40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 10 10. Food and Ghost Philosophers

Food is very important.

Without food, a person's most basic survival needs are impossible. In fact, if they are not fed, well-dressed civilized people will turn into brutal beasts after a period of time.

In other words, even the vengeful spirit of Nostramo needs to eat.

After all, he is not a real ghost now, so how can he not eat?

The cold wind howled by, blowing Khalil's cloak and black hair. The ghost squatted at the other end, looking down blankly. If he is not performing tasks, he will have this expression most of the time.

However, a one and a half year old child should have this expression, right?

Generally speaking, the gargoyles on the edge of tall buildings are a good observation point, overlooking the many scenery below. However, accordingly, if you choose it, you have to bear the coldness it brings.

I'm afraid this is the saying that it's always cold at high places.

Khalil took a deep breath and picked up a large glob of black goo from a plastic dinner plate in front of him. It looks like poison or something in the sewer, but it tastes like

To be honest, sometimes, Khalil would rather have no sense of taste.

The ghost turned his head, and he saw that Khalil's expression gradually changed from serious to a strange distortion after swallowing hard.

This made him tilt his head involuntarily.

"Why do you want to eat that kind of thing?" Ghost asked puzzledly. "And you always eat."

"Because I'm an ordinary person - besides, I don't have the means to improve the food conditions. We have no money, Ghost."

Khalil replied as he swallowed the thing stuck in his throat with difficulty. "The most important thing is that I need to eat, and I have to eat at least one meal every day. Unlike you, one meal in three days is enough."

Ghost thought for a moment and nodded.

He heard no malice in Khalil's words, at most there was a faint mockery, and this mockery was even directed at Khalil himself.

Besides, Ghost himself does eat once every three days.

Khalil closed his eyes and sighed - the bad taste of the nutritional cream made him almost want to vomit.

He had just finished a six-hour workday, and this was his small reward for his short break.

He cleaned out the building with the air filter on the top floor. Except for a few innocent people, most of the people inside were corrupt officials and their thugs and bodyguards hired from the gangs.

Khalil killed them but did not distribute the money they had hidden to the poor. He dispersed them and set a fire to burn all the money.

Civilians cannot take this kind of money, and it is best not to take it.

"Do you still want to eat?" Ghost asked.

"Of course. Cherishing food is a virtue." Khalil replied.

His expression was still calm, but that didn't mean he really wanted to eat.

In fact, he is now very grateful that this nutritional paste turns into a viscous fluid after being soaked in water. If it was the other way around, he might need to light a fire.

The light yellow nutritional paste is as hard as a brick. It's indestructible when cut with a knife and soft when soaked in water. If you want to eat that kind of thing raw, you have to be a saw-toothed beast outside the city that can chew through steel.

However, there are many sawtooth beasts that people can eat, but they will not eat this kind of thing.

"Why don't you eat mice?" Ghost asked with a frown. "If you're worried about germs, you can take out the guts and burn it to a crisp."

Khalil's cheek twitched.

"Ghost, don't tell me that you have been secretly catching mice to eat recently. I obviously go back every three days to get a lot of nutritional ointment!"

"The nutritious cream is not delicious, but the mice are delicious, and the mice are very big."

Ghost turned his head and began to talk about him. "Also, they usually come out in groups. If you catch a few, you will be full."

"That's not why you eat rats!"

Khalil said seriously, while grabbing a handful of the black sticky substance with his fingers. The touch that came back made his abdomen twitch. However, he continued to eat it.

Not even a hesitation.

No matter how unpalatable it is, this thing is still food. Moreover, in a ghost place like Nostramo, it is relatively clean.

"But, I think mice are better than nutritional ointments, Khalil." Ghost persuaded hesitantly. "You should really think about rats."

"Remember, Ghost, you are a human! And humans don't eat mice!"

"You're lying. I know a lot of ways of cooking rats. If people don't eat them, who would invent so many ways to make them delicious?"

As he spoke, Ghost smacked his lips, as if trying to use his imagination to recreate the rat dishes in his mind.

"I didn't lie."

Also, is there something wrong with the guy who created you?

Khalil frowned in disbelief.

Why would he cram the knowledge into your head about how rats cook?

"But those mice look really delicious."

Ghost said. He squatted, turned his head with a hint of longing, and glanced at the scenery below the gargoyle.

Neon lights split the sky as always, and vehicles roared past not far away. The bronze gargoyle they were squatting on was lucky enough not to be corroded by the acid rain.

Ghost liked it very much and was touching its head, feeling the orderliness.

His body temperature is also gradually warming the gargoyle, and gradually, the place to the touch is no longer so cold. This positive feedback made Ghost begin to lengthen the time his palm stayed on.

Kalil noticed this. With his understanding of the ghost's habits, he knew that if nothing unexpected happened, the ghost would choose to start overlooking here in the next few days.

He acted innocently and childishly, as a child would do.

And Khalil knew that hidden beneath this innocent surface was a monster that could subvert the entire world in just time to grow.

As for the ghost, he did not answer again. Kalil was afraid that his imagination would work at this time when it should not be used.

Eating nutritional paste is already a kind of torture. If he is asked to imagine a roasted rat or a skinned steamed rat while taking the nutritional paste,

His face twitched.

"Where are they?" Ghost suddenly asked.

His question ended Khalil's imagination, which was a relief.

"Who?" Khalil asked.

"Them, the people who live in shantytowns."

"You want to ask them what they usually eat, right?"

Ghost nodded.

Khalil glanced at him, and then stuffed the last piece - or rather, the last ball of nutritional paste into his mouth. After doing this, he did not forget to stuff the plastic dinner plate into the inner pocket of his clothes.

He doesn't litter, not to mention that throwing objects at high altitudes is very dangerous.

In this way, Khalil answered the ghost's question vaguely while trying to swallow this stuff that was so unpalatable that it numbed his taste buds with fear.

"Most people eat the same food as me. This thing was only popularized in Nostramo in the last ten years. It is said that it was because a certain upper-class noble thought that the workers were so well-fed that there was no need."

After saying this, Khalil cleared his throat, trying to make his throat feel more comfortable so that he would not be tortured by the sticky feeling again.

Of course, his efforts failed.

Facing the ghost's gaze, he added: "As for whether they can eat enough, it depends on whether they work hard. If they are willing to work more than 18 hours a day, then they can still eat enough that day."

Ghost's eyes widened. He didn't know much about the world. However, the knowledge he knew was enough for him to understand what this matter meant.

"Is this why so many people commit suicide?" Ghost asked in a low voice.

Khalil smiled. He thought, you still haven't seen the truth of this ghost place. People commit suicide not only because they don't have enough food and clothing, but also because they don't see any hope.

And the nobles don't even care at all - for them, if workers die, they die, and it is a good thing not to consume resources.

"No, it's more than that," Khalil said. "That's at best part of the story."

"So, it's because of the gangs?"

"They are just accomplices."

"So... it's the nobles' fault?"

"In a sense, yes." Khalil shook his head.

"However, the root cause is still not with them, Ghost. You once said that you think the world is sick, but you actually don't know what a normal world is like."

The ghost was silent for a moment and made his retort: ​​"...I have seen some fragments, and those worlds are not the same as Nostramo."

It's more than just different. Khalil thought.

"What makes them different from Nostramo?" the ghost asked blankly. "Khalil, do you have an answer?"

I do, of course I do.

I have ten million answers to give you, and I could even write a book telling you what to do.

I have too much time to think about this issue. Those years of wandering in this world have allowed me to see too many things.

And these things are even heavy enough to make a ghost who just wants to die become a philosopher.

But I can't, ghost.

Staring at him, Khalil spoke softly: "You have to find the answers to some questions yourself, Ghost, I can't tell you. Everyone has a different attitude towards the world, and I don't want to affect you."

Although I have done so. I'm very sorry.

"Besides - break is over."

Khalil stood up and changed his expression in an instant. He tightened the laces of his cloak and swung his arms, a dangerous silver light flashing at his wrists.

"Who is it today?" Ghost asked.

"Scarlet Finale. Remember to say hello to them later, Ghost. They generously lent us two motorcycles last time."

Khalil laughed loudly and jumped straight off the gargoyle, with the ghost following closely behind.

The gargoyle stared at all this coldly, and the little warmth left by the ghost on its head was disappearing at an extremely fast speed.

——

An elderly woman stooped and walked into a dark corridor. She has white hair, is a little fat, and her legs and feet are a little clumsy.

The woman held a silver dinner plate in her hand. It was large, inlaid with gold rims, and filled with food. There were three huge steaks that were fried to perfection, soft white bread, thick soup, and a whole piece of exquisite pastry.

The aroma is delicious.

If it were placed in the lower nest, there would probably be thousands of people willing to fight each other for this delicious meal, and they would pay a huge price just to have a bite.

Behind the woman, there was a black metal base buried deep in her flesh and blood, from which extended an exquisite black mechanical arm. On the three sharp mechanical fingers, a candle was slowly burning.

She walked through the corridor, and the faint firelight gradually dispelled the darkness. The woman walked slowly, but not because of her age and legs. She did it on purpose.

Portraits were hung on the walls on both sides of the corridor, men and women, wearing brocade and expensive clothes, with pale faces and makeup. The dead were embedded in exquisite frames, and there were gorgeous reliefs on the edges reflecting the light of the candles.

They all stared at the woman with empty eyes. She returned the greetings one by one, with great respect.

Fifteen minutes later, she finally left the corridor. The woman held the dinner plate, stood in front of two heavy gilded relief doors, and knocked them heavily with her forehead.

A dull sound rang out, and after three knocks, the door opened automatically. She came to a brand new and huge room.

The heavy dark red carpet, eighteen crystal chandeliers and many bulky furniture and decorations make this place look magnificent. It is better to call it a small palace than a room.

"My respected earl."

The woman bent down deeply, her white hair sliding down in front of her swollen forehead, and her voice was pious. "Your lunch has been delivered."

"Put it on the table."

A voice sounded at the other end of the room, with a little carelessness and the majesty brought by being in a high position for a long time - it is worth mentioning that apart from these things, his voice is hoarse.

The woman lowered her head, moved slowly, and came to a long mahogany table based on her memory. She put down the plate, and then went straight to the door, intending to leave.

But the voice sounded again at this moment: "Twenty minutes later, call Zhanduo, Lena, and Irene. Their play time is over. The Scolavik family has a task for them."

"Yes, my Lord." The woman turned around and bowed respectfully, then knocked her forehead against the door three times again. After it was opened, the woman left respectfully.

Her forehead had begun to bleed, but no one cared, not even herself.