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... mutants and ordinary people are completely different ethnic groups, and only the mutants are regarded by him as himself. Companion.

I now have my own revenge. Even the corpses of these mutants are unwilling to be taken away by these CIA people, let alone the living mutant of Torrent.

结果 The treatment of these corpses and rapids in the hands of the CIA is self-evident.

"The CIA has the right ...", the high-level eyes' eyes narrowed slightly, and his attitude was very tough.

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So… The trial surveillance system stared dumbfounded at the Former•Interstellar Most•Wanted•Criminal•Currently•Weak•Poor Ge Xiu in the virtual world, punching the empire, kicking the Federation, overthrowing oppression and building a new world. Then he turned his head to the camera and cried: “I’ve had a miserable life, really.”

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

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Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

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“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

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“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

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The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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- Description from novelbuddy