He felt that his efforts had not been in vain, and after working hard to eliminate dyslexia, the first part of the manuscript read much more smoothly. Pen, fun, pavilion www. biquge。 info

It's just smooth, and there's no reading pleasure.

Lindbyer was not disappointed, who would expect that part of the middle school students' English proficiency to be average?

He read it with some anticipation, such an article that even the mistakes are carefully arranged, other aspects should be something to look forward to, right?

Lindbyer looked down earnestly, the author clearly had no talent for description, and was telling a dry story in dry language from beginning to end. The plot can even be told in one sentence: the author tells the story of a bad alien (the original words in the text) tortured another alien to extract a confession from the perspective of a bystander.

……

Lindbyer carefully read the last punctuation mark.

He let go of the mouse, put down the cup, closed his eyes and leaned gently back in the back chair, his heart fluttering.

In normal times, this kind of bullshit story of wanting women without women, money without money, science fiction without science fiction, and no future for the future, he has long stopped wasting the time of "having to be worthy of paying a salary".

But for this simple story, in addition to the energy that has been put into it and does not want to be wasted, the story itself seems to have a strange and attractive power.

It's not that the story itself is attractive, it's that the depiction of torture in the story is very appealing.

This is still not the most specific statement, and it is not an attractive depiction of torture.

Rather, it is the punishment itself.

Indescribable torture...... Quite ...... Quite ......

Creativity!

Thinking of this, a thought suddenly popped into Lindebyer's mind: this author is a real pervert.

A real pervert!

Lindebyer kept his eyes closed, not noticing that his fingertips were trembling slightly.

He silently recalled that he had been the editor-in-chief of the dark fantasy magazine for more than ten years, and among the dark fantasy novels reviewed and published over the years, there were naturally not a few novels with madness and tyranny as the selling point, and the cumulative number over the years was even more considerable.

He only had to think about it for a moment, and those wonderful manuscripts that really pleased him immediately came to mind.

What the authors describe is either indifferent killing, or violent venting, or brutal abuse; Which scene fails to describe the dark and brutal scene? Which one failed to convey the grim and trembling emotions? Which reader didn't feel a chill from the bottom of his heart after reading it?

These works are without exception: the authors are skilful in their writing, vividly depicting brutal actions, scenes, and torture, thus portraying all kinds of urgency, fear, and threat in a believable way.

But it's just believable.

This one by the perverted author is different from all the wonderful dark fantasy novels he has in mind and seen in the past.

Although the expressive skills of this perverted author are far from the level that he approves.

Although his pathetic words are completely unable to tell a wonderful story, let alone render the scene and convey emotions.

Although they are competent only to keep a general account of what happened, at best they clumsily describe the specific process.

But none of this can affect Linde Beyer's view that this author is a real pervert.

Though limited by his ability to write, this pervert could not describe how ruthless his torturer was; It is impossible to describe the suffering of the tortured; Even the torture process was written in a mess.

But that's the dry text; the description of dry torture; Between the lines of these dry words, cold and damp poisonous snakes slid out, as if they came from the abyss world with no bottom in sight, silently crawling up Lindebyer's heart and gently biting them.

Lindbyer suddenly felt a little uncomfortable, and he changed his position in the chair, buttoned up his coat, and closed his eyes again.

After reviewing so many manuscripts and reading so many dark fantasy works, he thought that his will had already been exercised as a rock. But the torture described in the manuscript just now, which is not even accurate with adjectives, is like a pair of big dark hands, wielding a giant hammer in one hand to break through his seemingly strong mental shell, and the other hand causing the cold current in the depths of hell to wash back and forth the weakest part of his heart.

These feelings all come from the torture in the manuscript.

Torture that is perfectly capable of torturing humanity with true maximum efficiency, but that is unheard of!

The torture in the manuscript that Lindbyer had never seen; Never heard of it either.

He couldn't even believe they existed or ever existed.

For some reason, Lindebyer had a vague feeling that these tortures had crossed the limits of human cruelty and evil, and that was why they had not appeared in the world for a long time.

And the brain that constructed those tortures, and the owner of that brain, can no longer be called perverted.

but a messenger of the devil.

Or the devil himself.

A sentence that popped into his mind that he had seen in an article that he had never seen before: Those who do not believe in the Lord will eventually fall into hell, and the only difference is only which level they land on.

This devil apparently belonged to the end of hell or the lowest abyss, and he came to earth by some despicable means. Hiding in some dark corner, slamming out barren but wicked language with withered claws, it is always delusional in its desire to spread its evil and chaotic nature everywhere, pulling as many fallen souls as possible to keep it company.

The idea is not at all a slander, it is almost perfectly close to the truth, and the only flaw is not that it is mixed with too much personal feelings, but that it is far from underestimating the gravity of the evil and cruelty.

Lindebyer can't be blamed for being sluggish.

Because, for carbon-based indigenous humans, and even for many interstellar civilizations, 1A7489 can be considered the definition of evil at all, and he can be completely equated with evil itself, and even far beyond the horror and cruelty that can be imagined.

Such a "little punishment" in the manuscript is a small past incident that he casually turned out from the corner of his memory, and what he described through Wu Xiaoyu's hands was only one of the insignificant small scenes.

Thoughts swirled viciously through Lindebyer's head, and at some point, he opened his eyes, but did not focus on any of them.

He slowly turned his neck, which had begun to ache a little because he had not moved for too long, and it was almost noon, and the sunlight through the blinds behind him did not stop for a moment, and the spots of light on the desk became brighter; The pens, folders, nameplates, and the table itself where they are placed, reflect the sun's rays everywhere and from time to time throw them into Lindebyer's eyes.

Perhaps because of these glorious requests, he suddenly decided that this manuscript must not be published.

Immediately, he was taken aback, and reacted instantly, it turned out that unconsciously, he had subconsciously completely passed the first, second, and final reviews of this bullshit manuscript, and finally directly approved its publication.

This discovery stopped the mouse movement to the delete button.

Be worthy of your salary.

He thought so, as the editor-in-chief of Dark Fantasy Magazine, could the reason for the deletion be because it was too cruel to describe the darkness?

Lindebyer didn't think it was ridiculous, and the chill in his heart unstoppably defeated hesitation and hesitation. Then, urging Linde Baier to manipulate the mouse pointer to slowly move to the deleted button.