Not long after ending his call with Waiter, Luo Shu received a second call.
"Was it really you?" Marion Wheeler's voice crackled through the line.
"Of course not," Luo Shu denied without hesitation.
There were only two possibilities for Marion's call at this sensitive moment:
She didn't believe the SMS memetic apocalypse was Luo Shu's doing and was responding to his earlier message.
She was acting on the Foundation's behalf, using the call to trace his location.
For the latter scenario, Luo Shu had already taken precautions.
Knowing he'd be staying near Anomaly-100 for an extended period, he'd recently visited Columbia, South Carolina, and assimilated the local telecom servers into his believer network.
Now, any calls made from within South Carolina would only show a rough location (somewhere in the Americas)—impossible to pinpoint precisely.
Without such preparations, he'd never have risked giving Marion his contact info.
Despite his denial, Marion pressed further: "But the O5 Council says it was you. Don't you have an explanation?"
Luo Shu sighed. "Do you think I did it?"
Their alliance was fragile—built on shared goals but divided by factions. Whether Marion believed him was beyond his control.
And in truth, explanations were meaningless.
Those who distrusted him would dismiss his words as excuses.
Those who trusted him would defend him without being asked.
Courts? They dealt in evidence, not testimony.
If Marion believed him, their cooperation could continue.
If not? Goodbye forever.
But Luo Shu suspected she did believe him—otherwise, why call so soon?
If Marion had been helping the Foundation track him, she would've first alerted the O5 Council, giving them time to prepare surveillance and mobilize forces. The call would've come at least an hour later.
And if she'd been stalling to trace him, she wouldn't have directly confronted him about the SMS meme—she'd have dodged the topic, buying time.
Sure enough, Marion chuckled. "I know it wasn't you. You're not a killer, and you've no reason to lie to an old woman like me."
Her trust stemmed from Luo Shu sparing her life before.
As for whether he'd manipulated her to divide the Foundation? Unlikely.
Despite her title as Director of the Antimeme Division, Marion held no real power.
Her department was isolated—too dangerous to interact with others.
Once thousands strong, her team now numbered barely a hundred.
Most Site Directors commanded hundreds; she commanded ghosts.
The Antimeme Division was a research team with no published findings—useless against strong antimemes, irrelevant against weak ones.
Even if Luo Shu turned Marion into a believer, she couldn't serve as his inside agent.
The only threat she posed to the Foundation? O5-8.
But Luo Shu had no interest in targeting the O5 Council—not when "God" was the real enemy.
Impressed by Marion's reasonableness, Luo Shu decided to reciprocate.
"I've uncovered part of the truth."
He shared selective details, omitting Anomaly-116's (Juan Xi's) identity—just in case Marion leaked it.
If "God" learned of Juan Xi's nature, he might hide or kill him, just as he had with Anomaly-196.
And Luo Shu needed Juan Xi alive—to cure his aphasia and extract more truths.
Marion fell silent for a long moment before rasping:
"You're saying… this world is fake? That my entire life… is just a story?"
Her voice trembled with disbelief.
Luo Shu quickly clarified: "No, Anomaly-055 didn't say that. It only confirmed some falseness. I believe this world exists in a liminal state—between real and fabricated. That's the truth we're chasing!"
"So 055's knowledge is limited? We need other antimemes for more 'messages'?"
"Exactly."
"Then… do you want to meet 3125 or 3211 first?"
Marion was decisive—a trait evident when she'd shot O5-8's 'assistant' in cold blood.
Luo Shu matched her bluntness: "3211 first. If she doesn't have enough intel, then 3125."
Marion exhaled in relief.
Anomaly-3211 was harmless compared to 3125—a horror rivaling the SMS meme itself.
Memes and antimemes remained the most unstoppable anomalies, worse than reality benders.
Tier-6 reality benders couldn't manifest here—no need to worry.
Tier-5s were suppressed to Tier-4, manageable for the Foundation.
But memes? Antimemes?
The Foundation had no true countermeasures.
Marion's voice firmed. "Fine. I'll give you Site-41's coordinates."
The deal was struck.