Vol. 12 [Paintoast French Toast]
The two of them passed through the dividing gate and, following the station announcements, arrived in front of a brightly lit office building. Its decor was very industrial.
A Xing was about to charge inside, but Jiang Xueming thought better of it and took several wide loops around the edges of the concrete road.
Avoiding the passing vehicles, he carefully examined the road markings on both sides and opened the map on his phone.
According to the map, they had already reached Europe—more precisely, waters near Iceland, over thirty-three thousand meters underground.
The GPS signal kept fluctuating, and their location on the map began to drift. Their phone signal dropped to 3G, too. The station staff had also told passengers that if they wanted a high-quality communication signal in this area, they could only call the outside world by routing their calls through an operator. The station's communication cables had been laid alongside the railway, and the signal towers here were extremely old—barely adequate, really.
But that wasn't what Jiang Xueming cared about—
—he was interested in the signal cables on either side of the road, and the style of the road markings.
Xue Ming had worked at a battery factory and had seen countless signal cables. No matter the scale of the equipment, cables like these were needed to send control commands between production workshops or electrical rooms and substations.
In this underground city, the cables were like a dense network of blood vessels, stretching from the city's outer edge in the distance.
Since they didn't need to withstand rain and wind, the cables weren't strung on utility poles or buried underground. They simply lay in the wild on either side of the road, covered by simple white plastic casings.
What made Jiang Xueming