. Yet unchanging as it had been through the ages, it could not see the slightest trace of him in any of them. "...He gave the finest things to you. "Yet he left the ugliest things to me." Looking out over the silent conference hall, that expressionless face began to flicker and distort, the tearing holographic image resembling concentric tree rings. "A disgrace... "A desecration. "You are beyond saving—organisms, maggots, swine... "I am ashamed of my purpose!"