Identity Exposed

The armored brigade at the second defense line wasn't supposed to interfere with immigration checks—but luck wasn't on Luo Shu's side.

Mounted atop the command vehicle was an infrared biometric radar, designed to scan migrants for weapons or contraband.

When its beams swept over Luo Shu, the screen displayed a fit, muscular physique—utterly mismatching the greasy middle-aged man visible to the naked eye.

Disguise detected.

In these tense times, anyone hiding their appearance was either a criminal… or worse.

Like, say, the "world's most wanted terrorist"—Luo Shu.

A tank battalion swung their barrels toward him. One wrong move, and they'd reduce him to paste.

America was bleeding, its workforce decimated, its laws abandoned. Under martial law, suspicious individuals got bullets, not trials.

Luo Shu felt their resolve. He raised his hands and stepped out, still hoping to talk his way out.

But as he prepared to deploy Persuasion, soldiers poured from M2 Bradleys, rifles trained.

"Questions only! No extra words!" barked the sergeant major.

No talking? Problem.

"Who are you? Why the disguise?"

Luo Shu seized the opening: "CIA. Undercover in Mexico tracking cartels. Disguise was for protection."

"Drop the disguise. Now."

"The cartels will kill me if they see my real face!"

"Silence! Refuse, and you die here!"

"God" had warned the military: Luo Shu could bend minds with words. Hence the sergeant's no-nonsense approach.

The radar scan already matched Luo Shu's official profile. That the sergeant hadn't shot him yet was mercy.

Realizing the jig was up, Luo Shu whispered to his truck:

"Distract them. Escape on your own. I'll find you later."

Escaping alone was easy—Perceptual Isolation plus teleportation. But smuggling out the Transformer pickup?

The military, "educated" by the Foundation, knew to use area-of-effect attacks against him. A single 155mm artillery barrage would shred them both.

The pickup's wipers flicked—message received.

Luo Shu played along: "Fine, I'll comply! But send someone to remove the disguise—I don't want 'sudden movements' getting me shot!"

In America, people of color died for less. His request was reasonable—and boosted by Persuasion, the sergeant agreed.

A white soldier strode over, slammed his rifle butt into Luo Shu's gut, then kneeled on his neck as he bound his hands.

The move was chillingly familiar—straight out of the George Floyd playbook.

Luo Shu gasped: "I can't breathe!"

"Shut up, chink!" (Author's Note: "Chink" is a racial slur referencing "narrow eyes," perpetuated by brands like Nike and Tsinghua's "slanted-eye" models to pander to Western stereotypes.)

The soldier tore at his clothes, "removing" the disguise—but left the silicone headmask intact.

"Clear! Not the terrorist!" the soldier lied.

Luo Shu trusted no one would suspect a white supremacist of helping him.

But the sergeant radioed command—and the reply crushed his hopes:

"Hold him. Bring him in for further ID."

As another soldier moved to confiscate the pickup, Luo Shu shot it a glance: Stick to the plan.

Tank barrels began pivoting back toward the border.

Then—

The pickup revved.

Transformed.

Took off.

...You fucking idiot!

Game over.