The aircraft ejected its parachute and floated leisurely across several streets and floating islands in Colombia. The beautiful scenery along the way dazzled Mr. Booker, a country bumpkin from New York. He noticed that special landmark building, standing vertically. The Memorial Island with the huge brass angel statue is the same as the one on the postcard. It may be the residence of little girl Elizabeth. Although Booker could only take a quick look through the narrow porthole, he had already made up his mind to go to Memorial Island. Take a look.
Colombia is a city composed of a large number of floating fortresses. Neighboring fortresses are connected by movable bridges. A large number of airships shuttle back and forth. The magnetic air rails can transport freight and armed personnel. The movable bridges, airships and air rails are jointly constructed. Colombia’s transportation system.
The special spatial background makes the landscape and planning of this miracle city very different from that of ground cities. The architectural style of the city is quite classic. The British architectural style of the Victorian period is very prominent, and the Gothic European style is also reflected. The legacy of Greek and Roman architecture is naturally indispensable. Without Greek columns and Roman domes, classical architecture would have no soul.
Mechanical structures such as steam pipes and brass gears can be seen everywhere in the city. It seems that Colombia has a strong industrial heart.
Mr. Booker has never heard of such a miraculous city. Maybe this is really the promised land of God.
Large portraits of the prophet were posted on high-rise buildings in the city, and the Stars and Stripes were as numerous as spring flowers. Seeing this scene, Mr. Booker already had a simple guess in his mind.
The aircraft landed on the sky dock and fit on the landing platform. Mr. Booker was taken into a baptistery church by the descending mechanical platform.
The hatch opened, and the iron rings that bound his hands and feet popped open automatically. Booker DeWitt muttered words of complaint and rubbed his sore wrists. All in all, this was a thrilling and special trip, and he, Mr. Booker, I finally had the opportunity to go for a walk and see the scenery.
The decoration of the baptistery church is gorgeous and solemn. Booker has been to many places and has seen famous churches in Europe and America, but the baptismal church of the Prophet in Colombia is a unique sight. The prophet here is a white-haired man with a white beard. A middle-aged and elderly white male, Booker guessed that he was definitely the political leader of this city. The social system of the Communist Party of China is exactly what makes people dream of ancient times. The good-tempered Mr. Booker couldn't help but have the urge to spit at the stained glass statue on the wall. The urge to spit.
Fortunately, he was a good-natured Mr. Booker after all. He maintained his dignity and just raised his middle finger to the prophet with a gentle smile.
After wandering around the upper level of the church for a while, Mr. Booker finally learned more about this place. In fact, he learned more about the so-called prophet's family. The prophet had a wife, Mrs. Comstock, who was quite Beautiful. He also has a child, who is called Lamb - Booker stared at the stained glass portrait of the child, and for a moment he felt an indescribable sense of intimacy in his heart.
The church is dimly lit. In addition to the natural lighting through the glass, there are a large number of candles. The overall environment is quite dark, as quiet as the atrium of a meditator. There is nearly knee-high water on the ground. The water is reflected like a mirror, and the bottom is like a mirror. As holy as it is. Mr. Booker was just glad that he was wearing high-top rain boots, otherwise it would be uncomfortable if his socks were soaked.
The exit was at the lower level of the church. Mr. Booker almost lost his sense of direction in this dim church, but following the long and long singing of the choir, he still reached the hall. The long, straight waterway was like a stream, standing at the end of the stream.
Yes, clergymen in white robes gathered together to pray and listen to the priests' praises and teachings.
The priest's voice was old but loud, echoing in the empty hall, and every compliment he uttered was a noise attack on Mr. Booker.
He didn't want to listen to the religious fanatic at all, so he walked along the waterway to the end, passed through the crowd, and interrupted the priest's speech.
"Hey! How can I get out?"
The priest in black robes stopped making loud noises, but soon he happily welcomed Booker over, "Are you new? From the lower city of Sodom..."
"Yes, yes, how do I get out of here?" Booker looked around at these clergymen and noticed that they were all white, without exception.
Priest Whiting's lips were wide open, and his plump and droopy cheeks were moving slightly in the warm candlelight. Booker had a familiar look at the priest in front of him. He seemed to have seen this person before. Before he could think about it carefully, the priest
Chanting "The only way to Colombia is to be baptized in these holy waters!"
So the poor good man Mr. Booker was pushed on his back into the water by this surprisingly strong old priest.
Gululu... Booker choked on the water and then passed out.
His last thought before he fell into coma was: It's over, his socks are going to get wet.
In his groggy dream, Mr. Booker returned to the detective agency he ran many years ago. The room was still so clean, and the tabletop was still so messy. Someone was knocking on the door forcefully, and the rude man outside the door shouted: "Hand in that girl."
Give it to us! Your debt will be wiped off!"
"I owe no one!" Booker also refuted loudly.
The people outside the door knocked more and more urgently, "Open the door! Mr. DeWitt! Open the door!"
The man in the dream had no ability to reflect, so he actually opened the door.
Outside the door is New York. At night in New York, dozens of airships are dropping missiles on the city. There are explosions, burning and dead people everywhere. An airship turns in the direction of Booker, and then huge missiles are fired at him.
Come.
Booker was woken up by the missile in his dream.
He wakes up in Colombia.
After finally setting foot on this magical place, Booker's bad mood improved. On this bright and sunny day, he had a feeling that there would be a surprise waiting for him.
Well, flowers, sunshine and lawns, bustling business and hummingbirds feeding in the bushes, white couples, white newsboys, white vendors and white customers. Statues of the prophet, portraits of the prophet, images of the prophet, audio and video of the prophet. Clouds and floating islands in the sky, airships
and aerial railways, mechanical carriages and vending machines. Busy cities, beautiful cities, elegant cities, rich cities.
Today seems to be a special holiday.
Mr. Booker observed, without saying a word, he took off his raincoat and rain boots on a bench in a square, took off his soaked white cotton socks, and sunbathed his muscular soles. A passing lady
They would cover their mouths and snicker, while the gentlemen wished Mr. Booker a happy day. There were also the playful children, who told Booker that the holiday parade airship was coming, just at the end of the street in front.
