Peter Miller opened his eyes and woke up.

Where is this?

This was Peter's first question.

Am I not dead?

This was Peter's second question, the cold touch of the muzzle, the strange feeling of not feeling pain when a bullet pierced the brain, were so real and memorable.

Why is this scream so terrifying?

This is Peter's third question.

He clung to his ears with both hands, but the screams were still like a steel needle, passing through his hands, penetrating his eardrums, and poking at his heart again and again, making him freeze all over his body and make it difficult to breathe, and he only felt that life was worse than death.

His eyes were open for less than a second, and then he closed tightly, gritting his teeth, and huddled together against the screams.

I don't know how long it took, but the screams finally stopped, and it was no longer a symphony, but a sparse solo.

He was finally able to relax for a moment. Sweating profusely, he sat slumped against the corner of the wall, gasping for breath.

The indescribable screams made him feel as if he had been tortured.

As an agent, he has been trained in executions and tortures, and he has seen some of the horrors of torture. But he never imagined that just listening to someone else's screams would make him feel like he would be tortured.

What the hell is this place?

Peter couldn't help but take a closer look at the little cell he was in.

It was a small, cold, damp room with occasional dripping of water from the roof, and three walls were made of thick stone blocks that were covered with moss because of the dampness.

The bed on which he sat was a very hard stone bed, facing the wall on either side, with only a straw mat on the top, and at the other end of the bed was an iron fence made of arm-thick iron columns, separating the room from the outer walkway, and on the iron fence, there was an iron door made of finer steel bars.

The whole room looks like a cell in a medieval castle, just like the scenes Peter once saw in the movies.

Through the dim light, Peter saw the same cell opposite, empty, and the door was open.

The occasional scream was no longer enough to touch Peter's nerves.

He now had time to think about what was going on.

He's dead, he's incredibly sure of that. He carefully recalled everything before, the feeling of the contact calling the door, the feeling of jumping from the upstairs and landing on the ground, running with all his might, the feeling of being beaten, the inexplicable questions, the feeling of being pointed at a gun, the despair and unwillingness, the feeling of not hurting when the bullet passed through the brain but like something had been emptied, all of this was so real, not a dream.

So how did I end up here?

He touched his head, and there was no abnormality, no wounds, no marks of bandaging, as if he had not been shot. He remembered that his kneecap must have been cracked, and he moved, without any pain or strange feeling.

He pinched himself, it hurt!

The clothes on the body are no longer the original, they are coarse linen clothes, which are very uncomfortable to wear on the body, and when they are particularly moving, they are very rough to the touch.

The feet are bare.

Suddenly, he rolled up the hem of his right trousers, and it turned out that the big scar on his right calf was gone, and it was very smooth.

He remembered the novels he had read on the Huaxia website, and in those novels, there was a situation called time travel. That's a very common kind of novel beginning. It is about the rebirth of various situations, and many people are resurrected in another world or another era after death.

Haven't I crossed over too? Or is it reborn?

He wanted too much to see if his face was still the same as before, or if it wasn't himself anymore.

Unfortunately, there is no mirror to be found in this cell.

He got up and jumped a few times, there was no problem with his movements, and he was very energetic.

He really wanted someone to ask what was going on.

At that moment, there was the sound of something dragging on the ground outside, and he hurriedly ran to the iron railing.

In the distance, a hunched, extremely emaciated, skin-covered, withered 'man' dragged a corpse forward step by step, the corpse pounced face down, rubbing against the potholed ground, leaving a dark red mark drawn by blood on the dark ground.

Peter felt a chill at it, and it didn't take long for the dark red blood to turn black again!

The one dragging the corpse is really reluctant to say that it is a human, and the difference between it and the skeleton is just an extra layer of skin.

And the 'corpse' on the ground was still strong, with a high waist and round waist, and thick hands and feet. But the thin 'skeleton' didn't have much effort to drag, as if dragging a bag of cotton.

Seeing the thin 'skeleton' getting closer and closer, Peter had the courage to scream a few times, but the other party seemed to hear it, and dragged the corpse straight into the cell opposite him, locked the door, and then turned and left.

As the 'skeleton' turned away, more dragging-thing sounds came, and a large group of 'skeletons' dragged various corpses over.

The corpses were black and white, and there were not a few yellow people, some face down, some face up, and they all left blood marks on the ground after that.

And those corpses, some were burned, some were chopped, some were split in half, and all kinds of deaths were not enough.

Peter was so frightened that he wondered if he would be treated like this. He didn't dare to shout anymore, for fear that the demons who looked like skeletons would find him and arrest him as well.

At least a thousand corpses were dragged along, and the entire corridor turned bright red, and in the faint light of the fire, it was terrible to look at, and the strong smell of blood made Peter extremely uncomfortable.

The sound of the cell closing in the cell next to it kept coming. Peter was terrified of the enormity of the prison and wondered why each corpse was kept in a separate cell.

When the skeletons had laid down their bodies, they all turned and left, and Peter crawled on the bed, afraid that the skeletons would come and catch him. But that didn't happen, and the 'skeletons' walked over, and the passage was quiet again.

After an unknown amount of time, the blood-red ground had turned dark red, and in some places it had begun to turn black.

The corpse in the opposite cell suddenly moved.

It turned out that he was still alive, and Peter hurriedly climbed over, pulled the iron railing and looked over there, only to see that the corpse that had not moved had already climbed up.

Peter screamed a few times, and the ragged man across from him saw him and suddenly grinned, and the hoarse laughter made people shudder.

After laughing for a long time, Peter was about to cover his ears with his hands again, and the man stopped laughing.

The man said, "There's a new kid again." ”

The voice was extremely hoarse, but the tone was extremely happy, as if he had seen the happiest thing in his life.

The man spoke Mandarin, not Mandarin, but Peter understood it because his pronunciation was about the same as Mandarin. Peter once studied in Huaxia Yanjing for several years as an ordinary international student, so listening, speaking, and writing in Mandarin are not a problem.

He hurriedly communicated with the man in Mandarin, but no matter what he said, the man ignored him. He stared at the roof of the cell, and after a while, he saw the man tilt his head up, open his mouth wide, wait a few seconds, and close his mouth. He stared at the top for a while, then opened his mouth wide and waited with his head up. Like a chick waiting for its parents to feed.

Then a drop of water fell and hit Peter's hand, and he suddenly understood what the man was doing. He licked his dry lips, he hadn't drunk water in a long time, could he only drink like this for a while?

The man on the other side took a few drops of water, walked to the wall again, and reached out to pick it up.

Peter was wondering what the man was picking at when he saw the man put it in his mouth and chew it. It didn't take a few bites, one swallowed, and swallowed the thing.

Peter looked at the moss on the wall of his cell, and his heart was filled with despair, more desperate than when he was confronted with the muzzle of a gun.

Am I going to live like this in the future?