Super Trick or Treat System

"That might make him careless. Of course, he will have to do a lot of work to improve his current position in third place."

Joel felt dizzy. For a while, when he watched as he began to lose control of the game, he heard the man praying loudly. Pray to God to save him. He is the only one who heard this-"Yes, even though I walked through the shadow of Death Valley, I will not be afraid of evil, because you and me, your rod and rod are with you-"

Now that the sun is hotter, Joel is beginning to feel the familiar sound of tired limbs. Running on the tarmac is hard to step on the feet and hard to step on the joints. But this does not make a person willing to pray. The despair he was trying to bring to the surface, and he focused on what he was holding.

There is still a lot of work to be done, and the game is not even over. Enough time to catch up with the hero: plenty of time.

While he was running, his brain had nothing to do and turned around to the prayer book his mother had taught him, just in case he needed it, but the years eroded them: they almost disappeared.

The goatskin man said: "My name is Gregory Burgess. Member of the Council. You won't know me. I try to keep a low profile."; He Luo! this place""? Cameron said.

"Yes. Independent. Very independent."

"Is that Voight's brother?"

Burgess glanced at Voight's other self. Although he only wore a thin undershirt and shorts, he did not even shiver in the severe cold.

"Brother?" Burgess said. "No, no. He is mine-what is the word? Familiar."

The word rang the bell, but Cameron did not read it well. What is familiar?

"Show him." Burgess said straightforwardly. Voight's face was trembling, his skin seemed to be dry, his lips curled back from his teeth, his teeth melted into white wax, poured into the esophagus, and the esophagus itself became a gleaming silver pillar. The face is no longer a human being, or even a mammal. It has become a fan of knives, their blades gleaming in the candlelight of the door. Even if this weird phenomenon became fixed, it began to change again, the knife melted, turned black, sprouted, and the eyes appeared and swelled to the size of a balloon. The antenna jumped off the new head, the mandible squeezed out of the deformed pulp, and the head of a bee, huge and intricate, was sitting on the neck now.

Burgess obviously appreciates the exhibition. His gloved hands clapped.

"Both are the same." He pointed to the driver. The driver had removed his hat and let a bunch of auburn hair fall on her shoulder. She is very beautiful, a face that you will never forget. But, just like other hallucinations. There is no doubt that it has unlimited personality.

"They are both mine," Burgess said proudly.

"What?" Cameron could do everything; he hoped it would solve all problems.

"I serve hell, Mr. Cameron. And **** serves me again."

"hell?"

"Behind you, one of the entrances to the ninth ring. I think you know your Dante?"

"You need to arm your heart hard."

"Why are you here?"

"Participate in this game. Or my third acquaintance has already participated in the game. This time he will not be defeated. This time it is Mr. Cameron's **** game, and we will not be deceived by it."

"Hell," Cameron said again.

"Don't you believe it? You are a good churchgoer. Like any god-fearing soul, pray before eating. I'm afraid that dinner will be taken."

"How do you know I pray?"

"Your wife told me. Oh, Mr. Cameron, your wife knows you very well, she really opened her arms to me. Very tolerant. After my attention, a determined analyst. She gave me Too much...information. You are such a good person. Good socialist, aren't you, just like your father."

"Politics now-"

"Oh, politics is the center of the problem, Mr. Cameron. Without politics, we will be lost in the wilderness, don't we? Even **** needs order. Nine big circles: the order of punishment for pecking. Look down; look at yourself "You can feel the hole in the back: He doesn't need to look.

"We represent order, you know. It's not chaos. That's just propaganda from the sky. Do you know we will win?" "This is a charity match."

"Charity is the least important. We are not running this race to save the world from cancer. We are operating for the government."

Cameron half understood this.

He said: "The government."

"Every other century, this game is held from St. Paul to the Palace of Westminster. Usually it is held in the middle of the night without any praise or applause. Today, it is played in full sun. Thousands of spectators are watching the game. But no matter what the situation is, it will always be the same game. Your athlete will fight against one of us. If you win, it will be another hundred years of democracy. If we Win... we will... the end of the world you know."

Cameron felt a shock on his back. The expression on Burgess' face suddenly changed. Confidence became clouded, and his self-conceit was immediately replaced by a nervous expression.

"Okay," he said, his hands flapping like birds. "It seems we are going to be visited by a higher authority. How likable-"

Cameron turned around and glanced at the edge of the hole. It doesn't matter how curious he is now. They have him. He may see everything he sees.

A cloud of cold air blew out of the sunless circle, and in the darkness of the shaft, he could see an approaching shape. It moves smoothly, looking back at the world.

Cameron heard its breathing, saw its characteristic wounds open and close in the swamp, and the oily bones locked and loosened like a crab's face.

Burgess knelt on the ground, and two familiar people lay flat on the floor, on either side of him, facing the ground. Cameron knew he would have no other chance. He stood up, his limbs were almost out of control, turning a blind eye to Burgess, who closed his eyes in devout prayer. As he passed by, his knee caught Burgess more unexpectedly than intended, and the man was sent to look around. Cameron’s soles slid out of the ice hole from the ground into the candlelight room.

Behind him, the room was filled with smoke and sighs. Cameron looked back like Lot's wife from the destruction of Sodom, and saw the taboo scene behind him.

It emerges from the shaft, and its gray filler fills the hole and emits a little light from below. Its eyes were sunken in the bare bones of the elephant's head, and came across the open door to meet Cameron's. They seemed to touch him like a kiss, entering his thoughts through his eyes.

He did not turn to salt. Looking curiously away from his face, he slid across the vestibule and began to climb two to three stairs at a time, descending and climbing, descending and climbing. The door is still open. In addition, there is daylight and the world.

He slammed the door open and fell on the corridor, feeling that the warmth had begun to wake his cold nerves. There was no sound on the stairs behind him: it was obvious that they were in awe of the non-physical visitors and could not follow him. He dragged his body along the walls of the corridor, trembling all over. Still they did not follow.

The days outside were dizzying, and he began to feel the excitement of escaping. It felt like he had never felt before. Once so close, but survived. After all, God is with him.

He staggered back on his bike along the road, determined to stop the race, and declared to the world that his bike was not touched, and its handle was as warm as his wife's arm.

When he hooked his leg, the expression he exchanged with **** caught fire. His body knows nothing about the heat of the brain, he continued to do business for a while, stepped his foot on the pedal and started to slip away. Cameron felt the spark on his head and knew he was dead.

Expression, look behind-Lot's wife.

Like Rod's stupid wife, lightning leaped in his ears: faster than thought.

His skull split open, and lightning-like heat shot from his brain. His eyes withered from the black nuts in the nest, shining from his mouth and nostrils. The burning turned him into a mass of black flesh in just a few seconds, without flames or smoke.

Cameron's body was completely incinerated when the bicycle drove out of the road and hit the tailor's shop window. It was lying there like a dummy, face down in an off-white suit. He also looked back.

The crowd on Trafalgar Square was full of enthusiasm. Cheers, tears and flags. For these people, this small race seems to have become a special thing: a ritual of meaning they don't know. However, somewhere among them, they knew that that day was full of sulfur, and they felt that their lives came to heaven. Especially children. They ran along this route, shouting incoherent blessings, their faces opened with fear. Someone called his name. "Joel! Joel!"

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