Chapter 145 Transfer

Sheen was at the execution ground when he received Gore's message—the bottom of the burning lake was piled with corpses, the sky was gray and glowed with an eerie light, supposedly because the person in charge of setting up the forbidden area had gotten sick from eating something bad, so the environment wasn't very nice.

She sat to one side, with a large, empty box of hallucinogenic drugs scattered around her.

Countless control templates lit up her view, all permissions granted by Gore to ensure she could also see the wildly popular programs in Los Angeles. No one was going to handle the job handover procedures at this point. She was supposed to return to the Americas within two days of the inspection—but no one in higher-ups was willing to deal with such trivial matters anymore. Who knew the Los Angeles branch might be shut down in a few hours, allowing her to smoothly complete her job change.

As for the investigation—Sheen didn't do anything at all. His presence was just a pretext to rendezvous with Gore. On the other hand, the people at the intelligence station almost couldn't hold back and were about to commit mass suicide.

At this moment, her screen was filled with shocking bloodshed. The main screen of the control panel was full of images of Joseph beheading high-ranking officials and provoking the powerful. Under layers of dark clouds, he was like a blood-stained sword, dazzling and deadly.

At this moment, he was no longer a representative of the natural disasters of the Americas, a former ace operative of the Twenty-Seventh Division, but a rebellious sinner, a victim of Eoubs, forced to participate in the crazy gambling game of the high-ranking "controllers" for many years.

Then, they began a full-scale declaration of war.

On the communications channel, someone was discussing indiscriminate missile strikes with the New York City Council. Amid their evasive and fearful words, Los Angeles seemed poised to be reduced to a spectacular fireworks display in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing behind.

"You have to understand, the people we control... are basically all lunatics."

"We will consider this plan, but there is something I need to confirm with the higher-ups."

"Who moved all the nuclear weapons out of Los Angeles? You guys have been planning something big for a while, haven't you?"

So the two started arguing again. They had done many bad things in their lives, but never anything so extreme and reckless. Their speech and emotions were in a state of collapse, like a fuse about to explode, revealing an urgent desire to destroy everything.

Too many people were reassigned, and at the same time, too many people died in obscurity.

Listening to the conversation on the communication channel, she thought it was ironic that so many people came to Eoubs and left incomplete. They always thought they were sacrificing themselves for all of humanity, but that's not the case at all.

If there really were a fool who adhered to the established principles… it seems there really is such a group, otherwise the world would have been destroyed long ago. Of course, their numbers are probably not very large. If that were truly the case, what a wonderful and harmonious protective institution the powerful figures in the high-level salons would have created!

Just then, an icon lit up on the control panel, showing one hundred unprocessed messages.

She opened it and saw that it was another message from Gore, containing an inspirational idea for composing music. This idiot must have been drunk when he sent it; the message was extremely brief and included a picture of whiskey.

Sheen pressed the one-click delete button and turned to look at another screen. In the live feed, Lu Jin was sitting in front of the jump area, looking at the ceiling. His expression was as if there was only an endless sky in front of him and a bottomless abyss below.

She granted him some permissions and asked, "Would you like to write a piece of music?"

Their heroic deaths and the mutilated bodies dragged back by greed will be edited together as a final lullaby for the powerful and wealthy, offered to those souls trapped between life and death, unable to find peace.

...

...

"You should have died long ago, brother."

"Your karma has come back to haunt you, hahaha!"

"Why me! Why?"

Tell me...did you really do it?

Familiar yet hollow faces grinned at Sergio, their eyes filled with the venomous resentment he was accustomed to, and a sinister chill that seeped into their very bones. They gleamed with ominous curses, hovering around him like ghosts, surrounding him completely.

“You will get your comeuppance, we swear.”

Throughout his life, he had heard many such hateful words, as the dead tried to act them out, to explain to a demon how gruesome, terrifying, inhuman, and desperate his actions were... In the past, he would have just listened to these humorous words and let them go, nothing more than a minor episode in countless forms of entertainment.

But at that moment, Sergio was so frightened that he broke out in a cold sweat, screamed and woke up from his delusions, looking around blankly.

The surrounding environment was no longer in the villa area; at least that place wasn't this dilapidated. He had only seen these slum-like houses in the branch's operation videos. They were completely for poor people who couldn't afford to eat, without even basic reinforced concrete. They were just temporary shelters made of nylon cloth and a few pieces of discarded building slabs.

He was stunned for a moment. His last memory was of having his neck snapped by that bitch and then losing consciousness. But now he was in... well, this godforsaken place didn't look like downtown at all. Did Los Angeles really have such a shabby area? Or was this just another dimension, a paradise similar to the altered notebook?

It was only then that he noticed there were other people in the house.

It was a young girl, probably not even twenty years old. She moved a little stiffly, had long hair, and was wearing only a cheap, form-fitting dress—the kind that would be considered beneath her even as a nightgown. She was squatting by the door, fiddling with something with her head down.

Without thinking twice, Sergio lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the man's neck.

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