Chapter 218

From the exotic domain entrance to the Border Gate Withered Sculpture Impression Museum didn't take long, but as the driver Aomo had to take the car to the parking lot, so Lapulande, the mourner, and Nian got out of the car at the museum steps.

Is someone missing?

You're not coming down together?

Aomo looked at Mositim in the passenger seat, who had no intention of undoing his seatbelt to get out, instead staring at his phone screen.

Upon hearing that, they glanced at the three outside, and the Fallen Angel turned back to look at Aomo: 'Wait until you park, then we'll meet up.'

This kind of operation isn't convenient to go alone.

"Not bad caution, but if that's the case, wouldn't it be better not to put labels on the clothing?" Aomo said, glancing at the sticker on his shoulder, then tapping his earpiece.

The earpiece channel connected without error, sending back a confirmation tone, and he also told those so-called team members:

Wait here for me, or cooperate in exploration, try not to go alone.

"Got it~" Nian's tone sounded indifferent.

"Confirmed." The mourner's tone gave no hint of emotion.

"Hahaha~" Lapulande simply burst into a humming laugh.

What a handful of a team—what is the Doctor of Rhodes Island thinking? And what about His Majesty?

Aomo, having knocked down the microphone, silently gripped the steering wheel, feeling that the Rhodes Island Doctor should personally command, even if these people aren't really familiar with monster cards, he could just work as a consultant rather than a commander.

Rather than having high hopes for himself, he suspected the other side wasn't paying enough attention here, or more accurately, their focus wasn't here.

And Mositim was still answering his previous remark: 'The infiltration cost is too high; although the exotic domain's scenery is naturally unique, our team is still too distinctive.'

"Lapulande and Miss Nian's fashion sense is indeed unique." Aomo drove to the parking lot without being able to deny it.

Then Mositim turned his criticism toward him: 'Your and Nian's highlights are also quite noticeable.'

""..." He rubbed the white strand before his eyes, Aomo fell silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, 'Mositim, do you know the condition of Miss Ghost Shark?'

"Huh?" Mositim didn't pay attention to Aomo's subject-changing remark, merely counter-asking, 'What do you mean? Although she is a relative of the missing person, I haven't had much contact with that Argolian.'

Is she still not of sound mind? Does she still have any mental health risks?

That I can answer: the deep-sea hunter's condition is fine; he should often cooperate with the missing person.

Then Miss Sikadi's disappearance this time—she must be very worried.

Just being worried is useless; do you think it's a problem that the Doctor didn't let her join the investigation?

"I'm not sure, just as I'm not sure why Lapulande is involved in this investigation,' Aomo said, steering the car into the parking lane, only after stopping did he turn to look at her, 'Do you know?'

"I also lack communication with her; she only cares about Texas and people related to Texas.' Mositim made a gesture of surrender.

"It's not an interrogation, put your hand down.' Aomo, somewhat helpless, gestured for her to get out of the car.

"So what do you think?' Mositim asked.

After getting out of the car, she followed Aomo toward the museum's main entrance to meet up, still clutching that phone in her hand.

Without hesitation, he tapped the keys, sending his previous question.

That was clearly not a plea for help, but rather a covert message-style record.

So you're an examiner? Or perhaps a class monitor reporting work to the teacher?

Aomo sighed inwardly; the atmosphere at Penguin Logistics Middle School was indeed intense—just arriving, he'd been dumped with a pile of work, and he really had to be a labor committee member who leads by example.

"I have so many thoughts: first, I suspect the Rhodes Island Doctor has arranged another investigation team, with Miss Ghost Shark and even Miss Gelediya there, perhaps also…' Aomo paused here, then said, 'Miss Xi and similar staff participating, with him personally directing.'

"You really know the team's interpersonal dynamics,' Mositim nodded slightly, 'So it's no mistake the boss recommended you; you can indeed serve as team leader.'

"But that's only if the information I know is completely true and reliable; I lack that confidence,' Aomo shook his head, 'Games are dead, people are alive.'

He said this, temporarily switching his light screen to public mode, slightly lowering the fixed position, and showed her the search results for 'Arknights' displayed above.

Those discussions on it undoubtedly came from countless transmigrants; this was also what Aomo, when he was a driver before, would urgently search while waiting at red lights or occasionally on deceleration lanes.

Last-minute cramming is also useful; he evidently doesn't think relying solely on his transmigrant memory's cognition and actions can be considered reliable.

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Then he realized his caution was correct.

"Those players claiming to have played Arknights who are transmigrants, the images of Rhodes Island they describe also differ, which to some extent proves the existence of parallel worlds."

Aomo stopped his steps to let Mositim finish looking at those transmigrants' discussion content.

They are all exchanges of their respective perceptions of Rhodes Island's differences, plus debates about the game's plot.

The most intense was a group of players who fiercely criticized chapters 1–5 of the plot clashing with a crowd of ardent supporters; then the moderates entered, and what one might have thought was a dispute over the 'Congee Guard' turned out to be a debate that, starting from demanding evidence, gradually reached a reconciliation.

Everyone realized that their Arknights game seemed genuinely somewhat different, even vastly so—some transmigrants' memory screenshots of the operator list were mixed with many opponents that other players see.

That's already enough to explain the issue.

Of course, considering many transmigrants often use nicknames that the characters themselves might not understand when discussing the game, which can also hint at erotic or delirious remarks.

Although I thought Mositim's temperament wouldn't care much about those, Aomo still briefly filtered them, waiting until she had looked for seven or eight seconds before slightly pulling back his head, then he resumed walking.

She seemed to rarely pay attention to those transmigrants' exchanges; after being silent for five or six seconds, she then asked, 'So should we compare? Linton, compare the differences between what I know and what you know about Mositim.'

On that lightly smiling face, it was impossible to tell whether she was serious or joking.

And Aomo merely shook his head: 'No need, I'll observe and confirm myself.'

Then Mositim turned her head and went to tap her phone, leaving Aomo speechless for a moment, especially as she also pulled out a terminal and earphones.

The earphones hung on her ears, the terminal activated and began typing away into thin air; this time it was unclear what she was doing.

This must be the value of Penguin Logistics' lone messenger—he has more communication tools than his colleagues, and even uses both phone and terminal together.

Aomo didn't pay her too much attention; he merely turned his head to look at the magnificent building—the Border Gate Withered Sculpture Impression Museum, a year-round open permanent exhibition hall that, true to its name, displays various withered sculptures, and is occasionally rented out to host comic conventions, game expos, and lavish parties thrown by the wealthy.

But these past few days, it has indeed been fulfilling its duty as the Withered Sculpture Impression Museum, as an industry of the Symbolic Family.

As the local tyrant of the Border Gate district, as the head of the Umamusume family, the Symbolic Family indeed has a strong presence both on the surface and in the exotic domain, but this seems a bit too strong.

Disappeared on the 25th…… the day after the Baozhong Jinian, and also the third day after the Yuge'er Company incident.

Aomo walked and thought, gradually approaching the steps before the museum.

Zhouri Ningjing's client is obviously the symbol of speed; that old lady is the stance opposing the participation of horse girls in the experiment; considering it as likewise opposing the negative-energy monster is also not impossible—this was the original idea.

And now?

Aomo lifted his head to look at that majestic building, as if the regular octahedron of the 'Thunder Angel' in Eva, propped up by massive columns, was so towering that the shadow it cast could cover all visitors approaching the venue.

"You guys came really slow."

Even though it's only been a few minutes, Miss Nian has already grown somewhat impatient.

Meanwhile, Lapland beside her was holding her phone, playing some action game, not lifting her head, appearing completely without a sense of crisis.

The funeral attendant calmly watched him and asked, "Can we move now?"

"Of course, let's go." Aomo nodded.

For now, don't think too much.