The SMS memetic apocalypse spared more than just the phoneless.
Even in the devastated Americas—excluding the resilient 5G-shielded Huaxia—survivors existed. Those who never saw the cursed message lived.
Memetics 101: Ignorance is immunity.
The moment you know, you're doomed.
The catastrophe lasted barely 15 minutes. For those not glued to screens, it passed in a blink—realization dawning only when the storm had already faded.
Yet the more connected a nation, the heavier its toll.
The Americas, epicenter of the disaster, lost over 100 million—primarily society's backbone: ages 10 to 60. Survivors skewed toward children and the elderly.
But among adults, the largest survivor group wasn't the homeless or minorities—it was the military.
While smartphones weren't banned in the armed forces, soldiers on duty couldn't idle with devices. Violators paid the price; the disciplined lived.
Thus, hundreds of thousands of troops emerged intact—the sole functional state machinery post-crisis.
Within 30 minutes of the event's end, the military seized control, declaring nationwide martial law.
Then came the broadcast:
A wanted poster.
The face on it? Luo Shu.
The nameless hero had become the scapegoat.
"God's" Gambit: Mortal Chains
This was "God's" last play—unleashing世俗力量 (secular forces) to hunt Luo Shu.
Overnight, Luo Shu transformed from fugitive to global public enemy, a demonized figure etched into memory like Bin Laden.
NATO, Five Eyes, G7—all issued condemnations.
Even Huaxia, pressured by the Foundation, escalated its manhunt.
His photo, voiceprints, mannerisms flooded the web.
The bounty? Nine figures.
When Waiter called, his warning was blunt:
"You've seen the warrants? Stay underground."
Luo Shu knew modern tech left few hiding spots:
Thermal imaging exposed body-shape disguises.
Voice analysis flagged vocal matches.
Facial recognition turned every camera into a sniper.
Only antimeme abilities could bypass such nets—but Luo Shu had no plans to surface yet. He awaited contact from Marion Wheeler, the Antimeme Division's chief.
If she survived.
Pre-crisis radio silence suggested the old woman wasn't phone-obsessed. Antimeme operatives worked alone, untethered to networks.
Switching topics, Luo Shu asked Waiter:
"Casualties in Chaos Insurgency?"
"Light," Waiter chuckled. "A few field agents lost. Most Alphas? Unscathed."
"That lucky?"
"We ditched civilian comms years ago. Governments—Foundation puppets—control those grids. We built our own."
Even the Foundation's losses were minimal. Their tactical terminals used isolated systems. Only后勤 (logistics) staff died; researchers and MTFs stood firm.
The Unprosecutable Crime
Luo Shu's voice turned venomous:
""God" deployed a Keter-class meme—killing millions! How do O5 and the Ethics Committee let this slide?!"
Waiter's laugh was icy:
"If they could restrain him, would Alpha-"Bandit" (O5-4) have defected with the Red Right Hand? Besides—who can prove he did it?"
No trademark stamped the SMS meme "Property of God." Only two witnesses knew the truth:
"God" himself.
Cain, the Foundation's living hard drive.
And Cain, after millennia of complicity, wouldn't betray his old… colleague.
Without proof, the O5 would always side with their Tier-6 boss over Luo Shu.
Even if Luo Shu convinced them?
Anomaly-2000 loomed. "God" could reset the world, wiping all memories—sparing only himself, Luo Shu, Cain, and perhaps Alpha-"Bandit".
Truth, in the end, was power's plaything.