Wine and Gun

If the victim was not alive, this way of cutting the knife would appear more professional.

Albarino was judging him inwardly, putting each picture into categories. He found that the Westerland pianist's killing was almost a plan: Albariño put six people in front of him at a time, but he didn't fall into any conceptual hesitation; he methodically dismembered They, strangled them with strings, trudged through the pools of blood that gradually accumulated under their feet. He doesn't talk to any of his victims, even though they cursed him, begged him, tempted him with money and any advantage anyone could think of, and looked at him pitifully and cowardly.

When Herstal pressed the knife on the warden, the other party suddenly started cursing Slade frantically, and began to tell that he had to donate to Sequoia Manor as a last resort, saying that he and Herstal stood on the same side from beginning to end. . "How else would I introduce you to the researchers in those university labs?" he said. Then, when he found that the terrible murderer was unmoved, he began to list out the names of those who were also members of Sequoia Manor, and he did not know the big among them. Some have been arrested by the WLPD - "Bruce Pritzker!" He started shouting the name familiar to anyone with a little political focus, his voice dàng from under the dome of the church, "They are one of us too. You should kill him! Don't kill me!"

In reply, the Westland pianist stabbed a knife into his body, piercing his lungs.

Human nature is like this, the woman who kidnapped countless children for Slade from the street will cry, "I have a child too, and he is only fifteen years old this year." God repented - but his God did not save him at this time, the stone Christ and the Madonna of the church still looked down coldly, the baroque dome painted a beautiful picture of heaven, and no one knew whether it was heaven or not. exist.

And so, Herstal Armalite waded the river of blood.

He finally stopped in front of Lavasa McCard, standing on the penultimate step of the blood-stained ladder, standing in front of a mess of stumps and flesh, only one step from the top away. McArd turned his head with difficulty so that he could see Herstal's face, his voice hoarse as he spoke.

His first words were: "...you are indeed a Westland pianist."

So his guess is right, Olga Molozze's guess is right, they are never one step away from the truth. McCard's complexion was pale, with a lot of cyan stubble on his chin, and he looked particularly haggard; but his eyes were still bright, indifferent and rebellious, like the look of someone who is ready to die generously.

Herstal looked at him carefully, not saying a word at first, while Albarino watched it all with interest, as if wondering what he would do next.

McCord paused, then said slowly: "The pianist takes pleasure in his tormenting victims—I wouldn't give you that."

Herstal was silent for two seconds, and then he smiled softly, his breath coldly spreading under the dome. He said: "I never expected to get that from you. Maybe if we met in a certain environment, I would admire people like you."

As he spoke, he slowly wrapped the string that he had been holding in his hand around McCard's neck, and then slowly tightened it little by little. His wires and braces creaked.

Herstal watched indifferently as the opponent struggled with the increasing lack of oxygen, until at last the piano strings were tautest and pressed so deeply into the soft skin that the last air could not be drawn into the windpipe, he heard The other party's breathing was forced to stop. At such a moment, McArd could only conform to his own instinct, twitching and struggling frantically, and staring at the murderer with his eyes wide open. This shows that death will not treat anyone favorably. of fear loomed.

"The point is," Herstal stared directly at these eyes. The owner of these eyes destroyed many of his plans. It can be said that if it weren't for some actions of the other party, he would not be standing here today in this posture. "You know that only one of us will survive - and in the end I won."

He held the strings in both hands and tugged them to the sides.

Then Herstal could see how life slowly left those eyes: something indescribable dimmed in them, as if an invisible window had closed. No matter how wonderful and different people are when they are alive, they are so after death; the brilliance of life gives them this specificity, and most people actually use it so mediocrely.

He loosened his hand and followed the strings that bound McCard to see that Albarino's strings that bound him had come together ingeniously, woven into a single strand under the ceiling, and finally led down the middle. Comes from the root, fastened to a plank on the side of the ship. Herstal looked at the string for two seconds, then used the blade to pry the knot tangled with the plank.

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