Puzzle Madness

Chapter 146 Subspecies of Humanity (Part 2)
It feels somewhat similar to bone conduction; but it's more like someone is drilling directly into your ear canal and plucking your auditory nerve system like a harp.

Without a doubt—if it wasn't some unparalleled master using internal energy to transmit sound secretly, then this is:
Wow! Telepathy!

DouDou opened her mouth wide, then quickly covered it.

He had seen this classic and elegant special ability countless times in various literary and artistic works; but it did not affect his subtle feelings at this moment.

Somewhat shocked, but mostly disappointed:

Telepathy transmits only words—without any strong emotions, or long passages of images; or any other richer medium of information.

It's too ordinary!

It was dry and dull, not much different from a radio.

Forget it, I can't expect too much from others.

Even so, DouDou couldn't wait to try her first telepathic communication:

Hello! Can you hear what I'm thinking? If you can, please reply, thank you! Over.

DouDou imitated the way her model airplane teacher played with the radio, seriously talking back in her head; her curiosity was even more urgent, and she quickened her pace.

The response in my mind came quickly, but it had nothing to do with DouDou's greeting:
[Help! Run! / I'm so scared / Why did they send me here—I don't want to be here / Damn it, a bunch of nerds, hurry up!]
Once again, a jumble of complex and chaotic sentences raged in my mind; this rambling buzzing was somewhat annoying, like the description of schizophrenic patients in a book.

Clearly, these words were not an answer to DouDou's question—
Instead, the researchers around the man in the red shirt responded in muffled voices from behind their masks; from a distance, mixed with the sound of rain, they were very difficult to distinguish.

DouDou pricked up its ears, trying to catch every little detail from dozens of meters away:
"Hold on, cataloger, hold on! We're already going at top speed!"

The other researchers were armed with drills, wires, and all sorts of miscellaneous tools; they were constantly moving back and forth between piles of [spheres], [sticky mouse traps], and catalogers.

Compared to the panic during their escape, they were now remarkably calm—even the researcher who had lost an arm was leaning against his companion, busy with his work.

Amidst the buzzing of the drill and the patter of the rain, the answer continued. There was a comforting urging:

"Assemble—assemble quickly! The cataloger can't hold on much longer!"

There were also scoldings expressing disappointment and frustration:

"It's still just a prototype, there's no way to speed it up! Calling us bookworms won't change anything; you may be afraid, but are we not?"

The cataloger in the red NBC protective suit was trembling like a leaf, but he was squeezed in the middle by the others.

[Oh! So this is the cataloger: Is he telepathic? Looks like he's definitely obsessed. But, um...]

Suddenly, he realized that this seemed to be different from the telepathy he had imagined:
Not only himself, but others could also hear this voice in his mind—like a radio station.

But there's a general range: one hundred meters? One hundred and fifty meters? They are located at opposite ends of this pedestrian street.

It seems the cataloger isn't getting DouDou's ideas?

Is this telepathy? Or is it more like thinking too hard? The thoughts popped out of my head and others heard them.

They can share and express their thoughts to others; but conversely, they can't hear the unspoken responses from others. Otherwise, the catalogers wouldn't need to offer words of comfort; they could communicate much more efficiently.
What an inconvenient obsession! It's more like a mental broadcast that leaks thoughts. It might be somewhat beneficial to the enemy or those around him, but from his own perspective, there's absolutely no privacy for his thoughts.

Haha, it would be hilarious to be in the same exam room as this guy for the final exam. Ah, assuming his grades are good; otherwise, it would be a real shame to be misled and write the wrong answers. Sigh, why am I thinking about cheating all the time?

He patted his head, trying to banish any thoughts that were detrimental to his studies.

Actually, DouDou was a little disappointed—he had even thought about it before: if someone were to touch his brain, he should share something interesting with them.

For example, recalling scenes from "Ace Ventura: Pet Detective" or other comedies will definitely make the other person laugh until they can't move; or bringing up scenes from horror movies and rummaging through their minds will most likely give them a fright.

These plans to counter telepathy now seem useless.
However—after thinking about it again:
Could it be a disguise? Perhaps it's a deliberate attempt to avoid such retaliatory harm by pretending to only send and not receive?

DouDou reached into his rain hat and scratched the back of his head; after thinking for a long time, he finally came up with a curse:
Can you hear me thinking? If you pretend not to hear, you'll get diarrhea as soon as you get home!

After mentally repeating it several times, DouDou even waited in the same spot for a while.
The answer that came from my consciousness was a jumbled mess:
[Give me the subspecies outfit/Give me the subspecies outfit/Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up/Full set, full set, full set/Me me me me me]
They all sounded a bit delirious and incoherent; the person in the red shirt in the crowd was trembling, shaking as if a drill had been stuffed into their ass.

It seems they really can't hear what others are thinking? Of course, it's also possible that the cataloger isn't afraid of the consequences of diarrhea and stomachaches at all—but even the most sarcastic curses are a bit too much for DouDou to think about.

Forget it, let's just pretend he can't hear us.

Don't dwell on things you can't figure out right now; you'll find the answer once you get to know them.
-
A long street by the beach on a rainy night—
Normally, this would be a romantic scene. But during a typhoon: businesses had already turned off their power before leaving, and public lights were not turned on; rain clouds blocked the moonlight that might have been there, shrouding everything in darkness.

Only the engineering lights surrounding the four-sided canopy cast chaotic silhouettes of those waving arms; the kitchen waste that hadn't been disposed of before the typhoon arrived was overflowing with foul-smelling water from the plastic bags.

The wind and rain showed no sign of stopping.

DouDou stood alone in the middle of the wooden walkway, his feet feeling soft and damp, the floor seemingly rotten. Although the pattering rain drowned out the sound of his footsteps, the researchers clearly knew he had arrived.

The Human Cataloging Center certainly doesn't have the "big company" feel of the Asia-Europe Post—the Asia-Europe Post's security personnel are more mentally resilient and better suited for combat.

[This is quite strange, since there are even more oddities in this human cataloging center: white-collar giants, moving hands, and long-legged balls.]

However, the unit was not properly armed; it appeared to consist entirely of researchers.

On the other side, the researchers were busy and had reached a new stage—all the crates had been dismantled; the limb-like [spheres] were like a group of frogs, hopping and jumping around the rain shelter.

The researchers helped the cataloger in red to step onto those shiny [spheres] with human hands and feet: it turned out that the top of each [sphere] had a semi-closed hole in the center and the edges were wrapped with sponge.

Once the researcher unscrewed the sealed opening, the cataloger stepped inside as if putting on shoes, his entire ankle sinking in.

"Secure it! Secure it quickly!"

[Bless me/Bless me, bless me/Urgent filing. Urgent filing/Remember!]
The intensity of the mental broadcasts increased, as if they were being shouted right next to someone's ear; some researchers stood up, clutching their heads, and continued working, still trembling.

The researchers—they moved swiftly and without hesitation; with such strong hands-on skills, DouDou now felt they were actually engineers—tightened the screws at the connection points with shouts as they used electric torque guns.

Sizzle.
As the screws turned and the fasteners tightened, the cataloger's legs and the two metal [spheres] were tightly joined together:
He stood up swaying, as if he had grown more than a meter taller out of thin air; [the sphere] stretched out its limbs, becoming a uniquely shaped high heel.

The cataloger waved his hands, adjusting to the new balance; while the two [spheres] shifted restlessly, their palms and feet rhythmically patting in the puddles—like horses that had just been ridden.

(End of this chapter)