Lincoln woke up. /top/

He was certainly not the President who was born on February 12, 1809, led the Civil War in the Western Continent, issued the Emancipation Proclamation, and maintained the eventual unification of the Western Continent, and was finally assassinated by a mob at the Ford Theatre in the capital.

Lincoln was just an ordinary black man, like the 30 million blacks who lived in more than twenty blocks in the western continental federal provinces, he had been hanging day and night in the sewage-ridden streets since he was a child, he had no higher education, he had not been able to seize a fortune opportunity or a satisfying job, he made a living selling marijuana and heroin, and occasionally worked as a thug for a "prostitute"—he had a good body of meat and fists from street boxing, and if there was an opportunity to steal and rob, and he won't be too soft-hearted.

But he didn't kill anyone, really, though he would often boast more than once in the bars and in the bed of the "prostitute" that he had killed a fool who had beaten up and beaten up a fool, and every day he did not forget to stuff a folding switchblade in his trouser pocket - but he really did not kill anyone, and he would slash uncooperative robbers in the face as a warning and punishment, but he would never poke them in the chest or stomach or cut their thighs, because he knew that these places were full of vital points, Who knows where that disobedient little knife will go.

It's a miracle that he doesn't kill.

He opened his eyes, a cloud of dust fell, his eyes immediately hurt, he blinked desperately, raised his hand to "rub" "rub" it, only to find that he was handcuffed, not ordinary handcuffs, but the kind of "I" shape, where the handcuffs and shackles were connected by an iron chain. Four hundred and fifty years ago, Lincoln's ancestors were dragged into the slave trade in Jamaica with such shackles, and those who wore such shackles could not stand upright, run, or resist. Lincoln turned to the side and curled up, his fingers reaching his eyes, which were hot and the dust washed out of his tears. He could barely see things - first a yellow rubber duckling, a small black round eyeball, a red mouth, then a plastic ashtray that imitated bone china, a broken cigar, a book with a leather cover, and a poured perfume. There was also a thick, dark carpet, and the light here was so dim that for a while, he couldn't tell what it was.

This is not a prison, Lincoln was amazed. He remembers that he was sentenced to life imprisonment without parole for thirty years. He was forty-two years old, and he thought he was going to die in prison for one or more things he had never done at all—those sons of! Those *** prosecutors and judges! He just saw the window of a room open and wanted to make a little bargain...... When he smelled blood, he wanted to run away, but was caught by the police who rushed in - everyone was so happy, they caught the murderer, and he was at the scene! They identified him with photographs, searched his apartment, found a lot of evidence, and the chief detective and the chief of police personally interrogated him. He was hungry and cold, his eyes were almost blinded by the light, he couldn't remember what he said, the court police sent him to the courtroom, and the prosecutor made accusations, it was ridiculous, how could it be, they accused him of killing six people, all of them professional women with good character. The killer hanged them in stockings and then dug out their wombs — Lincoln had seen them in the newspapers, and reporters had given them no less than fifty bloody nicknames, such as "John the Ripper," "Womb Lovers," "The Bare-Hand Devil," and so on...... He was dumbfounded. Incoherent, confession? No. He pleaded not guilty, and he insisted on appealing.

The prosecutor and his lawyer persuaded him for a long time, and the two bastards were full of sweet words, begging him to plead guilty, and as long as he pleaded guilty and promised that there was no death penalty, that life imprisonment would not be a big deal, that they would find him a good prison, with all the facilities for life, a cell for two people, a picturesque view, a rugby game and a 'milk' oil pie - as long as he behaved well, the indefinite period would soon become thirty years, thirty years would soon become fifteen years, fifteen years would become five years, and then he would be able to apply for parole.

He was fooled, and it was too late to wake up.

Then he should be in Supermax Prison by now ('fucking' those slutty "lustful" ass!) It was one of the most demanding prisons in the Western Continent Federation and even the entire world), and he was subjected to a disgusting physical examination, photographed, numbered, and stored in order to spend the rest of his life in a small iron cage. But where is it?

Someone was giggling, and Lincoln rolled over with difficulty, and he was given a new vision that was much more enticing than a rubber duckling.

He first saw a pair of bony feet, toenails painted with coral-colored nail polish, thin ankles that seemed to break at any time, straight calves, plump thighs, snow-white, open without scruples, tattooed near the base of the right thigh with a bloody, vivid big eye, it can only be said that three ropes of panties were loosely placed on the protruding pelvic bone, the abdomen was slightly fat, light gray "colored" glass silk pajamas, of course, it must be glass silk pajamas, hanging in the crook of the backward bend - Lincoln's eyes showed a look of confusion and confusion, and he saw a young woman tied to a high-backed chair. He tried to open his mouth, only to find that his tongue seemed to have been replaced by clods of earth, and he could only make ah-ah sounds from his throat.

The woman found him awake, she lowered her head, and locks of fluffy blonde curls fell one after another in front of her shoulders, and their owners giggled vigorously, she looked hot, sweating profusely, her tongue sticking out, and drooling down the carpet.

The light was turned on suddenly, and Lincoln immediately closed his eyes with force, and tightened his body, tensing his muscles for the beating that might come at any moment—a conditioned reflex that had been cultivated in the interrogation room of the police station, and he waited for a long time, but there was no movement, and he opened his eyes again, little by little, and even then, his tears were still flowing out like broken faucets.

Everything he saw was blurry, like a swimming pool, and it took a while for his vision to return to its previous state, and because of the light, he saw things more vividly and clearly.

The maddening laughter stopped, and Lincoln looked at her pupils, which were so big that they could almost reach in—the typical reaction to cocaine, Lincoln didn't know how many times he had seen it.

"How about some music?" Then, she said, it was like flipping the voice-activated switch. The record player in the corner of the room spun - Lincoln's ears had been beaten, for days on end, and it buzzed from time to time, and he tried to listen to it, and the melody was familiar to him, and a man was singing: "...... A rose from the gray zone kissed me, a rose kissed me......" He remembered, kissfromarose, the theme song of "Batman." He didn't like the movie, but he liked the song because it described love as a drug, and the woman addicted him, didn't he, addicted...... He also had a girl whom he gave cocaine. Free, she washed the sheets for him, washed them clean, and they/had sex on that sheet.

He didn't know how she was doing, he listened. I almost fell into a trance, until the woman screamed.

The woman screamed. Shouting for help, slapping the ground with the soles of her feet, her voice almost drowning out the music, Lincoln crawled out of the memory, he staggered to his feet, hunched back, spread his hands, and retreated into the darkness, trying to show that he was not harming "sex", but the woman kept screaming.

Excessive cocaine intake can cause fear and delusions of victimhood. Of course, Lincoln knew that, and he stared at the door that was being pounded in trepidation, what should he say, but by the way, he couldn't say anything, he didn't understand how he was here, he wanted to run away or find a place to hide, and the chains of the handcuffs and shackles were holding him, and he could only circle in a circle of two squares.

A man rushed in. Dressed in a quirky, black-colored hat and cape with pointed ears, tights, boots—he looked like a Batman who had gained a hundred pounds. He had a gun in his hand.

Lincoln raised his hands as he pondered how to explain. One bullet pierced his thigh, then a second, and it broke his arm. He howled and fell to the ground, rolling and trying to hold his hand down on the bleeding spot.

"I hope I'm not too late," said Batman, "my dear rose," and he untied the rope for the woman, a slipknot that opened as soon as she pulled it, and the woman jumped up, put her arms around his neck, and kissed passionately the mouth under the black mask.

"I knew you were going to come to my rescue." She replied in a more delicate and contrived voice, "My hero. She rubbed her thighs between the other's legs.

"You don't know how worried I am," the man pressed his chest dramatically: "A devil in the most dangerous!" He's killed six girls who's as pretty as you are, strangled them with stockings, dug out their wombs (the woman exclaimed just right, and made it look like she wanted to pass out), and I've been looking for him—his footprints are stained with blood, his smell is full of stench, he's sneaking around in the dark, running fast...... Well, I almost caught him four times, we fought on top of a 53-story building, chased each other on the highway, fought for control of the helicopter, he planted the bomb, I defused the bomb...... My dear, if it weren't for me, the president's daughter would probably not have escaped her fate...... God willing, justice will prevail, and today I can finally put an end to new evils! ”

It was a bit difficult for him to say such a long paragraph, but fortunately his female companion was very eye-catching, and she could always send her lips and tongue at the right time for him to rest.

"All right," said the man, "I'll have business to do later." He pushed her out of the way and walked about two or three steps away from Lincoln.

"I'm ......," Lincoln moved his tongue playfully, and it became a little conscious, "I am...... I'm not...... Convict. ”

The man froze, his eyes hidden behind the mask blinking at a terrifying rate.

"Maybe."

He sighed, "But I bought you for a million dollars," he whispered, "Wasting is a bad act." ”

He fired, and the bullet went through Lincoln's head.

"This is the end of sin!" He cried out, "Righteousness is awe-inspiring."

(To be continued)

n (one second to remember the world)