Chapter 171 The Principle of Reincarnation

Tomsk Oblast, Siberia.

A007 Core Infection Area.

Hebrew circled the area for a while and found an off-road vehicle that wasn't completely totaled. The engine was covered in blood and bits of flesh, a truly gruesome sight. Stanford had no choice but to rummage through the terminal's storage compartments several times before finally projecting an engine—and it was a limited-edition, high-spec engine specifically designed for cargo transport by the Transportation Department. The two were incredibly lucky. Although they could easily walk, having a vehicle was always more convenient.

Hebrew cut an opening at the top of the steel bars, bent them to make a notch for a wrench, and said to his teammates, "I'm going to drive to other infected areas to explore. It's fucking deserted here. What are your plans?"

Stanford picked up Xiuzi to fix his car, leaving only the question: "What are you doing there?"

He deliberately laughed three times, giving off a smug "I'll tell you if you beg me" look, only to find that the other person was completely ignoring him. He could only reply, "I have a feeling that a big surprise is waiting for me somewhere else."

The man peeked out and stared at him for a moment with the look one would give someone a madman. The two of them would never risk their lives together unless absolutely necessary, but this was something they really needed to think about.

After briefly studying the situation within the Heavenly Gospel, the two decided that it would be better to travel together.

—If this interior truly is a space with disordered nodes, they could simply compile a list of all the operatives who entered 2407 and devise an elimination plan for the more dangerous individuals. However, that method still has its limitations. What you need to consider most is not the power of other branches, but the 'self' of different nodes.

As Hebrew removed the entire engine and tossed it aside, he said to Stanford, "So, what brings you here?"

The other person slid out from under the car, magically produced a hex wrench, and continued fiddling with the engine. After a while, he glanced at him and said coldly, "After the mission is over, you can come to my house. It's across from that restaurant from before. I'll tell you the whole story slowly."

"Then it's not necessary." Faced with such a wildly speculative answer, Hebrew could only sigh helplessly. "Alright, I saw the records of your rebellion and the riot videos in the database before. The level of tragedy was first-rate, and the background introduction was very detailed. I didn't know you were the founder of tragic novels."

"They even added a very thoughtful caption to the video, saying that you killed many high-ranking officials in Budapest that day, but you couldn't save your own family. In the end, your limbs were cut off, you were put into a cement bucket, and thrown directly into the sea."

"So how did you survive?"

"Resurrection coins, respawn fountains, or something like that."

"Really? Where did those things come from?"

"It's something I imagined myself."

“That sounds amazing.” Hebrew squinted at him, finally realizing that he was talking nonsense. “Every time the information mentions you, it costs me 100 contribution points. Do you know how much stuff I had to work on to finish reading it?”

Stanford rubbed his temples and decided it was better to play dead.

"Then why didn't you resurrect Chris as well?" Hebrew continued to ask casually.

"Is that a name you can call out?"

At this point in their conversation, Hebrew experienced a distinct sense of disorientation for the first time. He felt that this conversation had occurred somewhere and at some time, and not within them—he wanted to remind the other person that the rules of this chaotic space seemed to be starting to affect them, but thinking of the scene in the video where Stanford shot a high-ranking official in the head, he decided against it.

"Okay." He thought to himself, "Everyone here is at least a B-level, you can probably see through that." He then asked, "How does it feel to be in charge?"

"It just makes things easier." Stanford tossed the wrench aside; the engine was almost fully assembled. "Why are you asking about this again?"

“I’m trying to imagine your whole being, including your personality, your experiences, and how many people you’ve killed. As for your characteristics, well… that’s your privacy, okay—though I’ll find out eventually anyway.” He didn’t ramble on and got straight to the point: “The more you ask, the more I understand you.”

"The more I understand you, the greater our chances of survival."

Stanford crawled out from under the car, rolled his eyes at Hebrew, seemingly unsurprised. More than anything, he seemed exasperated: "If you weren't so gossipy, we might have become good friends."

His face and hair were smeared with blood from the engine hole, making him look like he'd just finished a shift at a slaughterhouse.

“No way—I was born a lark. God gave me this body, which means I should communicate more with others.”

Hebrew jumped into the driver's seat and tried to start the engine—no problem at all, he gave Stanford an OK sign.

In truth, he knew perfectly well that nobody would like this—to act so heartlessly in a world of killing—but the reason behind it was something certain sadists would never understand. To them, Eoubs was a superior live-action game, and people like Hebrew, like Roy, had their own set of rules and ways of living. Playing with them… would definitely be very enjoyable; just imagining their pitiful struggles in the bloody mud was enough to excite the higher-ups.

Just as most operatives like to pretend they are naturally cold and ruthless, that's just one of the many things that Eoubs' soft drugs and shredders cover up.

In reality, what they always want is the emotions of normal people, to see the less dark side of humanity, and to get an answer—ideally, to escape the pain they are currently suffering.

The Hebrews were very willing to be such people.

"That's fucking cool," he exclaimed, then casually pulled out two bottles of tequila from his terminal—this stuff is the most effective way to stay alert, way better than any of those stimulants.

“I think you can take a nap now.” After a couple of sips of strong liquor, Hebrew was in a great mood and volunteered to be the driver. He said to Stanford, “After all, we have things to do next, and the liaison officer hasn’t said how to recover the goods. It’s too damn free.”

"Why don't we take a detour around the entire infected area first? If we encounter any enemy, we'll give them a good beating, lock them up and interrogate them. We're sure we can get some information out of them."

Stanford sat quietly by the window, nodded, and then closed his eyes.

The journey was relatively smooth.

Hebrew was driving, and all he did was stare out the window. He didn't see a single living person, or even a corpse, after driving out of the block.

As they crossed the third street, they suddenly saw a tall woman wearing a luxurious gray evening gown for a high-end banquet, carrying a gun in one hand and clutching her lower abdomen with the other, limping along the wall.

"Wake up, the jungle monsters are dropping."

Hebrew suddenly became interested, slapped Stanford across the face, and sped up to drive over there.

There will be two more updates today, and I'll keep my promise to update three times a day (nods).