The British "Sun" is the notorious RED·TOPS [Red Letter Super Eye-catching Title Party] - for ease of understanding, you can think of it as the ultimate gold enhanced version of UC Browser.
Thirty-one-year-old Mr. Wilson is an independent writer, but rather than being called a writer, he prefers to call himself a "writer" or a "literary giant". If it is more exaggerated, he would call himself "the darling of the times" Or "The Rigolett Who Uses a Pen as a Gun", this kind of title can change the costume and be on the big stage of the Royal Theater in England next door as the announcer.
He writes articles for the Sun, and what he writes cannot be said to be groundless, at least it is groundless.
He regarded Conan Doyle as his idol and Shakespeare as his life goal.
In addition to these lofty artistic pursuits, there is another author who he never forgets, keeps in his heart and talks about it all the time——
"—David Victor."
Under the dim light, Wilson stroked his black hair, with dots of scarlet emerging from the roots.
He has a pair of very beautiful eyes, dark red eyes like enstatite, with golden flames radiating from the pupils. This pair of eyes cost 600,000 euros. It is the top medical aesthetic surgery in the human world to create such beautiful artificial eyes.
"David Victor..." Wilson fiddled with the pen, murmuring in front of the workbench like a fanatical fanatic, "If it were you, what would you write?"
Mr. Wilson met David many years ago. From then on, he fell in love with her at first sight, and he could never forget this enchanting and coquettish writer.
At this moment, Wilson encountered a problem.
He is the star of "The Sun". The boss of the newspaper has taken a new job and asked him to publish a new story on the main page of the two newspapers, about the St. James Park murder case.
There were more than two hundred dead, all of them vampires.
I want to write this story into a short story——
——I can’t write too detailed, because this is a documentary story.
——You can’t write too clearly, because you have to write it for children to read.
——You can’t write bad things about Mistress Mary. Instead, you should praise Mistress Mary’s wisdom. You should clearly describe her chicness after breaking the appointment and her luck in saving her life.
One thing is particularly important.
That is to make it clear that the real murderer is a forty-six-year-old former James Park pigeon breeder.
What should we do?
what can we do about it?
Wilson mused that after the lip augmentation surgery, his face looked like a marble sculpture.
"David Victor, what would you do?"
"You are a realistic writer. If you were to write this story, you would probably find the culprit yourself, question him, take the story out of his head, and then send the murderer to hell, right?"
Move the pen from your little finger to your thumb and hold it tightly.
"I'm different. I rely on writing to make a living. I will write whatever my glory and wealth want me to write - even if it's unfounded stuff, even if it's FAKE NEWS (fake news), as long as it's easy to sell, as long as it's good-looking, then it's time for me to use it. It’s time to show off your special skills.”
There are two prostheses in the straight bridge of the nose. This artificially shaped face looks very much like Mr. Victor.
"I miss you, I think of you all the time, I love you! More than I love myself..."
"Victor...Victor..."
"Give me your inspiration."
"Give me all your essence..."
A title appeared on the page.
The name is [Bury the Light·Bury the Light] - it is a bizarre story about ancient legends of gods and monsters.
It's not real at all, it's magical.
It is too difficult to blame the deaths of more than two hundred people in the cemetery on a pigeon breeder. Mr. Wilson changed his perspective and writing style - assigning the identity of the real murderer , transforming into the legendary Jack the Ripper.
As for why this Winston Spencer became Jack?
Why Jack wants to kill these nobles requires a long-term plan.
"Damn it..."
Wilson cursed and his eyes became colder and colder. He took away the coffee cup from the table and received a fresh hot drink from the flesh and blood juicer.
The mixture of caffeine and human blood couldn't relieve the confusion in his heart.
Every time before he started writing, he would feel a great desolation in his soul, as if it had been hollowed out and there would no longer be any fresh jokes.
You absolutely cannot rely on inspiration in this business. David Victor also needs to travel around, communicate with countless people, and collect materials on the spot.
It's a pity that Wilson didn't have this opportunity.
He publishes 12,000 words per day, and has to go to printing houses and newspapers to proofread manuscripts over and over again. Morphine and methamphetamine are the panacea for him to stimulate his mental energy to create.
But at this moment, he must stay awake.
Because the job I took on this time was the top priority——
——It’s about the innocence of Mistress Mary, and it’s about the future of the entire vampire family.
He had to use a highly directional and purposeful word order, harsh words, and vicious sentences to sort out all the contradictions and throw them away from Winston Spencer.
Then, based on the life story of Winston, the real murderer, he was led to other places, and this blame was put on the head of an unlucky sect, or directly on the head of the Abyss Railway BOSS.
This thing is very difficult, much more difficult than writing a short composition on Weibo or being clever on Zhihu.
Therefore, Wilson thought of the person he admired so much——
"——If it were you, David Victor. This matter must not be difficult for you, right?"
He was very envious of Teacher Victor's creative method, which was like printing or engraving, writing vivid characters one after another, just picking flowers and grass on the roadside, and presenting these characters and events completely before the readers' eyes.
But what about Wilson?
He needs to start from scratch and try his best to fulfill each lie from the empty falsehood.
Just like the new question sent by the boss today——
——He could hardly understand how this happened.
in London!
Under the eyes of the fucking Queen of England.
It's only a kilometer outside Downing Street.
In front of the heroic spirits of the British dynasties of all ages.
There were over two hundred fucking inhuman monsters, killed by a forty-six-year-old ugly man who looked like a bad old man.
No one escaped.
According to the police officer's description, the scene was so clean that not even the bullet casings could be seen, only the metal fragments left in the humanoid body, indicating that someone had shot and killed the enemy here.
All traces of the murderer left at the scene have been erased.
The original location of the footprints was dug up by engineering shovels, and even the size of the shoes or the height could not be estimated.
When the drug-detection dog smelled the strong smoke and nicotine solvent used to drive away the beast, it was so frightened that it clamped its tail between its legs and ran away. The police officer could not hold him back.
After a heavy rain, nothing is left.
Wilson is just a writer, not a detective.
It was impossible for him to deduce the real murderer from these clues——
—But the murder must be attributed to Winston Spencer.
He could only use mythical legends combined with pseudoscience to explain it to the people and vampires.
The first is to imitate David Victor’s word order and write the most critical subtitle.
It's called [Gene Mutation: 314.1C] - this genetic mutation is very common in Europeans, and was also reported in the Independent in 2014, when DNA samples from Jack the Ripper were verified 160 years ago result.
According to anecdotal evidence, Wilson learned that Winston Spencer was fond of widows.
Let’s tell a sad story, shall we?
Let’s talk about this perverted and ugly murderer who secretly committed adultery with the Red Queen’s godmother, Barbara.
This murderer has been dormant in London's St. James's Park for many years, secretly engaging in murder and robbery, and eliminating competitors for Downing Street dignitaries.
He has committed countless murders, and the blood on his hands can turn the entire Thames River red.
Because of his curious and perverted taste, when he meets beautiful women, he will turn them into widows.
But this time, Barbara's godmother just refused the request to murder her husband, and Jack asked all the guests at the funeral to be buried with him.
"Well - the outline is finished." Wilson's expression turned cold, and he appropriately polished the main body of the article and added some details.
"Barbara is a slut. She is greedy for the money and status of Godfather Leon, and she is also greedy for the strong and healthy body of Jack the Ripper. I know that women like to see this. They like polite and strong men as husbands, and also like A wild wolf with extraordinary abilities serves as a lover."
"Jack and Barbara have plotted to kill Leon's godfather many times. Barbara agreed verbally, but secretly used small tricks to help the godfather avoid assassination many times. She is loyal and passionate, and is a woman of the new era. Ah. Ha!~"
"When she was confused and troubled, she met Dr. Wang Chenggui from the East. During Barbara's psychotherapy class, the two had a passionate relationship but refused to accept her, and they got together that night."
"They went to the Cafe Royal Hotel and had a drunken party at the highest point on the roof. Barbara felt inexplicable regret in her heart because she could directly see her husband's workplace hundreds of meters away. This hot and exciting physical and mental experience could Grab the readers by the heart, grab them by the throat—Victor! That's what you do! Right? Grab them by the throat without killing them!"
"But Barbara couldn't hide it from Jack, and she couldn't hide it from the Ripper's eyes."
"After learning all this, Jack, an immature white-eyed wolf, went crazy with jealousy, so there was the tragedy at the Royal Free Hospital and the tragedy at St. James' Park."
"In the end, this delicate flower withered in the cemetery, and died together with the doctor who saved her from fire and water, and with her husband, who loved her all his life and was still willing to be her foil despite knowing that she had cheated on her. There were more than two hundred others. The grave goods are all considered to be Jack’s morbid love for her.”
"Looking at this article from a female perspective, it is romantic and exciting, full of elements of incestuous love and horror and fantasy. The self-movement after betrayal should be able to open their hearts - there are more than two hundred Living sacrifices serve as witnesses of love and are a first-class material.”
"Um..."
Wilson bit the penholder with a complicated expression.
“Now that the story is finished, it’s time to talk about the purpose and direction of this article.”
He put on his coat, took the manuscript and prepared to set off.
"David Victor, I want to try your creative ideas this time, because I really can't figure out who should pour this dirty water on, and how to pour it out reasonably and convincingly."
He got in the car and rushed to the old park site by the Thames River, vaguely remembering several places that Winston often visited. If you can add some truth to the lie, the effect will be particularly effective.
...
...
Half an hour later——
——The doorman at the Greenwich Hotel looked horrified.
He was kidnapped by Wilson and kept in the dark basement of the hotel.
Mr. Wilson's face was filled with joy, and at this moment he could feel the aesthetics of David Victor.
When faced with fresh material, he must savor the feeling of dominating other people's lives, overpowering the lives of the weak, and wantonly seizing the essence.
Just gently, Wilson's pen was like a sharp knife, slicing the doorman's leg artery.
He crouched beside the doorman's legs, licking the blood on his thighs with his long scarlet tongue——
"——I want to ask you something, and you must answer truthfully, otherwise you will die."
Faced with such a direct threat of death, the doorman nodded vigorously. The wound on the large blood vessel in his thigh was not as painful as he imagined, but he could really feel that the vitality was continuously drained from his body.
Wilson said with a cold face: "You only have twenty minutes, kid. In twenty minutes you will bleed to death. The only one who can save you is yourself."
The doorman was surprised and crazy, and made a whining sound from the sackcloth in his mouth.
Wilson stuck out his tongue and made a weird trill.
"I can feel your emotions from your blood. Are you aggrieved? Are you confused? Are you angry? But the survival of the fittest is natural selection. In my eyes, you are like a piece of meat on the table that can be grabbed by others. I will kill you. , it is a matter of course - unless you bring me great spiritual value, I will keep you alive. Now you have to think about it carefully. Boy, you have to think hard and stop using that arrogant and resentful expression. Look at me!"
The doorman immediately managed his expression, and his strong desire to survive forced him to compromise.
Wilson took the rag out of the doorman's mouth and asked cryptically.
"You know Winston Spencer, don't you?"
"Yes! Yes I know him!"
"What kind of person is he?"
"He likes to brag! He always says he knows many big people!"
"Who does he know?"
"The Commander-in-Chief, Staff Officer and Staff Lady of the Royal Airborne Division..."
"anything else?"
"Prince Charles had tea with him."
"Ha...that's outrageous...what else?"
“Both chancellors of the exchequer fought with him in swordplay and ultimately lost to him.”
"Well...besides these people, who else does he know? Isn't there something dirty? Someone despicable? Like murderers, kidnappers, terrorists, etc.?"
The doorman thought for a moment...
"No...he never regards these people as conversation topics. I'm also curious."
Wilson frowned and continued to ask: "Then where does he like to hang out?"
"Aside from the park, he likes to see warships, go to the Tower of London Museum, walk along the Thames, cycle around Greenwich and exercise every day."
"Boring..." Wilson pouted, as if hearing a very boring story: "It's worthless material..."
The doorman's eyes became more and more frightened as he tried to search his memory to find something useful.
"No, no, no! No, no, no! Sir! Let me think! Let me think carefully!"
Wilson frowned coldly, took out the coffee cup and continued to drink the blood, "You'd better hurry up, I don't have the patience. In this day and age, many readers will only read the first three paragraphs of a book. They, like the prostitutes, find it unpleasant to read. The girl left immediately - like a superior god, holding the lifeblood of the author in her hands, holding the power of life and death. I wouldn't even look at rubbish material like yours for a second time."
"You want to kill me? Just because my life is worthless to you? Is this a story without any new ideas?" The doorman felt incredible.
Wilson's face was full of disgust: "Put yourself in your position! If you weren't related to Winston Spencer - I wouldn't even want to take a second sip of stinky blood like yours. This blood is full of wind, frost and rain." The taste is bitter and cold! It is a kind of mental torture for me to taste such miserable pheromones over and over again! Do you still dare to yell at me? I will crush you to death like a bug! Do you understand? ? You! You are a bug!"
The doorman breathed violently, and the corners of his mouth twitched, unable to even shed tears.
Wilson stood up and let the blood of his prey seep into the basement masonry.
"Have you thought about it? Even if you are making it up! You have to make up a wonderful story for me! Who is Spencer Winston? Is it true that he is not involved in pornography, gambling and drugs? He and Any criminal gang has nothing to do with it? You have made me so confused! How can I write him into other vampire factions now?"
"He...he...he he he..." The doorman boy was shaking all over. As time goes by, the blood in the body becomes less and less. Normal humans will become dizzy after losing about 500 milliliters of blood. , hemorrhagic shock and other complications will take his life.
He felt his body temperature drop, and great fear overwhelmed all reason.
He would just nod and say yes and he went crazy.
The hemp rope strangled the arm, which initially felt burning pain, then became itchy and numb, and finally became swollen and cold.
His face was pale and he begged for mercy incoherently.
"Please, please let me go, this bug...please...please..."
Wilson wanted to take out the manuscript from his clothes and talk to this confused [material] about how to write a story. Maybe these fictional things could give this pitiful young man something new to think about.
At that moment, his right arm, which was as stable as Mount Tai and unshakable in all weathers, was inserted into his clothes.
A flash of silver light cut through the darkness.
A huge shadow fell on the beams of the underground wine cellar.
Wilson's eyes were blank. The low-temperature blood bursting out of his arms splashed on the incandescent lamp, and the entire basement turned bright red.
He had almost no chance to resist. The weapon was on his right leg and he couldn't draw the gun with his right hand.
The manuscript papers were scattered in all directions, and only a huge shadow stood in front of me like an iron tower——
——Under the huge wide-brimmed hood, a pair of blood-red eyes and two rows of white teeth shine, showing confidence and a powerful and sinister smile.
"I am the impending thunderstorm."
The neat bird feathers on the coat formed the cloak of this evil visitor.
"I want to break free from the cage and get my real name back."
The shining silver flesh-sawing sword carried blood foam and sparks, repeatedly steaming the bones of the vampires.
"You are the sacrifice for my new life."
Jack Martin picked up the collar of his prey——
——Wilson suddenly became angry! The skull deforms instantly!
Like a holy cross, the moment its four-petal mouth revealed its fangs, it bit Jack's shoulder.
"hahahahahahahahahahaha!--"
Wilson heard the laughter, the ecstasy of rebirth, the strange and incomprehensible mystery.
Soon, all he had left was his mouth.
The scraps of meat on the carpet presented a problem for the coroner -
——Jack pulled out the tusks on his shoulders one by one.
He bent down and cut the rope for the doorman. When he lowered his head and leaned forward, he could see a blond man in his early thirties laughing enthusiastically under the blood-red light, as if there was something wrong with his brain and he kept laughing.
Within a few dozen seconds, the doorman woke up from the slight blindness due to blood loss. Only then did he realize that his thigh had been bandaged, and there was still a blood syringe inserted into his butt, with half of the needle hanging out.
Look towards the gate again——
——Jack held the manuscript and carefully read Wilson's bad work.
Under the big hood, the man just smiled ferociously and glanced at the doorman, as if to make sure that the unfortunate child was okay and had regained his consciousness.
He was like a burst of smoke, his black crow feather cloak wrapped tightly around his body, and he disappeared into the basement hallway like a sharp arrow——
-- disappeared into the darkness.
Memorize 114 Chinese words in 1 second:
