Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

Murray's hands were shaking, and he hadn't felt this way in a long time. Once upon a time, when he was young, he was so excited when he could come four times a night. Back then, he was blond, wearing skinny jeans and high leather boots, and he could pick up countless young girls with a second-hand Harley.

But, let's face it.

Now, he is a middle-aged man with a bald head and a big belly. He sits behind his desk and stares at the boring contribution column all day long. The boss doesn't care about him, and his colleagues see him as air. He has no wife, no children, and even lives with his mother. I have to wake up every morning to the sound of her doing aerobics.

A template of a middle-aged frustrated man.

However, all this may be about to usher in a turning point today.

Murray stared at his computer screen, where an anonymous user had sent a long email with two attachments below it for download. He raised his head like a thief, looked left and right, and nervously took a sip of the coffee he had placed next to his right hand. The familiar cheap smell instantly woke him up.

Fuck, Murray, this is your only chance...!

grab it!

He took a few deep breaths, feeling flustered. So I took out a small medicine bottle from the drawer, took out a few pills and swallowed it. It was the 'sedative' medicine his doctor prescribed him, and he couldn't remember the name. But it did work, and after taking the pills, he felt better.

So Murray started reading.

The more he looked at it, the more frightened he felt, and the desire to become famous at the beginning gradually disappeared. Murray realizes little by little...if all of this is true, then anyone on that long list would be enough to crush him into scum.

They don't even need to show up in person, just say a word, and many people will rush to help them with the dirty work. Murray knew this all too well, but he couldn't restrain himself from reading. Due to the excessive tension, he even began to bite his nails, like a fat hamster, hiding behind the computer screen, full of horror.

"Oh my God......."

He muttered to himself, slumped in his chair, and the horrific pictures and descriptions flashed before his eyes. What is meant by 'a fixed lottery to kill a group of people every year'? Is this some bizarre horror movie? Also, who is this anonymous contributor? How could he be so clear about their affairs?

His right hand hesitated on the mouse, the cursor went back and forth on the screen, and finally, he made up his mind and downloaded the attachment. It didn't take long for the computer to send out a cold beep, indicating to him that the download was successful.

Murray clicked on the first attachment.

The first image he saw made him nauseous - it was a man with his limbs amputated, and around him stood four other men in masks, holding the man's limbs in their hands. Thumbs up while facing the camera.

what the hell?

Murray didn't dare to take a closer look. He quickly browsed all the way and quickly slid to the end of the attachment. There is a picture there of a mansion in the woods, and the photographer took this picture at night. His technique was obviously good, and the mansion looked extremely magnificent and beautiful under the moonlight, but the paragraph that the contributor attached to it made Murray shudder.

"They've been plotting murders in this mansion for years. They usually kill anywhere from twenty to forty people a year, and they have a whole year to lay out their plans and tactics, and finally, at Christmas, they There's going to be a judging. They're going to choose who kills in the most ingenious way."

"As far as I know, their terrifying plan has been going on for twelve years. But in the past twelve years, no reporter has disclosed it, and the local newspaper has not reported anything. The police did not answer. Victims have never been spared by any relevant police report, but none of their relatives, neighbors, friends, and colleagues have found out that something is wrong, and none of them even choose to pursue it to the end."

"Do you want to know why?"

Heck, of course I want to know!

Valley Hoop

Murray cursed secretly, and he took another sip of coffee. But because of the trembling of the palm, I accidentally spilled a little on my pants when I put the coffee. He frowned at the scorching heat, but Murray didn't even bother to move. He grinned and opened the second attachment, this attachment, called Evidence.

An hour later, the Texas Herald reported the news urgently. As soon as the matter was disclosed, it quickly spread on social media, and at the same time, major TV stations also began emergency live broadcasts.

As for the originator? He is farming.

Thanos swung down his **** vigorously. In his opinion, farming is not much easier than killing people, or even more difficult. Sometimes, to kill someone, you just need to flick the knife in your hand, or pull the trigger. But farming is different.

You have to take into account the quality of the soil, you have to weed, fertilize, remove pests. Thanos sometimes jokes to himself: I don't always take children so seriously.

Only he knew that he was telling the truth.

Before long, at noon, the phone in his trouser pocket began to vibrate frantically. A smile appeared on the corner of Thanos' mouth, and he continued to work.

-------------------------------------

"Who would do such a thing to a child?"

"I don't know—focus on it, bastard! She's dying, call the Crimson Society over here! I need them to give this kid some blood!"

Inside the camp, the doctors in the army were busy anxiously for the life of a child, and none of them dared to say that they would be sure to save her. After all, the child was hurt too badly.

When she was brought back by Shane, many people even thought she was dead. Lost arms, lost eyes. There are scars and bruises from beatings all over his body, as well as a state of extreme frailty. And Sean's order is also very simple - save her at all costs.

No one asked him why, it didn't need any reason at all.

Sean's face wasn't that good, but it wasn't that bad either. If Darius was forced to describe it, he could only think of the word 'calm'.

But it's the calm of the sea—the kind of calm that one second is calm and the next moment is choppy.

"General."

"Yeah." Sean gave a dull reply from his nose. "Demacians weren't like this when I died," he asked lightly.

He tapped his steel chin pointedly: "Look at what happened to that child. What is the difference between what they are doing now and what they have always despised?"

Darius replied, "Perhaps not all Demacians are like that, General."

"I know." Sein's fingers stroked Jarvan I's crown, and he said, "If they were all like this, it would be impossible to produce the kind of soldiers who would never stop fighting... tomorrow morning. , prepare to attack."

"We've been at war with the Demacians for too long. Let's end it as soon as possible."

Darius bowed his head slightly: "As ordered, General."