According to Luo Shu's plan, the Transformer pickup should've stayed cool—letting itself be "impounded" before making a move.
But he'd overestimated its silicon-based IQ.
The truck was a literal blockhead. Subtlety? Not in its programming.
Now, as soldiers gawked at the flying pickup's stunt, Luo Shu seized the moment to teleport away.
A few jumps later, he was hundreds of meters behind the second defense line, blending into the migrant crowd.
Without the flashy truck, his silhouette in the dim night was indistinguishable from the Mexicans around him.
And with all eyes on the rogue Transformer, no one noticed the extra body.
Now, it was the pickup's turn to be the decoy.
From the command vehicle, a roar:
"This is the 91st Division, 5th Armored Brigade! Requesting 166th Air Support! Suspect sighted—likely terrorist Luo Shu! He's got a fucking Transformer! Yes, you heard right! SHOOT IT DOWN!"
Luo Shu could only pray the truck fended for itself.
Without it, reaching Colorado to meet Marion Wheeler would be a nightmare.
But bigger troubles loomed.
Above him, a Foundation satellite locked onto his signal.
"Priority-6 Alert! Hume-3 Reality Bender detected! Hume Index: 300! Target matches Luo Shu's profile—El Paso South!"
Away from his portable Scranton Reality Anchor, Luo Shu's power signature blared like a beacon.
"God's" Gambit
"God" instantly relayed the intel to General Bowe, interim military ruler:
"Luo Shu's in El Paso South."
"I know. The 91st just reported. Was about to ask you to handle it." Bowe's tone was slick.
The general had long cozied up to the Foundation, eyeing greater power. The meme apocalypse—and the civilian government's collapse—handed him the keys to a military junta.
"God" had engineered this chaos. A lawless world meant no oversight when dealing with Luo Shu.
He could've cloned President Grandpa Bai to maintain order—but the senile puppet was useless.
Bowe? Ambitious. Ruthless. Perfect for the job.
So "God" didn't mince words:
"Strike now. Tanks. Cruise missiles. Airstrikes. I don't care how—KILL HIM."
Bowe balked: "There are 100,000 migrants there! Collateral damage—"
"Irrelevant. Burn them all if you have to."
To "God," Bowe was expendable. A clone could replace him tomorrow.
Sensing the threat, Bowe played pathetic:
"The politicians will hang me for this!"
"Lie. Say the migrants rioted. Afterward, you'll get Anomaly-006 (Fountain of Youth)."
Bowe licked his lips but pushed further: "I want an O5 seat too."
An O5 directorship meant transcending mortal authority. Even the U.S. president would be a bug under his boot.
"God" agreed instantly: "Done. Just erase Luo Shu."
Bowe hesitated. "You're not… bluffing?"
"Why would I care about your power?" "God" scoffed. "O5s are just custodians."
Bowe dared one last question: "But… doesn't the Foundation protect the world? Why—"
"The world, not people."
To "God," humans were ants. Wipe them out? Anomaly-2000 could rebuild in a decade.
He'd done it before.
His duty was to ████████①—nothing else.
Betrayal by Steel
As "God" and Bowe conspired, the 166th's fighters and choppers suddenly veered south—toward Luo Shu's hiding spot.
The dumb-but-loyal pickup noticed.
But remembering Luo Shu's "I'll cover you", it kept flying.
Master, the jets are coming for you. Good luck.