ecstasy

The asphalt was like boiled water at the bottom of a pot; in a blink of an eye, it evaporated and disappeared under the sunlight outside the window, leaving no trace.

Doudou tapped the floor in front of him with his foot—still hard:

"Hmm, this lady also has superpowers. If she's obsessed, then is she really mentally ill?"

He looked around: the few people Sidney had just called agents still hadn't appeared; he didn't know what she meant by "drive away".

Then he held up the note and shone it against the incandescent light above his head - it didn't seem to contain any secret text or anything like that.

It was fun, but Doudou always felt inexplicably uncomfortable.

He put the note into his raincoat pocket, shrugged, and opened the book "Happy Robot 2137" where he had read half of it.

No matter what strange things happened, they couldn't interfere with Doudou's afternoon plan:

"Anyway, he's a weirdo, very crazy."

Chapter 120 Asphalt Stage Play

There is a small courtyard inside the Provincial Library. Even though it is exposed to direct sunlight all year round, it is still damp and overgrown with weeds.

There were round stone benches and tables, as well as wooden grape racks placed on the grass; but they were already moldy and covered with black spots.

Further up the corridor are exhibition halls, conference rooms and staff offices - there is also an elevator here that goes directly to the children's reading room and academic library on the upper floors, but few people pass by here today.

Zizizizi--

The corner of the eaves extending into the courtyard suddenly appeared a circle of shiny black liquid with bubbles rising from it.

If readers pass by, they will smell the pungent burnt smell that fills their noses, like a pot of boiling sugar water, scalding, burning, and greasy.

Slip!

Sydney dropped from the rolling mass of asphalt and landed lightly; she folded her arms across her chest, as if the asphalt were actually a swimming lane at a water park:

"Hey, listen up! It's done, it's done!"

"Haha! I finally found it!!"

Sidney spun like a dancer, stopping from time to time to put his body into difficult and weird shapes, and then continued to spin.

She had clearly fallen out of boiling asphalt, but her white gauze dress was spotless.

Sizzle. Sizzle

More asphalt puddles gushed out of the ground, covering the grass in clumps. Grass leaves, dead branches, and even crawling insects and ants sank into them silently.

Suddenly—

A voice came from the twisting and tumbling mass of asphalt, sounding muffled and dull, as if a ball of cotton was stuffed in one's ears:

"Oh. Boss, is he the protagonist you mentioned?"

Hearing the sound in the asphalt, Sidney stopped moving, covered his mouth, and his green eyes shone:

"Huh? How is that possible, idiot? If I don't say that, what if he kills me on the spot? Who among you can keep up with his reaction speed?"

“This Dou Dou is definitely…”

"He's absolutely, absolutely the biggest villain! He's 100% the main villain of this story! The kind of guy who only dies at the very end, the kind that the plot continues to develop towards the very end! Like the boss at the very end of the story."

She danced and jumped, tapping the ground with her heels alternately, doing a tap dance:

"It's just that we're still young and a student right now. Maybe we're still before the storyline officially begins? Or even in the background. Never mind, it doesn't matter!"

"That's great, even before the story even begins! I can still live for a long time! My character will continue to exist! Hehehe!"

The clattering sound of the soles of the shoes was so harsh that it made one's head itch.

Another, raspier voice came from the asphalt ball, with a strange gurgling sound like someone about to drown:

"Then - can we come out now? It's so stuffy in here, I can't breathe due to lack of oxygen, and I'm dizzy and I need to go to the bathroom."

Sidney bit his nails and waved his other hand impatiently:

"What's the rush?! I've said it many times before, the sense of mystery and anticipation is very important - don't wander around if you have nothing to do; you won't die if you stay a little longer."

"If you really can't do it, just do it in the passage. There's no camera there to film you anyway—"

As she spoke, she suddenly raised her brows and listened to the whistling hot wind blowing through the courtyard:

"--Shut up! I feel the camera coming!"

Sidney suddenly turned around, facing the empty backside and the wall made of colorful tiles.

She adjusted the crown of bottle caps on her head, coughed twice, and spoke:

"My foolish subordinates don't understand the significance of this moment."

“After ten years away from Dublin and all that traveling – I finally got my first big role in this hot, boring city!”

"What will happen next? Where will the future lead? What role will our mysterious superpower elite organization [Story Club] play in this chaos? Please stay tuned."

Sidney turned his head to the right and spoke to the empty end of the corridor:

"And I'm a useful character! I'll keep the plot going, keep the story moving: I'll make everything more dramatic! Please let me live!"

A low whisper rose from the asphalt, sometimes far away, sometimes near.

There were at least three or four different voices alternating among them, talking to each other:

"What's going on? Why is the president going crazy again?"

"Well, she thinks the camera and the camera position, or the comic strip, should be there to explain things to the audience. This is called character setting."

"Is she the audience or the author? Last time she said she was talking to the author. Forget it, as long as the boss is happy."

"How long will it take for it to come out? My stomach really hurts and I need to go to the toilet. I really need to poop."

"Doesn't she think that the camera usually focuses on the side of the face--"

-

Sidney turned sideways and glanced toward the center of the courtyard. All the expression that had been brought about by the movement of his facial muscles disappeared, leaving only a mannequin-like face and an icy gaze:

"Hey, why is someone talking while I'm explaining the plot? Is it because they're on stage for too long?"

The bubbling, pitch-like shadow fell silent; no more talking arose.

I don't know how long I kept nagging at the wall, until the mosaic wall made of colorful tiles was even covered with saliva.

Sidney stepped out into the midday sun, stepping between the asphalt and the grass.

She raised her head and stared at the scorching sky for a long time. Until her eyes turned red, tears kept slipping from the corners of her eyes and falling between her lips.

Sidney covered his face and lowered his head, but his voice was even louder than before:

"Ha! There's nothing in the sky. Even after being in close contact with Doudou for so long, I haven't been induced to go crazy."

"I told you all before—I'm not crazy or delusional! I was right, we're in a comic book! Well, or a TV show or a movie, it's almost the same."

Gululu.

The only response was the sound of bubbles bubbling in the asphalt: it seemed that the warning they had received before made no one dare to speak again.

clap clap!

Sydney patted her cheeks and stood up again. Apart from the redness of her eyes, she was no different from a moment ago.

She adjusted her flower crown and gauze skirt in front of the mirror on the corridor pillar, and only nodded with satisfaction after smoothing out every wrinkle.

Then he turned suddenly, facing the churning asphalt in the courtyard; stroking his chin, his eyes rolled thoughtfully:

"Alright, my dear brothers and sisters. Time to continue the storyline: Are the Asia-Europe Post workers almost finished building the test area? Give them a hand."

"First—stir the waters again. Take out everyone's spies, whether it's the Eurasian Post Office, the Human Cataloging Center, or those cyber-promoters! Destroy every intelligence system, leaving nothing behind."

"I want Mong Cai City to become a black zone, and everyone must be blind and deaf. Characters need room to grow. We can't let these organizations monitor us and intervene. We need to make things more wild, and the environment more complex."

"How can so many people be so focused on the villain? Without mystery, it's doomed! We finally found an important character."

Sidney snapped his fingers a few times and pointed towards the center of the courtyard:

"Remember to clean up your looks and stop dressing like little minions. Characters without any memorable moments will be gone soon! We'll be the only ones crying and feeling sad when they die; who in the audience will care about minor supporting roles like you?"

"Of course—don't dress too fancy or complicated; it should be a bit classy and not lower the image of our storytelling club!"

"Didn't I hire a costume consultant for you? Go design them yourself to make the characters more cohesive and enhance their fascination."

"No copying each other's outfits! There has to be distinction, there has to be differences. Everyone, practice your slogans a few more times!"

"These past few days, it's just been personnel exchanges, exchanging some agents, but soon, the frenzied battles will begin. Everyone, be careful and don't get caught in a ditch."

"Also: be careful when killing people—help those who can suddenly become stronger, help those who can be resurrected after death, and help those who are easily excited."

"If those who look useless aren't dead yet, try to save their lives; maybe they're actually quite capable."

"Maybe we can find the true protagonist this time. Neutral, remain neutral! Neutral organizations can survive longer."

Click!

The moldy grape trellis was exposed to the sun for a long time and made a crisp sound like it was cracking.

Hearing the sudden sound, Sidney suddenly looked around cautiously, like a frightened animal:

".Huh? Is this a plot hint?"

"Wait! Everyone, come out first. Let's do a group pose first. Maybe the screen will cut to the introduction of our organization--"

Chapter 121 A Happy Security Guard

Pingyu District, Mong Cai City - This place is close to the suburbs and has even fewer people.

At noon, the streets were almost deserted. Only an old homeless man was snoring in a pile of cardboard in a street corner, his head resting on a woven bag bulged into the shape of a gourd, shielding him from the direct sunlight.

Across the street from him, there was a dilapidated Toyota Hiace parked in the alley next to the community.

Such vans are quite common in Mong Cai - vegetable market owners use them to transport fish to their stalls, and supermarkets and convenience stores use them to purchase beer.

The car's windows were covered in a darker-than-usual film, and even had a dark gray tint added. Aside from the driver's side window and the front window, it was practically impossible to see inside the car from outside.

The sun in Mong Cai is so scorching that such modifications are not conspicuous.

It sticks out from the entrance of the alley and almost blends into the garbage dump at the back of the community.

Sitting in the van was a fat man wearing a black windbreaker and shirt: even in the air-conditioned car, he was still sweating profusely and his shirt was soaked through.

The back seat had been removed, the space crammed with all sorts of equipment. He sat cross-legged in front of the monitoring console, writing and drawing, using it as a desk; papers, forms, and manuals piled up like a mountain.

Slightly--

The car door opened and hot air rushed into the car.

A skinny guy with a crew cut stuck his head into the van - his dark black suit was draped over his shoulders, and his tie was drooping, tied like a rope.

His hairline was very high, and there was not even a speck of stubble in the center of his head. His crown was so bright that it was blinding.

".Fatty, dinner is here. Where's [Plastic Immortal]? Still taking a nap? Why's he been sleeping for so long?"

This is the code name of the old man on the opposite corner of the street. No one knows who gave him the name. Apart from the big woven bag with bulging ends, he has nothing to do with the word "immortal" at all.

The fat man wrote furiously, but his mouth was busy:

"Yes, he's still sleeping. Old men are like that, waking up for a while and sleeping for a while. When they're awake, they have no energy, and when they sleep, they can't sleep well. It's really pitiful."

The guy with a crew cut climbed into the car, carrying a plastic bag with the words "Taro King" printed on it. He slammed the door shut.

"You are so nosy, and you are still meddling in other people's affairs. Isn't that pitiful?"

The fat man stared at the plastic bag in his hand, patted his sagging belly that looked like a cat's pouch, and grumbled reluctantly:

".Hey, why are you eating this again?"

The buzz cut guy threw the plastic bag onto the monitoring station, and the steam from the taro cakes swirled around in white.

"There's one on the next street. You made me walk two extra blocks on a day like this? Are you a human being? Then why don't you go buy it next time."

The frustration on the fat man's face faded in an instant. He smacked his lips and took out a piece of fried taro cake:

"Oh, sorry. Wait until your shift ends. Then I'll treat you to a meal at the restaurant. Okay?"

Recently, Asia-Europe Post has set up more than ten surveillance teams like theirs in Mong Cai, keeping an eye on the "important people" in this hot city day and night.

As for why it is "important", neither of them can figure it out; the workplace philosophy is to talk less and do more, and knowing more will not result in a larger year-end bonus.