Ultraman Legend of the Light Chaser

He looked incredulously at the top right corner, confirming that this was the best-selling regular newspaper in the area.

“The gang culture in this country is very… diverse,” the wool coat explained, “so when ‘alien’ fights with aliens, it’s written as a gang war.”

"The guys who came out of the Gulag went from petty thugs robbing pedestrians' bags to tycoons who robbed an entire country. They gave me endless inspiration. The prison on South George Island is a tribute to them," the man in the wool coat seemed to have returned to the time when he decided to build South George Island. He waved his arms and spoke with great enthusiasm, singing an aria: "Some people even left the Gulag and were willing to go to South George Island for 'further study.' I was deeply moved. What studious earthlings!"

"And then you just let them die in there, throwing their bodies into the lava furnace," the man in the rolled-up hat said dryly. "What is this newspaper writing? Cosmic gangs are fighting in the forests of the Far East, one side is being tortured to death by the other?"

The woman in the wool coat lowered her arms and looked down at him, her gaze filled with affection and sympathy: "I didn't know your memory had deteriorated to this extent, my dear. The forests of the Far East—the K17 region that TPC talks about, don't you think the people in the photo look familiar? Our standard black robes."

"That's just a cheap black cloth that anyone can throw on! If it's painted white, it's a tablecloth!" the man in the rolled-brim hat retorted, but his eyes remained fixed on the photo.

After being reminded by his companion, he did recognize the main character in the photo: a man in black robes wrestling with a man in silver-gray. To be precise, it was the man in black robes beating up the man in silver-gray.

The image quality is shockingly low, but the body movements are still quite clear. You can see the black-robed man's hand gripping the other person's face, while the silver-white man's fingers are twisted, appearing to be in extreme pain.

This is not a photo that can be published.

The man in the rolled-brim hat looked up suspiciously, while the man in the wool coat grinned and said, “It’s not difficult for you to stir up a crowd. For example, if I say you’re a wicked bastard, you’ll definitely object. I’ll first show you a video of you arguing with someone, edit it artistically, and you’ll have to explain. Then I’ll show you a test paper where you got a zero, and you’ll have to explain again. Next, I’ll throw out some of your childhood ‘experiences’ like scalding ants to death or arguing with classmates as an adult. You’ll explain again and again, but because of the terrible first impression, fewer and fewer people will believe you, and you’ll become a wicked bastard who has been wicked and heartless since childhood.”

“I’m a normal Kirieloid,” the man in the rolled-up hat said. “You’re applying that to the TPC?”

“I’m just selling some valuable information. How the media uses it is none of my business. Unless we buy up all the newspapers in the world,” the wool coat said. “TPC’s external propaganda response is not slow. They have compiled a list of their recent achievements with pictures and texts. But it’s always easier to raise questions than to explain. Now they have to explain the incident of ‘aliens killing aliens’ within 100 kilometers of headquarters.’”

“But that’s not an alien.” The man in the rolled-brim hat clearly remembered that the man in the black robe was number sixteen, who was later found by the tomb keeper and was probably being held somewhere in TPC.

“Yes, if they interpret it as ‘internal strife among aliens,’ we’ll kindly provide some more information… like the daily photos of the half-human, half-ghost in the black robe; our research department has plenty.”

The man in the rolled-brim hat stared blankly for a moment, then clicked his tongue and said, "You're a truly wicked bastard."

“This is called scientifically and rationally destroying TPC’s precarious credibility step by step. There’s no wall that can’t be dug down, only hoes that haven’t been used in the right way,” the man in the wool coat said, picking up the vodka that his companion had pushed away. “Aren’t you going to have some? I think it tastes alright.”

“If you like, drink it yourself,” the man in the rolled-brimmed hat said, waving away the wafting smell of alcohol. “There are a lot of honest people in TPC. What if they say everything? Like, that he’s an air force member, a victim, or something like that…”

"Doesn't that just prove that TPC is so useless that even its own people are being captured and used for experiments?" The man in the wool coat laughed, ripples spreading across the smooth liquid in his bowl. "After reading this newspaper, you can take a look at another one."

"The crowd is furious and cursing TPC?" The man in the rolled-brimmed hat felt a bit sorry for the people in TPC's external communications department. It's like when you're arguing with someone and the other side has a lot of people. Even if you shout at the top of your lungs, you can't drown out what they're saying. And the other side's voice might not be any lower than yours.

Most importantly, the harsher the criticism, the more people will watch, and the more money can be made.

But the next newspaper left the man in the brim speechless: Dawn of Peace – Ten years of trials and tribulations, unwavering support, TPC will always be with you.

Before the man in the rolled-brim hat could ask a question, the man in the wool coat patiently explained, "This is called 'hedging.' When everyone thinks you're a bastard, you need someone standing by your side."

He opens his arms to you, offering boundless acceptance, declaring that even if you commit murder and arson, he will fly to prison to be locked up with you. No matter what you do, he will cross mountains and seas to reach you, coming for love.

"Disgusting." The man in the rolled-up hat wanted to get away from his companion who was making such a heartfelt confession, and even though the wool coat was now worn by a tall woman, it still made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

“Yes, that will make everyone disgusted with you even more,” the wool coat said. “Sometimes saying nice things is more effective than saying bad things.”

At this point, the bowl in the wool coat's hand was empty: "You're late. In earlier years, we used this tactic much more... When the TPC talks about peace, we love peace more than anyone else. Anyone who dares to keep weapons is a Nazi remnant; when the TPC develops space, we are more enthusiastic about the stars than anyone else. Anyone who dares to say to look down at the poor is a 'misfit' who's holding back, an idiot with overflowing maternal love. Conversely, when the TPC starts to help poor countries, we sing its praises. Anyone who dares to say to concentrate resources on research and development is an enemy that hinders the common progress of mankind."

The overcoat muttered a whole bunch of things, chattering more than the sparrows outside, but the rolled-brim hat didn't seem bothered. The highly assimilated society of the Kirielods, a state of mutual inclusion that he had never encountered in his relatively young years, was something he had never experienced before.

This old fellow, who has been lingering on Earth for centuries, certainly has a lot of good stuff inside him.

He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "You learned it on Earth... no, you were taught by Earthlings?"

The man in the wool coat shook his head: "Nobody taught me this; it's called 'when in Rome, do as the Romans do'."

Chapter 181 Before the Rain

The TPC is in a difficult position in the public sphere, and has to spend more time and manpower to deal with a series of problems that were triggered by this.

The surge in applications for associations and demonstrations has led the Ground Guard to revert to its original mission. In Sato's own words, "Applications my ass! Why don't they just do some covert operations so I can turn a blind eye and continue investigating the Kirieloids?"

While squatting in his cell learning to control his powers, Sosuke was unaware that the information about his brief conflict with the GUTS team had been released, and now he was a "world-famous" irritable alien.

Not long after, the narrative shifted again—doesn't that "grumpy alien" look familiar? What's its relationship with the "friendly Earth monster" rumored by TPC? Good heavens, how could TPC collude with such a terrifying thing? Don't be fooled by their show of goodwill!

The external propaganda department is in a state of chaos, but fortunately, it hasn't all been bad news lately.

The infection suffered by the Victory team has been initially brought under control; at least they no longer have to spend their days counting ants in an isolation ward.

Everyone who was worried about "what to do if a monster appears next" breathed a sigh of relief, and the Flying Swallow, which had been idle for many days, was reunited with its pilot.

The happiest person was Daigo. First, his teammates were unharmed. Second, if they hadn't been discharged from the hospital, then the next mission would only involve him, Nozue, and Iruma Megumi. The captain would definitely be keeping an eye on him, and no matter what excuse he used, his identity would likely be exposed.

"It's so good that you're back! You've recovered so well!" The eldest brother in the equipment repair room was very enthusiastic. He grabbed Xincheng, a "regular customer," and patted him hard on the back. Xincheng's face turned as red as a pig's liver, as if he was about to vomit.

He suspected that the equipment maintenance room was still holding a grudge about his plane crash, or perhaps they wanted to give him a warning—if he didn't want to be driven into the floor like a nail by a muscle-bound guy, he'd better be gentle with the Flying Swallow.

“If it had been a few days later, we would have had to activate the backup plan and add some performance limitations to the Feiyan,” said a person in the equipment maintenance room. “We would have lowered the requirements for the driver, at least to meet the needs of deployment.”

The newly discharged patients looked at each other, and Lina stepped forward and said, "We don't need to anymore. We're in normal condition, and I even feel... better than before."

……

Life Science Research Center.

The vacant temporary ward has been stripped of its beds and all living supplies, and the researchers are going to restore it to its original state: a sterile isolation ward.

The medical staff left satisfied with the data and nursing experience they had obtained from the Victory Team. Yuuki Tsukishiro saw them off out of the building and said, "Don't cooperate again in the future," because cooperation always meant that someone else would get into trouble.

"The temporary ward is closing down!" Yuki Tsukishiro waved cheerfully, then turned around, her wrinkled face gradually smoothing out.

"I have good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear?" he asked.

Beside him was Aiba Yu, who had come to check on the physical condition of the Victory Team members. After confirming that everyone was in good condition, he did not go to the Flying Swallow hangar with the main group, but stayed at the Life Science Research Center.

“In chronological order,” Aiba Yu said.

Yuuki Tsukishiro strode toward her laboratory, saying, "The good news is that I've made some progress in my research on the ancient genes. For example, I've found the most crucial balance point regarding the 'antagonistic' mechanism between it and the alien beast factor. If any more TPCs are infected, I'm confident I can cure them."

“Moreover,” he lowered his voice, “after the ancient genes were activated, I’m certain that it had a certain impact on their physique, and so far it seems to be mainly positive.”

"Is the bad news also about it?"

After a moment's thought, Yuuki Tsukishiro nodded: "Accurately..."

"It's about my 'colleagues'... The Victory Team's infection was intentional on the part of the Kirieloids. They must have been researching for many years, whether it's ancient genes or alien factors—think about it, I've made progress in such a short time, it's hard to say the Kirieloids haven't mastered it."

Aiba Yuu deeply agreed. The Kirieloids, or more precisely, all aliens who "concerned" about the power of the Titans, must have studied the ancient genes over these long years.

Just like South George Island, the aliens had been lurking on this planet for a long time before his return, especially during the two world wars, when the human materials they wanted were readily available.

"Be careful in everything you do," Yuki Tsukishiro said with deep concern.

“I won’t be infected by myself,” Aiba Yu said. “You should say that to Sato.”

Because of preparations to deal with mechanical civilization, the current TPC Far East headquarters has almost been turned into a fortress.

If another Bizomo causes trouble, surveillance, alarms, and fully automated defense equipment will be monitoring it from the moment it escapes the jar. Within two minutes, the guards will be deployed. It will be impossible for the intruder to spread its influence through ventilation ducts or other blind spots throughout the building or even the area.

But the guards couldn't just stay inside the fortress.

Just like the initial investigation into aliens, the ground guard forces have been deployed overseas for an extended period, only their focus has shifted from aliens to Earthlings.

"I'd rather fight with crow people, raven people, magpie people, and sparrow people than squat in the square being besieged by a bunch of old men and women talking at once!" This is the consensus of the ground guards.

But reality doesn't always follow the rules. Not only are they "besieged" by older folks, but more and more young people are also gathering. The excited crowd is like a sea of ​​sticky gum, and when a big wave comes, it sticks people from head to toe, making it impossible to get away.

This was a marching group that had registered with the police station according to procedure, marched obediently along the predetermined route, and displayed the expected flags and banners—but everything changed after a security guard was identified as a TPC member.

"Captain! Did you hear that?" Under the cover of his comrades, someone pulled out a walkie-talkie, waved it at the crowd, and then shouted, "From 'wanting a safe Earth' to opposing TPC!"

"I heard you." Sato scratched his head in frustration, and a cacophony of noise poured out of the receiver. The crowd had clearly not agreed on a slogan beforehand; some were shouting "TPC, refund my taxes!" while others were cursing, "We'd be better off paying protection money to the Giants than relying on you." But it was precisely this lack of organization and genuine emotion that made things more complicated.

"Hide your identification badges and go relieve the nearest squad. You're now the local police. The TPC guys are gone," he ordered. "Keep an eye on their organizers or leaders."

"Are you going to arrest them?"

“Civilized people shouldn’t just ‘arrest’ people so easily. Did they violate any regulations? Did they assault you or rob your shops? I need their appearance and behavior information to give to the information department for analysis.”

"Yes!"

The deputy captain was quite puzzled by his arrangement. Due to the decline in people's sense of security, there had been a lot of applications for marches and rallies recently. Strictly speaking, this was a headache for the local police, and had little to do with the TPC police department.

But Sato insisted on letting them come, and caused a commotion because some members didn't hide their identification properly—everyone was annoyed with you, and you were showing up in front of them, so they had to put down what they were doing and target you.

"Captain, we also need to arrange for people to investigate the movements of the Kirieloids," the vice-captain advised. "There are too many of these gatherings."

“They’re with the Chakiri Elorod people right now.” Sato shifted his gaze, only to see his vice-captain’s eyes widen in shock at this statement: “Could they be lurking in the parade?!”

“If the Kirieloids were that direct, would we still need to investigate them all the time?” Sato raised his hand to interrupt him: “There are no Kirieloids here, not even aliens.”

“Like ants moving house before a storm,” he said, “only those who are truly oblivious would come out to attend the gathering. Extraterrestrials have their own channels of communication… Haven’t you noticed? How long has it been since we encountered any other extraterrestrials since the Manonians?”

Chapter 182 Evacuation

The vast majority of cosmic beings residing on Earth sensed an impending storm.

They carefully moved to a location far from the eye of the storm—the TPC Far East headquarters—and then carefully concealed their whereabouts, either living in seclusion or interacting with ordinary people around them as ordinary Earthlings.

In fact, very few extraterrestrials capable of interstellar travel are unaware of mechanical civilizations; many of their ancestors even had less-than-pleasant interactions with them. It was only after the mechanical civilization's mission failed that their ancestors were able to undertake interstellar travel.

If they have spent money on intelligence gathering, they will surely know some of TPC's research trends—the development of the Magus power system has made a breakthrough, and we may soon hear news of its announcement.

To Earthlings today, the Magneto propulsion system is a strange and mysterious cutting-edge technology, but to extraterrestrials, it is a familiar concept. Although different civilizations may use different names for it, its function in traversing distances measured in light-years is universal.

The aliens knew, based on the experience of their predecessors, that a mechanical civilization was on its way.

They're like sharks drawn by the smell of blood.

Fish, with their mechanical brains granting them powerful mobility, their mechanical bodies giving them innate endurance, and their underlying logic making them steadfast and persistent... Even if the universe were to be destroyed tomorrow, it could not shake their determination to "maintain order".

Therefore, no civilization can escape being hunted, especially for young civilizations that have just mastered the technology of controlled annihilation of protons and antiprotons.

Humanity, led by TPC, is destined to fight against the "restriction system" set up by mechanical civilization.