.

If someone were to hammer an orange, or an orange, or a grapefruit, then what would happen should be imaginable, and it would be easy to imagine. These kinds of fruits with skins, these kinds of fruits that are covered in a thick, yellowish layer—most of them yellow-skinned—that can be plucked off with your fingers with a little effort, may seem a little more difficult to deal with, at least than many others of the same kind. The juice of the little things is so, but in that layer of tough, qualified, conscientious bag. Beneath the skin, their essence is still much more delicious. The juicy, tender flesh is the kind of thing that will explode when pressed and pressed. Because no matter what they may seem, they are still fruits, and the things that give them meaning, the real power they have hidden in them, have always remained within them.

So what happens if you hammer them with a hammer? Probably blow them up, the skin on the surface will burst open, and the tender juice of the flesh inside will burst out in all directions, splashing everywhere. Under normal circumstances, this should indeed be the case, but if it is another situation, if the power of the hammer is not enough, or the quality of the orange is too good, and it is carried by this moment and is not directly exploded, then what will happen to the matter?

At that moment, Ed felt like he was almost like that. It was too powerful, too powerful force to act on his body, making him float up without any resistance, like a watermelon hit by a tennis racket, "bang", and his dizzy brain couldn't think about anything for a while. The only thing he could feel was the sensation itself, the sensation of his body, the thing that burst out of his beating heart at that moment, the familiar thing that he was once so familiar with, filled his whole body in an instant.

Is this the first time I've been in this state – of course not. Is this the first time I've ever felt this way - fuck it.

The buzzing in his ears suddenly stopped at this moment, and Ed opened his eyes violently. Then he realized that the voice was not coming from the outside world, but from his head. The real world outside was silent at this time, and the noise annoyed him. He struggled to move his body, only to find that he hadn't regained control of every muscle in his body.

He struggled to put his tongue between his teeth, then bit down with all his might—to no avail. His jaw was as weak as a grandmother's sponge at this moment.

Cursed in his heart, Ed felt his arm in a trance, so he used it, supporting his diagonal half of his body, and then fell backwards halfway through his movements. He felt like he had hit something, something very hard, steely, and there was a "bell" of metal colliding, and a pain ran down the back of his head into the nerve drive.

Remember, they were under some steel machine in the factory facing the gate, and they had hit it and stopped, and the thing behind him was it. At the same time, Ed also remembered another incident that happened in that moment - his glasses were shaken off and he didn't know where he had flown to.

It's not this one thing that comes to mind. Although it was only a few seconds, the memories and physical strength were constantly recovering and pouring out, like a rat that had taken refuge in a cave after a flood. A writhing, burning image appeared in front of Ed's eyes—it was Old Duroc, with his ass facing him and lying on the ground, twisting his head and staring at him with a dark face, his mouth open and his lips twisted, as if he were saying something. However, his voice could not reach himself in the end, and in the end, it could not reach his ears.

He remembered what had happened, and he saw the little thing that had been thrown out in front of the old detective, in the direction of the gate opposite to the direction his ass was facing, after the two of them had rolled to the ground with their own roars and movements. It was a little too far away for Ed to see too clearly, but he could be sure it was something made of metal, about the size of a fist, and the shape was familiar, very similar to something he used to use on the battlefield—

At first, he thought it was a bomb, the latest high-explosive grenade. Then he found out that it was the latest high-explosive grenade.

“…… Damn it. ”

Ed grinned and gritted his teeth, his gaze turning to a sick wolf in the snow. One of the worst things is that the hammer didn't bother to blast him into a new generation of performance art, but it wasn't ineffective at all. Something unspeakable, buried, confined in the depths of his heart, blood, and bones, was stimulated by this sudden re-violence.

The neck seems to be soft. Falling softly forward, his head and chin hanging down to his chest, Ed grunted like a beast, and then slammed his head back, the back of his head hitting the hard steel machine again. The pain was like an electric current—a very powerful electric current—that instantly spread throughout Eddard's body. And it was at this time that Ed finally understood why doctors like to use electric shocks when rescuing patients, which is indeed very effective. He could clearly feel that the abundant power had once again overflowed his body, and he had regained control of everything again, and not only that, but even better than when he was in his best.

This is a qualitative change. This is the change that Ed needs most right now.

He stood up with one hand on the ground, then turned to see Old Duroc not far from him. The detective was also stunned by the sudden explosion, and like Ed, half of his body was turned into a cooked suckling pig because of the scorching shockwave, and his hairstyle was redone for free. This also reminded Ed that he was afraid that his own hairstyle might be better now.

Without time to think about anything else, Ed walked up to Old Duroc and dragged the dazed old detective up.

"Hey, wake up!"

"Hmmm......"

Old Duroc shook his neck, his eyes squinted as if he hadn't woken up, and the thing he was carrying on his shoulders seemed to be no different from a pumpkin that had been kicked. He rolled his eyes at Eddard, and that look was matched by a crooked mouth to be the honorary vice president of the mental hospital.

“……”

Faced with this, Ed half-closed his eyes and exhaled. Then he grabbed the old detective's collar with one hand, carried his body and posed, slapped a big mouth, and slapped the old detective's face fiercely.

How strong Ed is - there is no need to answer this question at all, because it should be considered a false proposition strictly speaking. How strong is a person? Naturally, it is larger than the one who is smaller than him, and the one who is greater than him is smaller. Compared to a monster like Tithe, Eddard may be as powerful as a chopstick. But compared to the strength of ordinary people, he may be an excavator.

But big or small, one thing is for sure. When slapping the old detective, Ed was close and full strength while holding the measure, so as not to make the corners of his mouth smile too obvious. Looking back, he wants to write down his feat today in his diary, because it's so cool, you can't forget it, and when you have nothing to do in the future, you can come back and look at it and have a good time.

This time, the grenade rumbled directly inside the old detective's head. His neck twisted into a strange arc, and he turned his head and face to the back of his body for about two turns, before he stopped, and was about to fall backwards when Ed grabbed his arm and pulled him into a correct position. His eyes stopped squinting this time, and he stared at a dead goldfish, as if he didn't realize what had just happened.

I don't know how to calculate, whether to say that Ed feels that the old detective has not recovered, or that he hopes that the old detective has not recovered, in short, he moved sharply, as if he was seizing some time, and raised his slap again. But immediately he stopped abruptly and turned his head sharply to look in the other direction.

The power of the bomb was not small, and the only reason why Ed and the old detective were still alive now was that they were still quite far apart when the bomb exploded, otherwise they wouldn't have been intact if they hadn't turned into a pile of minced flesh now, but half of their bodies were a little charred.

At this time, there was a flame, like a curtain, that blocked almost half of the factory gate. And now, as the flames burned, the figures staggered and gradually solidified, appearing in Ed's field of vision. At the same time, there was the voice of a magnetic, gentleman who sounded unusually comfortable, who was obviously professionally trained, and who had maintained a very high standard for many years, and who had not fallen, and was making unceremonious orders in a polite tone.

"Put away all your guns, gentlemen. We need them to live, both of them. ”

“……”

Carrying the old detective, Ed twisted his head and looked in the direction behind the flames. He saw the men and saw them clearly, although there was nothing special about them, but each of them had weapons in their hands, the kind that needed two arms and one piece. Then, his gaze collided with another pair of eyes.

He saw it. He saw a pair of eyes, a crocodile lurking under the calm, he saw a uniform, meticulous from head to toe, he saw a short hair, the traces of time left black and white.

Then he saw a smile, a perfect arc, like a spring breeze.