Hell' Kitchen.

The name may be some vulgar food show elsewhere, but for the inhabitants of Manhattan Island, the name means a dirty, run-down, backward ghetto.

Located on the west shore of Manhattan Island, Hell's Kitchen is a rectangular area bounded by 59th and 24th Streets to the north and south, 8th Avenue to the east, and the Hudson River to the west.

The area is predominantly populated by the working class of Irish immigrants and is known for its chaotic and backward quality of living, high ethnic conflict and high crime rates.

As night falls, the sky is lit up with dazzling neon lights, and the tall buildings cast huge shadows over the sparse crowds of people on the streets.

Smack.

A pair of boots smashed puddles on the pavement and spilled sewage from the sewer pipes.

The owner of the boots is a young lady with long black hair.

Her face was delicate and small, but the heavy bags under her eyes made her look rather haggard, and the trance drifting away from her unfocused pupils made it even more suspicious that she had just drunk too much.

The girl's footsteps were a little faltering, and she reached out to hold on to the wall, her white palm pressed against the dilapidated wall covered with street graffiti, stained with dust.

At the end of the alley, a couple of young Irishmen in baggy sweatpants are leaning against the corner of a wall to puff through the smoke — the clear plastic bags they tucked into their trouser pockets suggest that they are not cigarettes, but some kind of prohibited consumer product of the dicotyledonous genus nettle.

The girl's throat was muddy, and she staggered to her feet, stepping on the mud and dirt, kicking and slowly moving towards the end of the alley.

The young Irish whistled, stared at the girl's curves and laughed wickedly, leaning against the wall and standing up lazily and casually, sealing the exit of the alley.

This is Hell's Kitchen, the worst slum in the security environment, so whether it is robbery or robbery, it is a matter of course.

The surveillance cameras on street corners have been dealt with for a long time, and even the NYPD strips don't want to go to the trouble of putting more surveillance in Hell's Kitchen — they will be stolen and sold in a matter of days.

"Hey, girl, do you need help?"

The leading Irish youth straightened up his thin body, smiled debauchedly, and touched the blue stubble with his gangster-tattooed palm.

His gaze swept over the girl's delicate face, like a tasty lamb about to step into a deadly trap.

“...”

The girl raised her head in confusion, and her neck was as white and warm as jade, which made the young Irish swallow involuntarily.

“... Person. She said, "I'm looking for someone." ”

“... Who are you looking for? We can help you find it. The young Irish smiled at each other, and slowly gathered around, and one or two of them were faintly putting their palms into their trouser pockets—judging by the shape of the trouser pockets on either side, there were either switchblades or pistols in them.

"Don't bother."

The girl laughed happily and pulled her long black hair behind her ears, "I've found it." ”

The young Irish were bewildered at first, and then the confusion quickly turned to fear.

I saw that the girl was holding her head up, the angle formed by the upper and lower jaws was far more than 90 degrees, the mouth was completely grinning to the base of the ear, and the mouth was exposed to the air.

As the sound of air leakage sounded, countless slender flesh tendrils spread and grew from the girl's throat and overflowed the mouth.

These tangled tendrils are like the roots of a tree, densely packed and coiled.

The tip of the tendrel can also bloom into four petals like a rose, revealing the hollow tubular grooves inside the whiskers and the jagged fangs inside and outside the grooves.

Fear struck the hearts of the young Irish at the first moment, who had never seen such a horrible sight with sweat down their spines, tingling scalps, and trembling legs.

Fortunately, the illegal drugs that Fang Cai consumed ensured the last trace of clarity, so that these young people chose to turn around, use their hands and feet together, and fled in panic, and screamed with unknown meaning in their mouths.

However, the whiskers that came out of the girl's throat moved a little faster than they thought.

Like a chameleon's powerful tongue full of muscle fibers, the tendrils of flesh are tightened, contracted, and then stretched and stretched, like a long whip, wrapping around the necks of the youth.

It's like a python's powerful strangulation, making it impossible for the Irish youth to break free.

They used all their strength to try to clasp the gap between the flesh and the neck with their fingertips, but the body that had been drained by the wine-colored drug had no explosive power at all, and they could only watch as the meat whiskers slowly pried open their teeth and stuffed into the throat without question.

The touch of the foreign body induces the urge to vomit, but what frightens the youth even more is what the flesh whiskers do.

If a gastroscope can reach into their stomach at this time, you can clearly see that the "petals" at the top of the flesh have been opened, and countless pale and tiny eggs like rice grains have been injected into the stomach.....

In a few seconds, or half a century, the whiskers finally let go of their restraints and pulled out of their throats.

The young Irish men fell to the ground limply, their bellies swollen unnormally, reminiscent of the children in black Africa with their bellies large because of malnutrition.

"Gross...."

The leading Irish youth grabbed his throat, but found nothing but a puddle of clear water.

"Monster, monster!"

Someone pulled out a pistol, pointed the muzzle at the girl's raised head, and the trigger was pulled down in a chain.

However, the pistol bullets that had exceeded the speed of sound were intercepted by the flesh whiskers in mid-air, and none of them fell.

When the long is the long.

The whiskers let go of the bullets, and the brass bullets made a loud noise.

The girl leisurely tucked the tentacles into her throat and stretched out her green fingers to wipe the clear slime from her lips.

She lifted her cuffs, looked at her watch, and said nonchalantly, "You still have... Twenty seconds. ”

What twenty seconds?

No one really asked, so the girl added, "In twenty seconds, you will be transformed and become an apostle of God, just like me." ”

Obviously, this is not a good thing. The swollen bellies of the young Irish dragged their bloated bodies with difficulty with their hands and feet towards the end of the alley.

One step, two steps, one step, two steps.

Twenty seconds, it's here.

The young Irishmen who had reached the end of the alley stopped, their bellies back to normal, almost indistinguishable except for the occasional poaching of eggs from their eye sockets, nostrils, and ear canals.

The young men who had completed the transformation turned around and fell to their knees in unison, offering their loyalty to the girl.

And the beautiful and graceful girl gave her will in a soft voice: "In the name of the apocalypse, go and spread the plague." ”