Restricted Doomsday Syndrome

"Vitruvian Man" symbolizes the golden section of the human body.

The great demon king Asazlier from the changing image of the "Old Testament" is also called the **** of goats. From a long time ago, the human goat head has been a symbol of the devil. In the atonement ritual, two goats must be sacrificed for blood, one for the Lord and one for Asazle to symbolize the salvation of the original sin.

This is very interesting, but not everyone will know the moral.

Is different from other cults I have heard of.

The pursuit of art and philosophy.

Reminds me of Hitler.

Makes me think that they will do anything unthinkable is not surprising enough.

Perhaps the only criterion for their behavior is a belief in some kind of self-considered truth. Extreme and evil, full of destructive power to personality, making people mad.

The man in front is strictly not a cultist, but a peripheral member of the organization. The things he revealed are irrelevant and will make the organization angry. The betrayer will be tortured, especially the cult, and he does not seem to realize this.

I asked him where the person responsible for handling the mystery-illusion drug in his organization was, and he couldn't answer it.

So I used a dagger to free him.

I dragged the four bodies to the corner, retracted the crossbow arrows, picked up the radio on the ground and pinned it around my waist.

Push the back door open.

The house number of the nearby room is written with the words staff room and utility room.

Walked around the corner and stepped onto the promenade.

Deafening music comes along with the venting tide of human noise. The colorful lights swirled dizzily, and the crazy sound waves and colors embraced every piece of air, and it seemed that the whole world was bumpy.

The end of the long corridor leads to the upper staircase, and the waiters and customers continue to enter and exit the boxes on both sides.

I was hiding behind the wall, and I saw the guards in suits and collars, with smiles on their faces, but they could not hide the smell of eagles. These people can't help but be equipped with electric batons, and pistols are hidden inside their clothes. When patrolling, there is always someone who is looking after the other person.

The waiter came and pushed the dining car. I jumped on the wall, inserted the blade into the decorative wooden board, and hung myself on the corner of the corner, watching him push the dining car into the washing room.

I jumped down and walked into the cleaning room to kill everyone. A total of five people, all ordinary employees, are like lambs to me.

Why kill these innocent people?

Why not kill them? Let me answer the murder.

There are many reasons for not killing, but not necessarily for killing.

Does not need to be restrained, does not need to be restrained, no need to accommodate, no need to compromise.

Self-contained heterogeneity with excellence, trying to integrate into the world and compromise yourself.

Shows heterogeneity in action, trying to make the world compromise itself.

In order to be recognized by others, make yourself look stupid and excellent yourself.

In order to gain recognition, make others look stupid and inferior.

Which is the most ridiculous joke in this life?

I couldn't answer, so I didn't say anything, and I couldn't stop the murderer Gaochuan. When I first saw him in the mirror, I knew he was different from me.

That is a heterogeneous ghost that was born out of mortal talents and powers, and possessed an unfettered heart.

The human body shot by the crossbow fell to the ground and pulled down the dishes in the disinfection cabinet. The shattering sound caught the attention of others, but the murderer Takakawa had jumped onto the table and rushed towards them. The weapons on the arms and the soles of the feet, as directed by the arms, lightly cut wounds on their bodies.

They scream, fear, tremble, and run away. They are the climax of the drama, like heaven.

Trembling beauty.

Blood squirting from the arteries, dying famous paintings, this is the supreme art.

Did not disguise the fighting sound, someone inquired loudly from outside, and the footsteps pressed tightly.

The murderous ghost took a brisk pace, the dagger danced at the fingertips, filled the air with the smell of death, an intoxicating sleepless night.

Fermentation, fermentation, weightlessness of the soul.

Someone laughed, some screamed, some sang, psychedelic rock.

"What's going on?" The guard twisted the door lock vigorously, without success, and was maliciously locked back by the murderer.

This is a joke. The murderer smiles hoarsely and answers the outsiders.

"Open the door quickly!"

"Do you want to report it?" Someone asked.

"No first!" The man refused decisively, "We can handle it ourselves."

Kicked the door with one person, the door bulged, but only a little loose.

"When did you become such a pussy?" Another person scolded.

Then kicked the door again, and the door finally opened. A man headed in and got in. He immediately froze when he saw the blood and corpses everywhere.

Wrong reaction.

Has killed anyone? Are you ready to kill? Are you ready to be killed?

Hey, are you ready to kill?

The murderer hiding by the door pulled his tie, and his body was brought down to the ground by a powerful force. The person behind quickly stopped, but was almost pushed down by the person behind.

"Go back, go back!" The guard who fell on the ground roared loudly, pulling out his pistol while rolling on the ground.

Didn't wait for him to see the sneak attacker clearly, the crossbow arrow had been plunged into his throat like a poisonous scorpion's tail. He struggled by covering his throat, trying to raise the muzzle, but he still couldn't do it, and after a few breaths, there was no movement.

Witnessed the companion's easy death, there was a frightened and heavy breathing outside the door. One person raised the gun and his arm stretched out the threshold.

The dagger fell, and the wrist of the gun fell to the ground. The wailing accompanied the blood spurting, and the body fell to the ground.

"It's really stupid." The other I--the murderer Gaochuan--so commented that he walked out of the door without any cover and stood in front of the guard kneeling on the ground.

The last unscathed guard was so blue that he shot with a gun.

At such a close distance, the trajectory of the bullet is a straight line, which is common sense. The murderer is bored. He has long seen the direction in which the muzzle is aimed. Raised his arm, the bullet hit the armor, embedded in it, the arm was tingling, and seemed to be a bit broken, but that's all.

The guard pulled the trigger again and again in horror ~ www.wuxiaspot.com ~ was completely blocked by the armor. The murderer had kicked the throat of the broken hand and walked towards him step by step.

"What am I?" The murderer did not ask for answers.

"Monster! Monster!" He stared at the face of the mask in the shadow of the hood and made a desperate cry.

"Answer is wrong, I am human."

Speaking of the murderer Gao Chuan, raised his arm, pulled the trigger, and the crossbow arrows took away the power of the guards in a short time. He clutched his neck in sorrow, moaning an idiom, slowly kneeling to the ground, twitching and not moving again.

Quark flew over, bouncing around on the ground, stepping out **** paw prints.

It stared at me with round eyes, and then pecked at the eyes of the dead.

The dramatic death makes me feel my strength again.

Expansion, deformation, unstoppable.

I suddenly returned to my body, the killer Takagawa seemed to disappear like this, but I know that he is here, always here, like the actor who debuted, excitedly looking forward to the next performance.

I looked around at the corpse, and suddenly wanted to laugh. The blood and corpse on the ground didn't have a sense of realism, just like a joke.

This evening, it seems to have been a joke.

I am also a joke.

Is the audience also a joke?

Poor comedy.

Just like Allan Poe's poem of flying insects, the flying insect of the conqueror is the main star in the play.

Is a joke.

No need for feelings or guilt.

The telephones around the waist and the dead rang one after another:

"Hey, report the situation."

"Where are you?" I asked the voice.

Exchanged a silence.

It doesn't matter, hide it, the ghost comes to you to play.