Super Trick or Treat System

But Smith ignored the sheriff's words and spoke on the phone.

"Is Mr. Smith in his office?" he asked. "Yes, President Smith... Can you contact me immediately? This is Gordon Smith speaking."

"Hello, Dad," he said after a while. "Yes, that's right. This is the prodigal son himself. Now, Dad, this is an important matter. Can you meet me in Sacramento and arrange for us to visit the governor? Let his secret ears? I Will beat it for Los Angeles-the fastest chartered plane..."

Although avoiding providing detailed information over the phone, there is more in the conversation, even more. An operator was interrupting the conversation when he was about to hang up.

The young woman’s voice said: "Emergency call." "We must immediately hang up the phone."

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Missy handed the phone to the sheriff. He said: "Someone is eager to talk to you." He hurriedly searched his pocket and found a ten-dollar bill on the sheriff's desk. "This will cover it up," he said in a new tone. "Maybe you are not only the one who works, sheriff. This is too hot for you to deal with."

He turned quickly to the door, but something in the sheriff's excited voice stopped him. "Very annoying? Did you wipe it off?"

Smith across the room could hear another hoarse voice on the phone. The sheriff repeated this sentence. "Red devils! Are they not Indians? The entire town of Seven Palms is destroyed!"

"I think," Smith said softly to himself, "we have to go there to find them, not they go out to find us. Yes, I think it's definitely too hot for you to deal with, sheriff." He turned around. The door is bolted.

One

Attentive listeners are waiting for Gordon Smith to arrive in Sacramento. Smith's father is not even waiting for the governor. Moreover, Smith is from the Basin, and the news of the destruction of Seven Palms in the desert town predates him. Even the fast aircraft of the coastal forces cannot match the speed of broadcasting news.

When Smith entered the room, there were only two people in the room. One of them was tall, tall, with Smith's shoulders, and stepped forward and placed both hands on the young man's shoulders. Their greetings are brief.

"Well, son?" the old man asked, there was room for questioning during the interrogation.

"Okay, Dad." Smith said simply.

The father nodded silently and turned to the other man. "Governor, my son Gordon. He is tired of the experience of being called \'the old man's son\'. He started by himself, not entirely looking for adventure, but I think he has found it. He has something to say tell us."

Smith once again told his absurd, incredible story. But this is not so unbelievable, because even though Smith is speaking, the governor is still reading the report on his desk, which tells the destruction of seven palm tree towns.

"I can't tell you what this means," Smith concluded. He paused, and then made a very accurate prediction. "But I saw them, I saw them emerge from the ground, I bet they have many sources. Now, they have found a way out, and we already have a piece of waste in our hands.... Don't think they too Not fighters. They are armed-those flamethrowers are something we can't laugh at, and there are other things they don't know."

He leaned over carefully across the governor's table. He said, "But this is your job." "I wanted to find it. He is still alive, or he is still alive. He sent the ring as proof. I must find him-I must go down in that pit, I need Your help."

From a distance, the protection of his wild red race took away what he didn't know. Must walk many miles. He knew that the air was getting more and more steadily hot. But compared to the gust of wind in the room where he was inserted, the heat of those long tunnels was like a cool breeze.

It burned his eyeballs. It shot down from the tongue of the flame, and the tongue of the flame rose red in the groove in the distance. The spacious room, the stove, and hundreds of kneeling figures were all blurred in front of him, swimming dizzy.

The hot air he breathed seemed to make his lungs brittle. Dimly, for the numbing, numbing heat, he wanted to know that the figure he vaguely saw in his grotesque posture was close to the flame. There are hundreds of others-how do they live? How will he himself continue to live in this hell?

They have been chanting in unison, kneeling red. Hearing the regular beats of their repeated talking turned into hoarse, whistling sounds. But he couldn't stand the suffocating heat that was unbearable, and he couldn't hear clearly.

The noise is deafening and confusing. It reverberates in the rocky room and is intertwined with the continuous roar of flames. The corpse that enveloped him only left a vague impression. He tried to make himself see clearly. He must fight-fight to the end! Only this idea persists. When he knew that his Red Guards had cleared the mob's path and dragged it forward, he was blindly fighting.

He knew when they reached the farther wall. Somewhere above him is a deep niche of fire. Then, when he could see from the tortured eyes again, he found it directly in front of another door in the hard rock. Otherwise, everything is black. It gives a cool hope and relieves the stuffiness of the room. The red hand pierced him.

A burst of cold water fell on him from a height, shocking him, claiming to be in a coma. He was immediately drenched, choking and gasping. But he will think! Moreover, when his lean hands grabbed him again and urged him forward, he could hardly hope.

Oh, his eye passage is a dark place, but red, their big owl's eyes opened, urging him to go up. His stumbling foot ran into the steps. Accompanied by the Red Guards, he climbed the winding stairs and the tunnel curved upwards.

The cold flood filled the new life with tension. He hardly dared to ask himself what might happen in the future. But he has been rescued from the mob. Maybe his life will be forgiven, and in some way he can learn to communicate with these people and learn more about this underground world, which must be of great significance. Unsure of their plans, he still determined that they intend to flock to the top. He can even show them this stupidity.

At the end of the tunnel, a thousand thoughts flashed in his mind. Outside a square opening, the air emits a red light. There was an ominous thunder in his ears. Then, dozens of hands lifted his body and threw him onto a stone floor. When he fell, he was burned.

The heat is bubbling and unbearable. He was enveloped in the rapidly rising steam wrapped in wet clothes.

The platform is over. In the distance below is a red face, a strange shape and a terrible ocean. Each face holds two terrible white discs. In the center of each disc, there is only a little eye.

At the moment of the fall, he saw everything-cruel screams, fiery flames 40 feet behind the rock wall, and between him and the flames, a huge figure leaped out, and its body It seems to be carved out of metallic copper, reflecting a red flame until it looks like a flame.

It took less than a second after climbing the footsteps to know that the big room was quiet. The roar of flame stopped. Even the hoarse voice disappeared. He covered his face with one arm and covered his eyes. The heat still poured on him like a liquid fire. But his sudden decision to plunge himself into the waiting mob was stopped by the sudden calm.

Opening his eyes meant impossible torture, but he forced himself to stare through the gap under the arm covering.

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