Birds Chirp and Flowers Bloom in Washington
Washington's birds are chirping, and flowers are blooming. …………… And so, I decided to take a trip to the American continent.
Decisions should be quick, and execution even quicker—that's the fun of it. But there's one problem. How do I get there? From Korea to the American continent. I'd have to cross the Pacific. I hate swimming, and I can't take a plane. I don't have a passport, ID, or money to buy a ticket.
Oh, wait. How did Dr. Stein leave the agency? 'I'm gonna run back at near-light speed.' Near-light speed. Running close to the speed of light. Could I do that too? Is it possible?
> [I've already run the calculations!]
The thought in the doctor's coat dragged out a chalkboard as if it'd been waiting. Chalk screeched across it, spilling out numbers.
> Assuming you run from Korea to Washington at 99% the speed of light—that's 300,000 km/s——
A cross-section of Earth appeared on the chalkboard. Seoul to Washington.
> It'll take 0.037 seconds!
0.037 seconds? That's not even a blink. Let's go right now.
> Wait, hold on! There's a very fatal problem!
The thought in the doctor's coat waved its hands frantically.
> If a mass-having being like you runs at near-light speed inside the atmosphere, you'll collide with air molecules at insane speeds.
Hmm, and?
> The friction and pressure will trigger nuclear fusion along your path.
Flames were added to the chalkboard. A little thought watching from the side borrowed the chalk and scribbled explosion effects.
> The atmosphere will plasma-ize, creating a heat storm hundreds of kilometers wide, and probably half the Earth will be scorched.
Oh no. If half the Earth blows up, forget giant hamburgers—the Korean snack factories will all burn too. That's a real problem. But Dr. Stein runs at near-light speed just fine. Why can't I?
> Of course you can! We've been researching it non-stop since we saw Dr. Stein do it.
The thought in the doctor's coat slammed down the chalk confidently.
> It pushes air molecules out in real-time to create a vacuum tunnel along the path, and cancels shockwaves hitting the surface with spacetime curvature manipulation. Just say the word—we'll get you to America safely!
The bespectacled thought chimed in, arms crossed.
> We've even analyzed the time dilation lollipop principle. Dr. Stein's secrets are all ours now.
What the heck have these guys been researching? But they seem useful, so good job. Anyway, problem solved. Let's go now.
Energy gathered at my toes as the thoughts began computations in unison. Air molecule density, weather along the path, Earth's curvature, arrival coordinates. Countless variables filled millions of chalkboards in my mental world simultaneously.
Ready—go.
The world flipped. My entire field of view contracted to a point. The light ahead compressed into a blinding cyan-white tunnel, while the world behind stretched red and vanished. The vast Pacific Ocean shrank like a shallow puddle, flashing underfoot in an instant.
Neat. Dr. Stein must see fun sights like this every time.
That bizarre light tunnel feeling, just as the doctor's coat thought promised, lasted only 0.037 seconds.
Tap.
The moment both feet hit solid ground. The little thoughts cushioned the landing shock, but some energy lingered. Gusts radiated from my feet, whipping up winds. Street trees swayed, newspapers on benches swirled into vortices. And right in front of me, a hot dog flew from a passerby's hand into the air.
Bun and sausage arcing through the sky—what a waste to let that go.
I reflexively flicked out a few hair strands to snag the hot dog. Straight into my mouth. Nom.
Mmm, hot dog. Salty sausage juices crunching, tangy mustard sauce, soft bun texture wrapping my mouth.
> Wow! The sausage is super salty!
> The bun's tough!
> Isn't mustard supposed to be sweet? It's sour!
Classic, representative American street food. But being authentic makes a difference from Korea's french fry hot dogs. I should stock a hundred in subspace later.
I wiped my mouth and glanced around. Washington. Microgenics-ruled city. When I ate the energy bar on Will Bates's airship, it tasted like wet cardboard squared. The emotion-incinerated guards tasted like chewing paper—nothingness. So I figured Washington streets would be similar. Gray-uniformed people marching expressionlessly, peak efficiency per Will Bates's design.
But it's not like that at all.
Amid towering skyscrapers, people of all sorts pass by. Suited office workers, hoodie-clad youth, moms pushing strollers. Folks sipping coffee on cafe terraces.
Hmm. They said emotions are erased, but they look like normal humans. What's going on?
The bespectacled thought stepped up in my mental world.
> Will Bates's Puppet Vaccine doesn't show until the control protocol activates, right? Even the Grand Ark guards only got puppeted after activation.
That made sense. Microgenics drugs seem like a switch you flip.
Hmm. Let's tour Washington first. Gotta find that giant hamburger joint too.
……………
Birds chirp, flowers bloom. On a day like this, a little outer god like me has to tourist.
Microgenics-ruled Washington. I imagined telescreens everywhere with Big Brother Will Bates glaring down—a control state. Or a city swallowing suspicious pills for fake happiness whenever depressed.
But nope, nothing like that. No excessive surveillance cams, no soldiers controlling citizens. Just a perfectly peaceful human city, no matter how I look.
Hmm. Kinda disappointingly normal.
Fine then—time for close-up reporting on someone. Dig under the ordinary shell for hidden schemes.
I sat on a park bench to pick a subject. Spotted an ice cream cart. Under a red parasol, a burly uncle selling.
Ice cream, yum. Trot trot. Up to the cart.
Wonder if interest-free, unsecured, unlimited, no-guarantee loans work here too. I stared at the ice cream for a while, and the cart uncle looked down.
"Little miss, want one?"
He offered a cone topped with ice cream. Nice guy. Rewards for being good, huh. Lick.
The moment chocolate ice cream hit my tongue, my eyes flashed open. Ooh, this is the real deal. No need for little thoughts' analysis. Ingredients: milk, eggs, sugar, cocoa powder. That's it. Korean choc ice cream uses vegetable oils, synthetic flavors, colors—and barely 0.1% real chocolate. This is different. Thick, rich cacao filling my mouth. This is real chocolate ice cream.
> Tasty!
> Real chocolate! America rules!
> Only real choc from now on!
> Fake choc for Oh Deok-hwan!
> Why use fake choc when Korean ice cream's pricier?
The little thoughts conjured their own cones in my mental world, licking away. So pure, thrilled over one choc ice cream.
Lick. Lick lick. Thumbs-up to the ice cream uncle, back to the bench.
Anyway. Watching street humans is prime entertainment. Reminds me of American stereotypes from Lee Gyu-rin's loaned comics. Buff black guy with Queen of Spades tattoo. Blonde big-boobed babe in stars-and-stripes bikini bra-top and hot pants. Skateboard kid.
No such types after ages of watching. Still fun though.
Licking ice cream while scouting close-up subjects—then a eye-catching figure entered view.
Striking features, sharp-suited blonde woman. Neatly tied blonde hair, bag in one hand, phone in the other mid-call. Big, fast strides even in heels. Pretty. Not stars-and-stripes bikini, but still.
Ears perked—prosecutor, insufficient evidence, witness acceptance terms nonstop. Lawyer, probably. Or prosecutor. Maybe judge.
Lick. One more lick, then I sampled the emotional trail she left.
——Gaaah.
Reflexively gripped the cone hard—waffle crunched and shattered.
> Eeeek!
Several little thoughts in my mental world tumbled backward. What, what is this taste. Bitter as hell. Horrific. Like boiling herbs a hundred times into crystallized powder.
But the bitterness texture is unlike any before. This——it's self-directed emotion. Despair wanting to die right now. A scream begging someone to save her. Contradictory feelings mashed together into this agonizing lump.
> Ebebett!
> Too bitter!
> Don't eat weird stuff!
> Taste buds ruined!
Poke! Poke poke poke! The writhing little thoughts swarmed, pounding my back like Indian rubs.
> Worse than cardboard energy bar!
> Same level as sewer-taste magical girl!
Sorry, sorry. Wasn't on purpose. Just a quick taste—stepped on a landmine. Ugh. That lawyer looks fine on the outside. But her heart's sunk in despair's swamp. Severe depression maybe.
I tracked the blonde lawyer's back. Call ended, crossing the park toward the main road. Strides still big and fast, posture straight. Doesn't seem mentally troubled at all.
Worth meddling in once. Trot trot. Off the bench, following her.