That night, 774 threw up all night.

He can't drink but insists on drinking, he is not uncomfortable, who is uncomfortable.

He almost stuck his head down the toilet bowl and was spasming all over his body. "A lot of people are drinking, but no one dares to get drunk." The instructor laid out the bottles in a matrix and said this to me. 774's vomiting was mixed with aggrieved sobbing, and his brain was as tumbling as his stomach. I didn't know that he had so much to vomit, so I knelt down and patted him on the back. I suddenly thought about what he would do when no one was around. I imagined him lying in bed choking on stomach acid into his trachea, suffocating with vomit and drowning in his own gastric juices. It's hard for me to imagine.

He suddenly vomited something pink that overwhelmed me, sticky, smooth, sticky with bodily fluids.

Fresh gastric mucosa.

I immediately picked him up, and his body was much lighter than I had imagined, as thin as a piece of paper. It's hard for me to imagine what's in his skin. It could just be air. I wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

At night he cried for a long time in my arms, muttering something in a dialect I didn't understand. Many people will talk nonsense before they die, but in fact, they are talking about their childhood and have forgotten their long-term native accents. There are golden vineyards in the words of 774, and beautiful briars.

We caught the fire the day after we went back. Man-made, although the boss insists that it is only caused by the volatilization of organic matter in the chemistry laboratory on the first floor.

Their hard work was burned.

At the time of the fire, 774 was in his lab, waiting for the temperature to rise, and I knew he was even feeding the fish. It's hard to understand, but it's excusable. We all yearn for death, but someone who already has a death pass will always drag us back from death.

By the time DTR35 pulled 774 out of the main building, the ends of his smoky blue hair were already charred.

"Let go of me, you idiot!" 774 struggled, coughing up droplets from his lungs, his hands clutching the air as if it would keep himself in the suffocating heat and flameless fire.

"I'm sorry, my conscience won't let me do that."

"You have no conscience for yourself!" 774 knelt on the ground and coughed dryly. "Every time I get hurt I just want to die, and I'm allergic to anesthetics and painkillers." Then he suddenly remembered something. "Where's XCK42?"

"Everything is working meaninglessly, but when put together, it becomes the world." I knelt against the wall and he chattered on the other side. "Just like all cells come from primitive cells, I will find the first clues when I see the universe. But is there a meaning to life and a value for life? ”

We seek some secrets and avoid others. How do inanimate things give rise to life, are we igniting things or sparks? Where will we go at the time of death.

"I used to be an atheist," he told me through the wall, "and I didn't yearn for heaven then, but I believed that hell existed." Now I have to accept that if I want to see God, I have to be sure that the devil exists at the same time. ”

"I would love to go back to when I didn't have faith." There was no movement next door.

I walked through the grave of the device. In the past, the Guru cherished these dead tools and mourned them with me. DTR35 hasn't answered my phone in two days and doesn't know what's going on with him. I'm looking for a corner where he might leave a trace.

Light. Something I hate but yearn for. A little game of light and darkness. Experiments that drive me crazy. Light is like water, guiding me, a water-starved fish, to swim to warmer and warmer waters, closer and closer to body temperature. Water flowed through the crack in the door, golden and viscous.

The moment I opened the door, the light blinded me for a moment. The light that is too bright to close my eyes is darkness for me. I think of the blind man, and I feel that he is looking at me all the time, that he is collapsing my consciousness. I told myself that I was thinking too much, and thinking too much would make people lose their imagination and ideals, and dry up their minds. There must be a dark shadow under the light, and as for what it is, those wave functions know.

“35？” I felt that the light had burned my retina and the things in my field of vision were blurry. I closed my eyes and opened them again, and there was still no change. My voice was loud enough, but there was no response. I know whoever it is, it's definitely not DTR35.The man hides in the blinding darkness, radiating light.

"It's funny," the blind is in the passenger seat, and the godless eyes look like Olaana at places that don't belong here" Some people think that blind people can't see, and their hearing is gone. ”

With a thump, I tried to grab something from him as evidence, but nothing, like a smooth fluid. Non-Newtonian fluids are stronger on their own when they give me a thump. I didn't make a sound when I fell to the ground. Absolute silence, the disappearance of the senses is more uncomfortable than torture. I went back to every sunny morning, vomiting in front of the toilet like a 774, the floor was comfortable and cool, but the air was dull and hot. I started tinnitus. Through my eyelids was an orange-red light, very different from the color of my blood. I opened my eyes.

A vague flame, orange-yellow, beating happily, tumbled like the waves of its close cousin, wanting to drown where I was. I suddenly felt that the term "fire" was the most appropriate way to describe seawater, and I wonder if 774, a former linguist, would agree.

But.

The black smoke began to make me cough dry, choking on chili pepper water, and my body needed time to see if I was still alive. Emergency water sprayed on me, but it was a drop in the bucket. I felt the contours of my lungs, and the smell of it. I stumbled out the door, looking for a way to escape. It's like a moth struggling to survive in a hot pan's cocoon. It's easy to live, it's easy to live. But life is my greatest achievement. I saw a window, but there was no way to open it. Wire mesh anti-theft glass. I want to scold people, like 774, this thing that usually gives me a sense of security, but really causes me to die. There are not a few such things.

I left the invisible barrier where I could see the fresh air, and continued along the wall to find a random room to hide from the black smoke. I heard the beating heart, the bones rubbing in place or dry. I suddenly thought what would happen to the others, and I thought of the blind man, but I didn't dare to think of him, I didn't dare to think that he was an arsonist, and I didn't want to admit that he was most likely a victim. I leaned over the cable, the flames chasing me, and the waves crashing against me. My ribs almost pierced my lungs, even though my organs were still doing their jobs.

It's harder than the one I've done.

I don't have a choice, and it's all the circumstances that help me make the choice, and under all fate, in the purpose of the universe, I'm just a cargo to be dragged and carried. I climbed onto the terrace, but the iron gate I had observed was locked. The sound of the flames, like the static sound of a double-slit interferometer, is getting closer and closer. I tugged hard at the iron gates, but they didn't shake. Rust fell all over my face, as terrible as some toxin parasitic on my epidermis. My eyelashes were sticking to the dust, and the flames were burning the soles of my feet.

Brimstone fire.

I lost consciousness.