Wine and Gun

Hardy felt his fingers tremble a little—the two who were still moaning might not be life-threatening, and Jerome, who looked like he had a broken neck, was obviously not alive—he made a quick judgment in his heart, Squatting down beside Amarette, he carefully turned him into a side-lying position so that the person with the head injury would not choke on his own vomit.

All of this, of course, presupposes that the other person is still alive: Amarette's face is covered in blood, some of which may have been smeared by a pool of blood on the ground, while others are apparently flowing from between her hair. His eyes were tightly closed, and his pale golden eyelashes were dyed crimson with blood. Hardy reached over and put his hand under the man's nose, and it took a moment for him to feel a faint gust of air brush his fingers.

Hardy raised his head suddenly: "We need an ambulance! Call the prison doctor on duty too! Someone here needs first aid!"

At this moment, the dazzling searchlight was shining on the building where the infirmary was located, and any shadows between the buildings could be seen clearly, and it was absolutely impossible to hide in anyone. A team of prison guards who had been patrolling outside was transferred and began to search the building's rooms one by one in an orderly manner-how the questionable laboratory intern disappeared from the building has not yet been answered. But there's no doubt he couldn't have flown out of the prison walls, and it's unlikely he'd even left the building with so many levels.

Everyone on the search was confident that they would be able to find the devious suspect from some room in the building, who, as crafty as he might be, was by no means a magician.

Two of the prison guards left the search team and followed the instructions on the radio to find the prison doctor first - the door to the other's office was closed, and it was discreetly locked as usual at this time. In fact, locking the door is also a requirement in the prison. This building has an activity center for prisoners. Although there are many barriers in the corridor, locking the door is also a requirement of the security regulations.

The prison guard knocked heavily on the door, raised his voice and called out the prison doctor's name. He called it three times, but there was still a strange silence inside, and there was no sound at all.

The two prison guards looked at each other and saw something wrong in each other's eyes.

So one of the guards took a step back, made a running motion, and slammed his shoulder hard against the locked door. The door was made of very strong material, and he had to knock it three times before he heard the bolt snap.

Two prison guards rushed into the room, then widened their eyes in astonishment at the scene in front of them.

—The doctor they were looking for was sitting on the floor by the window now, head bowed and motionless. There were no lights in the room, and the prison guards could see the situation in the room only because of the white and dazzling light from the searchlights coming in from the windows, so the doctor was completely immersed in darkness.

If they could see the prison doctor's face, they would find the blue-grey placket of death crawling up his face. There was a long, ugly wound crawling on the doctor's neck, and blood soaked the front of his shirt red. There was no one in the room except him, the empty office was unobstructed, and there was no place for people to hide, and even if it was the only person, life had already crawled out of his body.

Behind the dead prison doctor, a line of words was written in blood on the window glass, and there was blood on the tails of the letters mixed with the mist condensed on the glass dripping down, looking terrifying and eerie under the direct sheer light of the searchlight.

These bloodstains that have not yet completely solidified reflected a blurred and thin shadow directly under the light. These were magnified countless times by the light, and they were reflected on the bodies of the two overwhelmed prison guards.

"Whoever has gazed upon beauty itself has entrusted himself to death."

What happened next was a mess.

Hardy almost gave up thinking when he got a report from the prison guards who were searching the building that the prison doctor they were looking for was dead, and that the missing intern had not seen a single ghost. He couldn't figure out where Albarino - assuming that man was really Albarino - had gone, and what was more important now were the few people who were dying on the ground bleeding. Fortunately, the snow has not been falling for a long time, and it is not so big that it hinders the passage of the road and the ambulance cannot arrive at the scene.

In fact, he just scolded in a low voice, and then began to lower his head and concentrate on giving first aid to Amarette, who had fallen to the ground. Behind him, other prison guards are trying to drive the onlookers back to their cells. Hardy's fingers slipped between those wounds and the blood: Herstal had a few horrific-looking stab wounds, but in Hardy's experience, those wounds didn't hurt or lead to bad visceral bleeding, and the current The amount of bleeding has not yet reached the point of hemorrhagic shock.

But the man is still unconscious, is it caused by the wound on his head? It's too hard to judge, maybe it's just a coma caused by an ordinary impact, maybe it's a concussion, maybe it's a worse cerebral hemorrhage - these are not judged by an ordinary police officer who has neither equipment nor medical knowledge. Hardy can All he did was try to keep him from bleeding and wait for the ambulance to arrive.

He pressed his hand on the bleeding wound on the other's waist, and Hardy could feel a warm liquid between his fingers, sticky and fishy. When Herstal Armalite first appeared in WLPD's offices a year ago, he didn't expect this scene.

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