Restricted Doomsday Syndrome Chapter 54: Killing joke two

"The Vitruvian Man" symbolizes the golden section of the human body.

　　 The Great Demon King Asazil, who came from the altered imagery of the Old Testament of the Bible, is also known as the God of Goats. Since ancient times, the human goat head has been a symbol of the devil. In the atonement ceremony, two goats must be sacrificed in blood, one for the Lord and the other for Asazil to symbolize the redemption of original sin.

　　 This is very interesting, but not everyone knows the meaning.

　　 is different from other cults I have heard of.

　　The pursuit of art and philosophy.

　　 reminds me of Hitler.

　　 makes me think it’s not surprising that they do anything weird.

　　Perhaps the only criterion for their behavior is to believe in a certain kind of self-confidence. Extreme and evil, full of destructive power to personality, making people turn into lunatics.

　　 The man in front of him is not strictly a cultist, but just a peripheral member of the organization. What he reveals is irrelevant and will make the organization angry. The betrayer will be tortured, especially the cult, he himself seems to be unaware of this.

　　 I asked him where the staff responsible for handling psychedelics in the organization was, but he couldn't answer.

　　 So I used a dagger to free him.

　　 I dragged the four corpses to the corner, retracted the crossbow arrows, picked up the talkie on the ground and pinned it to my waist.

　　 pushed open the back door.

　　 The nameplate of the nearby room says the staff room and the utility room.

　　 passed the corner and stepped onto the promenade.

　　 Deafening music comes along with the hustle and bustle of human beings and vents the **** tide. The colorful lights spin dizzyingly, the crazy sounds and colors embrace every piece of air, and it seems that the whole world is bumping up and down.

　　 At the end of the long corridor is the stairs leading to the upper floor. The waiters and customers keep entering and exiting the boxes on both sides.

　　 I hid behind the wall and saw the guards in suits and collars. They had smiles on their faces, but they couldn't hide the smell of eagle dogs. These people can't help being equipped with electric batons and pistols hidden under their clothes. When patrolling, there is always one person looking after another person.

　　A waiter pushed the dining car over. I jumped on the wall, inserted the blade into the decorative wooden board, hung myself on the ceiling in the corner, and watched him push the dining car into the cleaning room.

　　 I jumped down and walked into the cleaning room to kill everyone. There are five people in total, all of whom are ordinary employees, who are like lambs to me.

　　 Why kill these innocent people?

　　 Why not kill them? I answered the murderer.

　　There are many reasons for not killing, but not necessarily for killing.

　　 No need to be bound, no need to be bound, no need to accommodate, no need to compromise.

　　 Use excellence to hide the heterogeneity, try to integrate into the world and compromise yourself.

　　 shows heterogeneity in action, trying to make the world compromise with oneself.

　　 In order to be recognized by others, make yourself look stupid and excellent.

　　 In order to get his own approval, he makes others look stupid and inferior.

　　Which is the most ridiculous joke in this life?

　　 I couldn't answer, so I was silent, and I couldn't stop the murderer Gao Chuan's attack. When I first saw him in the mirror, I knew he was different from me.

　　 It is a heterogeneous ghost born of abilities and power beyond mortals, possessing an unfettered heart.

　　The human body shot by the crossbow arrow fell to the ground and pulled down the dishes in the disinfection cabinet. The crashing sound caught the attention of others, but the murderer Takakawa had jumped onto the table and rushed towards them. The weapon on the arm and sole of the foot is like an arm's command, and it cut wounds on their bodies with ease.

　　 They screamed, feared, trembling, and fleeing. They were singing the climax of the drama, like heaven.

　　 trembling beauty.

　　Blood spurting from the arteries, a dying famous painting, this is the supreme art.

　　 did not hide the sound of fighting, someone outside asked loudly, the sound of footsteps pressing harder.

　　The killer walked briskly, daggers dancing at the fingertips, the smell of death in the air filled the intoxicating sleepless night.

　　 Fermentation, fermentation, weightlessness of the soul.

　　Some people laugh, some scream, some sing, psychedelic rock and roll.

　　"What's the matter?" The guard twisted the lock forcibly, but was unsuccessful, and was maliciously locked by the murderer.

　　 This is a joke, the murderer smiled hoarsely and answered the people outside.

　　 "Open the door!"

　　 "Do you want to report it?" someone asked.

　　"Don't!" The man decisively refused, "We can handle it ourselves."

　　 One person kicked the door hard, and the door swelled, but it was a little loose.

　　 "When did you become such a bitch?" another cursed.

　　 So he kicked the door again, and the door finally opened, and one person walked in. He froze when he saw the blood and corpses everywhere.

　　 Wrong response.

Has 　　 killed anyone? Are you ready to kill? Are you ready to be killed?

　　 Hey, are you ready to kill?

　　 The murderer hiding by the door grabbed his tie, and his body was brought to the ground by a powerful force. The person behind hurriedly stopped, but was almost overthrown by the person behind.

　　 "Back, back!" The guard who fell to the ground shouted loudly, and while rolling on the ground, he took out his pistol.

　　 Before he could see the sneak attacker, the crossbow bolt had plunged into his throat like a scorpion's tail. He covered his throat and struggled, trying hard to raise the muzzle, but he still couldn't do it. After several breaths, he didn't move.

　　 Witnessing the easy death of his companion, a terrified and heavy breath came from outside the door. One raised a gun, and his arm stretched out the threshold.

　　 The dagger fell, and the wrist with the gun fell to the ground, and the wailing was accompanied by blood spurting, and his body fell to his knees.

　　 "It's stupid." The other me, the murderer Takakawa, commented so, walking out of the door without any cover and standing in front of the kneeling guard.

　　 The last guard who was unscathed had a green face and shot.

　　At such a close distance, the trajectory of the bullet is a straight line. This is common sense. The murderer feels boring. He has already seen the direction of the muzzle. Raising the arm, the bullet hit the hand armor, embedded in it, the arm was a little numb, it seemed a bit torn, but nothing more.

　　The guard pulled the trigger again and again in horror~IndoMTL.com~ was completely blocked by the armor. The murderer had kicked the throat of the severer and walked towards him step by step.

　　 "What am I?" The murderer asked without seeking an answer.

　　 "Monster! Monster!" He stared at the ghost face in the shadow of the hood, and let out a desperate cry.

　　 "The answer is wrong, I am a human."

　　 Murder Ghost Takakawa said so, raising his arm, pulling the trigger, and the crossbow arrow instantly took away the guard's power to speak. He clutched his neck in anguish, groaning in an unspoken voice, slowly fell to his knees, convulsing and did not move.

　　Quark flew over, hopped around on the ground, and stepped on blood-colored paw prints.

　　 It stared at me with round eyes, and then pecked at the dead people's eyeballs.

　　The dramatic death made me feel my power again.

　　 expands, deforms, and cannot be stopped.

　　 I suddenly returned to my body, and the murderer Takakawa seemed to disappear like this, but I know that he is here, always here, like a first-time actor, excitedly looking forward to the next performance.

　　 I looked around the corpses on the floor, and suddenly wanted to laugh. The blood and corpses on the floor were not real, just like a joke.

　　 This evening, it seems that it was originally a joke.

　　I who kills ghosts is also a joke.

　　Is the audience, am I also a joke?

　　 a botched comedy.

　　 Just like Allan Poe’s Poetry of Flying Insects, the Conqueror Flying Insects are the main actors in the play.

　　 are all jokes.

　　 There is no need to feel or feel guilty.

　　 and the dead man’s walkie-talkie ringed one after another:

　　"Hello, report the situation."

　　 "Where are you?" I asked the voice.

　　 in exchange for a moment of silence.

　　 It’s okay, hide it, the ghost is here to play with you.