1577

Doomsday Wonderland Chapter 1577: Fake Pocket Dimension

Chapter 1577: Fake Pocket Dimension

So, they planned to use sugar-coated bullets to let posthumans get infected? Wu Yiliu quickly realized that he was wrong.

He never had the opportunity to know how vast this fake pocket dimension occupied. Being regarded as a runaway and captured for labor, compared to normal people who actively surrendered, the Changelings always had an extra dose of suspicion and caution towards him. Therefore, aside from his working area, Wu Yiliu’s concept of the entire pocket dimension was vague.

This is not to say that those who actively surrendered could gain much trust. In fact, whether it was between normal people, normal people and Changelings, or even between Changelings themselves, no one could trust each other. During the construction of the pocket dimension, there were countless Changelings, half were workers, and the other half were overseers because even overseers needed supervision. Every makes.h.i.+ft wall was stamped with a report hotline; anyone was welcome to report anyone else.

Even encouraging everyone to watch each other could not stop the “prohibitions” from secretly becoming a reality, with negligence and secrecy occurring almost every hour. The candy house was a particularly hard-hit area, as food was a construction material.

No matter how many times it was checked upon arrival, when it finally came time to build, there would always be a box of cookies for wall coverings missing, or the chocolate would run out halfway through building a wardrobe. Next time, order more, and the shortage will intensify because Changelings are very crafty and good at accounting. If they took five boxes when ordering by quant.i.ty before, they could now take seven since more was ordered.

With such a mess of a working method, trying to trap posthumans seemed too risky, didn’t it?

Wu Yiliu had never seen a real pocket dimension, but he inevitably doubted that this fake pocket dimension would be seen as fake at a glance. Yes, pocket dimensions did indeed have various kinds, and according to the talk on the construction site, there were those that looked rough and makes.h.i.+ft; but shouldn’t all pocket dimensions have something magical about them?

The “magical part” of the fake pocket dimension was colorful lighting effects, fluffy toys popping out with a “bang,” and loudspeaker broadcasts. With this style reminiscent of a $40 ticket in a third-tier city’s suburban private amus.e.m.e.nt park, could it really deceive posthumans?

Heaving a heavy bucket of syrup to the ground, he was approached by an overseer who swayed over, kicked his heel, and said, “Come, I’ll take you to training.”

Training?

Wu Yiliu suppressed the anger from the kick and followed the overseer, along with another middle-aged man with brown-black hair wearing gla.s.ses. That middle-aged man was a normal person. At first, he was quite calm with Wu Yiliu, but after learning that Wu Yiliu was captured rather than surrendering voluntarily, the man became grim and almost stopped talking to Wu Yiliu.

On the way to “training,” normal people were being led out of other projects by overseers, heading towards a conference room Wu Yiliu had never been to. When they opened the door to enter, Wu Yiliu suddenly felt a slight sense of strangeness.

It was hard to describe this feeling. If one had to make an a.n.a.logy, it was as if someone had sprayed perfume into the air next to him at an intersection he was crossing. Only now, it wasn’t the slowly spreading fragrance in the air but something cold, sharp, and slightly heavy.

When a few posthumans subsequently walked in, Wu Yiliu immediately had a realization.

‘So, that’s what it is.’

Among the four, the gaunt, long-faced female posthuman didn’t even glance at him, as if both had forgotten meeting yesterday. The other three were strangers to Wu Yiliu. Among them, the gaunt woman and another tired-looking man, who seemed unable to even open his eyes, had never changed their facial features; the other two, as soon as they sat down in the chairs across, their faces, as if jolted, suddenly twisted diagonally.

The main speakers today seemed to be the four posthumans sitting in the center of the front row. The remaining ten to twenty normal people were all facing them; at the back of the room, there stood a row of supervisors and guards, each with a stun gun on their waist. When they scanned the faces of the normal people, they unconsciously revealed a look of longing, as if they were hoping for the normal people to do something, to give them a chance to drive the stun gun into their ribs.

“All of you present here are NPCs from various projects like clothing, food, shelter, and transportation,” the sleepy-looking man said languidly. “Your work script is relatively simple. You just have to introduce the situation to the posthumans entering the fake pocket dimension, guide them to relax, provide them with food and drink, service, clean, and that’s enough.”

Wu Yiliu flipped through a few pages of the “work script” he had just received.

This doesn’t even count as a script. A script, by definition, should have a plot, but this paper in his hands only detailed the tasks he had to perform. Looking closely at the job content, he realized one sentence would cover it all: he was clearly a nanny and waiter combined.

“After the fake pocket dimension begins, we will also come in as one of the posthumans partic.i.p.ating in the pocket dimension,” said the gaunt woman.

This was already their second time saying “fake pocket dimension,” and Wu Yiliu subtly felt something odd.

After all, they had betrayed the posthumans, working with the Changelings to create this fake pocket dimension to trap others—yes, the pocket dimension was indeed fake; but isn’t it unsightly to mention it so blatantly? Likewise, people selling counterfeit medicine or alcohol would not call their products “fake” so openly.

“Fake pocket dimension,” “fake goods” should be labels coming from the opposing side, carrying the connotation of judgment and scrutiny… Was he overthinking it?

“We’ve also written the lines for introducing the fake pocket dimension yesterday,” said a changeling posthuman, whose facial features were repeatedly distorting against the framework of the face as if attempting to break out of it like escaping from prison. “Flip to the back, memorize these few paragraphs; the goal is to start next week.”

Wu Yiliu turned the page, and his eyes fell on the text, taking him aback.

Fake pocket dimension

He even doubted his own eyes. As his gaze followed the words, he slowly realized that he had oversimplified things.

“Remember,” the gaunt woman’s voice rang out, “You don’t need to hide the fact that this is a fake pocket dimension. ‘This is a fake pocket dimension,’ ‘It was built just last week,’ all this information can be openly told to the posthumans.”

She paused, smiled slightly, and said, “But the most important point that you must clearly convey…”

Wu Yiliu had already guessed it.

“The only goal of the fake pocket dimension is to allow each posthuman to spend 14 months comfortably and smoothly, and then be transported away.”

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Doomsday Wonderland Chapter 1577: Fake Pocket Dimension

Chapter 1577: Fake Pocket Dimension

So, they planned to use sugar-coated bullets to let posthumans get infected? Wu Yiliu quickly realized that he was wrong.

He never had the opportunity to know how vast this fake pocket dimension occupied. Being regarded as a runaway and captured for labor, compared to normal people who actively surrendered, the Changelings always had an extra dose of suspicion and caution towards him. Therefore, aside from his working area, Wu Yiliu’s concept of the entire pocket dimension was vague.

This is not to say that those who actively surrendered could gain much trust. In fact, whether it was between normal people, normal people and Changelings, or even between Changelings themselves, no one could trust each other. During the construction of the pocket dimension, there were countless Changelings, half were workers, and the other half were overseers because even overseers needed supervision. Every makes.h.i.+ft wall was stamped with a report hotline; anyone was welcome to report anyone else.

Even encouraging everyone to watch each other could not stop the “prohibitions” from secretly becoming a reality, with negligence and secrecy occurring almost every hour. The candy house was a particularly hard-hit area, as food was a construction material.

No matter how many times it was checked upon arrival, when it finally came time to build, there would always be a box of cookies for wall coverings missing, or the chocolate would run out halfway through building a wardrobe. Next time, order more, and the shortage will intensify because Changelings are very crafty and good at accounting. If they took five boxes when ordering by quant.i.ty before, they could now take seven since more was ordered.

With such a mess of a working method, trying to trap posthumans seemed too risky, didn’t it?

Wu Yiliu had never seen a real pocket dimension, but he inevitably doubted that this fake pocket dimension would be seen as fake at a glance. Yes, pocket dimensions did indeed have various kinds, and according to the talk on the construction site, there were those that looked rough and makes.h.i.+ft; but shouldn’t all pocket dimensions have something magical about them?

The “magical part” of the fake pocket dimension was colorful lighting effects, fluffy toys popping out with a “bang,” and loudspeaker broadcasts. With this style reminiscent of a $40 ticket in a third-tier city’s suburban private amus.e.m.e.nt park, could it really deceive posthumans?

Heaving a heavy bucket of syrup to the ground, he was approached by an overseer who swayed over, kicked his heel, and said, “Come, I’ll take you to training.”

Training?

Wu Yiliu suppressed the anger from the kick and followed the overseer, along with another middle-aged man with brown-black hair wearing gla.s.ses. That middle-aged man was a normal person. At first, he was quite calm with Wu Yiliu, but after learning that Wu Yiliu was captured rather than surrendering voluntarily, the man became grim and almost stopped talking to Wu Yiliu.

On the way to “training,” normal people were being led out of other projects by overseers, heading towards a conference room Wu Yiliu had never been to. When they opened the door to enter, Wu Yiliu suddenly felt a slight sense of strangeness.

It was hard to describe this feeling. If one had to make an a.n.a.logy, it was as if someone had sprayed perfume into the air next to him at an intersection he was crossing. Only now, it wasn’t the slowly spreading fragrance in the air but something cold, sharp, and slightly heavy.

When a few posthumans subsequently walked in, Wu Yiliu immediately had a realization.

‘So, that’s what it is.’

Among the four, the gaunt, long-faced female posthuman didn’t even glance at him, as if both had forgotten meeting yesterday. The other three were strangers to Wu Yiliu. Among them, the gaunt woman and another tired-looking man, who seemed unable to even open his eyes, had never changed their facial features; the other two, as soon as they sat down in the chairs across, their faces, as if jolted, suddenly twisted diagonally.

The main speakers today seemed to be the four posthumans sitting in the center of the front row. The remaining ten to twenty normal people were all facing them; at the back of the room, there stood a row of supervisors and guards, each with a stun gun on their waist. When they scanned the faces of the normal people, they unconsciously revealed a look of longing, as if they were hoping for the normal people to do something, to give them a chance to drive the stun gun into their ribs.

“All of you present here are NPCs from various projects like clothing, food, shelter, and transportation,” the sleepy-looking man said languidly. “Your work script is relatively simple. You just have to introduce the situation to the posthumans entering the fake pocket dimension, guide them to relax, provide them with food and drink, service, clean, and that’s enough.”

Wu Yiliu flipped through a few pages of the “work script” he had just received.

This doesn’t even count as a script. A script, by definition, should have a plot, but this paper in his hands only detailed the tasks he had to perform. Looking closely at the job content, he realized one sentence would cover it all: he was clearly a nanny and waiter combined.

“After the fake pocket dimension begins, we will also come in as one of the posthumans partic.i.p.ating in the pocket dimension,” said the gaunt woman.

This was already their second time saying “fake pocket dimension,” and Wu Yiliu subtly felt something odd.

After all, they had betrayed the posthumans, working with the Changelings to create this fake pocket dimension to trap others—yes, the pocket dimension was indeed fake; but isn’t it unsightly to mention it so blatantly? Likewise, people selling counterfeit medicine or alcohol would not call their products “fake” so openly.

“Fake pocket dimension,” “fake goods” should be labels coming from the opposing side, carrying the connotation of judgment and scrutiny… Was he overthinking it?

“We’ve also written the lines for introducing the fake pocket dimension yesterday,” said a changeling posthuman, whose facial features were repeatedly distorting against the framework of the face as if attempting to break out of it like escaping from prison. “Flip to the back, memorize these few paragraphs; the goal is to start next week.”

Wu Yiliu turned the page, and his eyes fell on the text, taking him aback.

Fake pocket dimension

He even doubted his own eyes. As his gaze followed the words, he slowly realized that he had oversimplified things.

“Remember,” the gaunt woman’s voice rang out, “You don’t need to hide the fact that this is a fake pocket dimension. ‘This is a fake pocket dimension,’ ‘It was built just last week,’ all this information can be openly told to the posthumans.”

She paused, smiled slightly, and said, “But the most important point that you must clearly convey…”

Wu Yiliu had already guessed it.

“The only goal of the fake pocket dimension is to allow each posthuman to spend 14 months comfortably and smoothly, and then be transported away.”

If you find any errors ( Ads popup, ads redirect, broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.