"Hmm?" Indeed, several tens of minutes had passed since this movement involving at least millions of people erupted. Given the speed of information transmission online, HQ should have learned about the situation immediately and deployed countermeasures.
At the very least, the Michael duplicate impersonating Mei back at HQ should have notified them, as well as the original currently vacationing near P-21. But so far, none of this had happened.
There was only one explanation—they had lost contact with HQ. HQ had no idea what was happening in Third New Heaven City.
No, it shouldn't be as simple as losing contact. If it were just a simple loss of contact, like during the Eleventh Honkai Eruption previously, although the specifics wouldn't be clear, the direct loss of communication would definitely alert HQ to an anomaly.
Even if they couldn't reach the North American Branch, they could notify the vacationing original Michael to support the affected area, just like last time.
"I'm afraid we haven't lost contact with HQ. Rather, a 'valve' is stuck in the communication network between us and HQ. It's filtering, perhaps even forging, the information flowing between both sides. Verifying this isn't difficult..."
Michael [Duplicate Michael] took out his phone, logged into the Fire Moth intranet with a secondary account, and sent a message to Immer:
"...you there?"
The message transmission wasn't blocked. A few seconds later, Immer replied:
"you... who dis?"
"I'm Michael. I'm trapped in Tower A13, Third New Heaven City. V me 50, help me buy weapons to fight my way out. After this, I'll make you Captain of Anti-Entropy!"
This time, the message failed to send, quickly showing a red exclamation mark. Before Michael [Duplicate Michael] could tap resend, the message was automatically deleted.
Undeterred, he tapped on his main account's profile and sent a message:
"Help!"
This time, the message sent, but while still in the loading phase, he was directly kicked off the account.
"Looks like it's most likely it..." A complex mix of emotions churned within Michael [Duplicate Michael]. He felt he should cheer; at the very least, Rin had escaped the fate of becoming a Herrscher, hadn't she?
What he didn't know was that his original self had been agonizing over this very issue for days. He only knew that although this was good news for Rin, for Sakura, he didn't feel happy at all.
His heart was filled half with anger, the other half with deep powerlessness.
So what if Rin could escape her predetermined fate? Only by personally stepping into this world could one clearly understand that this world was already like a mad horse, stubbornly charging towards the abyss of destruction. No matter how Michael and the others tried to grab its tail, cling to its legs, pull its mane, or even run ahead to collide with it, they could only delay its fall into the abyss by a mere second or two.
"If it's the Twelfth Herrscher, that would also explain how they knew Michael [Official Michael] was here. But in that case, we... Michael? Michael!"
Snapping back to reality, he heard Mei calling him.
"Michael, the Authority of Sentience this duplicate possesses, is it enough to resolve this immediate problem?"
"Of course... not." Even Aponia's limit back then was only altering the perception of several hundred thousand people simultaneously within a certain area.
The Eighth Herrscher herself needed to use contaminated information as a medium to control large numbers of humans in batches; she couldn't even directly control everyone in the Fire Moth HQ while Aponia was present.
Let alone this duplicate, possessing only a portion of the Authority of Sentience.
"I can indeed temporarily alter the perception and memories of these people right in front of us, but once they're reminded by those behind them, it'll all be for naught. All I can do now is stabilize their emotions as much as possible. As long as there's no external interference, they shouldn't directly escalate into a riot... right?"
The word "right" hadn't even left his lips when a loud shout erupted from the crowd below:
"Michael! Do you remember me!"
The voice itself was piercing, neither distinctly male nor female. Processed through the megaphone, it became slightly deeper but remained unpleasant. Perhaps what made it unpleasant wasn't the high-pitched voice itself, but the ill intent clearly palpable in the speaker's tone.
Looking at Michael [Official Michael], this bureaucrat, clearly capable, resourceful, and cunning, actually showed panic upon hearing that cry. He nervously scratched his thigh, clutching the fabric of his pants, then stared wide-eyed with his green eyes, rapidly scanning the crowd.
He quickly found his target. The person seemed afraid Michael [Official Michael] wouldn't find him, holding the megaphone high, constantly popping his head up amidst the surging sea of people.
The crowd, previously arguing over who should confront Michael [Official Michael], unconsciously parted a path for him upon seeing this. Thus, Michael [Official Michael] definitively identified the speaker.
It was indeed a man. His long golden hair was streaked with gray, simply combed back and tied into a ponytail. His figure was rather thin, limbs slender, height likely under 1.7 meters. His patched clothes were washed pale but, unlike others', weren't wrinkled, likely carefully ironed, with sharp creases.
He kept himself quite clean, standing out somewhat like a crane among chickens compared to the casually disheveled people around him. If not for the sparse mustache above his lip, his gender might not have been immediately obvious, though the mustache itself was excessively fine and soft, like the downy hair on a teenager's lip.
"M-Mr... St-Stanfa... Teacher..." He was so nervous he didn't even move the megaphone away from his mouth. The title instantly floated into everyone's ears.
Michael [Duplicate Michael] was initially confused, unsure what kind of teacher this person was to Michael [Official Michael]. Seeing the familiar golden hair and considering the potential connection between Michael [Official Michael] and this person, it was hard not to link him to the von Liechtenstein family.
However, golden hair didn't mean much. Golden hair and blue eyes were indeed characteristic of the von Liechtenstein family, but they weren't the only ones with those features; Dystopia, for instance, wasn't.
Besides, once the man got closer, it was clear he didn't have the so-called "blue eyes." Just yellowish, murky whites filled with red blood vessels, strongly resembling corneal neovascularization caused by long-term contact lens wear.
Oh! Right!
Michael [Duplicate Michael] narrowed his eyes, searching Michael's [Official Michael's] memories for a similar appearance. He quickly found the man—wasn't this the teacher from when Michael [Official Michael], before returning to his family, was branded with the von Liechtenstein label due to his golden hair and green eyes and sold...?
Minus the signs of aging, the facial features were almost identical. Just that back then, for business purposes, he hadn't grown a mustache. And, also to impersonate a von Liechtenstein male, he had constantly worn green colored contacts, which corresponded to the corneal neovascularization.
This person's appearance here was definitely no coincidence. Anyone thinking calmly could reach this conclusion.
But setting aside how Michael [Official Michael], lost in those unpleasant memories, could possibly calm down, Michael [Duplicate Michael] instead fell into self-doubt—
This person appearing here must be at someone else's behest. Who? If following the previous deduction, that series of actions were the work of the Twelfth Herrscher, then why would this Stanfa obey the Twelfth Herrscher's command?
Or was he the Twelfth Herrscher himself?
No, impossible!
Michael [Duplicate Michael] was certain Stanfa didn't emit the energy signature of a Herrscher. A quick probe with the Authority of Sentience also confirmed his consciousness was normal.
According to his memories, he was notified abruptly at dawn today and brought here. The person who brought him naturally made some promises, but that person kept their face covered and communicated with Stanfa entirely through writing—even deliberately using their left hand!
If this wasn't to prevent the Fire Moth from tracing the source using psychic perception abilities, Michael [Duplicate Michael] wouldn't believe it. Perhaps even boldly assume the target of this precaution was Michael himself.
Things suddenly became convoluted. Thinking carefully, the Twelfth Herrscher theory seemed even less plausible—according to memories re-verified from the original, based on Rin's situation in the original timeline, the Twelfth Herrscher's consciousness shouldn't awaken before being killed.
Or perhaps the Rin back then was the Herrscher's consciousness, but unlike other Herrschers, it wasn't inherently aggressive, only becoming so when its survival instinct was triggered by death.
Interpreting this as individual Herrscher variation seemed plausible, but the Post-Previous Era Twelfth Herrscher similarly only attacked the Elysian Realm after nearly all its carriers were destroyed, triggering its survival instinct. This was the last piece of plot Michael [Duplicate Michael] saw; he wouldn't misremember. This indicated it should be the Twelfth Herrscher's inherent characteristic.
But if not the Twelfth Herrscher, if not a Herrscher obtaining information through the villa's TV, Mei's phone, etc., Michael [Duplicate Michael] couldn't imagine who else, or how, could have learned his and Mei's identity and location.
Time was pressing. Michael [Duplicate Michael] couldn't afford a lengthy explanation. Myriad thoughts were ruthlessly shoved into Mei's mind via the Authority of Sentience, making her let out an involuntary grunt of pain.
"I see... There's no other way now. Let's observe the situation, see what other tricks they have up their sleeves. Right, Michael, did you notify Mi— did you notify your original self? You two should be able to use something like the Tenth Herrscher's quantum entanglement communication method, right?"
"Mhm."
"What did he say?"
"Even if he arrived now, he couldn't perfectly resolve the current problem. Better to observe the situation. After all, we can't actually confirm now whether it's the Twelfth Herrscher causing trouble or not."
"Then what's your opinion?"
"Me? Same as you two."
The three's thoughts aligned. Meanwhile, after a brief silence, Stanfa finally launched his aggressive interrogation:
"In January this year, the United Government allocated 800 million sets of D-grade supplies to this city. Each person should have received a month's worth, with a surplus of 50 million sets for war reserves. But in the end, City Hall, citing the Eighth Honkai Eruption and the government's urgent need for resource redistribution, 'returned' 200 million sets. Then, citing the need to strengthen war readiness against secondary disasters caused by Herrschers, another 200 million sets were converted to war reserves. In the end, each person only received half their original supplies. That was your doing, wasn't it!"
"I..."
"But how come we heard that only 150 million sets were actually returned to the United Government, with 50 million going into your private pockets? And of the 200 million sets designated as war reserves, only a quarter actually entered the warehouses? Another 50 million went into your private pockets, and the remaining 100 million were divided among others?"
"This... that..." What Stanfa said was indeed true. Michael [Official Michael] didn't know how to explain.
He could say that Third New Heaven City only skimmed fifty percent, which was already much better than other cities' sixty, even seventy or eighty percent deduction rates. Neighboring cities practically caught all the rats. The people of Third New Heaven City could still barely survive on half their D-grade rations. Besides, he had reported the disaster to HQ for approval, lowered production requirements, allowing people to do less work while eating less.
But what use was saying all this? The difference between killing one person and killing ten only lies in facing retaliation from one family versus ten. And apologizing to the victims' families, offering some compensation—would that earn their forgiveness? Clearly impossible.
He could also say that he did indeed receive a kickback of 100 million sets of supplies, but later had a change of heart and anonymously donated 80 million sets back, possibly saving many lives! Besides, of the remaining 20 million sets, he barely took any for himself. Part went to reward his aides (except the upright Levi), some became City Hall's "social and operational funds"—these expenses roughly equaled 10 million sets, half the total. The other half was used to support his entire family.
But saying this was equally useless. The donations were anonymous; he couldn't provide evidence. The only witness was Levi, who wasn't here. Besides, he did pocket 20 million sets. Regardless of how they were used, this was an undisputed fact.
Invisible flames ignited once more. Michael [Duplicate Michael] closed his eyes and softly murmured three words:
"It's hopeless."
Mei's gaze shifted sideways. What exactly did Michael mean by hopeless, and towards what?
She didn't have time to ponder, because the next moment, the crowd completely erupted.
The crowd's shouts were chaotic and noisy, yet their movements were unusually unified as they surged forward. Bodies slammed against riot shields, the dull thuds merging into a continuous roar.
People at the side intersections also began charging, pushing against the armored vehicles the military police used as barricades. Initially, due to lack of coordination, their efforts were disjointed, only causing the vehicles to sway slightly.
But humans are social animals. At such a critical juncture, once the first person started chanting a slogan, others joined in rhythm, and the armored vehicles soon began to move.
The makeshift fortifications the military police had erected finally came into play. They piled barbed wire, broken wood, and wooden spikes behind the armored vehicles, then poured freshly mixed cement over them, creating simple anti-tank obstacles.
The cement couldn't dry and harden in such a short time, but this paradoxically worked better—pushed back by the crowd, the armored vehicles sank into the wet, sticky cement. Their tires were quickly punctured by the barbed wire and sharp wooden stakes. Then, no matter how hard the crowd pushed, they couldn't move them further.
Some hotheaded individuals climbed onto the vehicle roofs using their companions' shoulders, only to be quickly poked down by the military police below with long bamboo poles.
There was also a remote-controlled machine gun mounted on the armored vehicle roof. Under police control, it continuously swiveled its barrel, pointing at active individuals in the crowd. Undoubtedly, the cold gleam of the dark muzzle sobered up many hot-blooded people, instantly reducing pressure at the intersections.
The military police on the front line appeared much more passive. Receiving no orders, they took no independent action, merely crouching low, shielding themselves with their shields, allowing the furious crowd to ram against them with hands, feet, even heads.
The rear ranks held their shields horizontally, protecting the flanks of the front rank, right hands gripping the harnesses on the front rank's shoulders and backs. But even so, under the impact of a human sea several times thicker, the entire formation was constantly pushed back, eventually caving inwards in the middle like a crescent moon.
As the straight line buckled into a crescent, the distance between soldiers widened. The entire line looked about to break and be overrun.
Yet, the police captain still issued no commands, his gaze shifting indecisively between Michael [Duplicate Michael], Mei, and Michael [Official Michael].
"Michael, aren't you going to intervene?"
Michael [Duplicate Michael] kept his lips tightly sealed, purple electric arcs crackling around his fingertips. His gaze wasn't directed at the crowd, nor at the precarious police defense line, but fixed on the remote-controlled machine gun atop the armored vehicle.
After all, once a gun appears in the story, it must eventually go off.