Rain has been falling.
Kansas was dark as hell, and the cold wind blew raindrops against the icy glass. The elm and poplar trees on both sides of the road are dancing wildly, and looking out of the window, you will feel like they are revelling devils.
Bright red blood flowed from a crack at the bottom of a door, and mixed with the rushing rain.
Inside the Jim Brothers pit, the room is filled with the rust smell of human blood.
The smells are still fresh now, and by tomorrow, after the sun comes out it will be in the heat, blood, and the remains of corpses scattered all over the room will fill the place with a suffocating stench, enough to make a new rookie come in. The forensic doctor lay outside the door and vomited for a while...
Rogers rubbed his chin amusingly, thinking vaguely.
Because he was bored, he turned on the TV, and in the blurry picture came the sweet voice of the show host as always, and it was another typhoon—it was another blow to Kansas, which was already in the shadows because of the bombing.
"I don't like typhoons. High-rise apartments are not good for this. You will never feel safe on a typhoon day."
He said happily to the man in front of him.
Mick Brewster, who is now the only one who survived Rogers' carnage.
But two rusty screws, about one centimeter in diameter, with a front end, the kind of stuff that would be used in mechanical maintenance, were in the center of Mick's palms at this time.
They pierced Mick's hand directly, spun and screwed onto the historic remnants of the Jim Brothers pit, a lathe that was almost out of sight.
Out of bad taste, Rogers deliberately made Mick's hands level, and he now looks like a parody of Jesus Christ.
The screw cap that emerged from the palm was dyed black and red with blood and muscles, and the severe pain of the client Mick could be visually seen from the excrement under his body.
The previous scream had severely damaged his vocal cords, and the only thing he could do now was to make a faint sound of air from his throat.
He did not answer Rogers' questions.
Rogers couldn't help but sighed deeply, he stood up and came to Mick.
Mick began to struggle, tears welling up in his eyes, and his body shivered and spasmed with fear - eventually causing the wounds on his hands to turn into an even more bloody mass.
Staring at what was in front of him, Rogers smiled, the kind of big smile you'd see on the faces of kids who disassemble dragonflies' wings and burn ants with matches.
"Poor little fellow."
Rogers sighed.
Mick's struggle became even more desperate, and a bloody "ho ho" sounded from his throat. If you recognize it carefully, you might be able to hear it, it was a sentence of "please kill me".
Rogers shrugged.
"Answer my question and I swear I'll set you free."
The moment his voice fell, Mick stopped all movements, staring at Rogers with bloodshot eyes.
"Very good..." Rogers nodded complacently, "so, these people here, is that all? The so-called Avengers... oh, sorry I forgot, you claim to be victims. Tell me, these are ready to gather in Together, is there any other organization that wants to take revenge on Rand Sievers?"
He gave Mick some water and stimulants so he could answer questions with slight gestures like nodding.
Bright red blood gushed from Mick's ears and nose, and his eyeballs turned completely red, but he didn't even feel anything.
He told Rogers everything, including those ulterior motives, the simple intimidation of the so-called "dead mice" and the deception of the entire organization afterward, with a faint hope that Rogers would repay him a little to the poor man. So much compassion.
However, the next second he saw Rogers smiled and turned around, picking up a badly worn knife from the dining table.
There was even some Uncle Harry's strawberry jam on the knife.
Mick opened his eyes in disbelief and watched as Rogers stabbed the knife into his stomach.
As a killer Rogers has a really good arm, but the knife has been out of touch with the word sharp for too long. He tried a lot before stabbing the knife in. Mick made a howl that is possible when a livestock is slaughtered, of course. , that howl was only for a short while, one or two sounds, and Mick's vocal cords were quickly damaged and completely unable to make a sound.
"Sorry, what I said just now... I'm actually lying to you."
Rogers winked at him and whispered playfully in his ear.
He slashed Mick's stomach with the knife, and blood and some of his intestines gushed out from the pressure in his abdominal cavity, but Mick was going to be tortured for a long time before he could actually die.
He was experiencing the present hell as a living man, and in front of him Rogers stared at him inquiringly.
"Hey, you know what?"
The man with strawberry-colored hair had a terrifying nostalgic look on his face.
"Your testicles taste a little disgusting."
He says.
Mick, who was about to collapse completely because of the pain, had a very brief awakening at that moment. He looked at Rogers in shock, and then the other's face slowly transformed into another boy's face in his blurred vision. .
Next to Sivers back then, there was always a boy who was innocent and cruel like a child. Sixteen years ago—
"Rogers, you have to take good care of Rand, he is your brother."
Lena Mekinson leaned gracefully against the door frame, frowning at everything in the room.
"Sorry, Mom."
Rogers turned, winced, and smiled ingratiatingly.
"I did not do it on purpose."
He says.
"Oh god, look, you scared Rand."
Behind Lena was the hustle and bustle, and as a "just moved in" single mom, her witty conversation and beauty have caught the attention of many in the community. And today is Lena's banquet with her friends. She was so busy that she was about to become a fairy, but the two children at home would never reassure her.
"tick..."
"tick..."
"tick..."
…
Blood slowly slid from the face of the third person in the room, a boy who was as pale and numb as a puppet.
The blood came from an unrecognizable visceral fragment that was now on the head of young Rand Sievers.
In fact, he is now full of shards of internal organs.
On the floor in front of him, a furry animal carcass had its abdominal cavity completely gutted and its internal organs pulled out.
"My God, Rogers!"
Lina looked at the blood on the ground with disgust.
"A blood-stained carpet doesn't smell good if it's hot..."
"We'll have new rooms and new carpets until then anyway."
Rogers said indifferently.
He reached out and put some blood in his mouth with his fingers.
"That's not the point, why did you make the 'little monster' like this... Rand loves it!" Lina said.
The 'little monster' in her mouth refers to the puppy that had been disemboweled on the street stall, and they got it in the last family.
It was still a puppy at the time, and the Labrador was always cute when he was a puppy - Rand, who had always been unresponsive to the outside world like a puppet, tried to keep it for the first time.
He was so fond of the dog he named 'Little Monster' that he even began to talk to Lena and Rogers for it.
For example, in order to leave its name, Rand literally shouted the word to Lena - "Mom".
Now, however, the dog is just a rigid corpse.
"I know," Rogers curled his lips, "but, is there anything wrong with that? Rand is now closer to the 'little monster' than ever before? Blood and guts are now against his skin, and he can now Feel the warmth and softness of its life, and the color of the blood is beautiful. I almost don't know why he keeps getting mad at me..."
"Oh, Rogers..."
Lena came over and hugged Rogers in her arms.
"Sometimes, people just don't understand what we think. Rogers, Rand has been living in those crowds for so long, he's lost and numb to the art of living. And we're telling him Be careful not to frighten him when it comes to these things. Next time you can be a little more gentle…”
She said softly, then tilted her head and stared tenderly at Rand bathed in blood.
"Sorry, almost forgot about you. Rand, you know, we really love you so much."
She stretched out her hand and hugged Rand in her arms.
And because of this, Rand's elbow slid out of his sleeve, and the unusually fair skin was neatly covered with thin bloodstains cut by razors.
Lina picked up his elbow and pressed it against her cheek.
"How beautiful, Rogers, you are a genius," she exclaimed, touching the scar on Rand's elbow.
This exaggerated way of compliment even makes people feel shy.
"Rand's skin is very soft, and it's what we did together."
Rogers blushed slightly, and he scratched his head embarrassedly.
And beside this touching mother and son, Rand's eyes like glass marbles just stared blankly at the void.
The blood was gurgling down from his body, and one of them ran along the hair and slid past the corners of his eyes.
Sixteen years later—
"Do not-"
Rand sat up abruptly from the bed.
He covered his face, realizing once again that he was crying because of the nightmare.
"Oh god..."
He knew he was stupid—he couldn't even remember those dreams, and yet he couldn't stop crying over them.
He sobbed violently for a while before barely regaining his composure.
After this, however, a strong sense of incongruity emerged...
Something is missing.
he thinks.
The clock ticked through the dark apartment, and it was at this point that Rand realized where the lack had come from.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
It seemed that Rand was the only one left in the whole world except for the wind and rain outside and the clock inside.
"Munster?"
Rand's heart was full of confusion.
According to experience many times in the past, Munster will always appear at his bedside at this time (even before Rand wakes up from a nightmare), but at this moment, it has no movement.