Restricted Doomsday Syndrome

I collected guns and crossbows from the dead.

Guards constantly rushed from the front corner and the stairs. They clearly held the gun, but did not pull the trigger for the first time, but just rocked to threaten. I think it's ridiculous that the body was lying on the ground, but they didn't seem to understand the situation.

Perhaps the ghostly smile scared them.

A young man pointed at me with a gun, his voice trembling.

So I shot, kept shooting, every bullet would penetrate a person's head. I listened to the footsteps and shouts hidden behind the corners. The ability to judge the chains allowed me to perceive their position from the details even if I could not see it. I keep moving my feet, shaking my body, avoiding the direction of the muzzle so I don't have to worry about being killed by bullets.

As long as it senses, the body will adjust itself.

All I need to do is pull the trigger.

Compared to the invisible dead bodies, monsters that cannot be killed with ordinary bullets, they are as fragile as porcelain.

Killing is difficult, but killing is very simple.

A moment of passion and climax followed by boredom and boredom.

There was a guest who leaned out his head, but soon screamed and closed the door.

When I reached the stairs, there were already corpses.

Despite the intense fighting, the guests did not dare to show their heads because of gunfire.

No more guards appeared, and there was silence behind him, only the noise from the pool.

I feel like a brave hero.

I took out the cigarette, ignited it, and then stepped up the stairs. I deliberately stepped on my feet and told them of my arrival.

Why do you do this? Why can't you walk quietly? Obviously hate extracurricular branches.

But ...

Maybe.

Whether killing or being killed, isn't it fun to do things now?

Will it be you who died? What can I do? This kind of thinking makes people feel chilly and attractive. Anyway, if you have a chance, you want to try it.

This makes me feel very different.

This makes me believe that I am different.

But when I think so, it is also mixed with some kind of disagreement.

Is really strange, the head started to hurt.

From here, I found a camera on the wall, and I let it rest for a while with a bullet.

The guard on the second floor had been killed downstairs, and the corridor was empty. A disheveled man pushed open the door of the box and came out and said hello to me in surprise when he saw me. He didn't seem to know what was happening outside, maybe the sound insulation of the box was too good, or maybe his head was unclear.

"Dude, you are so cool." He said drunkenly.

"Thank you for the compliment." I said.

"I especially like your Facebook. You sing? You didn't expect this service to have this kind of service. What's the name ...?"

He walked up and down, and I held his shoulder.

"Go, go to the toilet." He snorted and said, "There, go there."

I took him to the toilet. In addition to the entrance and exit of men and women, there is also a storage room. The entire second floor is a luxuriously decorated private room, and there is no unique place, but recently strange things have happened in the toilet, I think I should take a chance.

I pushed the man into the toilet and kicked towards the door of the storage room.

The small red door was very strong, but it didn't shake at all, which made me feel like I was in the right place.

I just wanted to kick the second leg, and the red door was opened from the inside.

Familiar dress.

People in uniforms and hats.

No one spoke, I backed off and shot, the bullet that flew towards my head was blocked by the palm he raised in advance. As if grabbing a bullet, he dropped the warhead on the ground. The flesh and blood in the center of the palm were blurred, but the breath began to improve.

I shot frequently at other parts of him until I shot a magazine. He was beaten back, but after the gunfire stopped, he just tightened his muscles and made a beast-like roar, and the bullets embedded in his body squeezed out of the blood hole.

He raised his face, his eyes were bloodshot, like an irritated beast, and the sound of inhalation seemed to vacuum the surroundings.

I threw out the pistol without bullets. He took out an iron rod from behind, grabbed his hands like a weight lift, stretched his body upward, and pressed the air in his lungs. His pupils focused above me, as if looking up at some kind of fearful existence in nothingness.

What did he see?

His spirit was obviously abnormal, his sight and voice, with the trance after taking the medicine.

Like the hat man I had ever seen, he took the kind of medicine called "paradise".

'S medicinal power is undoubtedly, ordinary pistol bullets have no effect, and he will be caught when he shoots a crossbow. Crazy, arrogant, like the trio I faced at Sakuya.

"You are going to die here." He said with a heavy nasal voice: "In the name of truth."

Stupid jokes.

I drew my dagger and stepped forward. He also came forward with the iron rod. Attack like a duel at the same time.

The collision of speed and power.

Mars splashed on the daggers and sticks, and neither side could actually break through the opponent's defense circle.

Forty times in five seconds, try to test the limits of human beings.

Tumble, dodge, aim at the key, as long as it is effective, there is no need to worry about ugliness and embarrassment. On the rope of life and death, self-esteem and face are meaningless.

Evenly matched.

The qualitative dagger mixed with gray stone has no advantage in cutting against the iron bar.

Self-sucking gray stone, taking a "paradise" hat man, taking into account the weight of the equipment, the intensity of exercise function is almost equal. The difference in fighting experience and response to each other, plus the deviation value that can be corrected by chain judgment, also seems to be different.

This is the end of the trial.

Although there is no gray stone bullet, it is impossible to give a fatal blow as easily as last time, but this time I am also prepared.

When the attack becomes inertial.

The armor of the left hand popped out of the arm blade, and the sudden weapon immediately made the man caught off guard and stepped back in shock. I rolled on the ground, the blades of my hands twisted towards his ankles, and whistled in my mouth. The man was forced to jump, and the black figure flew from behind his side. The wind that hit the back of the head suddenly distracted the man's attention.

The shadow and the iron bar passed by.

The ground is staggered and the blade cuts the man's ankle in a short time.

He screamed and fell to the ground. The black shadow circled and fell to his face, taking the opportunity to peck at his eyes.

He tried to drive him, but I cut off my finger, the iron bar and finger fell on the ground, the heartbreaking screams, the eyeball was pulled out by the sharp beak.

Quark flapped his wings and jumped away.

The man in the hat covered his hollow eyes with his left hand intact, and a lot of blood kept pouring out of his fingers.

"Eyes! Eyes!

Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!

It hurts so much, it hurts so much, it hurts so much! "

He turned over to explore his fingers and feet. The blood gushing from the fracture was wiped by the clothes, leaving a large wet trace on the ground. When I first touched it, I kicked them all away.

"Asshole! Asshole!" He breathed in pain, his voice unclear, "How did you do it? My body is invulnerable, how can I be cut by a knife ... by a knife ..."

I didn't answer, just crouched down, daggered his intact left palm on the floor, and firmly pressed his feet to see the injury at the fracture.

Flat wounds, blood vessels and muscles squirming like dying struggling ~ www.readwn.com ~ contracted one by one like chewing.

"This won't kill me." Perhaps in order to use superiority to vent the pain of failure and grief, the hat man chuckled, "Even if it is cut through the throat, it will soon ... soon ... soon ... Uh……"

He spit out a big blood, his breath gradually weakened.

"Why ... why ... can't stop ...?"

Blood flowed quickly, and the broken muscles and blood vessels no longer struggled, and became as soft as death.

I walked over to his head and looked at his pupils. His eyes flickered when he met me, and he seemed to see something terrifying.

"Don't, don't ... don't ah ah ah!" He screamed, shaking his head hard.

Poisoning, hallucinations, body convulsions, cater to the weakening heartbeat.

"What do you see?"

"Evil, devil ... it, it's coming to pick me up ... ha, haha ​​... hahaha ..." The empty eyes, blood flowing down the cheeks, the incomplete facial features raised some complex and inexplicable expression, "Bloody It ’s like a tree ... glory ... like epiphyllum, grass, and grass will wither, and the flower will wither ... coughing ... but ... death is not the end, as, as truth ... forever ... "

I can't understand what dreams he is talking about.

I inserted the blade of my arm into his heart and chopped it completely.

Then wiped the murder weapon clean with his clothes and dragged the corpse and residual limb into the storage room. Turn on the faucet at the handwashing place, connect the hose, and use the water flow to dilute the blood on the ground.

At this time, a guest walked in and out, but just immediately covered his nose, his feet, and hurried away with a disgusted face.

After that I took the quark into the storage room and closed the red door again.