As dusk approaches, the pale yellow fog that only envelopes the Eastern District becomes thicker again, and the thin rays of the sun become increasingly turbid. The unique fiery red of the evening is hindered by industrial progress, and only a faint blood red smeared on the dome canvas paved with fog.
above, making the already dirty sky look even more messy.
As soon as Klein and Mike got the news, they did not choose to go directly to the dock union. Instead, they returned to the temporarily rented house at the border of the East District at noon and changed into more formal attire, no longer pretending.
For today's trade unions, there is no essential difference between big and small journalists.
On the way here, Mike, who has a lot of experience, specifically explained to Klein the scandals that have frequently broken out in the union in recent years.
"Whether it's targeted strikes or union leaders accepting sales and bribes from factory owners and chambers of commerce, these are nothing new among the civilian class." Mike lowered his voice and said with his lips barely moving.
Klein, who was close to him, nodded perfunctorily, but his attention had already shifted to his surroundings.
Prompted by his spiritual intuition, he vaguely felt a few eyes lingering on him and reporter Mike, even as soon as he walked to the side of the road occupied by the union.
There is indeed a problem here... Klein pretended that he didn't notice any clues, and while still dealing with Mike's enthusiastic introduction, he spread his spirituality, preparing to activate the "substitute" on his right hand.
Suddenly, another cold gaze struck him. Klein, whose spiritual intuition suddenly alerted him, raised his head blindly, almost unable to control the expression on his face.
At the door of the two-story building with the trade union logo written on the front door plate, there is a Gundam man wearing linen clothes, soft and slightly curly light yellow hair, with dark brown eyes like a beast, obvious drooping corners of his mouth, and a withdrawn and vicious temperament.
Just as he was opening the wooden door, he cast his sharp eyes towards where Mike and Klein were standing.
He was tall and tall, with a malicious glint in his eyes.
"Hello, I'm a reporter from Backlund Daily..." Seeing that the suspected union member had opened the door, Mike seized the opportunity and walked up, taking the initiative to chat.
Klein, who was standing behind him, was a little sluggish, still motionless, and his gloved hands were soaked with cold sweat.
His intuition told him that this man with a beast-like impression was definitely a powerful extraordinary person, and the other party didn't even think of hiding it!
If Klein had directly activated his "substitute" just now to observe the opponent's spiritual body thread, although it might not be exposed on the spot, it might also trigger the opponent's vigilance!
After all, the "stand-in" is not the real "Master of Secret Puppet". When using some extraordinary items, if the user's own strength is not enough, it is very likely that his own existence will be exposed due to the surge of his own spirituality when using the ability.
At the beginning, the bodyguard lady and I were directly controlled by Rosago, and the reason why we relaxed our vigilance was because the other party made quick moves.
I can't rely on any one item. After all, it's not completely my own power... Klein nodded secretly. With the help of the "Joker" ability, he returned to normal almost instantly, as if there was nothing just now.
As if something happened, he took a few steps to catch up with Mike who was talking to the man at the door.
Listening to Mike's conversation with the disguised Extraordinary, Klein found that the Extraordinary's attitude was quite bad. It was probably just to maintain the most basic disguise and not reveal his identity that he had been patient and reluctantly communicated with Mike.
.
But even so, this tall man became visibly manic, looking out from time to time. Fortunately, another union member hurriedly came over, so nothing happened.
The newly emerged trade union members wore coats with many patches on the outside and even dirty cotton wool exposed at some corners, with only a linen shirt underneath.
He seemed friendly, but he was still wary of Mike's reporter status.
"Are you sure you won't report any nonsense?"
The man confirmed again and again, and it wasn't until Mike even swore to the goddess that he reluctantly believed him.
"Phew." After taking care of the janitor, Mike let out an undisguised sigh of relief. He winked at Klein behind him and motioned for them to go in together.
Klein, who was holding the chain-blade cane tightly in his left hand, nodded slightly, but his left thumb had already climbed onto the hidden mechanism on the head of the gold-inlaid cane, and he could pull out the sharp blade at any time.
He followed closely behind Mike. Although he no longer had to act as a guide, he still positioned himself as a bodyguard.
As he was getting further and further away, he seemed to hear muffled voices coming from behind him.
"I've said it several times...it's only been two or three months...you have already almost caused unnecessary trouble..."
Klein frowned slightly as he walked forward silently. He instinctively wanted to hear more clearly, but due to the distance, no matter how hard he tried, he could only hear a rough buzzing sound. Until there was a muffled sound, the two people seemed to have left the door.
, there was no more conversation.
But luckily, the gaze that had been on me and Mr. Mike disappeared since I walked into the house that belonged to the union.
Dang Dang Dang.
Mike gently knocked on the closed door, and with a creak, a middle-aged man with sparse hair opened the door in confusion.
"Excuse me, who are you?"
"Are you Mr. Rand? I am Howell, a reporter from the "Backlund" newspaper. This is my press card. I would like to cover various activities related to workers' protection recently hosted by the trade union." I usually don't do much.
The serious Mike quickly returned to his work state, observed Mr. Rand's facial expression, and spoke quickly.
The spiritual intuition in his mind had gone silent. Klein turned on his spiritual vision again and scanned the area roughly. He did not find any fluctuations in extraordinary power. The spirit body of Mr. Rand in front of him was also relatively normal. Only his stomach seemed to be solidified.
A ball of blood red, almost blending in with the color of the body.
Klein looked at this gentleman's mental state and sighed secretly.
It seems that it is not as Mike said. This Mr. Rand's mental state, clothing and physical health are similar to those of normal workers. Perhaps he is really someone who is willing to concentrate on running the functions of the union.
"I am Rand, but I don't believe that you reporters will report the positive news about the union fairly." The middle-aged man with dark circles under his eyes was obviously not willing to answer the question and said with some hesitation.
He considered his words and glanced at the rooms beside him. After stopping for a second, he immediately lost his nervousness.
Mr. Rand, whose clothes were also quite old, coughed and said without emotion:
"Sorry, I just remembered that today is a day for routine investigation. Most of the union staff have left. You may not be able to find anyone who is doing relevant work and can be interviewed."
As he spoke, he seemed to take the initiative to open the doors of several other rooms in order to get rid of the unpopular reporter as soon as possible. Only a gentleman who was copying documents remained in one room, and the other rooms were empty.
A little surprised, Mike roughly scanned the interior of several rooms. He was silent for only two seconds, quickly adjusted his state, and asked without giving up:
"Oh, this doesn't affect much. I have something else I want to interview."
"Mr. Rand, has any new blood joined the union recently?"
Mike then took out the notebook he carried with him, held the angle tightly, and carefully scanned the contents.
"I recently investigated similar content at the dock union in Enmatt Port, but it seems that the union there has not had new blood for a long time, um, I mean full members who can participate in union work."
Listening to his nonsense, Klein, who was standing at the back, took a lot of effort not to frown.
Putting aside the nonsense about the union not absorbing new blood, he clearly saw that the page of notes that Mike was reading clearly recorded the program list of the latest theater plays!
"How is this possible? What nonsense are you talking about?" Mr. Rand, who has been working in the trade union for ten years, subconsciously refuted, with a rare serious look on his face. "You know, I have heard about the Enmatt Port recently.
The union mediated a conflict."
"Of course we have been developing new blood. Only by constantly contacting workers and making them aware of their due rights can the union truly fulfill its mission. The recent newcomer Patrick is a good example. He is recognizing
After understanding the significance of this job, it helped our union better make up for the deficiencies in the clerical union."
Listening to Mr. Rand's somewhat excited words, the corners of Mike's mouth raised little by little, and he winked at Klein with a playful side glance.
This gentleman actually named the new member who recently joined the union. And it might just be that clerk!
"Oh, this is really a young man worth interviewing. I wonder when I can interview him?" Mike observed Mr. Rand's expression and asked in a timely manner.
Unfortunately, it seemed that the reporters who usually interviewed gave this gentleman too many bad impressions. He obviously did not want to reveal the whereabouts of Patrick, and only said perfunctorily:
"He went out just now. He often works outside from time to time, and he stays behind closed doors for a long time. We can't understand his living habits."
However, because of a kind of enthusiasm in his heart, Mr. Rand symbolically took out a roster. On the album, which was distributed in a table, the unclear black and white photos were neatly arranged. He pointed at one.
Brand new photos, perfunctory:
"This, this is Patrick. He usually goes out to investigate near the sewer on the west side of the dock. The living conditions of the workers there are even worse. If you are willing, you might be able to meet him there."
Mike, who had no talent for sketching, stared at the photo, as if trying to memorize all of Patrick's general facial features.
After looking at it for about half a minute, it seemed that it was really difficult to remember the features clearly, so he turned his head and looked at Klein without hope.
"Can you sketch what this gentleman looks like..."
Suddenly, he stopped asking and his eyes became a little suspicious.
"Sherlock?"
Behind him, Sherlock Moriarty stood quietly, staring at the small photo on the roster, his gaze seemed to pierce through everything sharply.
A voice filled with anger kept echoing in Klein's mind, repeating a name in a deep voice.