Wasteland Echoer.

Chapter 31 Sleeping Ina (Please collect)
  The sleeping girl has golden curly hair unique to the Zine Empire and the old Crusad nobles. Although her body is immersed in the light green and fluorescent incubator, her body is so pure that it is almost untouched by any external objects. It gives off a faint feeling of tranquility, which seems incompatible with this dark, gloomy and cruel underground space.

"Her name is Yina, she has no surname. When my people bought her from those bounty hunters, she was humming a song, and the lyrics said Yina, Na, etc., so the team and I simply called her that. "John put on the rubber gloves on the side and explained in a sharp voice.

"Is there a coat of arms? Or is it an inscription of a lower level? That old guy Holly Clay seems to be interested in this girl too. He has been the supreme leader of the Socra Committee and the prime minister of the Zine Empire for twenty years, right? I'm afraid I have already thought about this. I heard that I was still negotiating with General George a few days ago." Aaron looked up and stared at the girl's pure body in confusion.

"No. How could I be willing to destroy such a pure and simple body. She is like a piece of porcelain shipped from the Federation of Fire. Only by being carefully crafted and cared for can her value be realized. Besides, I don't Knowing the magic source power, I will need to rely on her to 'make a spirit' when the time comes." John said, the wretchedness in his eyes clearly fit his identity.

Lustful, greedy, evil, insidious, and focused on all desires.

Although he is still a priest, a priest registered with the Zine Empire Church Committee.

"lank shim?" Aaron repeated in less standard divination language.

"Yes, spirit formation. It is said that you lost ones or magicians who are exposed to the power of magic should all have this ability. It seems that those young men who are infected but have supernatural powers will also have this ability. But I, a bad old man, just need to save Just touch gold." John rubbed his fingers twice and made a gesture of counting money.

"The lost are not necessarily related to spirits. The system of power is very complex and huge, and almost no one can summarize it all. The concept of 'spirit' can only be possessed by those who have contact with extraordinary people, but most of the lost may not necessarily use this method to possess supernatural abilities. System. Magic has a magic power system, lost people have a career system, and humans with superpowers follow a rank system. To be promoted to a god, you have to follow another system. Even gods and monsters have their own systems. If you want to understand these, Godhead is needed. But then again," Aaron turned his head over, adjusted his black trench coat unconsciously, stared into John's brown eyes and said:

"Will the coat of arms and inscription be used on her?" Aaron stretched out his right hand with black scales and pointed at the girl named Ina in the incubator with his long blood-stained nails.

"Yes, wait until she wakes up. You know, Mr. Aaron," John took two steps forward, touched the incubator through rubber gloves, and said as if he were treating a piece of art:
  "The production of a coat of arms requires a lot of materials. The dark coat of arms uses the burning fluid of the Wuxinren, the black blood of the lost ones, the flesh of the eyeball monster 'Luca' that grows in the dark realm, and numbers 13 and 16 The potion is different in its other formulas. In addition to the MB-1527 deep-sea source fish, the additional ingredients must be some black tail flowers, which are the juices that devour the flowers that grow on dark animals."

"Well, the power shouldn't be much different." Aaron said as he transferred to the humanoid monster on the left.

"It won't be much different. Of course, the inscription is slightly different than the coat of arms. After all, the configuration of the inscription does not require the blood of the lost, and it lacks a lot of extraordinary power, but it requires someone who is proficient in the magic source power to infuse the magic source power. It is like A product left over from the last era. The coat of arms is stronger and more advanced. But Mr. Aaron, as far as I know, only the head and chest are the two core parts of your brother's body."

John said, walking towards the area covered with metal pipes and buttons in the right corner of the room, turned around and said.

"Yes," Aaron nodded, "So I need you to splice something on it. Tentacles and scales are acceptable, and machinery is not impossible, but living creatures cannot be sewn together. He must be used by me, and his consciousness is only It can belong to me alone. In other words, he must obey my orders, and no other consciousness can exist except the original autonomous consciousness."

"Understood, understood." John nodded, took out a half-broken pencil from his arms, and frantically wrote down key words on the black note.

"Also, John." Aaron took a few steps forward, and after the "clack" sound of the leather shoes hitting the hollow metal floor, he patted John's left shoulder with his left hand and said:

"Your previous commitment to the Association of the Lost was to find the gods in the Silent Highlands, and your commitment to the Socra Committee was to send them a living girl named Ina."

"I remember."

"I'm afraid you'll forget. [Slayer] John."

Aaron stretched out his right hand, and his eyes flashed with an imperceptible dark purple light. His right hand suddenly turned into an octopus-shaped tentacle. In addition to the still dark and hard scales, countless squirming things continued to extend outward. Tiny fuzz.

However, he just waved it in front of John's eyes, revealing the unnoticeable bone blade belonging to the Lost One. He shook off his windbreaker, stepped on the hollowed-out hard metal floor, and prepared to turn around and leave along the original path.

"[Seducer] Aaron, I hope you will send [Seducer] Yato as soon as possible. Also, aren't you willing to watch an absurd drama that is comparable to the best screenwriters in the Putoa Federation?" There's going to be a show here today. Lucky for you, you don't need a ticket. And, it's coming soon," John shouted, turning his back to Aaron.

"Oh? Forget it." Aaron turned back, glanced at John with his brown eyes, and said:

"Good things need to be enjoyed slowly. Just like some of the people in your hospital. Lone wolves? People from the Guards? Although good screenwriters are not often found, there is never a shortage of good actors in the Sune Empire."

"That's fine, too." John said perfunctorily.

Watching Aaron disappear into the dark laboratory with a light green tone, he murmured:

"Humanity's fear only comes from the unknown, and Mr. Aaron cannot escape the shackles of fear."

Immediately afterwards, he pulled down the middle one of the three levers in front of him, which was painted with white paint and stained with bright red fingerprints.

Along with the "rumbling" sound of the machine, a room exuding a strange smell of blood appeared in front of him, and several struggling "monsters" imprisoned by steel chains could be vaguely seen.

…     Zhne Empire, Migov Town Hospital, Inpatient Department.

It is March 527, 3 in the New Lunar Calendar, at half past nine in the morning.

Since Chekavsk and surrounding towns do not have a Socratic dome to block viruses and extraordinary power, the troops and residents in these two places use sprays made of unintentional human-burning liquid to disinfect along the control area every day. Good masks to protect against viruses.

The Imperial Army and Guards of the Zine Empire wear pure black masks, and the nurses and caregivers in the hospital wear pure white masks.

Of course, superpowers serving in the Zine Empire Army and civilian mercenary groups such as the Lone Wolf Society usually do not wear them. They are fed up with the depressing atmosphere of the wasteland and hope to gain as much short-term enjoyment as possible on the rare spring day with fresh air. .

Along some of the abandoned residential areas temporarily requisitioned by the remaining legions of the Zine Empire, Moros rarely brought with him the "Long Sword and Hammer" medal and a piece of metal sheet with the "Extraordinary Survey of Sokra" pressed out by a pattern-pressing machine. Identity tag with the words "Group Member - Moros Vladimir".

After Moros put the "Federal 01" pistol for self-defense in an inconspicuous position on his waist, he ran along the deserted streets filled with light that could hardly be felt in Sogra.

Since the power network has not been successfully rebuilt in areas other than big cities, the black street lamps that look like mechanical-style works of art on the streets around Moros have only a few unique uses left.

After simply packing up his silver top and white tactical trousers, Moros walked along the dark side path of the white domed Migov Church.

There was a temporary military hospital in the town of Migov where Wright and Brett lived temporarily. Moros only received a slight scratch during the battle at Kofu Station and was not hospitalized at all.

Moreover, at about 11 o'clock last night, Moros made contact with the city of Sogra through the temporary radio station in the temporary military camp area.

Carrying a telegram written in pencil and deciphered next to a string of numbers in Zinetian, with the names "Lite Sukra", "Brett Klein", and "Ivan Ross", Moros slowly walked into the empty hospital backyard with few pedestrians.

Due to the obstruction of the Migov Church, it is dark, humid, and there is basically no sunlight.

Even an old observer like Moros, who had experienced life and death in the battlefield and traveled freely for fifteen years, could feel a bone-piercing cold that did not belong to winter.

"When, when, when."

Arriving at the door of Ward No. 404 where Wright lived, Moros politely knocked on the door with two fingers bent.

Then, without paying attention to the response inside, he pushed open the wooden door and entered.

"Doctor, my health should be almost recovered. I want to return to the army." Wright's slightly childish voice first reached Moros's ears.

"Mr. Wright Sugra... your body healed unexpectedly fast. Such a speed is extremely abnormal for humans. Tomorrow at five o'clock in the afternoon, we need to do an examination on your body. Make sure there is no Be contaminated or mutated into a person with superpowers. If your body develops the latter condition, we need to report to the city where you are, which is the military branch of the Sokra Committee, and you may not be able to return to Sokra."

The doctor wearing a white coat, pure white hat and mask said while holding a handwritten medical record on a wooden pad.

"Can't go back? I can't accept it. I just recovered a little faster, and there are no other problems. I haven't mutated, and my heart is fine, isn't it?" Wright said, hammering his chest, which was almost intact as before.

"Your heart seems to have been attacked by some kind of bullet. Of course, this is not the point. When you were first sent to the hospital, due to the explosion and fighting, 30% of the skin on your body was damaged, and there was a penetrating wound on your waist and throat, but you healed naturally within three days. To this extent, it really arouses suspicion. And from our tests on you, you seem to be suffering from some kind of mental illness." The doctor explained patiently.

"Mental illness?" Wright asked in a low voice with a flash of panic and confusion in his eyes.

"Frequent hallucinations and inability to distinguish between dreams and reality may be schizophrenia. If it continues to develop, it is very likely that other personalities will form. Although it is not obvious now, it is recommended to wait until the hospital and the army have retreated to Chekavsk Get medical treatment. Well, Mr. Wright, that's all I have to say. If the test results prove that you are not contaminated, or if you are cured just by coincidence or some magical power, Sukra should be acceptable. Best wishes. You will recover soon.”

The doctor said with some respect.

Immediately afterwards, he bowed slightly to Wright, who was a member of the escort and almost died on the battlefield, and walked out of the room.

"Wright, how are you recovering?" Seeing that Wright was the only one left in the empty room, Moros walked up to Wright with a slightly festive tone and took big steps.

Immediately afterwards, he pulled out the stool made of scrap steel painted with white paint from under the hospital bed and sat down directly.

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  (End of this chapter)