Facing the streets clogged with countless bodies, Luo Shu found it impossible to push toward the Seine. He had no choice but to move along the Grenelle docks, hugging the walls as he pressed forward.
Before long, he managed to break through the encirclement—only to find himself leading a grotesque parade. Behind him surged the horde of meme-infected pursuers, while new waves of them continuously joined from the sides and ahead.
Under these conditions, speed was impossible.
Even if he had a car now, it wouldn't help.
Even if Luo Shu abandoned his moral restraint and plowed through the crowd, the sheer density of bodies would eventually trap him.
At this point, nothing short of a massive truck or armored vehicle could force a path through.
Stumbling and weaving between pockets of encirclement and brief escapes, it took him half an hour just to cover a single kilometer.
When he finally reactivated his last remaining use of sensory isolation, Luo Shu felt a sudden, crushing emptiness.
From his vantage point, he could see more infected flooding in from every direction.
In just thirty minutes, over a hundred thousand had gathered within a kilometer radius of him.
Their faces were blank, their eyes hollow—mindless weapons, accomplices of "God."
They didn't even need to act. Their mere presence was a barricade.
Every street was impassable.
The word despair couldn't capture what Luo Shu felt now.
He had even tried using SCP-173's teleportation to escape, but it was useless.
There were too many people.
His vision was blocked by layer upon layer of bodies, barely able to see a few meters ahead. Teleporting blindly would only land him deeper in the swarm.
After one disastrous attempt left him suffocating in the crush, he gave up and resigned himself to running on foot.
But where could he even go?
Paris had over two million people, and he was trapped in its heart.
With only half an hour left, nowhere was safe.
The next day was still hours away. He wouldn't last that long.
For the first time, Luo Shu understood the despair of every past "Revealer of Truth" who had faced "God's" pursuit.
"God" had ruled this world for too long. His hand held too many trump cards.
If one failed, he had another.
But the "Revealer of Truth" had only one life. One misstep, and it was over.
The war between memes and anti-memes had never been fair.
Two thousand years ago, "Jesus"—hailed as the Messiah—had created the conceptual deity "God" and led humanity against anomalies, memetics chief among them.
Just as victory seemed within reach, "God" used Pontius Pilate to condemn him to death—then unleashed the Spear of Longinus meme.
He had nowhere to run.
He died by the spear.
Since then, every Revealer had abandoned the title of savior, operating in the shadows against "God" and his memes.
Now, after two millennia and countless cycles, Luo Shu—the latest Revealer—faced the same fate.
When he truly grasped the horror of the Spear of Longinus, hope died.
No wonder SCP-3126's Defender had called him weak.
If he couldn't resist the spear, defeating "God" was impossible—let alone the Memetic King behind him.
At this moment, Luo Shu lost the will to fight.
There was no strategy, no trick to overcome this.
Against such a meme, his only option was to flee into desolate wilderness and live like a rat.
But now, trapped in central Paris, even that was impossible.
If this was the end… then so be it.
Whether his past life as a shut-in was real or not, this was his first time in Paris.
Might as well see the sights before dying.
He looked up at the Eiffel Tower, now just a few hundred meters away.
He would die there.
At least he'd get a final view of the city lights.
Summoning the last of his strength, Luo Shu forced his way through the crowd.
Those few hundred meters took him over ten minutes.
By the time he reached the base of the tower, he was utterly exhausted.
This is it. My limit.
The Eiffel Tower loomed above, its lights dimmed. Recently closed for maintenance, it stood empty—save for a single security guard.
A quiet place to die.
Then, a voice called down from above:
"What's happening down there? Why are so many people gathered here?"
Luo Shu froze.
This voice was different.
Among the hundred thousand silent infected below, this man had spoken.
The guard wasn't infected.
In an instant, Luo Shu teleported behind him, materializing on the tower's second-level platform.
Leaning close, he whispered:
"Why aren't you under control?"
The guard spun around, seeing nothing.
"Who—who's there?!" he stammered, panic rising.
To him, tonight was beyond comprehension.
A hundred thousand silent husks below.
An invisible voice behind him.
This was the stuff of horror films.
With no time to waste, Luo Shu activated his persuasion ability.
It was useless against the horde, but maybe it could pry answers from this man.
Playing the prophet once more, he intoned:
"I am a god."
"What god? I don't believe in gods—I'm Buddhist! You're just a demon testing me!" The guard clasped his hands and began chanting the Heart Sutra.
A Buddhist in Europe.
Rarer than an AIDS patient.
Luo Shu's gaze flicked to the infected below.
Now he understood.
This meme targeted religion.
And not just Christianity—down there were Muslims in skullcaps and headscarves, all ensnared.
But the realization came too late.
It changed nothing.
The infected were already surging toward the tower's stairs.
Relentless.
With no options left, Luo Shu stepped into the elevator and ascended to the summit of the Eiffel Tower.
274 meters above the ground.
1,652 steps below.
Here, he would have one final hour alone.