Luo Shu hadn't entered the Charlatan's Realm in a long time—there was no way he'd exhausted his access.
There was only one explanation: his doppelgänger was already inside, occupying his "slot."
Like trying to log into the same game server with two characters simultaneously—it wouldn't work.
At this critical moment, his own clone had screwed him over.
But there was no time to rage. He needed another way out.
Thankfully, Luo Shu had two strengths: intelligence and versatility.
He flipped the Anomaly Archives to Page 114 and activated "Seize the Time" (courtesy of Diligent Feng-Feng).
Instantly, his personal timeflow doubled.
A glance upward confirmed the BLU-82's trajectory: northward, toward El Paso.
The U.S. military had a notorious habit of friendly fire, so the 166th Aviation Brigade had deliberately aimed away from the 5th Armored Brigade's position.
Continuing north would only trap Luo Shu deeper in the blast zone.
He pivoted south.
Just in time.
The Daisy Cutter detonated, raining firestorm debris. Temperatures spiked to 2000°C, instantly cremating the Mexican migrants' corpses.
The explosion's roar and fireball were visible from downtown El Paso, 15 kilometers away. In daylight, it would've birthed a miniature mushroom cloud.
"Conventional weapon" my ass. The BLU-82's kill count surpassed the atomic bomb.
Luo Shu's former position was now a sea of flames—but he'd teleported behind the sergeant major just before impact.
Double-speed + teleportation = narrow survival.
But relief was short-lived.
A grim reality set in:
15 kilometers separated him from El Paso.
Even a marathoner would need an hour.
Luo Shu? Two hours, minimum.
And the path was obliterated. The blast zone was a toxic, superheated wasteland of carbon monoxide.
Detouring? Impossible. The Rockies' southern foothills boxed the valley in.
Bottom line: No way to reach El Paso before his antimeme wore off.
Once his Hume signature reappeared, the Foundation's satellites would pinpoint him again.
And after slaughtering migrants, the military wouldn't hesitate to carpet-bomb him.
The BLU-82 was cheap and deadly—dropping a dozen cost less than a single missile.
(Author's Note: As the U.S. withdraws from Afghanistan, collaborators are being executed by the Taliban. Pro-U.S. translators? Left to die. Moral: Bootlicking earns you a bullet, not salvation.)
Compared to the Taliban, Luo Shu was "Public Enemy No. 1"—worthy of even grander "hospitality."
A multi-bomb saturation strike would render teleportation useless.
Why?
His teleportation had a 200-meter range (human eyesight limits). Last escape? Only possible with double-speed prep.
Even with "Seize the Time," he couldn't outrun the clock.
So Luo Shu turned his gaze to the 5th Armored Brigade's tanks.
"Borrowing" an Abrams or Bradley would get him to El Paso in under 10 minutes.
Problem:
"Borrowing" under 100 gunsights = suicide.
He couldn't drive a tank.
But Mechanical Animation could.
A plan crystallized.
He touched an M1A2 Abrams, activating the ability.
After a quick "chat," the tank lurched forward, charging into the still-burning blast zone.
The brigade commander lost his shit, radioing: "What the hell are you doing?!"
No response.
The crew was already dead from CO poisoning. This was a ghost tank.
Luo Shu wasn't aboard—he valued his lungs.
This was a test: how would the commander react?
The colonel's order crackled: "Battalion B, send a company after that rogue!"
Even suspecting Luo Shu's involvement, the colonel wouldn't fratricide.
Slaughtering migrants was one thing. Killing his own? Different calculus.
Luo Shu's window had opened.