Eh? You want to try the humanoid girl's iron fist too?

Perhaps the adrenaline had masked the pain, because he only felt a sharp pain now that he relaxed. He looked down at his bulletproof vest; there were two holes in it, at least two bullet wounds.

He grimaced as he removed his bulletproof vest, revealing two bright yellow bullets embedded in his left chest and abdomen. The chief reached inside the vest and felt around; thankfully, there was no blood. The vest was of decent quality.

The 9mm pistol bullet did not penetrate the body armor.

That gunfight just now happened at face-to-face distance; it's a miracle we survived unharmed.

"Lieutenant, what are your plans next?" Samuel asked, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“I’m going to…” Raphael gazed at the gray smoke rising from the north of the city, “to check out the area near the Empire State Building, that explosion… um, I’m concerned about it.”

Aren't you worried about getting sick?

"As a naturally immune person, the genes of the green banknote virus cannot be expressed in my body."

Raphael removed the assault rifle's magazine, examined it, and, finding no need to replace it, put it back in. He simply switched the rifle's safety to the "on" (safety engaged) position.

To be honest, she didn't like this argument because she wasn't even human.

This involves covering the entire body with biomaterials and shaping...

"Personality" thus endows this organism with will.

Even now, she doesn't understand the reason why the "Missing Person Notice: April Keller" entry appears in her mind; she just vaguely feels that completing it will bring benefits.

But where will these benefits come from?

This is just as worthy of discussion and exploration as the idea that "androids dream of electric sheep." The electric sheep discussion concerns whether artificial intelligence or robots can possess the same consciousness, emotions, and other characteristics that seem to exist only in living organisms as humans.

Raphael was now very confused; she couldn't get a definite answer.

Unlike calculation formulas, this doesn't allow you to obtain accurate results by simply inputting precise numerical values ​​and applying established operational rules and mathematical formulas.

The simplest and most obvious principle is that as long as the camera (eye), the peephole, and the crosshair are aligned, the bullet can be guaranteed to hit anything that is being aimed at by the line, whether it is a person or an object.

Raphael cannot yet give an accurate judgment on whether those "emotions" generated by mental calculations are simulations of human behavior or natural emotional fluctuations arising from the id consciousness as a "human form".

Volume 1: The World Before the Great War: Chapter 9 Death Park

The morning air, filled with a dense, cold mist, swirled around Raphael, irritating her nose.

She seemed to unconsciously sense a hint of death. However, that might be an exaggeration, she thought, as she walked in the direction she had chosen.

The checkpoints ahead are similar to those at both ends of the Williamsburg Bridge. These facilities are legacies of the major lockdown; the staff responsible for their operation have left, and they have become mere barriers to the movement of people.

For the strong survivors now, the threat of the virus can only slightly disrupt their minds. After assessing the risks and gains, they still seize every opportunity.

On the roadside, a bewildered couple sat on a bench near the checkpoint, backpacks slung over their shoulders. The wife held her head in her hands, motionless as if she felt nothing; the husband didn't even ask her a question, staring blankly at the other side blocked by barbed wire.

The mutated smallpox pandemic was unfortunate enough, but for their families, it added a unique misfortune unknown to outsiders.

“We’re almost there… The children must be safe. Grandma Anna will take good care of them.” The husband hugged his wife and murmured comfortingly, “Just a little more rest, and we’ll find the entrance…”

"Okay," the woman replied listlessly, then buried her head in her hands again.

She couldn't forgive herself for abandoning her children. To celebrate their wedding anniversary, they left their two children with their grandmother, who lived alone in the city center.

She hadn't originally planned to celebrate their wedding anniversary, but her husband had to persuade her a lot before she finally agreed.

On the day they were to leave, she looked up into her husband's eyes and said, "Well, maybe we shouldn't go?"

My husband even got angry that day. How could he just waste the vacation he had finally managed to squeeze out?

Now, he feels a sense of guilt when he thinks about the children left behind by Grandma Anna.

"Everything will be alright," the woman said, turning to comfort her husband.

She hadn't actually calmed down. When the man heard his wife trying to comfort him with these nonsensical and meaningless words, he finally couldn't hold back anymore.

"Stop talking nonsense and get some rest!" he said. "I know what New York is going to become! It's all my fault."

The man gripped his hair tightly with both hands, his lips trembling with anger.

“I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have…! It’s all my fault…!” he repeated, clenching his left fist and slamming it heavily against the barbed wire.

Raphael observed them for a while and concluded that their chances of survival were slim.

This couple was different from the occasional pedestrians they encountered on the street, who were only concerned with scavenging food, supplies, and anything else they could use from abandoned vehicles, dilapidated shops, and garbage dumps.

Therefore, their actions naturally aroused her curiosity.

Raphael had no intention of being a helpful citizen; instead, he selected a route on the map. First, he would return to Washington Square Street, cross Square Park, and head straight north along Fifth Avenue; this should allow him to easily enter Midtown.

She looked at the roads on both sides of the park; they were completely blocked by damaged cars, and black smoke was constantly rising from the wreckage…

That's not a viable option; a large park is the only choice at the moment.

In the vast, empty, and dilapidated park, an amplifier still performs its function, while the park and the buildings surrounding it proclaim the New York City government's decision.

The park is now an abandoned ruin, meticulously cared for and maintained before the city was struck by the virus. The entire peninsula was once so vibrant, like a large tree teeming with birds, overflowing with chirping opinions and complaints.

But now, those who cared about this place are either dead or hiding in some dark corner, living in constant fear.

Most of them died.

The cost is high, no matter how optimistic the predictions of the New York CDC and the Emergency Management Agency were, and no matter how proud the federal research institutions were.

By the way, the emergency management agency's command center wasn't far from here. Like the apartment owners, they've all left, and obviously will never be back.

But nobody misses it.

Furthermore, no one remembers why the greenback virus happened, who won, or even if anyone actually won.

Along the park path, Raphael smelled the same odor as at the burial site near the bridge.

"...It's not going to be another mass grave, is it?" she whispered.

At the end of the tree-lined path, where the opposite street is already visible, the same barbed wire fence as the one at the bridgehead burial park appears.

The two doors were open, as if inviting guests to stay.

Entering through the door, all the open spaces leading to the nearest dark entrance to the ground-level building were covered with corpses. These corpses were either lying on the snow or trampled into the snow, completely buried.

Because someone had already walked on them, otherwise there would have been no way to get there—the corpses covered the entire open space leading to the buildings on the ground, which was the area around the managers' offices.

They were half-naked, frozen stiff, their hands and feet haphazardly intertwined, making it impossible to tell which body they belonged to.

It wasn't just ordinary people who fell ill; several bodies, completely wrapped in orange protective suits, also collapsed. They were supposed to be staff members handling corpses here, but…

How could that be? Those protective suits are theoretically capable of protecting against airborne droplets.

Raphael looked around, then walked to the nearest corpse and stopped. It was clear that she had to step over the body to get there. But she hesitated, a sense of resistance rising within her to disturb the dead's rest.

She looked around for a place to stand, but couldn't find one.

"Excuse me, sorry to bother you," Raphael said in a low, unusual voice, stepping onto someone else's...

She saw corpses wrapped in yellow protective suits and wanted to know the cause of their deaths.

Raphael walks on people, on people who were once people. Each of them was once a living individual, born somewhere, who once called or wrote letters to their family.

But now they lie here, trampled in the snow, and no one will ever recognize who they are!

Because it doesn't exist now, and it's unlikely to be recognizable in the future.

Book 1: The World Before the Great War: Chapter 10 Last Prayer

Raphael stepped over the frozen corpse and walked to the body in the yellow protective suit. With a crunch, he forcefully pulled the frozen body off the ground.

Because she was so tense, she used too much force and pulled another naked corpse, which was frozen together with her, off the ground.

However, that's not important.

Separating two frozen corpses is not difficult; a miracle can be achieved with great effort.

Frozen things are always very fragile.

She dismantled the unidentified naked corpse to pieces, ensuring that the body of the person handling the protective suit was not further damaged.

"...This is the muzzle of a gun."

Raphael saw the holes in the protective suit and the solidified dirt nearby, and immediately judged from the shape that they were holes made by .45 bullets.

The bullet did not penetrate the body, so it must have been designed primarily for killing and stopping purposes; it might even have been a hollow-point bullet.

The bullet hole was located on the back, indicating that the manager, or landfill worker, was shot while working with his back to a certain direction.

She turned over another corpse—it also had a bullet wound in the back—confirming her suspicions.

"What a bastard!" Raphael cursed.

She took out her pistol and cautiously approached the house next door with a red "X" painted on it. She gently pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the darkness.

The scattered items on the ground crunched underfoot. Stepping into the completely enclosed hut from the sunlight, it was initially impossible to see anything. After a short while, the interior space became clear.

It looked very large inside, with a faint light in a far corner and a suffocating stench permeating the air.

Suddenly, someone let out a weak, long groan, followed by the voice of the "survivor," who was hoarse and gasped for breath after each word.

"Help...help...me..."

Among the many corpses lying on the wooden plank bed with their eyes wide open, a man with pus on his face and blood in the corner of his eye turned his head and looked at Raphael.

Perhaps out of "compassion," Raphael turned on the tactical flashlight on his pistol, his bloodshot eyes moving up, down, left, and right with the beam of light.

He thought he could be rescued?

Raphael grasped his wrist and felt his pulse was very weak, as if it were barely beating. She took two steps and touched another hand, which was already icy cold.

After a long silence, a faint, low voice finally spoke:

"They...are all dead..."

How many people are here? Has it been ordered?

no answer.

How long have you been infected?

"It's been 13 days since the 4th..."

“14 days,” Raphael said.

"Then I must have misremembered. I thought I remembered it very accurately."

"What's your name?" she asked.

“O’Neal…O’Neal Clayster.”