Doomsday Wonderland

Doomsday Wonderland Chapter 1579: Follow the Money

Chapter 1579: Follow the Money

Had they secretly spit into the milk tea, coffee, or the sponge cake chairs?

Wu Yiliu had been quietly observing during the construction, but he had never seen the Changelings do such things. After most of the facilities were set up, the vast majority of Changelings retreated from the false pocket dimension. At that time, the stock of ingredients in all the kitchen and bar areas had not even been unsealed.

Temporary learners of beverage preparation, or those who were originally chefs, were the only ones who had ever come into contact with food and drinks.

To say that every posthuman had the ability to detect saliva in food would be too improbable; so why did the Changelings abandon this tactic of mixing bodily fluids?

In addition to bodily fluids, extensive skin contact, especially involving internal organs, could also infect ordinary people. Professor Qiao once said that the two times she was infected, she remembered fingers sc.r.a.ping heavily across her face: thumbs and forefingers digging deep into the corners of her eyes, lifting her eyelids; fists pressed into her mouth, dully squeezing her throat and tongue, making her weep.

When she spoke of this, Wu Yiliu suddenly realized how fragile his own face was. Wet, sensitive eyes were exposed; lips were too weak, easily revealing the soft, red mouth; a forceful poke in the nostril would cause bleeding, and the inside corners of the eyes showed pink conjunctiva. Even the skin covering and protecting these parts was thinner, flus.h.i.+ng easily in the wind.

Such a fragile face, yet always exposed among those Changelings whose faces had lost their fragility. Wu Yiliu truly wished there was an option in the false pocket dimension for NPCs to wear masks. As for posthumans, there was nothing to fear; which Changeling could harm them? Besides, there weren’t many Changelings in this pocket dimension.

There were definitely some, perhaps those whose transformations were complete, disguised as NPCs among ordinary people, watching them. Changelings loved this tactic, making every NPC suspicious of each other, so they themselves could feel at ease. But even if they existed, they would not use spy eyes to infect posthumans.

Did they really not want to infect posthumans? Or was there another way?

Wu Yiliu’s confusion was soon answered.

One movie was far from enough. As he politely opened the door for the female posthuman and handed her a map, he thought to himself.

Perhaps it would take dozens of films, tens of hours of conversation, and months immersed in a Changeling-created world before transformation would begin—maybe.

Neither he nor Professor Qiao, nor Sh.o.r.eis of yesteryear, had considered one thing. If one can resist transformation through mental training, then conversely, the transformation factor could infiltrate normal people through sound, text, content, images, and other thought vehicles. The only protection was the audience’s vigilance. Being surrounded by Changelings naturally led to caution and resistance to influence.

Delving deeper, this made the false pocket dimension another chilling place.

When posthumans lived among Changelings, they were always on guard, but this was a pocket dimension free of Changelings, a comfortable, non-threatening recovery-type pocket dimension, surrounded only by NPCs who were just normal people… The only Changelings were on television, distant, merely a concept, like a fictional story.

It was like hearing distant thunder, knowing it was raining somewhere far away, but you’re still sitting in a dry room with air conditioning humming, and beads of condensation on your gla.s.s of iced wine.

You think you’re in a dry room.

Wu Yiliu watched as the figure holding the map disappeared down the path. Just one movie was far from enough to affect her, but honestly, her rate of acceptance had already alarmed him.

Under the subtle influence of the “wind and rain,” transformation was a possibility, impossible to affect every posthuman 100%, especially if some didn’t watch TV at all… What he hadn’t expected was that it was just one movie.

In the cultural and entertainment products provided by the fake pocket dimension, they often started normal and gradually developed oddities in the middle or later stages; such as a certain sentence, an idea, or a character’s reactions. Sometimes it was a vague feeling, sometimes you needed to stop and think.

Something was off, like a temporary malfunction in an electronic device, flickering for a moment before returning to normal. Every once in a while, that oddity would jump again, like a foreign nerve that had penetrated, slowly growing together with your flesh and blood.

On the map, the shape of the fake pocket dimension looked like a round cinnamon roll, with roads spiraling inward to converge at a central point. The few entrances connecting the outside all began from the candy house; whispers from the Changelings were softest here—Wu Yiliu heard that, in the deepest center, changeling messages were the loudest and most intense.

He hadn’t expected to see a posthuman who had begun to accept infection inside the candy house.

Perhaps this one posthuman was just mentally weak, easily influenced, he rea.s.sured himself as he cleaned the tableware. If it were a stronger posthuman, they might have noticed something was wrong, gotten angry, even possibly dismantled the pocket dimension…

But then, what difference would it make?

Even if someone were to level the entire pocket dimension and kill all the NPCs. There were still billions of ant-like Changelings in this world. As soon as a posthuman left, these Changelings would swarm back like insects, or go elsewhere, mingling with more cement, bricks, chocolate, and wires.

Wu Yiliu felt like he was being swallowed by waves of dark bugs, sinking deeper and deeper. Those posthumans who entered the pocket dimension were once his hope of escaping this world; now that light had fallen with him into the depths of the dark swarm, about to gradually dim and be extinguished.

Why hadn’t Milan contacted him yet? Was it because that gaunt woman had secretly interfered, deceiving them into giving up? Wu Yiliu couldn’t find an opportunity to send Milan a paper crane, and Milan hadn’t sent a paper crane to find him.

They probably weren’t that committed in the first place.

They considered themselves superior in strength, and Changelings were not a serious concern. Perhaps they didn’t even want to touch the Changelings. After all, by leaving them be, they could continue to produce a steady stream of living supplies.

Should he risk letting them come and see the fake pocket dimension?

Wu Yiliu immediately dismissed the idea. Even if they came, he couldn’t say anything, and once people harbored a heart of appeas.e.m.e.nt, they could easily overlook what’s under the surface. Wasn’t it just a fake pocket dimension? All they had to do was not go in.

He thought his decision to return to the fake pocket dimension as an NPC was a beneficial move towards his goal, but now he found himself trapped in a dilemma, unsure of what to do.

If only he could discuss it with Professor Qiao.

Without a phone and unable to contact the outside world, unable to send a paper crane to Professor Qiao, he felt helpless for a moment. His anxiety became apparent, and the middle-aged man repairing a table with sandwich cookies looked up at him and said, “What are you staring at? Take the cups to the back and wash them.”

Wu Yiliu silently washed the cups, waiting wordlessly for the next posthuman to arrive. The fake pocket dimension was just the first pilot; when the Changelings realized how successful it was, more fake pocket dimensions would appear worldwide. Not too many, but enough to cover as many posthumans as possible.

It was a long-term, gradual threat, leaving the illusion of a way out for the target. The Changelings didn’t aim to infect every posthuman, which was indeed impossible, but infecting enough posthumans would significantly reduce the world’s instability and leverage their abilities, means, knowledge, and Special Items to further solidify control over the world. They were very cunning.

Wait, he had just thought of something, a fleeting thought.

Wu Yiliu maintained a blank expression, carefully examining his recent idea.

Special Items… yes, Special Items.

Where would Special Items donated to the fake pocket dimension go if there were any? Wu Yiliu knew their final destination would be the Changelings, but he didn’t know who exactly or which rooms they would pa.s.s through in the fake pocket dimension, or who they might affect.

Those posthumans who were infected and changed would eventually lose their abilities, but they still had Special Items. What happened to those? Were they kept by the original owners or confiscated?

If he could find a Special Item, even just one, he might be able to escape this predicament.

A few scattered figures were approaching in the distance; Wu Yiliu stared intently at them, a plan gradually forming in his mind.

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