I seemed to be lying somewhere, with unbearable pain all over my body, as if a colony of ants were eating away at my body. Then came a bone-chilling cold, and my breathing became suppressed, as if I was on the brink of life and death.
My consciousness became a little hazy, and even thinking became difficult. I tried to move my body, but for some reason it became so heavy that I couldn't move it even a little bit, as if it was frozen by the cold.
"Many things are in correspondence, like light and darkness, life and death, human meanness and virtue."
The man was saying something incomprehensible and standing in front of him. His figure was so tall that it almost blocked out all the light, leaving only a dark shadow covering his vision.
Who is he? What is he talking about
It was difficult for his chaotic consciousness to think about these things. The cold death was threatening him, and he seemed unable to do anything except tremble.
"So will you be mean for the sake of a greater desire, or stick to your bottom line and choose virtue?"
The man squatted down, his face shrouded in an unknown darkness. He stuffed something cold into his hand and then let out a chilling laugh.
"The time has come to test you, Shrike."
After a brief silence, gunshots rang out like bells.
…
Shrike suddenly opened his eyes, as if waking up from a nightmare, his pupils were bloodshot and he stared at the darkness above his head.
He took a deep, heavy breath and placed his hand on his chest, feeling the distinct beating of his heart in his palm.
He sat up slowly, leaning against the wall, cold sweat running down the tip of his nose. He slowly covered his face with his other hand and let out an unwilling growl.
Shrike hasn't had a nightmare for a long time, let alone dreaming about these things. They should have been buried in the deepest part of his memory, but perhaps because of this action, these dead people were given the opportunity to dig their graves.
He tried hard to calm himself, and gradually his violent heartbeat subsided. He put down his hands that were covering his face, and he looked terrible.
His hair was stuck to his face by cold sweat and his collar was completely wet. Shrike stretched out his hand to try to touch something, but he touched nothing.
In an instant he became nervous again, and his heart, which had finally calmed down, began beating violently. He got out of bed, lifted the quilt, and looked everywhere for the thing but couldn't find it. At this moment of panic, Shrike was attracted by a flash of silver light.
"So... you are here."
Shrike let out a long sigh. He reached out and grasped the silver revolver on the table. He sat on the chair and stroked it carefully, as if the weapon in his hand was a treasure.
His fingers were clenched so tightly that the joints turned slightly white, as if he was holding on to his own life. The Shrike could not let go of it.
"For Whom the Bell Tolls."
Shrike whispered and paused. He looked at the time and found that it would be dawn in a few hours. Under the current circumstances, he had no intention of sleeping.
He opened the drawer and saw dozens of copper-yellow bullets rolling inside, mixed with some carving tools.
Take out a bullet at random. Their shape is different from the regular bullets on the market. This is a special bullet from the perpetual motion pump, made of solid cypress iron. In their words, this bullet can easily penetrate the flesh and blood, and shatter the bones together, killing with one shot.