Crisis.
Harper was facing an extremely dire crisis.
The world had become aware of the existence of the "Descendants," and certain laws had been negotiated to restrain them.
What were the Descendants?
In the forum's strategy guide, this term was explained in great detail, involving the background of the entire "game."
The game Smith played involved selecting players from the Earth where Harper lived (commonly referred to by players as the first world) to occupy the bodies of the indigenous people of Smith's world (referred to by players as the second world) in the guise of conquerors.
During this process, players would gain a new life in another world.
While the indigenous people of Smith's world experienced a moment of death.
People around them, perhaps sons, daughters, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters...
At some moment after an accident, although they survived, their souls had become those of completely unfamiliar people from another world—
For the indigenous people, how terrifying a thing it was!
How was this any different from dying?!
So, from the perspective of the indigenous people of Smith's world, the players who came from another world were called "Descendants."
And from the players' perspective, they were directed by Smith to occupy the bodies of the indigenous people of this world, so the players referred to themselves as "Conquerors."
In any case, the world was in deep crisis.
And Harper was about to face the most severe scrutiny.
After an unknown amount of time passed, he gradually began to feel.
As if unable to perceive the existence of his limbs, only his brain was slowly waking up.
Around him, he could gradually hear voices.
Think... think!
Even though his brain was moving slowly, he had to think!
Otherwise, in his current state of confusion, he would definitely not withstand the so-called interrogation!
Was there any information he had overlooked?
Mechanic... child of the repair shop...
Side quest... surviving the interrogation...
Second-tier citizen of the empire... Jerome...
17 years old... Afflicted—Asperger's syndrome!
A spark flashed in his mind!
Sure enough, there was always a way out!
...
In the interrogation room, two imperial soldiers sat with their heads together, lighting two cigarettes with the butt of one.
"If the child's father says it's okay, he'll take the child back."
The young soldier with fair complexion whispered.
He had a silver lightning bolt embroidered on his shoulder, indicating he was a private second class.
And the soldier next to him had a silver star on his shoulder, indicating he was a corporal.
Though the lowest rank among officers, he was a genuine officer.
The corporal raised an eyebrow, "Take him back? Heh?"
He blew out a puff of smoke, "Is that all he said?"
"He only said that?" The corporal's tone was impatient.
The private second class lowered his eyebrows and eyes, "He only said that."
Seeing the corporal was somewhat dissatisfied, he quickly added, "The person is a mechanic, running a dilapidated repair shop in the town of Sunset. He looks very introverted."
The corporal gave him a sideways glance.
"Hastily making excuses for someone, what's the matter? Is he your relative?"
"Haha, how could that be."
The private second class's complexion changed a bit, a smile plastered on his face, "You also know, I grew up in Sunset..."
"Just because you grew up in Sunset, that's why they brought you here for nepotism."
The corporal took a deep drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke all in the private second class's face.
The fair-skinned young man nodded and agreed, but cursed silently in his heart.
Bah!
If it weren't for knowing that Sunset was full of poor laborers, unable to squeeze out even a drop of oil, would they bring him along? Heh!
The term "Descendants" used to be more common in the administrative circles of the capital. Some wealthy parents would bribe the security bureau soldiers in charge of interrogation to save their loved ones.
But now, the "Descendant Syndrome" had spread to various administrative regions.
Interrogating these people had become a source of income for the security bureau soldiers.
As the saying goes, big officials are big corruptors, small officials are small corruptors.
These poor laborers could scrape some grease out, get a foot massage, or find a cannon to fire—a pretty good job, after all.
The most annoying thing was dealing with parents like these, who couldn't squeeze out a single fart for half a day.
No money in their pockets, no discernment, couldn't even speak a nice word.
As for whether the "Descendant Syndrome" would spread to the mining areas and garbage dumps?
Well, there were only a bunch of folks waiting to die, so poor that even the rats were skin and bones.
They would be pulled out of rat holes by those poor ghosts and have their heads chopped off, then roasted over a fire.
—In such areas, where gangs ruled and plagues abounded, it would be difficult for Descendants to survive.
The empire's leaders had no intention of dealing with them.
Just like a certain marshal said:
Useful people are the ones that need to be controlled.
Useless ones, just let them fend for themselves!
This thought passed through the corporal's mind, making him feel a slight adrenaline rush, as if he himself had uttered those words, deciding the fate of the empire.
"When..."
Both were lost in their own thoughts when, from behind a piece of reinforced glass, Jerome lying on the bed let out a painful whimper.
He was waking up.
The corporal took a hard drag on his cigarette, becoming somewhat impatient, and jabbed the table with the butt, leaving a black mark on the metal surface.
"Get to work."
"Uh."
The private second class quickly extinguished his cigarette, leaving another black mark beside the first one.
"Jerome, second-tier citizen, are you in a state where you can be interrogated?"
"Uh... ah..."
Jerome did not answer the question, just let out another painful gasp.
Why wouldn't he be in pain?
From the site of the incident, he had been thrown ten meters by the hovercar flying low over the street.
If this kid hadn't been lucky enough, he would have died ages ago.
This was also the source of the suspicion of being a Descendant.
People who suffered fatal injuries but didn't die were very likely to be infected with the Descendant Syndrome.
The security bureau had only given him basic treatment.
After the interrogation was over, he would either be sent to a hospital matching his citizen level for treatment or be executed on the spot.
The corporal slammed the table, "Jerome, second-tier citizen! Stop pretending! I've seen this kind of trick many times! Answer my question immediately!"
In fact, the corporal hadn't interrogated many suspected Descendants; this was just a set of tactics.
Just like the sales call you received anytime, anywhere, trying to convince you to buy their financial products—intimidation was also a tactic of the military.
The teenager in the interrogation room was indeed frightened.
He dared not make another painful gasp, lowering his voice.
"Yes..."
His voice sounded like a crushed soda can.
"Louder!" The corporal demanded!
The teenager in the interrogation room quieted down for a moment.
"I'm in pain."
He whispered, "I can't speak loudly."
The teenager stared at the interrogation lamp on his head, unconsciously playing with his fingers, over and over again.
"Perhaps... could you turn off this lamp? It's too bright."
The corporal lowered his head and saw a very obvious label on Jerome's file.
[Jerome was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome at the age of 7 and did not receive treatment.]
[Patients with Asperger's syndrome find it difficult to accurately perceive the emotions of communicators and to respond accurately.]
[They may unconsciously engage in repetitive and stereotypical behaviors. Please do not interrupt or prevent them.]
The corporal raised his head, focusing on Jerome's hands.
Eighty percent of his trust was already there.
It's just that no one expected.
Hogan would be very familiar with Asperger's syndrome.
Because Hogan was a patient with Asperger's syndrome.
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