"You can't expect Mr.
President to be patient enough to listen to the nagging of an editor-in-chief at a moment like this."
Wood paused, lit the slender cigarette between his fingers, shook his head, and said: "Even the newspapers with clear backgrounds of the Post, under the pressure of the people, have now withdrawn their tentacles of temptation, and the voices we can make, or the power that these voices can convey, may no longer be enough for the political axe to show enough respect." ” "Maybe so."
Editor-in-chief Bob fastened the collar of his trench coat and walked side by side with Wood towards the newspaper office, but just after turning the corner, a few hundred meters away from the newspaper office in the Special Administrative Region, their steps were forced to stop.
"Gentlemen, please don't go over."
The dark yellow cordon blocked both ends of the street, and dozens of policemen shouted anxiously and loudly, stopping the people watching the excitement at the periphery, fortunately today's procession has dispersed, otherwise it would be absolutely impossible to maintain order at the scene with just these manpower and those few thin yellow cordons.
Editor-in-chief Bob looked at the burning newspaper building hundreds of meters away, his pupils narrowed sharply, and the thick tobacco in his mouth fell to his feet with a snap, smashing out a few sparks.
Wood's mouth opened wide in shock, his eyes widened, staring at the building where he usually worked, staring at the terrifying tongues of fire wafting from those windows, trembling with anger, pushing away the policeman who stopped in front of him, and yelling, "Let's go past the newspaper office."
"Mr.
Reporter, the staff in the newspaper building have been safely evacuated."
The policeman who maintained order guessed the identity of the two middle-aged men, and his attitude was slightly more relaxed, explaining: "Except for a few staff members with minor burns who are being observed in the No. 4 Hospital, no one was injured. ” Hearing that his colleagues in the newspaper office were safe, the Wood reporter's shock and worry eased a lot, and his angry body movements subconsciously stopped, he stared at the newspaper building in the distance that burned miserably like a giant torch, subconsciously grabbed his hair in pain, and muttered: "What the hell is going on, what is going on?"
Editor-in-chief Bob looked at the newspaper building where he had served since graduating from journalism school, pursed his lips with anger and trembling, and said not a word.
The building was burning, it was turning into charred ruins, the fierce fire seemed to be burning the enthusiasm of his youth, the persistence of middle age and the original view of the world, this burning of the depths of his heart should be a very painful thing, but there was not much expression on his face, and even anger gradually disappeared, some were just calm and even indifferent.
As if he still felt that he could not see clearly enough to see the newspaper building and the scene of the death of something cherished in his heart, the editor-in-chief Bob slowly took out a pair of glasses from the inner pocket of his trench coat and put them on the bridge of his nose.
"A fire can wipe everything clean, including the confidential repository we're proud of."
The glasses reflected the red, yellow and black smoke of the firelight, and Bob's cold gaze penetrated the lenses, looking at the burning building, and suddenly said faintly.
Wood's body stiffened, staring incredulously at the side of his face.
If the fire was not an accident, then who dared to burn the most credible newspaper office in the Federation to the ground?
"Medellín died, Pabul won the election, and I thought the world had changed a lot."
Mr.
Reporter, who is known for his fearlessness and his ability to entertain paparazzi, remembered the Medellín project that won him the Nebula Award for Best Documentary Reporting, and frowned painfully, looked at the newspaper building where the fire was getting bigger and bigger, and said in a hoarse and angry voice: "As a result, nothing has changed, do those people still want to break my leg again, or do they want to kill us?"
"The fire is both an action and a warning, and although it will be difficult to kill two well-known federal journalists and then disguise them as accidents, I believe that if we continue, such a tragic end will surely be waiting for us not far ahead."
Editor-in-Chief Bob said with a blank face, then he lowered his head, looked at the coarse tobacco at his feet struggling to survive in the autumn wind, spitting a few wisps of fine smoke, and said, "I'm disappointed in all this. ” Wood's eyes sharpened and burned, staring at the flames spreading outside the building in the distance, looking at the busy police in front of him and the obviously late firefighting ladder truck, and said in a low voice: "I'm going to go in and grab that document, and the memory won't necessarily be burned out." ” "All the storage must have been destroyed before the fire."
Bob suppressed his companion's courageous and adventurous but obviously stupid and impulsive thoughts, and said calmly, "But fortunately, I have made a backup beforehand." ” Wood was stunned, patted the editor-in-chief's not strong shoulder hard, smiled ugly, but didn't laugh out loud, and said hoarsely: "Okay, what should we do next?"
"The most important question we face is, what to do with tomorrow's newspaper publication."
Bob rubbed his aching shoulders and said in a calm tone: "I'll go to the hospital and the police station at this time, you go to contact the experts in the industry, rent a few workbenches first, and work overtime all night today, and the fiber paper version will be suspended for five days, but the electronic version must be sold on time." ” "Understood."
Wu De replied very quickly, then frowned, and asked in a low voice, "I've already written part of that report tomorrow, and the title has been chosen, so it's called the Eternal Ancient Bell." ” "It's lyrical, but I like it."
Editor-in-Chief Bob ordered in a particularly serious tone: "But not now, in the face of such a powerful president and political axe, I believe that you and I could be robbed and stabbed to death by some thug in the street at any time before the newspaper with this report is published, or be hit by a speeding car again." ” "I understand that we need to wait for the right moment."
"That's it."
The two men looked at the burning newspaper building in the distance again with complicated expressions across the yellow cordon, and then prepared to leave.
At this moment, a large piece of heavy object suddenly peeled off and fell from the edge of the burning newspaper building, making an extremely violent muffled sound, and countless sparks and charred metal pieces flew in all directions, causing the firefighters on the street to take shelter in all directions.
The prolonged incineration had caused the metal to lose its original appearance, but Bob and Wood knew exactly what it was.
It was the famous logo of the newspaper in the Capital D.C.: a half-eroded moon.
Eclipse of the Moon.
The Eclipse Moon is not one of the two beautiful moons in the night sky of S1, but the forgotten asteroid in the Sky Dome of Donglin Star.
In order to exploit the crystal ore resources on Donglin Star, the First Republican Federation forcibly ordered the Fourth Military Region to use prohibited weapons to blow up the asteroid and change its trajectory, leaving behind a scarred and extremely ugly eclipse moon without the management committee occupied by extreme environmentalists.
There is no need to debate the rights and wrongs of historical issues, and for the reporters in the Tokyo Special Administrative Region newspaper, the pattern of the eclipse moon is a sign that they must remember the famous words of the journalists of the past when they broke through the political axe at all costs.
"Half of the moon has been eclipsed, and we need to find out why."
Editor-in-Chief Bob and Wood looked at the charred moon eclipse pattern in silence, their expressions were complicated, and their hearts were deep, although it was only early autumn, a building was burning not far away, and the whole neighborhood was occupied by hot and dry air, they felt a little cold.
Xu Le, wearing a hat, stood in the crowd on the street.
At this moment, he, like the people around him, seemed to be grabbed by an invisible hand around his neck, standing on tiptoe and looking into the distance, this picture looks very interesting, just like those rich people who can get documents to raise cats in the HTD bureau, grabbing the soft skin behind the cat's neck.
Looking at the lively crowd, like many cats who don't know what their owners are thinking, staring curiously, looking at the burning building, guessing what happened, whether it has anything to do with the morning rally and procession, whether there are any dead, how many people have died, whether there will be a mourning tomorrow, and so on.
Xu Le left quietly, lit a shriveled cigarette in the autumn wind, and walked through the city with his head bowed in the darker and darker light, he didn't think that he was fundamentally different from the people who were watching the excitement just now, but he seemed to be able to vaguely understand what the real masters of the Federation were thinking.
At least he knew, those people wanted to kill themselves.
Traveling around the underground world and on the ground, he faced the near-omnipresent pursuit or hunt of the Federal Axe, and he was attacked several times in a row outside the south gate of the Botanical Garden and the walls of the 33 Protein Meat Synthesis Plant, and the scene was extremely dangerous.
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Although the old thing is still reserved and uneasy on his side, in the face of the federal political axe with a secondary monitoring network and countless resources, he is just one person, and he still seems too weak after all, especially the recent pursuit and accuracy of the political axe, which makes him sensitively smell a trace of danger.
Behind the surveillance heads in the streets and alleys, there seems to be a group of very powerful people who are tracking and hunting them down, these people are very professional, but they do not have the bureaucratic inefficiency characteristic of the FBI, these people are very professional, but they are not as easy to be crude as the military, and their calculations are very meticulous and very targeted.
Yes, for surnames.
The successive attacks, and the sense of crisis that was getting closer and closer to death, gave Xu Le a feeling that those people knew him very well, and sometimes even more accurately grasped his fighting style and action choices than himself.
In addition to speculating with interest about the composition of the procession, he had been thinking about President Pabur's conversation in the official residence for a long time in the underground, but today, seeing the newspaper building burned to the ground, he realized that he had made a mistake.
If you're not good at thinking, don't think.
If you are used to doing more and talking less, then don't think too much and do too little.
Since many people praise themselves for being good at simplifying complex things, they should not choose the opposite pattern of behavior when they return from Xilin.
People, after all, should still walk on the road they are familiar with.
For Xu Le, who is walking on the streets of the capital, what he should do, and what he will do, is to raise the gun in his hand and defend his truth.
To be continued: