(I can't do it for a day, and I
can't do it for a day, and I am still yin and yang when I sweep the snow).
"Today isn't the time to ask, so you're probably going to feel a little offy?"
The
researcher in sunglasses walked into a well-appointed containment chamber with a high-end Simmons bed, a beautiful mahogany coffee table, a full set of blue and white porcelain tea sets, and even a bamboo-style wallpaper plastered on the walls.
It looked much larger than what was observed from the outside, but strangely enough, no one was surprised that it was a containment chamber that was not at all recognizable as a containment chamber.
This is the abode of God (SCP-343).
The old man who claimed to be God sat on the windowsill of a room on the third basement floor, which for some reason but could be illuminated by the soft sunlight, holding a copy of the Boston Evening News in his hand and wearing a pair of reading glasses with thick lenses, looking like Uncle Tom next door.
Hearing the researcher's voice, he put down the newspaper in his hand, looked at the visitor with a little surprise, and said
"That's right, it's been a long time since you've come looking for me before the allotted time. "
The researcher nodded slightly, agreeing, but then, he immediately asked
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"God" raised his eyebrows, with an elusive smile on his face, unhurriedly took off his glasses and put them on the table, and replied softly:
"Because of this, right?".
He pointed to the Boston Evening News, the headline of the evening newspaper to be exact.
"A reality bender, my misguided lamb?".
The
researcher sat down noncommittally and asked
"You know, Steve?".
In an instant, the old man's expression suddenly became solemn.
(God: What's the matter, how did that thing end up here? Didn't I shield him?).
343 is a man of good talk, he calls himself a god, he has good intentions for all normal life, he regards it as his own child, and he is very strong enough to completely transform the interior of the Foundation's purpose-built containment chamber, and its ability even involves spatial folding technology.
The carved and painted classical Chinese tea house in front of him is just a beautiful model under his transformation.
To the Foundation's surprise, they did not actually provide the old man with any related props, including flooring, masonry, mahogany, and tea sets.
However, they
couldn't be sure if the old man had created them out of thin air, as they had been accompanied by the original furnishings inside the containment chamber.
Transformation and creation are two completely different concepts
At least one thing is certain, though.
Whether or not,
as 343 himself claimed, creation consumed too much of his energy or whatever, at this moment, he is not omnipotent.
Melmet, the researcher in charge of asking him about Steve's incident, didn't have much hope, after all, 343 would sometimes prevaricate some key issues with all kinds of divine babbling, and even simply said that he didn't know, but this time, he had a surprise.
The old man's face was serious for a moment, and then he quickly regained his indifferent expression.
But this can't be hidden from Melmet, the researcher in charge of the record.
Sensing the momentary change in the old man's expression, Melmet's heart was already clear
That's what SCP-343 must know.
Dr. Garner, that guy, although he has been indulging in the joy of old women lately, is still doing his job well!
Although he didn't know how he was that age, how he would suddenly adopt a daughter in his twenties, but his judgment of Steve was really right.
That life is God, at least, related to God!
After sorting out the excitement in his heart, one step closer to the Foundation unveiling Steve's mystery, Melmet just asked
"Do you have any clue about him?".
The old man looked confused, shook his head, and asked rhetorically
"This Steve you're talking about, is he pretty?".
Melmet was stunned for a moment and shook his head:
"It's not a question of whether he is beautiful or not, don't be surprised if I say it, he is square!".
The old man's face stiffened again (really him, I had shielded him), and sighed inwardly, but this time he converged so fast that Melmet didn't even notice this small detail.
The old man shook his head solemnly, and once again wrote the confusion on his face and said
"Fang?".
With a wave of his hand, the handwriting on the paper of the Boston Evening News on the table gradually disappeared, his fingertips moved slightly, and a portrait gradually emerged on the paper.
The old man picked up the paper, pointed to the eight-foot-tall and beautiful Chinese-faced man on it, and asked Melmet
"Is this it?".
Melmet swallowed and carefully looked at the old man in front of him.
I didn't expect you, you still have this ability?
What is this, God's masterpiece of God's own pen? It's pretty good
But ......
Melmet recalled what he saw in the meeting in his mind, in the surveillance video, Steve's abstract gesture, and shook his head:
"No, no, he's not a national face, he's a real square head!".
The old man frowned.
I
don't know what you're talking about, but do I dare to draw it?
Why do you think I'm going to retire here? Isn't it because you're safer here? As a result, you still invited me to come in with such a big Buddha?
You don't know how scary that man is!