Chapter 1, Episode 01: You are very easy to die, please...
Episode 1: You are very likely to die, please be careful.
September 10th, 10 AM.
The intersection of Baker Street and Marilla Bend in London, England
A robbery occurred at Lloyds Bank.
"Robbery! Nobody move!"
As the warning blast escalated, a terrifying gunshot followed, and the thick smell of gunpowder spread out from a masked assailant.
The panicked shouts and the screech of shoes on the ground as people ran were chaotic and urgent, like the intense drumbeats approaching the climax of a piece of music.
"Nobody move! Crouch down!"
The assailant fired another shot, but paused for a few seconds after pulling the trigger. The magazine clicked but didn't chamber a round. He frantically pounded on the receiver. Seeing the gun malfunction and noticing he was acting alone, many people saw this as an opportunity to escape quickly from elsewhere.
With a whoosh, a group of figures began to move quickly, shouting, "Run!"
I also bent down and mingled into the crowd.
Unfortunately, even though there was a man in a suit right next to me, the assailant swiftly grabbed the back of my suit jacket. Meanwhile, another bank customer slipped through the gap between me and the assailant, and the next second after escaping, he was still looking in my direction with lingering fear.
I made eye contact with him for less than two seconds before the assailant grabbed my neck with his arm.
"No rush, no rush. Take your time!" I tried to calm the assailant down a bit.
At that moment, we were almost touching.
His warm, heavy breath on my neck showed how nervous the assailant was, fearing the situation would spiral out of control, and he was practically clutching me as a lifeline.
According to my recollection, when the criminals arrested me, many people inside the bank panicked.
Receiving the threat of death at such close range is certainly more frightening than suddenly being asked to give a speech to tens of thousands of people on stage, but what I smelled first was his body odor, which was sour and smelled like rotting matter.
The stench was pervasive and had an extremely strong penetrating power.
I instinctively held my breath, even wondering if I would suffocate.
This anxiety is naturally not understood by those around them.
They only saw me as calm as an outsider or bystander.
However, if there were a psychologist or a terminally ill patient present, they might be able to read that my expression was more like that of a terminally ill patient who is numb to death, or even speechless.
Death is a frequent visitor to me, bringing neither good news nor gifts.
When I arrived in London the day before, I was practically a regular at the hospital.
At the age of sixteen, I spent the entire year undergoing chemotherapy and radiotherapy.
I suspect my health wasn't good to begin with, and within two years, the illness relapsed. I had to undergo even more aggressive, high-dose chemotherapy, and even a high-level amputation, which completely destroyed my bone marrow.
Others might think that since I have been dealing with death for so long, I must have already become indifferent to life and death.
However, the opposite is true.
Can you imagine that on the operating table, I was woken up by pain during surgery because the anesthesia was almost ineffective for me?
The feeling was like being cut open piece by piece while you were awake.
The process of dying was more brutal than ever before.
I still remember it to this day.
Perhaps that's why I value my life more than anyone else.
And that's why I live more like a bastard than anyone else.
After I died, I never thought I would have the chance to open my eyes again, but a voice came from the mist.
It said, "Hojit, how unfortunate you are. You have become the worst and most despicable person in all of London."
It says that my current name is "Charles Augustus Milwallton".
This name feels very familiar to me.
Because I am a loyal reader of the Sherlock Holmes stories, Milverton is the most notorious and feared character in the books, and is even called "the worst man in London" by Holmes.
The story collection is directly titled "Milverton".
But so what?
Living is more important than anything else.
I also remember that Milvolton was killed by the very person he had blackmailed.
As long as you avoid this ending, you can live a long life.
With this in mind, I began to familiarize myself with my living environment. But unexpectedly, this was not the 19th-century environment I had imagined.
The fog that had enveloped me began to dissipate.
Looking out from the 2.7-meter floor-to-ceiling windows, you can see the glittering beauty of modern London's vibrant nightlife.
"...Where is this?" I couldn't help but ask.
This is actually the surprising part; I didn't expect the voice in the fog to give me an answer.
But the other person's voice continued to ring out.
"This is London in the 21st century."
“He Ji, you are now the president of a listed media company with assets worth tens of billions.”
"The entire public opinion trend is under your control."
“Milverton was a man of high standing, one of the giants who controlled the lifeline of London.”
This unreality belongs to the Kafkaesque sense of bizarre absurdity.
It's like suddenly being seen as a savior by the whole world, only to find out that you yourself are a level nine disabled person who can't even cook an egg properly for breakfast.
I can frankly admit that I am an ordinary person from an average family.
Overnight, an ordinary passerby became a prominent figure in London's high society, effortlessly becoming a London tycoon.
Such a dream of turning one's life around and becoming rich overnight only exists in novels.
I asked directly, "Did you choose this identity?"
It stated, "Choices are never one-way. Milvolton chose you, and you chose Milvolton, which led to the irreversible situation we are in now."
"I don't understand."
I don't understand it in the literal sense.
It was quiet for a moment, then said, “You will understand in time. You cannot comprehend its true meaning until the time is right.”
This is just like the kind of nonsense that many parents say: "You'll understand when you grow up." They just don't want to explain it any further.
"Milverton".
As I was lost in thought, it suddenly spoke to me again.
It took me a few seconds to realize that it was talking to me.
"Your constitution makes you prone to accidents and easy to be killed, so please protect yourself." Its voice was calm and emotionless, offering me a gentle reminder without any persuasiveness.
It paused for a moment, then said, "However, I will try my best to protect you, as long as you help me."
As soon as he finished speaking, I understood.
Indeed, this is the price of happiness.
A mutually beneficial partnership with clear terms and conditions is indeed more comfortable than one based on personal relationships.
I said bluntly, "We can cooperate, but I need to know your identity. I won't deal with people who don't show their faces to me."
The other person's silence was only a matter of breaths.
When it rang again, I heard it say, "My name is London, and I am the consciousness of the city of London."
...
I'm trying to calm the thug down.
A lone individual robbing a bank during the day with a homemade gun is usually an impulsive act, with the sole purpose being money.
This is not difficult.
He is now the most anxious person.
He had two things to worry about: how much money he could rob and whether he could escape successfully.
If he were confident in his actions, he wouldn't have been so flustered.
But I actually saw a glimmer of opportunity in this.
In fact, my visit to this bank was not without reason.
Just as I was getting ready to enjoy a luxurious lifestyle, I suddenly remembered something important.
It's 21st-century London, which means I'm very likely a spin-off character from the British TV series *Sherlock*. If I remember correctly, I wasn't killed by a so-called blackmailer, but by the protagonist, Sherlock.
I can handle most ordinary people.
I'm afraid I could die a hundred times and still not be able to defeat Sherlock.
If I want to deal with him, I need to gain more and stronger support than he does.
So the first thing that came to my mind was the explicit photos of Princess Margaret, a member of the royal family who even MI5 was swayed by.
These photos involve the privacy and scandals of many powerful figures, and may even threaten the credibility and reputation of the royal family.
This earth-shattering evidence was hidden in a safe deposit box at Lloyds Bank by a man named Michael, and no one knew about it.
I thought to myself, this thug is a perfect accomplice who has delivered himself right to my doorstep, helping me steal the photos.
The thought had barely crossed my mind when the familiar sound of London echoed in my head once again.
"The police will arrive in five minutes and will be able to control the situation quickly."
I:"……"
The police in TV dramas aren't that timely.
I tried to talk to it, "Can you delay the arrival of the police?"
"Why? If you're not rescued within five minutes, you'll die."
Despite these words, London's tone was flat, as if it didn't really care whether I lived or died.
I explained, "The assailant's gun was clearly self-loading."
"A gun with such a strong smell of gunpowder cannot be a modern firearm that has been properly maintained. Especially since the second bullet misfired after the first bullet was fired, it means that the gun has a feed malfunction or a blockage in the chamber. The gun he has now is just a wooden stick."
London: "..."
I continued, “You said you would protect me, but I can’t rely on you completely. I need to get into the bank’s underground vault now, to give the criminals more opportunities to operate, rather than confronting the police. Do you understand?”
"Understood," London readily agreed. "I'll delay the police's arrival."
Thanks.
I was also thinking that it would take some time for it to read my mind, accuse me of being morally corrupt, or try to stop me in every way possible.
I didn't expect it to be so decisive.
Perhaps it's just like Holmes's famous quote, "Even God helped Milverton."
London is willing to cooperate with my ideas unconditionally.
So what will it ask me to do?
I don't know what it can't do.
But that's not something I should be concerned about right now.
As I successfully negotiated with the thugs to get to the underground parking garage, London calmly said, "I want to remind you—".
"Without the help of the police, this gun would have exploded within the original five minutes. The flying fragments of the barrel would have cut your throat, and the high temperature and pressure of the gunpowder would have caused you severe burns, while the criminal would have been unharmed."
You have three minutes to escape.
I paused, "Wait, why are you only saying this now... Can we still call the police back?"
"It's too late, there's not enough time."
I:"……"
London also gave me a calm, brief, and helpful reminder.
"I told you, you are very vulnerable to death, so please be careful."
I suddenly realized from his words that London had a dark humor that didn't care whether I lived or died.
A note from the author:
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