51: Chapter 52 A Civilizational Joke from Across the Ocean

Across the ocean, the studio in New York was brightly lit.

Famous talk show host Conan O'Brien was shrugging exaggeratedly at the camera, with a collage displayed on the large screen behind him.

On the left were the densely packed crew-cut players in Anton Square; on the right was a group of prison inmates in striped uniforms.

"Look at these poor kids," Conan said with an expression of deep distress, drawing a burst of laughter from the audience.

"They think shaving their heads into crew cuts will help them dodge m2 heavy machine gun bullets? Oh God, this is simply the greatest piece of performance art of this century."

In our culture, only two types of people shave their heads en masse: those who have just entered prison, and fanatics who have joined some strange cult."

He paused and pointed at Jack's photo on the screen—the one with the fierce gaze and the crew cut.

"Look at this gaze. Doesn't it look like an angry monkey that's had its food stolen?"

They call this a 'spiritual atomic bomb'.

But in my view, this is more like a swarm of ants showing an elephant how strong their antennae are.

Hey guys, wake up. This is the twenty-first century. War depends on F-86 Sabre jets, not your bald hairlines!"

The studio was filled with a cheerful atmosphere.

Meanwhile, their cultural ambassador to China, Smith, was holding an emergency press conference in the capital.

The camera flashes turned his face pale, but he still maintained that signature arrogant smile.

Behind him was a massive Stars and Stripes backdrop, and seven or eight microphones were arranged in front of him.

"Regarding the recent game titled 'ice and snow world',"

Smith straightened his expensive silk tie, his tone contemptuous.

"We have been seriously concerned. This is not just a game; it is a provocation against modern civilization."

It promotes hatred and a barbaric, anti-human collectivism."

He pulled an exquisite figurine from under the podium; it was a model of "Captain Eagle Country".

"Look at this. This is the hope of humanity. Freedom, individuality, strength."

Superheroes tell us that one person can change the world.

And what is that game teaching? Teaching young people to be cannon fodder? Teaching them to go to their deaths like insects?"

Smith raised his voice, his eyes sweeping over the Chinese journalists present.

"The civilized world does not need this barbaric aesthetic. We are collaborating with the International Games Association to prepare sanctions against Su Yun Studio."

If Mr. Su Yun cannot provide a reasonable explanation and take down those bloody dungeons, we will be forced to take mandatory measures."

"To protect the mental health of teenagers and to uphold universal values."

Smith finally concluded, his face full of a sense of justice.

On the internet, public intellectuals and Western-worshipping sycophants were like sharks smelling blood, instantly reaching a climax of excitement.

"Mr. Smith is right! Crew cuts are just hideous; this is a regression of aesthetics!"

"Shaving your head just to play a game? If that's not a cult, what is? I suggest banning Su Yun!"

"Look at their cultural exports—Iron Man, saving the world. And us? Frozen potatoes? How embarrassing!"

Jack sat in front of his computer, looking at these comments.

He touched his prickly scalp.

In the past, he would have long ago logged into ten alt accounts to flame them.

But today, he just watched quietly, even finding it a bit amusing.

It felt like being a veteran who had just crawled out of a pile of corpses,

watching a group of unweaned children discuss whether fighting a war would get their new sneakers dirty.

"That lot is beyond hope."

In the group chat, Xie Dabao posted a message.

"Yeah," Jack replied with a single word.

They didn't need to explain.

People who had lain in the snow at Chipyong-ni for three days and three nights

didn't need to explain what dignity is to a group of people sitting in air-conditioned rooms drinking coffee.

Su Yun sat in his office, looking at Smith's sanctimonious face on the screen.

"Civilization?" Su Yun toyed with a USB flash drive in his hand, which was the physical data the system had just materialized.

On the system panel, a line of red text was flickering:

[Special Dungeon Material Loaded: Angel Island Visitor Log (Undecrypted)].

"Since you love talking about civilization, humanity, and superheroes so much."

Su Yun plugged the USB drive into the computer, his finger hovering over the Enter key.

"Then I'll let the whole world see exactly what is growing underneath those expensive suits of yours."

He didn't smile, his eyes as cold as the ice of Chosin Lake.

"System, push to the entire network. No IP limits, no firewalls."

I want this bomb to explode in the phone of every person who worships 'superheroes'."

Su Yun hit the Enter key.

At that second, the heartbeat of the global internet stopped.

Not as a metaphor, but as a physical shutdown.

Twitter, Facebook, Weibo, even Pornhub—all servers fell into a deathly lag at the same time.

Immediately after, a black pop-up window forcibly took over the screens of billions of terminals worldwide.

No fancy UI, no suspenseful background music. Just a simple folder icon named:

[Angel Island_Log.pdf] (Angel Island Visitor Log).

Smith's press conference was still being broadcast live.

He was just about to answer the next question when he suddenly noticed the expressions of the journalists below had changed.

The cameras and microphones that were pointed at him lowered one after another; everyone had their heads down, staring intently at their phone screens.

Some covered their mouths, some were retching, and others' hands were shaking violently.

"What's wrong?" Smith frowned.

"Please maintain your professionalism; I am speaking."

No one paid him any attention.

A young female reporter suddenly looked up, her gaze no longer one of awe, but as if she were looking at a fresh pile of excrement.

"Mr. Smith," the female reporter's voice was trembling,

"have you ever been to the Caribbean? I mean, that private island."

Smith's face instantly turned deathly pale.

That layer of arrogant foundation seemed to peel away in an instant, revealing the livid skin beneath.

The file had been opened.