Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 49 - 48 Mr. Delusional, The Fear Legend

Although he desired to conduct a secret trade with the journalist, Lyle realized he was not a very profound person, his thoughts pure and transparent, seemingly not possessing many secrets worth hiding.

His identity as a transmigrator counted as one, but Lyle wasn’t foolish enough to use that for trade.

After some more pleasantries with the journalist, Lyle turned his attention to another.

Mr. William Wyran.

His name sounded like some kind of 20th-century sparkling wine, of course, this was just a small joke to himself.

Communication with the gentleman had mentioned him before, apparently a writer in pursuit of inspiration, though whether his science-fiction-leaning mechanical attire was part of that pursuit Lyle couldn’t tell.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. William."

The cubic head tilted at a subtle angle on the neck, as if deeming it necessary to engage in conversation, its sleek planes bulging with little granules, like an opened box, the front revealing a small chunk of a virtual screen.

If he wasn’t mistaken, behind the screen appeared to be a human brain model with several bundles of electrode tubes attached, electrical sparks flickering beneath the cortex, making him seem out of place in this era.

A pair of handsome gentleman’s eyes projected onto the virtual screen, with that depth and mysterious style that Lyle happened to favor most.

"Well, your style is certainly unique."

"Thank you, every new friend I meet says the same, and your bird-beak mask is very... distinctive."

Mr. William strained to compliment Lyle’s appearance, a clumsiness that made Lyle realize this gentleman might not be suited for socializing.

"Plague Doctor, what did you just call me?"

"Mr. William, is there a problem?"

"No, it’s just that people usually call me Mr. Delusional or Wyran, William, my name, isn’t often mentioned."

"That might be for personal reasons, because that name had been used by something I was once familiar with." Of course, I won’t mention the name of that 20th-century sparkling wine, to avoid surprising you all.

The eyes on that virtual screen switched to a narrowed, contemplative expression.

"Let me guess, the William Dafoe you’re familiar with, is he the 21st-century director?"

"?"

Lyle trembled, his hand braced on the table, the other massaging his temple, to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from overwork.

"Could you repeat that, Mr. William?" This is supposed to be the Middle Ages, we haven’t even reached the 15th century yet.

"I said, the 21st century, Plague Doctor, that’s the distant future, I am a transmigrator."

Lyle fell to the ground as if someone had hit a homerun against his waist. He hooked his hands onto the edge of the table, struggling to rise from the floor, finally sitting ungracefully on the table as his legs, gone weak, could no longer support his body.

"You are what?"

"I am a transmigrator, a person who has come back from the future, I come from the future." Mr. William’s expression didn’t change, the charming eyes on the virtual screen even blinked.

Another transmigrator?

"You mean, you are from the 21st-century future?"

"No..."

Lyle took a deep breath.

"I am from the 22nd century."

Lyle hunched over, coughing due to the discomfort in his breath.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, can’t you see? My body, I am a mechanically augmented person from the future."

"Forgive my bluntness, but I find it hard to believe." Hard to believe he wasn’t the only transmigrator.

"No matter, I can tell you a story."

...

The story takes place in the year 2112.

City of Tears.

A city named for its perennial acid rain.

The city was controlled by several enormous high-tech conglomerates, making it both a heaven and a hell, with cutting-edge technology and an unprecedented wealth gap.

Last century, artificial intelligence had emerged, this century, artificial intelligence human rights legislation had just been enacted.

However, having citizenship did not help one escape poverty, a rule that applied to both humans and artificial intelligence.

Poverty and desire bred grey areas, which the upper class turned a blind eye to.

Alcohol and narcotics became the desperate lower class’s sleeping aid.

Yet, all of this had nothing to do with William Wyran.

He was born into a middle-class family, received a good education, had a high-paying job, and was a cosmetic surgeon.

A surgeon who catered to both humans and Andys.

Andy was a company name, an artificial intelligence company, responsible for eighty percent of extant artificial intelligence, which over time, led to all such artificial intelligence being collectively referred to as Andys.

In this era, cosmetic surgeons were revered for not only crafting beauty but also for defying death. The mechanization of the human body had become the norm, countless wealthy ladies were willing to queue for hours for their tungsten-coated rear ends and pay a hefty sum.

William was a standout in the industry, with an aesthetic sense beyond most, every being he augmented was hailed as a masterpiece.

He became a favored guest among ladies, having met many, wealthy women with aggressive eyes, young ladies yearning for beauty, and fragile girls risking it all.