Author: Magic Melon

Old Jack has two things to do today.

The first thing he had to pay the water bill.

The second thing is that he has to kill someone.

Because he is a little procrastinating, he always likes to delay difficult things to the end.

So he was going to kill that person first.

6 a.m.

The 288th year of the Holy Calendar——London.

In fact, the morning is not much different from dusk, and the visibility is not very good. The Berlin-made airship above our heads floats lazily like a giant whale, blocking the already not much sunshine. The whole city is like being wrapped in dust falling from the sky.

But what is amazing is that when you look up, you can still see the large chimney in the distance pouring out thick smoke.

These chimneys are like a flag, demonstrating the supreme power and wealth of the empire. After the door of hell was opened, these chimneys became more diligent in circulating.

In the words of the newspaper, "What should we do if the factory does not work harder? Who will raise the army? Who will build the weapons? Who will deal with the demons who run out of the door?"

It is so magnificent, but even those like Old Jack who have never read much know that the blood and sweat of poor people are spitting out of the chimneys.

As for money, it all goes into the capitalist's pocket.

Oh, at this time the word [capitalist] has not yet become popular, so old Jack is used to calling them with other words.

For example: a bastard without assholes.

Xianglan Street, Lower Town District, is a small street about two kilometers away from the Thames River.

It took Old Jack three hours to get here, and the morning mist has almost dissipated. Looking around, he can see a lot of fresh cow dung on the ground, a trash can that has not been cleaned for several months, and steam is rolling out of the sewer. Two rats run past a wild cat, and the cat just yawns lazily.

At the end of the street, there is a grocery store. Even if the fog is dissipated, the store is still hidden in the shadows of the surrounding walls.

All of this shows that this is a good place to kill people.

Old Jack is very happy.

He walked past the cow dung on the ground, came to the door of the grocery store, and pushed the door open and walked in.

"Good morning!" He greeted a big belly boss behind the counter.

The boss held a newspaper and looked over from above the newspaper without any comments. He also looked fierce and unfriendly.

Old Jack looked at the eyes with obvious cirrhosis and bloodshot bloodstains, and the particularly prominent beer belly, and confirmed that this guy was the one he was going to kill today.

"May I ask, are there fruit knives here?" he asked.

"Over there." The boss pointed in a direction with anger.

"Thank you." After Jack thanked, he walked over, picked a handful of it, and walked back to the counter.

"7p." The boss continued to say in that unfriendly tone.

Jack thought that it was reasonable for someone to buy his life with such a bad temper that was not popular.

Of course, he didn't want to care who this guy had provoked. Now he just wants to finish the ticket quickly and pay the water fee.

"Is there a police station nearby?" he asked, taking out a shilling and putting it on the table.

"No."

"Then what are the usual guests here?"

"There are no one on the street, where do you get the guests?!" The boss muttered in anger and turned to find change.

Jack nodded with confidence and then picked up the knife.

It was very smoothly hitting the other party's neck.

Sometimes, Old Jack always wonders why humans are so fragile that they can kill with a knife, but they can dominate the entire world.

Those demons are obviously very powerful, but the Gate of Hell has been opened for two hundred years, but they are still blocked by humans on the Antarctic continent, and even the Drake Strait cannot cross.

Is it really because of those steam tanks that can only be moved by boiling water?

Or. Is it because of those contractors who have a symbiotic relationship with the demon?

It's casual, he's just an unfamous killer. He usually takes orders and gangsters, and maybe he can't do it one day and starves to death at his home. He has no intention of caring about things on the battlefield.

No one is easy these days.

Fortunately, today's job was quite easy. The knife was very sharp and easily stabbed into the other party's neck, then tear open the neck muscles, reach the throat, and gently lifted it to cut the entire airway.

Seeing the boss staring at him with horror eyes, covering his neck, and twisting on the ground like a fat maggot, Jack sighed helplessly, turned around, turned the door sign to the [CLOSE] side, pulled the door curtain, and locked the door.

How hard it would take to carry it out after a while? Fortunately, there are no people on this street now, and if it is 10 minutes, you should be able to carry it to the sewer.

Just thinking about it.

Suddenly, Jack had a bad premonition again, because when he saw the people on the ground covering his throat, his fingers were stuck in the wound because he tried too hard, and the thick knuckles were poking in the bright red gap.

"Well, it won't."

Before he finished speaking, his premonition came true.

The boss successfully poked his artery.

Fat people are generally hypertensive, while those with high blood pressure have brittle blood vessels.

In an instant, blood was gushing out of the wound, like a small fountain, reaching the ceiling with a squeak, and then it was smashed into large pieces of blood, splashing on the ground.

As we all know, killing people is actually a very simple thing, but if the corpse is bleeding everywhere, it will be very annoying to clean it up. This is easy to cook, but washing dishes is annoying.

So Old Jack was depressed at this moment.

He leaned against the door and rubbed his head in pain, and the thought of retiring again came to his mind.

"What's wrong with this?"

And just when he was in great pain.

"Lingling"

A series of phone rings suddenly rang.

Old Jack was stunned and followed the sound to search. Finally, he found the phone under a pile of newspapers at the counter.

The very standard "Scottish Youth Ya Bell" phone is still popular in this era, but it is not cheap either.

He looked at the phone that kept making noises in front of him, hesitating whether he should answer.

After repeatedly measuring in his heart, he decided to take it first, even if he didn't speak, he could hear who the other party was.

So he put the microphone in his ear

A very clear man's voice came from the phone.

"Hello, is it Mr. Jack? I'm sorry to bother you, but I want to confirm that you've finished killing?"

“???”

Jack only felt that his mind had been blank for a moment, and then a ridiculous and evil feeling climbed up to his forehead.

"Bang!"

He locked the microphone back.

To be honest, he was a little confused.

What's going on? The person on the phone was saying 'Mr. Jack'?

Are you talking to me? But how did the other party know that I am here?

Also, what does the saying "kill is over" mean in his mouth?

Just as he was wondering, he suddenly heard a knock on the door "dong~dong~dong~".

Old Jack immediately turned around and had been a killer who had been working for more than 30 years. At this moment, he actually held his breath abnormally.

‘Who could be outside?’

He thought about it, subconsciously beginning to be glad that he had locked the door just now

‘It should be a passerby. As long as you don’t make a sound, the other party will get out of here with a sense of cognition.’

However, the thoughts have not fallen

"Crack!Crack!"

The lock actually made a few light sounds!

Then the door handle rotates slowly

Immediately afterwards, it was pushed away.

Outside the door, there was a man wearing a windbreaker standing. He was very tall, but also very thin. He was about 30 years old and had a typical British face, but his nose was a little tall and straight, making his entire facial features look a little too three-dimensional.

The gray sunlight shone in from the edge of his body, covering the blood in the room with a layer of evil golden color.

The man glanced at the plasma fountain that had not stopped before his eyes, and did not show any panic, but instead breathed a sigh of relief as if he had realized it.

"Huh———I said, I waited outside for 5 minutes but didn't see you come out. I thought you had made a mistake. It turned out that the artery was broken; it doesn't matter, it's fine if you finish killing it anyway, that's it. Even if the person is caught."

The man said, turning his gaze to Old Jack on the side. Seeing that the latter was confused, he took off his old hat and put it on his chest, and bowed slightly a little lazy:

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, and in the Lower Sherlock Holmes, he is a detective."
Chapter completed!