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

The Great Demon King Azazler, who came from the Old Testament of the Bible, is also known as the god of goats. Since time immemorial, the human goat's head has been a symbol of the devil. In the ritual of atonement, two goats must be sacrificed in blood, one to the Lord and the other to Azazel to symbolize the redemption from original sin.

It's interesting, but not everyone knows the meaning of the Tao.

It's not like any other cult I've heard of.

The pursuit of art and philosophy.

Reminds me of Hitler.

It's not surprising enough for me to think they'll do anything unthinkable.

Perhaps the only criterion for their actions is faith in what they consider to be the truth. Extreme and evil, full of destructive power on personality, making people crazy.

The man in front of him was not strictly a cultist, but only a peripheral member of the organization. What he reveals is inconsequential and will make the organization angry. The betrayer will be tortured, especially by the cult, and he himself does not seem to realize it.

I asked him where the people in charge of dealing with psychedelics were within the organization, and he couldn't answer.

So I used a dagger to free him.

I dragged the four bodies to a corner, retrieved my crossbow arrows, and picked up the walkie-talkie that had fallen to the ground and pinned it to my waist.

Push open the back door.

The door number of the nearby room reads Staff Room and Utility Room.

Walk around the corner and step onto the promenade.

Deafening music comes with the hustle and bustle of human beings. The dazzling swirls of colorful lights, and the frenzied waves and colors embrace every piece of air, as if the entire world is jolting and undulating.

At the end of the long corridor is a staircase leading to the upper floor, where waiters and customers are constantly moving in and out of the boxes on either side.

I hid behind the wall and saw the guards in suits and collars, with smiles on their faces, but they couldn't hide the smell of eagle dogs. The men were armed with electric batons and had pistols hidden inside their clothes. When patrolling, there is always one person watching behind the other.

I jumped up on the wall, inserted the blade into the decorative plank, hung myself on the ceiling around the corner, and watched as he pushed the cart into the washing room.

I jumped down and went into the washing room and killed everyone. There were five of them, all ordinary employees, like lambs to me.

Why do you want to kill these innocent people?

Why don't you kill them? I replied to the murderer.

There are many reasons not to kill, but not necessarily to kill.

There is no need to be bound, there is no need to be bound, there is no need to be accommodating, there is no need to compromise.

Hide the heterogeneity with excellence.,Try to integrate into the world and compromise yourself.。

In the action to show heterogeneity, trying to make the world compromise the self of the self.

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

In order to gain their own approval, make others look stupid and inferior to themselves.

Which is the most ridiculous joke in my life?

I couldn't answer, so I was silent, and I couldn't stop the murderer Takakawa, and when I first saw him in the mirror, I knew that he was not the same as me.

It is a heterogeneous ghost bred by the talents and powers of transcendent mortals, and has a heart that cannot be restrained.

The human body pierced by the crossbow arrow fell to the ground and pulled down the dishes in the sterilization cabinet. The sound of the smash caught the attention of the others, but the killer Takakawa had already jumped on the table and pounced on them. The murder weapons on the arms and soles of the feet were like arm commands, cutting wounds on their bodies with ease.

They screamed, frightened, trembled, fled, and were the climax of the play, like heaven.

Trembling beauty.

Blood spurts out of the arteries, a famous painting of the dying, which is the supreme art.

The sound of the fight was not concealed, and someone outside asked loudly, and the footsteps were approaching.

The killer walks briskly, the dagger dances at the fingertips, and the smell of death fills the air, an intoxicating sleepless night.

Fermentation, fermentation, weightlessness of the soul.

Some laughed, some screamed, some sang, and rock psychedelicacy.

"What's going on?" The guard twisted the lock with all his might, but was unsuccessful, and was maliciously locked by the murderer.

It's a joke, the killer laughs hoarsely and answers the people outside.

"Open the door!"

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

"Not yet!" The man decisively refused, "We can handle it ourselves." ”

One person kicked the door hard, and the door bulged, but it was a little loose.

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

So he kicked the door again, and when it finally opened, a man came in with a bang, and when he saw blood and corpses everywhere, he immediately froze.

Wrong reactions.

Have you ever killed someone? Are you ready to kill? Are you ready to be killed?

Oops, are you ready to kill?

The murderer hiding by the door grabbed his tie, and his body was carried to the ground by the force of force. The people behind him hurriedly stopped, but they were almost pushed down by the people behind them.

"Back off, back off!" The guard, who fell to the ground, roared loudly and rolled on the ground as he pulled out his pistol.

Before he could see the attacker, the bolt had already pierced his throat like the tail of a poisonous scorpion. He clutched his throat and struggled, trying to lift the muzzle of the gun, but he couldn't, and after a few breaths, he didn't move.

Witnessing the easy death of his companion, there was a frightened and heavy breath outside the door. One man raised his gun and his arm extended to the threshold.

The dagger fell, the wrist of the gun fell to the ground, the wail was accompanied by the blood spurting, and the body fell to its knees.

"It's stupid." The other me, the murderer Takakawa, commented, and walked out of the door without any cover, standing in front of the guard who fell to his knees.

One of the most unscathed guards at the back turned pale and raised his gun to shoot.

At such a close distance, it was common sense that the trajectory of the bullet was in a straight line, and the murderer was bored, he had already seen the direction in which the muzzle was pointed. Raise your arm, the bullet hits the hand armor, embedded in it, the arm is a little numb, it seems to be a little broken, but that's all.

The guards pulled the trigger in horror, but the armor blocked them. The murderer had kicked the severed hand by the throat and walked towards him.

"What am I?" The killer doesn't ask answer-seeking.

"Monster! Monster! He stared at the ghostly face in the shadow of his hood and let out a cry of despair.

"Wrong answer, I'm human."

The murderer Takakawa said this, raised his arm, pulled the trigger, and the crossbow arrow took away the strength of the guard's speech in an instant. He clutched his neck in distress, moaned in an unspoken voice, and slowly fell to his knees, convulsing and not moving.

Quark flew over and jumped up and down on the ground, stepping on blood-colored paw prints.

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

The dramatic death made me feel my strength again.

Expanding, deformed, unstoppable.

I suddenly returned to my body, and the murderer Takakawa seemed to disappear like this, but I knew that he was here, and he had been here, like a debutant, excitedly looking forward to his next performance.

I looked around at the corpses all over the floor, and suddenly I wanted to laugh, but the blood and corpses on the ground had no real feeling, like a joke.

This night, it seems, was originally a joke.

I'm a murderer, and it's a joke.

Am I also a joke in the audience?

Botched comedy.

Just like Edgar Allan Poe's poem of flying insects, the conqueror flying insects are the main characters in the play.

It's all jokes.

No need to feel nostalgia and guilt.

The walkie-talkies around the waist and the dead rang one after another:

"Hey, report the situation."

"Where are you?" I asked the voice.

In exchange for a moment of silence.

It's okay, hide it, the ghost is coming to play with you

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