People in Terra, governing a bizarre little country

President Wilson was waiting to see if Vina had any other interests at stake, not to appeal to the political establishment, but to appeal to his own.

He waited.

Vina continued, "Actually, to be honest, both Prime Minister Ernst and Ms. Christen, the head of Rhine Life, are very optimistic about the Dome Research Station project."

"We all agree that if the Dome Research Station can be successfully completed, it will be a great day that will symbolize the first time that the people of Terra have turned their gaze to the sky above them, to the vast and unknown beyond the heavens. It will be a day that is very memorable and will surely be recorded in history."

"As the country that created all of this, Prime Minister Ernst is very willing to join President Wilson in holding corresponding commemorative events in Colombia and Shelag."

"To this end, he specially prepared a speech in advance that he would use at the time, and asked President Wilson to make corrections."

Speech manuscript?

President Wilson's eyes lit up.

Putting aside everything else about Sherag, Wilson acknowledged Ernst's exceptional oratory skills.

He had thought more than once what it would have been like if that "humanitarian" speech had been given by him instead of Ernst and spread throughout Terra.

That's practically a goldmine of votes! He might get an endless four or eight years as vice president!

Now, Ernst has produced another speech, which is much more appealing to Wilson.

These aren't speeches, they're ballots!

He took a deep breath and accepted the manuscript paper from Vina.

The opening is a string of beautifully written Victorian text.

It's obvious that Vina wrote it.

The title of the speech was: "We Choose to Go to the Moon!"

We chose to go to the moon, to ascend to Terra's eternal twin moons!

Chapter 186 The President: He's Suspected to be My Father

Columbia, Whitehouse, Wilson's office.

With a radiant smile, Vice President Wilson made a promise: "In order to advance science and ensure that humanity on Terra can take a solid first step into space, any force that hinders the Dome Research Station project must be crushed!" before laughing heartily as he saw Vina off.

This unconventional meeting was brief, but its results were significant. Vina and Ernst secured promises and outcomes from the second-in-command (and possibly even the top) in the political arena, while Wilson gained votes and the possibility of re-election—a perfect win-win strategy.

Wilson, in particular, couldn't wait to return to his office as soon as Vina left, picked up the manuscript on his desk again, and quickly got into the zone while studying the elegant notes.

"Great speech! Great speech!"

"Look at these words, look at this contrast, look at this impassioned and unwavering sentence: We choose to go to the moon!"

"This is simply the best response to any doubts! Only a leader who is confident, powerful, and decisive enough can make such a bold statement!"

President Wilson felt a surge of satisfaction when he recalled standing on the podium, delivering this speech to those who were skeptical!

What a wonderful scene that was!

Then there's Jackson, whose recent rise in political power had once been a major headache for Wilson. But now, that nightmare will never haunt Wilson again. If this speech can be delivered smoothly and completely, who in Colombian politics can rival him?

No, I have to go for a drive in the convertible later! This exhilarating feeling deserves the roar of the engine and the howling wind in my ears; only such excitement can match the joy in my heart!

fun!

After having his fun, President Wilson felt a little regretful.

"Why isn't Ernst Colombian? If he were, and I could bring him into my campaign team, my term could probably last until the day I die!"

He sighed with some heartache. In his opinion, even if Ernst's ability was limited to writing such speeches, he would be very happy to hire Ernst to come to Columbia University to serve as his personal writer, campaign office director, or even chief planner.

With him around, Wilson felt that he might even be able to touch that even higher throne.

"You're being a bit too restless."

A mechanical voice, devoid of any emotion, instantly brought Wilson back to reality from his ideals.

He turned around abruptly, his body bending down almost reflexively, bowing his head and lowering his shoulders toward the horned, feathered beast flying in front of him.

The horned beast slowly landed on his shoulder, and only then did the vice president slowly straighten up, his facial expression losing its previous liveliness and becoming much stiffer.

Well, if Vina were still here right now, she would definitely exclaim that Vice President Wilson in front of her and the huge bird stand next to the sofa in the room were indistinguishable at first glance.

"A mere lord from a remote, impoverished village gave you a few words of a speech, and you lost your composure so easily. Human, your composure disappoints me."

disappointment.

The moment the word was uttered from the horned beast's mouth, Wilson's body nearly collapsed uncontrollably again.

All his confidence, all his fantasies, all his burgeoning desires were shattered in an instant. He forcibly controlled the stiffness in his shoulders; his usual eloquent political skills had vanished completely. He could only lower his head like a pitiful child, not daring to meet the gaze of his "pet" beside him, and murmured an apology:

"I'm so sorry, Mr. President."

Fantasy is ultimately unrealistic. In Colombia, no one can challenge the unparalleled position of President Mark Max. No one in politics, no one in the military, and certainly no one among scientists or those infected.

Because he is always right, always rational, and always immortal. He is the undisputed eternal president.

Or should we call him "He"?

He chose Wilson as his vice president, representing the now-thriving Colombian bourgeoisie. He himself was the opposite; he was not a spokesperson for any interest group in Colombia, nor did he belong to any class. He shaped the Colombia of today, and he was, and only was, the spokesperson for Colombia.

Challenging him would be too foolish. How could I have felt the kind of rebellious thought a slave has for his master?

The subdued vice president inwardly slapped himself, but outwardly he could only maintain absolute calm, awaiting the president's judgment.

The president's beak opened again:

"Let me see that speech on the table."

So the vice president, Birdskin, raised the paper in his hand, held it horizontally in front of him, and waited for Mark Max to review it.

He couldn't help but feel a little uneasy.

How would President Mark Max view this speech? Would He take it away? Or would He allow Him to use it to win over voters?

Wilson didn’t even dare to ask Mark Max not to give the speech to anyone else, if he really intended to.

But even as his raised hands grew tired, his shoulders grew heavy, and his body reached the limits of his aging form, Mark Max remained silent.

This was unprecedented. President Mark Max never took any speeches seriously, rarely addressed the public, and never sought support. He simply calculated and guided, not caring whether Colombians followed him or not, because they always caught up eventually, since his calculations never failed.

But the current situation truly puzzled Wilson.

After another ten minutes of silence, when Wilson's arms were completely numb and began to slowly droop, he finally mustered up the courage to glance at the horned beast on his shoulder out of the corner of his eye.

Mark Max stood motionless.

He glanced at it a few more times.

Mark Max remained unresponsive.

Did it crash?

"Mr. President?"

Wilson tried calling out.

But Mark Max was like an old computer that had reached the end of its service life, offering no response other than strange, incomprehensible noises emanating from within.

Wilson walked cautiously to the floor-length mirror, a humble smile on his face, and looked at Mark Max's body in the mirror.

The next second, he noticed that the president's usually pale yellow eyes had now turned a deep blue.

After a moment's thought, he came to a conclusion!

Oh my god, the president's position is in jeopardy!

In an instant, a panic gripped his mind, and Vice President Wilson hurriedly grabbed Mark Max's body from his shoulder, his hands trembling. The horned beast's body was unusually stiff, which further confirmed Wilson's suspicions.

Although the cause is unknown, Colombian President Mark Max crashed while reading the manuscript of Prime Minister Ernst Civaçé's speech, which is likely to become a major event affecting the entire country!

Not daring to be negligent in the slightest, but unable to make a public announcement, Mark Max could only place the President on His throne (a large steel bird stand), then stand devoutly to the side, clasp his hands together, and begin to pray.

In theory, restarting a computer is the most efficient solution when it crashes, but clearly Wilson didn't know how to do that.

As for the three essential techniques of Ursus-style repair methods—"pat it," "smash it," and "hammer it"—he didn't dare use them on Mark Max.

Since things have come to this, all we can do is pray.

It doesn't matter which god or deity it is—the laws of Lateran, the god of wine of Old Gaul, the black serpent of Ursus, even the dragon king of Great Yan, or the bodhisattva Jeragund of Sherag—anyone will do. Show your power and let our President restart things!

If Ernst were here, he would seriously advise dear President Wilson that worshipping these things is useless, and Jeragund has no control over mechanical parts, so why not worship the great god of all machines?

Perhaps the machine spirit will be so pleased that it will bestow a miracle?

While Mark Max had noticed the strange ritual his unsteady vice president had begun in front of Wilson, he had absolutely no desire to stop it.

Or rather, He had no time to stop it.

He is calculating a possibility, verifying a conjecture made by humanity thousands or tens of thousands of years ago, going back from the time of His Great Father, and comparing the probability of this conjecture with the current evolution and development of Terra, the rate of population growth, and the total population and population density.

This conjecture is called the "Infinite Monkey Theorem," which states that "given a typewriter and enough time, a monkey can write out the complete works of Shakespeare word for word."

This conjecture is absolutely possible from a probabilistic standpoint, so no one has ever truly been so idle as to actually give a monkey a typewriter and "enough time." This seems to be merely a theoretical question, not a subject that can be experimentally tested.

Even ten generations might not yield the same results as this experiment. No scientist would go back to conduct such a pointless experiment.

Unless this monkey actually puts the complete works of Shakespeare in front of you.

Mark Max has entered an overclocked state that he has never entered since his awakening, not even during the Colombian War of Independence and the subsequent governance of Colombia.

This overclocking continued for three days.

Mark Max ended his calculations on the third day, when President Wilson had already begun attempting mysterious Sarkaz rituals in his office.

His gaze returned to normal, and his golden pupils moved again, looking at the vice president who was performing a shamanistic ritual in the room.

Wilson was stunned, then burst into uncontrollable elation.

"Brothers, Sarkaz sorcery really works! Let's charge together!"

Mark Max flapped his wings and slowly flew up from his steel bird stand, landing on President Wilson's shoulder.

Without giving President Wilson any chance to get close, Mark Max suddenly tightened his grip.

The stinging pain from the sharp claws and the president's cold glance instantly brought the ecstatic vice president back to his senses. But the next second, what awaited him was not punishment from the president, but an order that left him utterly bewildered.

Without any unnecessary chatter or explanation of the events of the previous three days, Mark Max swiftly and decisively issued the President's orders.

The great will of Colombia says this:

“Help Ernst.”

He had half a sentence left unsaid.

Help Ernst, who is suspected to be one of my fathers.

P.S.: Here I am! I was a bit excited after finishing my exams today, and my foot is recovering well, so I went out to have dinner with some classmates and played a murder mystery game. I just got to the e-sports hotel and rushed to finish this chapter. There will be another chapter soon. If you guys are sleepy, you can continue reading tomorrow. Get some rest, goodnight!

Chapter 187 Horhaiya: The other side has cheaters, and we can't ban them, let's just disable them.

We'll leave aside the situation between Vina and the Special Administrative Region for now.

Tremont is now engulfed in yet another frenzy.

This frenzy is called the "Mechanical Frenzy," and its origin, needless to say, is our dear old friend, Rhine Labs.

In the final routine experiment of the Balrog Project, Balrog personally delivered his acceptance speech. As one of the few Terrans capable of "winning the resurrection match even after turning to ashes," he didn't hesitate to choose an extraordinary option for himself during the reward segment where he personally selected his remains... no, his new body.

He wanted a mechanical body!

Don't underestimate this seemingly ridiculous right. Just look at Ms. Theresa, who narrowly lost to Balrog in this resurrection tournament. She unfortunately didn't get this privilege and could only get the right to use her original body by finishing second. She couldn't replace it with a steel body that even Jeragand would find cooooool!

Moreover, the steel body chosen by the Balrog could not be an ordinary steel body.

The Balrog's temperature is extremely high, and ordinary iron plates simply cannot withstand the temperature of the Balrog's Originium Arts. The Columbian military would not want a pretty but useless vase. Rhine Lab, whether it is Levi or Palvis, are pure scientific fanatics whose only moral principle is to insist on the quality of their experimental products.

Made by Rheinland, quality guaranteed, it's sure to be a premium product!

The same applies to the body of the Flame Demon.

However, to everyone's surprise, Rhine Lab, which was supposed to monopolize the Balrog Project, suddenly displayed an astonishing spirit of dedication in the process of collecting Balrog bodies.

They offered high prices and began searching throughout Tremont for robots that could meet their requirements!