Death is on earth.

The glitz of the world, the lights of thousands of homes, she leaned on the sloping railing of the rooftop, her delicate body trembling slightly in the cold wind, like the last crumbling leaf on a dead tree.

The door to the rooftop was opened, and the host of the banquet walked up.

Max Holland, chairman of Max Industries, took over the huge family business from his father 10 years ago, and eventually became the world's leading arms manufacturer with strong business methods.

Max smoothed the folds of his clothes and gracefully walked towards death.

Death looked at Max, his red eyes like the most beautiful gems in the night sky.

"Hi, hello." Max pursed his lips and chuckled, the chairman who was worth hundreds of billions was a little shy at this time, "In order to get rid of those personal bodyguards, I put a lot of thought into it... Don't get me wrong, I didn't mean to follow you, I just wanted to fulfill my host's obligations, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen at a banquet~"

She took out her old flip phone and typed out a line: "It's so cold here." ”

"I'm sorry, I was negligent." Max took off his blazer and draped it over her, asking with concern, "Are you better?" ”

She wrapped her clothes tightly, coveting the remaining warmth on them, and nodded slightly, like a protected angel.

Max leaned against the sloping hurdle and gentlemanly kept a distance of just 1 meter from her, a distance that did not seem rusty or overly intimate, and was the best social distance between strangers.

In this way, one person used his mouth, and the other used his mobile phone, and the two talked about a lot of topics on the lonely rooftop.

What surprised Max even more was that from astronomy to geography, from prose to poetry, whether it was dry financial numbers or the ever-changing universe, they could talk happily on any topic, just like two meteors met in the Milky Way.

While chatting, Max noticed her phone, and he quipped, "Your way of communicating is so funny." ”

She typed in response: "I can't speak." ”

At this moment, Max's heart suddenly tingled, and for the first time in his life, he began to resent God, hating why He took away her voice.

This indescribable beauty of mutilation is both regrettable and shocking to Max, like a mortal facing Venus with a broken arm.

"It may be a bit offensive to ask that," he asked softly, with a love that he had never felt before, "Do you have someone you love?" ”

She typed and asked, "What is love?" ”

"Love..."The chairman who was shuttling among the thousands of flowers was silent for a while, he looked at her so affectionately, and finally found the answer in those red eyes, "Love is, when you know that there is her in the world, no matter how bad the world is." ”

Under the scorching gaze, she turned her face slightly sideways, her pupils fluttering, as if they were about to melt.

With the touch of her fingertips, she gently lifted her phone, and the words displayed on it were like gentle whispers: "Do you love me?" ”

On this cold night, Max falls in love with the Grim Reaper.

The indescribable throbbing surged in his heart, and the happiness that came from nowhere filled his body, so sweet that his mind could hardly think about it.

Instead of answering directly, he gently put his arm around her shoulders, approached her red lips, and asked in a magnetic voice, "Can I kiss you?" ”

She typed, "Please close your eyes." ”

Max slowly closed his eyes, waiting for happiness to come.

She pulled out a handful of muffled PPK, pressed it against his forehead, and gave him a hot kiss.

After the artifact fell to the ground, she kissed him again on the left and right chests.

One gun head, two guns in the chest, perfect textbook interpretation.

Death stepped over his corpse and quietly disappeared into the evening breeze.

...

Hot water squirted out of the shower and trickled down from the top of Shiro's head, and the congealed blood faded off in pieces, revealing a skin that was so white that one wondered if it would melt away like winter snow.

The mist and smoke rose to cover her body, and she could only faintly glimpse the slender legs interlaced, up to a plump silhouette, and a few inches higher, the lines were extremely restrained, as if the scissors had reached the waist.

After taking a shower, she dried herself and put on her clothes and went back to her room.

The room is an illustration of minimalism, with only three types of furniture: a bed, a table, and a chair, and some tools that can only be used by processors are placed on the table.

Bai Jing sat on the bed, staring at several human anatomy diagrams on the wall, from the beginning and end points of muscles, bone connections, blood vessel flow to nerve distribution, etc., all in great detail.

The more sophisticated the anatomy, the more delicate the slow processing will be.

Therefore, just by looking at the size of the equipment in the processing package, you can get a rough idea of the slow processing level of the processor.

Guns, knives, and axes are rookies' favorite things, and they have to cover up their lack of skill with those horrific wounds.

The highest level of processors can create the most pain with the smallest wounds.

In the white processing package, the equipment is as fine as an embroidery needle, and the processing time they can support can be calculated in 'months'.

The hour hand of the alarm clock slowly flickered, and at eight o'clock, the bell rang.

"Jingle bell—"

Shiro got up and went out.

Machines need to be recharged or refueled to operate, and the same is true for processors, but with different media.

Shiro walked through the dungeon and walked to the door of a bar, where she seemed to be an acquaintance, and the guard just stared greedily at her face, and then made a "enter" gesture backwards.

Before the bustle of the day, the bar was almost full, the smell of wine was overflowing, and the customers gathered in groups, dressed in a very distinct line.

The bars of the underworld are far more distinctive than the outside, with an unabashedly "blood" theme, from the main lighting to the special drinks, all full of blood-red flavor.

The bartender is also far more hardcore than the average bar, he is a slightly older man, his white shirt is bulging by muscles, his face looks very slender, his eyes are slightly narrowed into a rather murderous triangle, and he is skillfully shaking the snow pot at the moment, but it makes people feel like he is stabbing with a knife.

In front of the bar, several men in black tank vests were drinking spirits, and the people next to them were faintly separated by a little distance, even if they were not afraid of them.

No one will want to provoke mercenaries.

These people are war wild dogs who lick blood at the tip of a knife and give money to anyone, and these few in front of the bar are the mad dogs of wild dogs, who dare to bite anyone when they see it, and can always tear off a large piece of meat, and no one wants to have a senseless conflict with them.

The man in the center had a neat head, a messy beard, and three huge scars on his face were particularly hideous, and he caught a glimpse of Bai walking into the bar, and immediately pushed away the bunny girl in his arms, and half knelt in front of Bai, and shouted with a smile: "Welcome home, my dear Bai!" ”

Hooligan whistles and laughter immediately bombarded the bar, and the men began to heckle.

Bai looked indifferent, didn't even look at the man in front of him, walked straight to the bar, and sat on a chair.

"Vincent, why did your dear Bai never pay attention to you?" A big man put his muscular arm on the back of the couch and laughed loudly.

Hearing this, Vincent stood up, opened his hands, and said cheekily: "This is only temporary, one day, the iceberg will melt for me!" ”

The bar was again filled with laughter and scolding.

Without warning, Vincent sneered briefly, and he looked at Shiro's back, his eyes full of disdain.

Mercenaries and Processors belong to the same Underworld, however, mercenaries accustomed to frontal combat have always treated the latter with contempt.

In their words, the processor is a rat who dares to hide in a dark corner and put a cold gun, a sissy in the underworld.

And Bai Ben is a woman, that is, the female mouse of the rats, the sissy of the sissy - don't chew the words with the mercenaries, otherwise you will go to the crematorium if you win the debate, and you will go to the crematorium if you lose.

Suddenly, the disdain on Vincent's face disappeared without a trace, he slowly walked to Bai's side, put his head to her ear, and smiled ambiguously: "Dear Bai, don't pretend to be so cold, I know that a little girl of your age is usually very lonely." And I, what I'm best at is conquering iceberg beauties~"