Chapter 31: Tell me, what makes you think you look better than Mechanical Godzilla!

What are you sulking about? You're acting like being sent to become an electronic ghost is a punishment.

Having returned to the hotel, Aomo found himself somewhat speechless at this cantankerous old man.

Originally he still had to go to the police station to handle the transmigration case, but the considerate officials there all said he had already endured such a 'painful' experience and wasn't fit to talk about it further; he could come back tomorrow or the day after to register, no problem—

—This is a lie; Aomo is convinced they just want to lighten their workload, because out in the lobby there are still plenty of men and women waiting to add to their work.

However, the transmigration matter isn't currently the top priority, so Aomo gladly accepted their leniency, first bringing his foster father, who had undergone a round of 'data enlightenment,' back to the hotel.

"Unfilial child~" The cyber vampire ghost had already mixed into Aomo's terminal local data, beginning to play spooky tricks inside.

Because it was too embarrassing, Aomo even turned on the anti‑peeping function, so that the ghostly visuals and dragging weird sounds of the act wouldn't be heard by others.

Only after returning to the hotel, locking the door, and activating the soundproof sigil did Aomo mutter to himself: "I do remember a game world that specializes in collecting weapons."

"Really?" "?" "Cough cough, no pic, no dice—got a name?"

"It's called 'Armored Alchemy'; both the living and the dead can go, and I hear it's pretty bloody," Aomo recalled, that was some information he'd stumbled upon a few years ago; he hadn't told Morrison because such recommendations carry a bit of bad luck, but now he doesn't need to be so superstitious: "You can check if it's still in operation."

"Bloody great! Bloody!" Though he had no bloodline, he still had a soul; Morrison, who still retained his love of blood in Tartarus, showed a cheerful expression, instantly disappearing from the terminal screen, then quickly reappearing: "Still here, still here! The online count is still quite high— a full 120,000!"

"These days, 120,000 players is already considered pretty low; it's probably on a decline," Aomo said, somewhat speechless, realizing his foster father truly had no clue about the big picture of immersive games, "but this type of game also has strong AI backing, so it's not much different from playing with real people."

"I'll go create an account first; it's really not habit for a soul to go online." Morrison said, then fell silent.

Meanwhile, Aomo put down his messenger bag, took off his scarf and coat, then glanced at the terminal text that had suddenly lit up again.

A notification of a huge sum arriving in the account appeared, marked by the insurance company; it seemed Morrison's insurance payout had come in.

His soul is still around, so there's no need to handle his estate, but we still need to rein in his spending on in‑game purchases.

Aomo thought to himself.

Given Morrison's past ability to fund his high‑salary lifestyle through his weapons collection, turning himself into a month‑end spender, asking him to open his wallet for weapon micro‑transactions in the game... that would be truly badass, probably enough to add a column to a clueless news outlet.

A hundred‑year‑old vampire addicted to micro‑transactions, left with nothing— his wailing‑and‑tearing‑up photo would probably need a black bar slapped on it.

It's so stupid, I'm afraid the neighbors might say, "You'd better not end up like the uncle next door."

"It's fine if you lose face; just don't go spreading what I said.". jpg

Right now he was lying sprawled on the sofa, too lazy to turn on the hotel room's built‑in scene‑simulation function to change his mood, but when he looked up he saw the hotel ceiling turn into a vast blue sky, making him stare for a moment, and then he heard Morrison's voice suddenly come through:

"Tired? Don't know what to do?"

"No."

If he hadn't spoken it would've been fine, but once he did, Aomo promptly sat up again, as if with endless energy, reaching into the messenger bag on the table, unzipping it, and pulling out that small box.

The small box that contained the case‑explanation crystal.

"I think you don't need to look at that; I can tell you what I encountered," Morrison's avatar popped up on the terminal screen again, with a hint of helplessness, "Those things are just meant to give an explanation to the families of fallen personnel like you; quite a few people died there this time, so I imagine they had to copy the same explanation many times over."

"But don't you have a recording of your final actions?" Aomo opened the box, took out the crystal the size of a fingernail cap, held it up, and brought it close to the black mechanical thing that looked out of place in the beach scene.

It's just a high‑end projection device that lets you enjoy a clearer big screen, with a stable network connection— you can watch TV, search online videos, and also read crystals.

Aomo then inserted the crystal to read it, and first saw three documents projected into mid‑air.

One was the case file, one was the soul‑gathering report plus death certificate, and then came the video file marked 【Morrison. Linton】.

Aomo first selected the case file, and a second later Morrison's figure appeared on one side of the screen, in a reduced‑scale chibi form.

"Do you really have to keep showing off your existence like that?" Aomo was somewhat speechless.

"I need to come over to view the files; your terminal's front‑facing camera isn't pointed here," the desktop pet Morrison on the screen said confidently, then turned his head to look at the dense block of text behind him, "Looks like I'm not lying either."

Aomo, likewise examining those words, asked: "If you were lying, what would you say?"

"How could I? The nondisclosure agreement is still in effect, and besides, I don't really know the details either."

Morrison sighed, then in a flash turned into a bat swarm that flew from the left side to the right, his feet stepping on a few characters: "Look here."

He adapted awfully fast... Watching his actions, Aomo was somewhat speechless, but his gaze landed on the few characters he was stepping on:

【Heaven Gate Riot】

Heaven Gate refers to the star gate linking to another world; this is common knowledge in Heaven Gate City. Although Aomo is an outsider, he had done his homework, so he can understand the development of 'when the Heaven Gate malfunctions it brings in a crowd of otherworldly visitors.'

This is indeed a reasonable development, backed by numerous historical events.

But to be deliberately singled out for emphasis...

"Was someone adjusting the Heaven Gate's power output in this case?" Aomo asked while slowly scrolling down the page.

He didn't even need to wait for Morrison's reply; he got the confirmation directly from the narration below.

The Heaven Gate's over‑power operation sparked a riot, with 236 otherworldly beings dropping into the northern district of Heaven Gate City; among them, 116 were soul‑transmigrants, and one even fell into the research plant of Northern District Star Heng Heavy Industry, causing the underground test field's No. 5 otherworldly item, Mechanical Godzilla, to activate automatically.

"Soul transmigration can even possess something like that— pretty wild, huh?" Noticing where Aomo's gaze had landed, Morrison wore an expression of 'not my problem.'

However, after glancing at him, Aomo launched into a string of more practical remarks: "It was designed from the outset to exterminate other giant beasts, letting humanity reclaim the top of the ecological chain; for that it needs to be artificially controlled. Its internal design already uses a neural‑link system, so a spiritual attachment is entirely to be expected."

"? You actually know this so clearly?" Morrison exclaimed in surprise.

"I think this is basic monster‑fan operation." This time, too lazy to look at him, Aomo continued scrolling down the page.

Some transmigrators used the initial destruction caused by Mechanical Godzilla to carry out a second round of destruction for illegal crimes, while a minority of transmigrators honestly went to the local governing authority to find out the situation on the ground.

The record stops here; neither the numbers nor the specific list of transmigrators are mentioned further.

Aomo wasn't surprised by this vague treatment; he was still focused on the few individuals who, though unnamed, had been assigned numbers: No. 94, No. 14, and No. 68.

No. 94 is Mechanical Godzilla; No. 68 is the killer that Morrison marked during his scouting; No. 14 caused the second‑largest destruction in the city district and was personally subdued and detained by a C‑rank Ascendant.

A C‑rank Ascendant— that's already a big shot capable of causing planetary‑scale problems; placed a few thousand years ago, he'd be worshipped as a god.

Aomo naturally yearns for the power of that rank, but what truly catches his attention is obviously the destruction of No. 4 and the on‑spot takedown of No. 68.

236 otherworldly beings, 142 criminals.

The latter were dealt with within four hours: 82 detained, 59 forced to be killed by the situation, and one whose body was destroyed but whose soul was detained, counting as a 0.5‑year sentence.

The remaining otherworldly beings are still being registered and resettled; among them are some that need extra recording for soul‑transmigration disputes. Aomo's case is the simplest— he was attacked by an unknown soul, which the firewall blocked about half of, while the others died in the spirit‑interception led by the crystal; all that's left is to do a soul re‑check and register possession of otherworldly knowledge.

If it goes fast, it takes less than a day; if slow, the delay is mainly due to queuing.

Aomo pulled the page to the bottom, looking at the final summary tables of detainees, those awaiting registration, deceased personnel, etc.

Besides the deceased personnel having normal names, the rest are all numbers, densely packed enough to make one resist.

Even if you stare at that thing until you see flowers, its contents won't change.

Morisen lacks Aomo's patience to check each one individually; perhaps that's also why his clerical skills are so poor.

Aomo also ignored his discouraging remark, and only after staring for a while did he ask: "Does the order of the numbers themselves indicate the verification time?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

Already lounging sideways in the lower-left corner of the page, slacking off, Morisen was getting impatient.

"No. 14 was first confirmed for causing damage to the urban area, No. 68 was locked in for participating in a vicious serial murder case, and No. 94..." Aomo raised his hand, pointed at the table belonging to No. 94, looking at Morisen who had lifted his head to look at him: "The Mechanical Godzilla caused the greatest damage to Heaven Gate City; why is it No. 94?"

"It didn't appear only some time after the riot began, did it? The city-wide announcement only came a few minutes after it appeared!"

"Because at first no one thought that big guy also harbored a transmigrator inside?"

"As the forefront city for researching and dealing with transmigrants, Heaven Gate City doesn't even have a soul-detection device to confirm soul wavelengths?" Aomo asked.

"That definitely exists, and also, could you restrain your expression? You look scary."

"?" Aomo stared, raised his hand to touch his face, "What expression did I just have?"

Morisen thought about how to describe it, then said: "It looks like you want to punch me."

"Too vague," Aomo sighed, "I often want to punch you."

"I can't pretend I didn't hear that."

"Forget it, we'll talk about the look later; let's first look at your video file."

"Why skip my death certificate and soul-gathering report? Aren't they worth looking at?"

"You're not as good-looking as the Mechanical Godzilla."

"This is the second coldest thing I've heard today, second only to 'Why am I not dead yet?'"