The old knife, who sensed that the situation was not good, couldn't help but ask, "What's going on down there?" ”

"No—nothing, just some rocks and mines......" Bender muttered, but finally couldn't say any more.

In a trance, he found an excuse to return to his room, and finally slid softly on the floor along the locked door.

He held his trembling hands in front of him, and finally clenched his fists, which shimmered in the sunlight.

He seemed to have made up his mind, and then he scrambled up from the ground and rushed to the bedside cabinet to rummage through what he had been.

The bedside table is small, and when you open it, you can only see a few miscellaneous bits and ends.

Bender pushed the awl and the hammer away, and his rough calloused hands paused for only a moment at the sight of a childish drawing.

The A4 paper was yellow, and six little figures were painted with jet-black charcoal. There was a big black sun shining from them above them, and behind them was a large black house with a spire, and on both sides there were black trees and sweet potatoes that grew strongly.

Three of the four villains were clearly adults, and the rest were children. Among the grown-ups was a bald man with a pump-like shotgun like a stick—it was himself—an old man in an overcoat with an exaggerated hairstyle, and a fashionable lady in a chef's hat. The underage lady in the skirt was arranged at the front, and she was still holding bread and other food in her arms.

The charcoal-coated little figures all looked a little dirty, but they could still smile happily on the black mud floor when they held hands.

This is a hand-drawn family portrait created by Winnie. Each of the crappy colonists in the colony received a unique family portrait of the future artist in a very different style – alas, he was bald in all the charcoal-painted family portraits.

Bender touched his head, which was already a little prickly, and then put the picture of him and everyone else on the top of the bedside table.

He tinkered inside for a few more moments, then found a box of bullets and a small ball of red coarse cloth underneath the odds.

The bullet was a precious one-headed bullet produced before the war, and Brie was wrapped in a dagger with a cold light.

The dagger was made of iron, which was not precious, and when he looked closely, he could find a small chip in the blade, but he always cherished it.

Bender pinned the dagger to his waist, dumped the remaining single-headed bullets into his pocket, and hurried back to the lab.

He threw a reassuring smile at the two of them, who were a little worried, and pulled the downward gate again, despite the old knife and Winnie's obstruction.

But out of sight, Bender's face was soon filled with deep worry and panic - did he really shoot Mosilare?

What if she had already died of her injuries?

I am ...... Murderer?

Damn it!

Bender slapped himself twice and forced himself to calm down.

The platform creaked in the darkness, the noise of the machinery finally plunged him into an endless state of chagrin before he approached the bottom, his hands trembling again, but he discovered the truth hidden behind the fog before atoning for his sins in extreme ways - there was nothing on the metal tiles stained red by Mosilaire's blood, and Bender could pick up a thick layer of dust when he leaned over to touch it - it was all a fucking hallucination!

Bender, who had been reborn, screamed excitedly, and only when his excitement had calmed down did he think of looking for Mosilaire.

The psychic helmet that now wears on top of his head is probably the one he had picked up himself in his hallucinations - but how did he know the purpose of this strangely shaped helmet? - It's strange, he can't figure it out yet.

But perhaps this was indeed the kind of Mosilaire who met him by chance, and only those bizarre visions that defied common sense were hallucinations that were difficult to discern.

With the psionic protective helmet on his head shielding him from most of the psychic shocks, Bender had been able to overcome the hallucinations and keep his mind clear, relying on a few signposts at the forks and the occasional map of the huge area drawn on the wall.

It seems to be both an ancient pit mine and an ancient facility that has long been abandoned. There are occasional intersections between the tunnels and underground structures in the pits, but judging by the age of the equipment and passages, this hidden facility should have been built on the foundations of an abandoned mine.

Occasionally, Bender would see dried corpses and skeletons strewn across the passages for an unknown amount of time—some of which appeared to be members of the old facility's staff, while others belonged to adventurers who entered later.

He couldn't understand why anyone would want to work underground without the light of day – to hide from ancient nuclear bombs, or just to hide unspeakable secrets.

Bender pondered for a moment, but finally found nothing in the empty complex that could tell the story of this place's past.

Luckily, the search for Mosilaire went well, and by the time Bender circled around a corner to find her, the poor girl had apparently been tormented by hallucinations, monsters, and psychic shockwaves, but seemed to be in her right mind—at least Mosilaire hadn't beaten herself to scum with the charged rifle in her hand.

As Bender placed another psionic helmet pinned to her waist on her head, Mosilaire, in a state of extreme anxiety, fell silent almost immediately.

Sure enough, this kind girl still has courage and a firm will that ordinary people can't match

"Thank you, Old Knife." She barely managed to squeeze out a smile on her little face, and then she passed out of exhaustion.

Bender's vicissitudes of life were almost wrinkled in his face.

When Mosilaire opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was the familiar ceiling of the base body—and she breathed a sigh of relief.

The next thing I saw was Winnie, who was lying on her bedside for an unknown amount of time,—— she must have been so tired that she would unconsciously fall asleep on the side of the bed.

Mosilaire smiled, but she soon noticed that she had a hairy ass facing her on her chest - apparently belonging to the little mischievous peanut.

Mosilele tried to stretch out her right hand and take the fat cat, who didn't know how much she weighed, off her chest, but woke up Winnie, who was not sleeping well—it turned out that Winnie had been holding Mosilere's right hand tightly, as if that would only wake her up.

Mosilaire did wake up, and seemed fine—so she felt that part of the credit was due to Miss Winnie's prayers and blessings.

Winnie, who raised her head, quickly became overjoyed, and ran out of the bedroom to inform the old knife and Bender at work, and personally brought her a bowl of warm porridge.

Seeing that Mosilaire woke up smoothly and did not seem to be affected too much, Bender and Lao Dao were also very happy, and Lao Dao also informed everyone that the results of Mosilaire's and Bender's physical examinations had come out, and they were neither infected with an unknown virus from ancient times, nor did they have any terrible sequelae due to breathing the harsh air underground for a long time - great!

Because Mosilaire, who had just woken up from a coma, still needed time to recover, she lay in her bedroom for more than a day, wearing a psionic protective helmet the entire time. As for Old Knife and Bender, because this kind of helmet colony still lacks the blueprints and necessary materials for manufacturing, the two guys can only share another psychic helmet - if one of them can't stand the incessant and maddening whispers in his ears, the other party just takes off the helmet in time for him to use, which can well prevent the prolonged psychic whispers from causing further serious hallucinations - interestingly, Winnie doesn't seem to be sensitive to this kind of psychic shock due to physical problems, So in the end, he rejected the kindness of Lao Dao and Bender.

Once Mosilaire had recovered from her weakness, she offered her helmet to everyone to use in turn, so that everyone could shield and ignore the damn psychic shock for most of the day.

Thankfully, the days didn't last long, and after about a week the signal began to weaken significantly, and after ten days, it disappeared completely.

The old knife thought that this was likely to be a mental shockwave that erupted from the ground periodically, and the unlucky people who had died tragically in the base before had probably been tortured for a long time and chose to frantically kill each other in their hallucinations - but when Bender, who was also dining at the dinner table, asked the old knife if there was enough evidence to prove his point, the old knife was ashamed to say that this was just a good scientist's guess, and a scientist would not need evidence to make any point - which made everyone at the table roll their eyes at him.

Later, in a separate conversation with Mosilaire, Bender learns that she has never found any psychic helmets,—— hallucinations and high-intensity whispers have caused her to lose her mind when she stepped into the dusty underground, and the only memory left is the last minute to find the light of her Bender's shaking flashlight and vague bits and pieces.

Bender always felt that Mosilele, who was struggling about the matter, had information to hide from him, but the sad Mosilele only repeatedly emphasized that it was all for his good. - In the end, Bender was moved by the sincerity on her face that could not be faked, and let go of the doubts and worries in her heart.

The platform leading to the underground was quickly shut down, and the entrance to the mysterious pit behind the lab was once again sealed off by a heavy mechanical gate.

The matter finally came to an end, and the complacent old knife shook his head and said that the curse of this place had been completely broken by them, and the highest treatment of the ancient monument should be their noble name at this moment. - but Mosilaire was quick to whisper a reminder that the names of the dead were engraved on the monuments, and that only the names of the dead were engraved on the monuments.