Super Trick or Treat System

One or two refugee cars passed along Oxford Street, and a few refugee cars drove along Marylebone Road, but the news spread so slowly that Regent Street and Portland Square were crowded with their usual Sunday night hosts , Even though they talk about it. On the edge of Regent’s Park, there are many silent couples "walking out" together under scattered gas lamps. The night is warm and silent, a little depressing. Gunfire came intermittently, and after midnight, there seemed to be lightning in the south.

He read and re-read the paper, worried that I was in the worst situation. He was fidgeting and walked out aimlessly after dinner. He returned and tried in vain to divert his attention to his exam notes. He went to bed after midnight, and during the few hours on Monday, he woke up from his dreams due to the knocking of the door knocker, the sound of running footsteps in the street, the noise of distant drums and bells. The red reflection bounced on the ceiling. For a moment he was lying in surprise, wondering if the sky had passed or the world went crazy. Then he jumped out of bed and ran to the window.

His room was an attic, and when he stretched his head out into the street, there was an echo from the sound of his window sash, and all kinds of heads that were chaotic at night appeared. Enquiries are shouting. "They're here!" Assaulted a policeman and hammered the door. "The Martian is here!" hurried to the next door.

The sound of drums and horns came from the Albany Street Barracks, and every church in my ears was working hard, killing sleep with the violent chaotic Toxin. With the sound of the door opening, the windows of the opposite house flashed yellow from the darkness.

Galloping up the street, a closed carriage suddenly burst into noise at the corner, a creaking climax rose under the window, and slowly died in the distance. Behind it are a few taxis. They are the pioneers of long queues of flying vehicles. Most of them go to the station, where the Northwest Special Train is loaded instead of descending Euston down the ramp.

For a long time, my brother stared out the window in surprise, watching the police knock on the door from door to door, delivering incomprehensible messages. Then the door behind him opened, and the man who had stopped on the landing zone came in, wearing only a shirt, pants and slippers, his braces loosen around his waist and his hair messed up from the pillow.

"What devil is this?" he asked. "Is it on fire? What a devil!"

They both looked out the window and listened nervously to what the police yelled. People walked out of the small street, standing in groups and chatting in the corner.

"What the **** is this?" my brother's tenant said.

My brother answered him vaguely, began to dress, and ran every piece of clothing to the window so as not to lose any excitement. Now, people who sell unnatural early newspapers flock in.

"London is in danger of suffocation! The defenses of Kingston and Richmond were forced! The Thames Valley was slaughtered!"

Everything about him-in the room below, the houses on both sides and across the road, and the park terrace and the other hundred streets in the Marylebone part, behind the Westbourne Park area and St. Pancras, and in Key Alburn and St John’s Wood.’ and Hampstead to the west and north, to the east at Shoreditch and Highbury and Hagerston and Hoxton, in fact, from Ealing to the Eastern Han Throughout London, people were rubbing their eyes, opening the windows to stare and asking untargeted questions, and as the first breath of the approaching storm of fear blew on the street, they hurriedly dressed. That was the dawn of a panic. London couldn't sleep on Sunday night, was depressed, and was awakened in the hours of Monday morning, full of vitality and danger.

My brother couldn't know what was going on from his window, so he walked down the street, just as the sky between the guardrails of a house turned pink as the dawn came. The number of people walking and flying by plane is growing all the time. "Black smoke!" He heard people crying, and then "black smoke!" The spread of this consistent fear is inevitable. When my brother hesitated at the door, he saw another newsstand approaching and immediately got a newspaper. The man was fleeing with the rest and sold the documents in exchange for shillings when selling the documents. This was a weird mix of profit and panic.

My brother read about the disastrous deployment of the commander-in-chief from this paper:

"The Martians were able to launch massive clouds of black and toxic vapor through rockets. They suffocated our forces, destroyed Richmond, Kingston and Wimbledon, and were slowly moving towards London, destroying everything on the way. It is impossible to stop them. The black smoke has no safety guarantee, but it can fly instantly."

That's it, but enough. The entire population of this big city of 6 million is stirring, slipping and running. At present, it will be poured north collectively.

"Black smoke!" The voice was crying. "fire!"

The bells of the church next door made a sensational noise, and amidst the screams and curses, a careless car was smashed and hit a sink in the street. Yellow lights swayed back and forth in the house, and some passing taxis showed off in the extinguished lights. Above the head, the dawn became brighter, clearer, stable and calm.

He heard footsteps walking back and forth in the room, as well as the stairs behind him. His landlady came to the door, wrapped loosely in her pajamas and shawl. Her husband followed closely behind.

When my brother became aware of the import of all these things, he hurriedly turned to his room, put all the available money in his pocket, a total of about ten pounds, and went out again.

fifteen

What happened.

On the flat grass near Harriford, when the priest sat in the shade of a tree and talked so frantically with me, and when my brother looked at the fugitive on Westminster Bridge, the Martian attacked again. According to the contradictory statements raised, it is certain that most people have been busy preparing for the Hall Hall mine until nine o’clock that night, they embarked on actions that would release a large amount of green smoke.

But it must be three o'clock, about eight o'clock, and I proceeded slowly and cautiously, passing Beverlet and Pilford, towards Ripley and Weybridge, so I saw the expected scorching sun under the scorching sun. The Martians did not advance, but lined up in a row, a mile and a half from his nearest companion. They communicate with each other through siren-like calls, moving up and down the scale from one note to another.

What we heard in Upper Harryford was Ripley and Mount St. George's gunfire and shooting. Ripley Gunners are inexperienced artillery volunteers. They shouldn’t have been placed in such a position. They shot wild, prematurely and ineffectively volleyed, and rode through the deserted village with their feet, while the Martians were Without using his heat rays, he walked peacefully past their guns, carefully stepped over them, and passed in front of them, so he accidentally hit the park gun and he destroyed it.

However, the people of Mount Saint George have better leadership and more courage. Although they are covered by pine wood, it seems that the Martian closest to them has no doubt. They deliberately fired artillery like a parade and fired at a range of about one thousand yards.

Cannonballs flashed around him, and people saw him advancing a few steps, staggering, and falling down. Everyone yelled and the guns filled up quickly. The overthrown Martian established a long pulse, and then the second gleaming giant answered him and appeared on the southern trees. It seems that one foot of the tripod was smashed by one of the shells. The entire process of the second salvo flew over Mars on the ground, and at the same time, his two companions brought their heat rays onto the battery. The ammunition exploded, the pine trees around the guns flashed into flames, and only one or two people who had run over the top of the mountain escaped.

After that, it seemed that the three of them brought the group of lawyers together and stopped, watching their scout report that they remained absolutely still for the next half an hour. The overthrown Martian crawled out of his hood wearily. It was a tan little figure, strangely suggesting that the distance was a little withered, and apparently repairing his support. He had finished eating about nine o'clock, because his front wall was seen again on the tree.

A few minutes after nine o'clock that night, the three sentries were surrounded by four other Martians, each of whom was carrying a thick black tube. Each of the three received similar test tubes, while the seven were distributed at equal distances along a curve between Mount St. George in Weybridge and the village of Mori southwest of Ripley.

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