The controller hanged himself at home?
Ed unconsciously put his right hand into his pocket and rubbed the coins, as if this action made him feel a little relieved.
"We collected some photos at the scene, some you have seen at the police station, and some we will not disclose to the public-" Arthur handed a row of photos on the table to Ed.
In the center of the photo is a mark smeared with dark dye, like a fleshy wine bottle that squirms open and closes, projecting a vicious and filthy luster. It was smeared on the iron door of the control room and the controller's home.
"This is one of the clues we got at the scene - the mark of a feast, using ghoul's fat mixed with human blood as a pigment. If there is some connection between these cannibalistic perverts and ghouls, I don't have any idea at all. Would be surprised.”
"You mean, this is probably some kind of blood sacrifice ritual? The controller sacrificed the passengers on the subway and then went to destruction in a state of madness?"
Of course Ed has heard those legends: secret believers who believe in ancient evil spirits perform some kind of heinous sacrificial rituals in dark and festering chambers, praying for violent and eternal chaos.
The inexplicable appearance of a group of ghouls, the mark of a secret organization, the controller hanging at home, and even his own resurrection from the dead, all the evidence seems to point to a supernatural event, a dark corner of this glorious world.
If all this is related to the so-called "evil spirits", then the strange and bizarre flame text he saw seemed to be everywhere...
Thinking of this, Ed's fingers in his pocket couldn't help but clenched the coins he was rubbing, trembling slightly.
"That's why we people exist. At the end of the night and before dawn comes, there's always someone walking around with a lantern."
Arthur smiled again, only this time his smile was genuine and contagious.
Maybe he really believed what he said, Ed thought.
"If this is the case, what are you going to do?"
The controller was dead and it was clear that he could no longer be held accountable. Do we really want to leave things like this?
"These secret organizations rarely act like lone wolves. They often have a complex network of relationships. Even if the murderer is dead, we can still search for information about other believers along this node."
Ed nodded and took his hand out of his pocket:
"Understood. I haven't recalled other details yet. Once I have a clue, I promise to inform you as soon as possible."
…
Two minutes later, Ed closed the door, leaned his back against the door panel, and let out a long sigh of relief...
Almost as soon as he closed the door, the flame text appeared in front of the mirror again:
[Excellent, dear Mr. Waikolo, things went much smoother than I expected. 】
Hush, that one-eyed spider might be spying on us.
Ed thought to himself, looking around the room and windows with his peripheral vision, searching for suspicious metal or gem reflections.
[Don’t worry, he can’t discover my existence, only you can observe my information. 】
What exactly are you?
[I have already answered you: the personality matrix of the "Secret Keeper Program". 】
Who created you? Why are you connected to me?
[There is also no answer in my memory code. The only thing that is certain is that I exist in your consciousness, and your death will also lead to my destruction. We will have plenty of time to answer this question in the future, but for now we must survive together. 】
alright, I got it. Ed nodded slightly, stretched out his hand to close the curtains, sat back on the bed and faced the dressing mirror on the wardrobe.
[It is now six o'clock in the evening. According to Arthur going to bed at twelve o'clock, you still have six hours to make preparations. 】
a? For example?
[For example, learn how to enter the palace of thought through meditation. Your knowledge of the occult is abysmal, almost completely unknown. 】
Perhaps we can put it another way: "There is a high room for improvement."
[It’s up to you to understand it. Now lie down on the bed, close your eyes, try to get rid of all distracting thoughts, and try to reconstruct the small room in your mind. 】
Ed lay down on the bed obediently, closing his eyes and concentrating. What the "Matrix" says seems simple, but it is not easy to maintain the concentration of consciousness for a long time——
At the beginning, I was either too nervous and disturbed by distracting thoughts, or I almost fell asleep because I was too relaxed. After repeated attempts, I found some ways.
It is even more difficult to reconstruct the palace of thought through consciousness, just like sketching without a model: he must reconstruct the picture with the help of memory, and evenly pour consciousness into it to maintain the shape of the space.
After an unknown amount of time, Ed finally returned to that strange yet familiar small room. At this moment, he didn't feel any joy at all. He only felt exhausted and had a splitting headache. The mental exhaustion was far more painful than the physical one.
"How long did it take me?"
[Seven hours, it’s one o’clock in the morning. 】
"How does this score compare to others?"
[It’s amazing. There is no doubt that you are the most outstanding genius of this century! Even those legendary heroes are not up to your level. 】
"Really?" Ed asked indifferently, obviously the other party was speaking sarcastically.
【Fake. Building a temple of thought is the foundation of the study in the mysterious field. If you have to make an analogy, it took you seven hours to learn to breathe. 】
That's okay, at least breathing late is better than not breathing at all.
Despite his mental and physical exhaustion, Ed was still walking around the room he had built with great interest, like a toddler.
Unlike last time, this time there was a strange machine the size of a typewriter on the table. The reason why it is called "strange" is because it is different from any machine of this era——
People like the intricate mechanical beauty of the gear structure, which is elegant, complex, and bright, shining with golden richness and almost arrogant pure dreams, just like this era itself.
But this white machine coldly hides its internal structure:
There is no trace of additional decoration, and even the appearance is composed of minimalist lines, revealing only a few regularly arranged buttons, card slots, interactive levers and a coin hole.
"I've never seen a machine like this..."
【You will get used to it gradually. The parasitic seed has returned coordinate data. Pick it up and insert it into the door. 】
The card slot silently spit out a painting metal card——
The sky slowly flows and swirls, and the towering pure white clock tower is like a giant's finger stretching towards the sky, and the fingertips are about to touch the golden-red sun. A dark silhouette sat on the top of the tower, thinking about something no one knew.
"Dream Beacon: White Clock Tower"
Ed inserted the card into the door. There is no handle on the door, only a shallow card slot. When the card is inserted into the slot, light splashes out in all directions along the crack of the door, like endless sunlight.
The door opened outwards - inside was an elevator, with a faint roar of steam power. The diamond-shaped hollow guardrail makes it look like an elegant birdcage, with honey-gold handrails thoughtfully installed on both sides, and the metal cables are as thick as the iron arms of a tough guy.
He stepped onto the elevator. There was only one name on the button - Arthur Custer.
When the button was pressed, the elevator suddenly locked and buzzed upwards.
