Super Trick or Treat System

…Should he ask the driver forward? The question was asked by such a **** idiot: Where am I? Is it possible for him to get more abuse by replying at this time of the night?

Then the train started to slow down.

Radio station. Yes, a station. The train came out of the tunnel and entered under the dirty lights of West Fourth Street Station. He did not miss any opportunities...

Where did the boy go?

He either ignored the warning prohibiting transfer between the two cars in transit, or he has entered the driver’s cab. Li Wei believes that even between the driver's legs, his lips are still curling. This is not unheard of. After all, this is the palace of joy, and everyone has the right to have a little love in the dark.

Li Badi shrugged to himself. Does he care where the boy goes?

The door closed. No one boarded the train. It walked down from the station, and the lights flickered as it used the surge of power to speed up again.

Li Badi felt the desire to fall asleep again, but the sudden loss of fear injected adrenaline into his system, and his limbs were full of nervous nerves.

His senses have also become sharp.

He even heard the sound of the next car tearing apart in the sound of bumps and the rumble on the rails. Is anyone pulling the shirt?

He stood up and grabbed a belt to keep his balance.

The windows between the cars were completely blocked, but he frowned and stared at it, as if he might suddenly spot the X-ray sight. The car shook. Really traveling again.

Another tearing voice.

Is it robbery?

With a slight desire to spy, he pushed the sawed car down towards the intersecting door, hoping that there might be a gap in the curtain. His eyes were still on the window, and he didn't notice the blood stains he was stepping on. Until-his heel slipped. He lowered his head. His stomach almost saw blood from his brain, and whole wheat ham was swallowed behind his throat halfway through his esophagus. blood. He took a few breaths of stale air, then looked away-back to the window.

His head is saying: blood. Nothing can make this word disappear.

Now there is only a yard or two between him and the door. He must watch. His shoes were stained with blood, and the road to the next car was thin, but he still had to look.

He had to.

He walked two more steps to the door, scanned the curtains, and looked for flaws in the blinds: it was enough to pull a thread in the weaving. There is a small hole. He stared at it.

His mind refused to accept everything his eyes saw outside the door. It rejects the spectacle because it is absurd, it is a dream-seeking sight. His reason is that it cannot be true, but his flesh knows it is true. His body became scary and stiff. His eyes didn't blink, and he couldn't hide the terrible scene through the curtain. When the train creaked, he stayed at the door, his limbs were bleeding, and his brain was shaking from lack of oxygen. Bright spots flickered in front of his sight, erasing the brutality.

Then he fainted.

When the train reached Jay Street, he lost consciousness. He turned a deaf ear to the driver's announcement that all passengers outside the station must change trains. If he heard the news, he would question its meaning. There is no train to throw away all passengers on Jay Chou Street. This line passes through the JFK International Airport via the transition track to Mott Avenue. He will ask what kind of train it will be. Except that he already knew. The truth is hanging on the next car. It smiled contentedly at itself from behind the **** chain mail apron. This is the meat train at midnight.

Drowsiness has no time to speak of. It may take a few seconds or hours before Li Badi's eyes opened again, and his attention was focused on his newly discovered situation.

He is now lying under a seat, stretched along the vibrating wall of the car, out of sight. So far, destiny has been by his side, and he thought: the shaking of the car must make his unconscious body invisible. He thought of the horror in the second car, and then swallowed the vomit. He is alone. No matter where the guard is (maybe murdered), he cannot call for help. And the driver? Did he die under control? Is the train still passing through an unknown tunnel (a tunnel that does not have a station to identify it), heading towards its destruction? Moreover, if there is no deadlock to kill, there will always be a butcher who still cuts the thickness of a door from where Li Badi is.

No matter which way he turned, the name on the door was death.

The sound is deafening, especially when lying on the floor. Li Bad's teeth trembled in the nest, and the vibration made his face numb. Even his skull hurts.

Gradually, he felt power seep into his tired limbs. He carefully stretched out his fingers and clenched his fists to make the blood flow there again.

As the feeling recovered, so did the nausea. He kept seeing the cruelty of the next car. Of course, he has seen photos of murder victims before, but these are not common murders. He was on the same train as the subway butcher. It was the monster. He lifted the victim from his feet with a hairless and bare belt. How long will it take the murderer to walk through that door? He is convinced that if the slaughter does not complete his task, the expectation will be fulfilled.

He heard movement outside the door.

Instinct took over. Li Huai pushed himself further down the seat, and thrust his sick white face into the wall into a small ball. Then he covered his head with his hands and closed his eyes, just like any kid who was bogeyed.

The door slid open. Click. Oops the air gushes from the railroad tracks. It was stranger than the smell Li Badi had smelled before: and colder. This is the primitive air in his nostrils, full of hostility and unfathomable air. This made him tremble.

The door closed. Click.

The butcher is close, Li Badi knows. Where he is standing may be only a few inches away. Is he even looking down at Li Badi's back? Even now he bends down and holds a knife in his hand, still crawling out of his hiding place, like a snail hooked on its shell?

Nothing. There is no breathing on his neck. His spine did not split.

Only the soles of his feet were left on Li Badi's head. Then the same voice faded.

Li Bad's breath kept hanging on his lungs until they were injured.

Mahogany almost disappointed the sleeping man getting off at West Fourth Street. He hopes to do another job that night to keep him busy when they descend. But no: the man is gone. The potential victim looked unhealthy anyway, and he thought to himself that he might be an anemic Jewish accountant. The meat will not have any quality. Mahogany walked the entire car to the cab. He will spend the rest of the journey there.

My Christ, Li Huai thought, he was going to kill the driver.

He heard the hatch open. Then the butcher's voice: low and hoarse.

"Hi."

"Hi."

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