House of Ethics. Room number sixteen to the sixteenth power. The place with the largest house number known to the residents of Infinite City. It is an old and imposing looking metal building that rarely changes its appearance. Even during the holidays, it does not dress itself in a particularly festive atmosphere like other public areas. For the most part, it's a dull, boring steel-blue color, like some sort of small abandoned fortress deep in the mountains.
Its imposing vestibule is guarded by residents every day. They will be assigned a relatively uniform image and patrol and guard according to volunteer guidelines sent in advance. This is not a particularly strenuous job, as the guards' uniforms are carefully designed to prevent the volunteers from becoming tired after just one day of service. Plus, playing guard for the House of Ethics is fun in itself. During the countless days of complete freedom, it is worth trying to occasionally serve a purpose. Ethical House will even offer shift time options so that those who don’t happen to be working on Remembrance Day can participate in the square’s activities.
This is work that needs to be done every day, arranging suitable residents to provide supportive community services. With the help of these devotees, layabouts who want to explore the interior of the building have no choice but to give up. This idea itself is very unsmart, but once a creature falls into a meaningless emptiness and does something boring, worthless, or unintelligent, it is not surprising at all. Every day the Ethics House is lively and busy. Bored people come here. Dissociative patients and people with eccentricities may also try to break through the gate. Considering the number of residents in Infinite City, this situation can be said to be endless. The man guarding the door to the street is constantly saying no. They kept ringing the expulsion bell, and most gave up the idea of adventuring.
There are only few residents. It can even be said that countless residents have truly entered the House of Ethics. Residents generally believe that since there are already so many volunteers from the outside, the security inside the Ethics House will only become tighter. It may have endless layers so that it can accommodate the endless stream of pursuers.
However, in fact, the internal environment of the ethical house is not so complex ecological layering. It is indeed fluid because there is no physical coherence between the building envelope and the interior space. If necessary, the interior area of the Ethical House could wrap around the entire city, but usually it does not, and is therefore reduced to a monotonous collection of steel-blue corridors and rooms. All channels sway, like pontoons on the waves, sometimes growing and decaying. In the reception hall, which was wider than the city square, the only receptionist sat alone. Today he is a rickety and skinny old male cat.
It will not stay in this state for a long time, and even its memory will not last beyond midnight, but that does not affect its work, because the ethics house work code will always be engraved in its thinking. The few who knew about it discussed it privately, wondering if it could count as "the same receptionist." If its memories and life form are inconsistent, it seems unreasonable to treat it as an individual. However, if you ask it about a certain task in the past day, it can answer clearly. It records some of the people who were caught here, as well as the intruders. The latter was certainly illegal, but the receptionist, no matter what he looked like at the time, would never try to stop an intruder. That's not its job. At most, it reminds the intruder to leave a signature on the register, but if the other party refuses, Meow will not seem to care much.
If the intruder successfully enters the reception hall. Under the lights shaking like the deck of a sea ship, it will see a road to the left and right of the reception desk. The same boring steel blue color. After entering the walkway there is a three-way intersection. Then comes another fork in the road. Fork in the road. Fork in the road. Fork in the road. There are occasional rooms between these forks, which are rest rooms for regular employees. They are tightly locked and only open when dispatch is needed. However, if someone insists on forcefully opening one of the doors, there seems to be no reason to be prohibited. Why do this? That is indeed a puzzling question. In the receptionist's coherent memory as an incoherent life, there is only one name left in the signature book that has done this.
That doesn't bother it. At least not today. Today it is an old cat with always narrowed eyes, lying in front of the stage and taking a nap with nothing to do. In the passage behind it, the branch roads extend infinitely. Each of the roads looks the same, but it can also be said that each one is special.
They lead to some kind of possible historical disaster. Things that people only encounter in the worst-case scenario. However, even if you wander around in such a disaster gallery, it is actually not dangerous, because as emphasized before, most of the regular employees' break rooms are closed. On this day, the anniversary of the greatest possible Prince of the Universe in history, there is only one door that poses a real danger.
To break into the reception room and reach it, one needs to travel through one thousand, six hundred and seventy-two corridors correctly, which means making the single most wrong decision among hundreds of millions of options. On this day, no one had managed to break into the House of Ethics, so the receptionist could proudly declare that this wrong decision could not have been made by anyone. The door remained closed, remaining silent in the swaying weightless corridor. Behind this door, in a dark space where no one can pry, an unsettling freak is dreaming of a boat trip.
Come take a closer look at this freak! Judging from his primitive reproductive system, he was a male in his prime, but the basic particles in his body were mixed very strangely. This is a microscopic view, but intuitively speaking, he is like a hybrid between an ape and a lizard. The scaly lizard head was roughly sewn onto an ape's body, and then wrapped in a spacious and clean black coat, as if this already twisted mind was still being carefully cared for by someone. He still curled up in the darkness and slept soundly, because he had nothing to do but bring disaster and death. He doesn't even need to eat or exchange energy of any kind because his body died long ago. He was merely detained by the Queen's mercy. A walking corpse called father.
The Queen's executor. That's what the cats call him. It was with caution and sympathy. Because although the executor has many misfortunes and sacrifices, there is no reason to talk to a dead person. It's best to be on guard against him, as experienced palace cats would advise Nenyao. When the dead man began to wander among the stars, only a few special people in the Queen's service were spared from his murder, and even the Queen herself felt helpless. She had no choice but to imprison him and place him in a secret place in the deepest part of the palace, letting him dream of the dead. Now the dream continues again. After the queen's kingdom ignored its existence, the executor was fast asleep in the staff lounge of this small ethical house. He is one of the special arrangements for the anniversary, used to deal with certain extremely unlikely events.
Suddenly, the executioner's left hand spasmed violently. The shadow of the arm spread silently, spreading into a forest of shadows that could not be witnessed by anyone. The executor opened his eyes, which were also filled with shadows, and scanned the new world frantically and quickly. He felt something calling him, urging him. The House of Ethics awakened this holiday-only non-volunteer worker and asked him to deal with an emergency. So the executor set off unsteadily. He took the first step with rotten feet and almost fell to the ground. I became much more proficient in the second step. When it took the third step, the shadow of its left hand fell on the door handle. The door swings open on its own. The executor took a step forward. boom! Something fell to the ground.
The executor turned around. What fell to the ground was his belongings, the lighter that he had always stuffed in his coat pocket. He picked up the old and dark little thing, put it back into the bottom of his pocket, and continued walking toward his distant goal.
It's far away from this freak, and it's also in a corridor that's almost impossible to find accurately. Another door was violently knocked open. Yes, a situation the receptionist would never have dreamed of. In these days when there were no outside intruders, an internal door was carelessly knocked open. What ran out from behind the door was not an employee, but a beautiful creature with plump wings and a gorgeous mane. She burst open the door to her room and streaked down the corridor like a bolt of white lightning.
"Ya Ya Ya Ya Ya Ya Ya Lai!" she shouted like a scream, "Where are we!"
