Legend of the Cyber Heroes
Chapter 203 - 203 123 Black Hand Hanging High

203: Chapter 123 Black Hand Hanging High 203: Chapter 123 Black Hand Hanging High Amilcare Zhao’s assistant officer, Lord Balbo, was conducting his daily routine training.

In his field of view, there were three virtual characters, all of them Hiroshi Matsushima.

Unlike some gangsters who “just wear an appearance,” Lord Balbo could access data, even tapping into external computational resources, to make the simulation nearly real.

This data included Hiroshi Matsushima’s prosthetic parameters registered at the Paralympics decades ago, and data from during the competition.

Even when Hiroshi Matsushima served them, and they reciprocated by installing security measures for him, technicians could directly access Hiroshi Matsushima’s experience accumulation.

After all, he was just a civilian Martial Artist.

The virtual person thus created, although slightly less flexible in “decision-making,” was not much different from the athlete Hiroshi Matsushima of decades ago.

Lord Balbo quickly swung his fists and palms through the air, and after ten minutes, he had knocked down two “virtual Hiroshi Matsushimas.”

He often did this kind of training.

“Simulation,” though still a step below real people, had the advantages of low cost and being available anytime, anywhere.

You could even choose from all recorded Martial Artists throughout history.

The Martial Arts of government Martial Artists were definitely not weak.

At that moment, the “virtual imagery” suddenly disappeared.

Reality instantly appeared in front of him.

An officer stood in front of him, his prosthetic eye focusing on his fist, looking quite tense.

Lord Balbo was somewhat impatient, “What is it?

I remember…” He compared it to the data in his mind, “from the monitoring team?”

Broadcasts posed a “hard to regulate” problem.

The technology involved was too primitive; almost anyone who knew how could assemble working broadcasting equipment from junk found in any Wilderness Settlement.

Moreover, setting up wide-scale electromagnetic interference might disrupt their own normal operations.

Therefore, the Protectors had always adopted a laissez-faire attitude towards ordinary Broadcasting Clients.

They really wanted to control it, but they didn’t have the energy to manage every single one.

But they couldn’t just completely ignore it either.

The purpose of the Human Gene Bank’s existence was to continue the species “human.” The continuation of the human population was the only duty recognized by the Dyson principle.

To be against the power of the Human Gene Bank was to hinder the great cause of human continuation.

Every Hero was undoubtedly an anti-humanist.

And every Broadcasting Client was a potential anti-humanist.

Their existence threatened human life safety.

Therefore, under the logic extended from the Dyson principle, the Protectors had the right to eliminate them.

Thus, every Lord had a team tasked specifically with monitoring.

The number of Broadcasting Clients in an area was always limited.

In theory, one person should be able to monitor several channels.

The reason it was a “team” was because those involved in monitoring didn’t have a high degree of cyberization.

This was to avoid the situation where someone’s broadcast signal, after passing through a special transcoder, turned into some type of Gu Poison—after all, everyone knew that the current standards of computer technology were set by “that person” and others involved.

The new generation of Internal Strength Masters also used textbooks written by “that person.”

The presence of Heroes among “those people” meant that nowadays, there was no absolutely safe input.

Any input could potentially be a source of invasion.

Having lower cyberization also had another benefit.

If those responsible for monitoring were contaminated by the perverse doctrines in broadcasts, they couldn’t cause significant damage.

Human flesh was simply too weak.

However…

For most officers of the Gene Bank armed forces, being in charge of a monitoring team often meant “sitting on the cold bench.”

Lord Balbo hardly remembered this poor fellow.

The officer whispered, “Sir, we’ve picked up on a troublemaker.

He’s broadcasting our military movements.”

“Ah?” Lord Balbo was somewhat puzzled, “What kind of fool is this?

No…

that’s not right.

Why do such fools dare to mock us now?”

A textual report had already appeared before his eyes.

Following this report, he found that broadcasting channel.

Lord Balbo walked to the window.

He indeed heard what was described in the report.

The broadcaster was detailing the number of troops in their Pine Eagle City, their locations, their density, the number and positions of vehicles, the models of the aircraft and even the visible density of drones.

All of this could be rapidly estimated by visual plugins.

These plugins neatly divided the observed area into countless equally-sized squares, randomly sampled them, calculated the average number of people in some squares, and then, using a series of complex statistical algorithms, produced a set of numbers as close to the truth as possible.

This was not useless information.

Even with high organizational levels, Protectorates could not break through the physical limits.

To assemble dispersed troops, movement was necessary.

Each soldier’s prosthetic body was standardized, and their speed could be calculated.

Limited by distance, weather, terrain, and the state of the soldier’s prosthetic bodies, the tactics available in the wilderness were not limitless.

This level of intelligence could at least tell listeners what Pine Eagle City’s army might do and what formations they might take in the wilderness over the next twelve hours.

“I can’t stand it,” Lord Balbo tapped the back of his head, “the death of Mr.

Bengel truly has stirred up some harmful elements.”

In the moment it took him to say that, he had already retrieved the distribution of all troops in the city and then compared them with the parts described in the broadcast.

Due to the curvature of the Earth, no matter how high one stands, one sees the ‘horizon.’ The far-off landscapes are obscured by the Earth—a distance that is often only a few kilometers to a dozen kilometers.

Not to mention, there are giant buildings in this city.

Lord Balbo quickly calculated the possible location of the observer using algorithms.

Then he accessed the satellite imagery.

“Wow, really,” he shook his head, “industrial prosthetic body?

A fine worker turned into an anti-human element…”

The officer whispered, “We hope to report again…”

“No need.

This individual’s actions in aiding the Hero clearly endangered the lives of others, a definite violation of the Dyson principles.”

Not every protectorate faction member could arbitrarily declare someone deprived of protection.

Many overly blatant actions—such as murder or theft—could be directly determined by the system automatically.

But ‘broadcasting’ this kind of action was merely on the ‘line’, and could only be judged by at least an officer with an official status from the Human Gene Bank.

‘People loyal to the officer himself’ could also be included.

In the system of Dyson principles, every action of a loyalist is the responsibility of the object of loyalty—simply put, if someone loyal to a Lord violates the Dyson principles, it is as if the Lord himself violated the Dyson principles.

Of course, of course, this is just an analogy.

Such an event has never happened before.

After receiving approval from the Lord’s assistant officer, the officer nodded, “Two kilometers away from that broadcaster, there is an anti-aircraft artillery camp.

Inside, a squad of Martial Artists is resting…”

“No, no, no, how can this be?

Each additional minute this broadcast plays, we endure another minute of humiliation,” Lord Balbo said with a trace of indignation in his voice, “Doesn’t he crave the glory of heroism?

Gift him a tactical missile of medium and short range, let him be the most radiant person tonight.”

The officer felt it was somewhat extravagant and wasteful, but said nothing.

Meanwhile, Balbo watched the industrial machine through the satellite’s optical surveillance.

Perhaps because the ignition of the tactical missile was rather loud, the broadcaster seemed to notice something.

He turned around and with his comically short strides, began to run faster.

That’s a prosthetic body not really designed for swift movement.

“Ah, my dear listeners, due to certain reasons, I have to end this broadcast.

Finally, I want to sing a song dedicated to all friends who are paying attention to ‘heroism’ at this moment.

A song, A Las Barricadas, I’ve always appreciated everyone’s support.”

Balbo watched the broadcaster stumbling like some sort of arthropod, and just found it amusing.

The tactical missile of medium and short range didn’t strike directly, but ascended first, then adjusted its trajectory based on the system’s preset target.

This process indeed took some time.

But the mobility of the industrial prosthetic body could likely only extend this time by half a second at most.

The remaining time was just to watch the man’s comedic performance.

“Negras tormentas agitan los aires[dark storms stir the air]nubes oscuras nos impiden ver[dark clouds obscure our sight]Aunque nos espere el dolor y la muerte[even though pain and death await ahead]contra el enemigo nos llama el deber.[duty calls us to fight the enemy]El bien más preciado es la libertad[freedom is the most precious treasure]hay que defenderla con fe y valor.[we must defend it with faith and courage]…”

Until the view was filled with light.

………………………………

Actually, when that unknown broadcaster was reporting on Pine Eagle City’s military movements, Xiang Shan stood up.

He looked at Solo Kill King.

Solo Kill King slowly shook his head.

“We can’t catch up?” asked Xiang Shan.

“Impossible to catch up.

And even if we did, we’d only be delivering ourselves into the enemy’s firing range,”

Xiang Shan listened to this ancient song, silent.

“…¡A las Barricadas!¡A las Barricadas![To the barricades!

To the barricades!]for the triumph of the Confederation.[for the victory of the union!]…”

The song ultimately came to an abrupt stop.

And the last words of the Crab smashed upon the ionosphere, fell to the Earth, fell into countless antennas.

“One piece of scrap metal for one tactical missile, worth it!”