Listening to Jason’s assertive words, if one didn’t look at him wearing a hockey mask and wielding a machete at the mont, they would be quite convincing.
But when Brian stood right in front of Jason, gazing directly at his hockey-masked visage and broad-bladed machete in hand, paired with that tall, muscular figure, the middle-aged father felt that the Jason before him was no longer just an ordinary psycho or serial killer.
But rather...
A psychotic killer!
One with no specific targets, no patterns, purely killing for the sake of killing, as natural for them as eating and drinking for an ordinary person, leaving no survivors for anyone who encountered them!
Subconsciously, Brian took another step back.
The pressure from the masked Jason was too great.
He swore that among all the terrifying opponents he had encountered in his career, none had exerted as much pressure as Jason did at that mont.
"Simply depicting?"
Brian muttered involuntarily, his hand already at his lower back.
He was ready to draw his gun at any mont.
At least when Jason swung his machete at him, he’d have the ability to defend himself.
"Of course!"
"I am a realist writer!"
"As everyone knows, for a realist writer like , wearing a mask and carrying a machete is completely reasonable. In the still of the night, I like to imrse myself into the respective roles, searching for inspiration... Is there anything wrong with that?"
Jason asked as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Facing such a question, Brian felt a surge of energy wanting to burst out from his chest and abdon.
A realist writer?
Looking for inspiration?
This chilly mask and the machete that still seed to carry a distinct residual scent of blood are rely props for your search for inspiration as a realist writer?
You’re trying to fool ghosts!
No, that’s wrong!
Even ghosts wouldn’t believe it!
Such is your appearance that even vengeful spirits would steer clear of you.
Thinking this, Brian began to retreat towards the exit of the corridor.
He was leaving.
He couldn’t stay here any longer.
He had to save his daughter.
As for Jason’s ’hobbies’?
For his daughter’s safety, he decided to pretend he hadn’t seen anything.
"It was nice eting you, Jason."
"But I must leave now."
Having retreated to the corridor, Brian said this.
"Together."
Jason said.
Brian must be going to save his daughter.
And him?
He was naturally on a hunt.
The deliciousness of ’food’ had made him impatient.
Especially the thought of sitting quietly at the dining table and savoring the ’food’ after dark made Jason’s eyes gleam with excitent.
You should know, when the night is still and quiet, the taste of the ’food’ doubles in deliciousness, including but not limited to instant noodles, barbecue, milk tea, spicy crayfish, hot pot, and more.
Saliva began to secrete uncontrollably, and Jason couldn’t help swallowing.
Gulp.
The sound was very clear.
So here’s the question.
What would you do if you were faced with a nearly 2-ter-tall man with a very muscular build, wearing a hockey mask, holding a wide-blade short-handle machete, and swallowing salivatingly at you?
What others would do, Brian didn’t know.
But Brian quickly drew his gun.
The barrel pointed downward, not directly at Jason, but the attitude said it all.
Stop there, you maniac, don’t co any closer!
Co any closer, and I’ll shoot!
Brian’s whole being emanated such an aura.
And Jason?
"We have the sa goal!"
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Jason stated confidently.
"Thank you."
After earnestly expressing his gratitude, Brian promptly opened the door.
Throughout the process, he maintained the stance of holding the gun with one hand and opening the door with the other, all while facing Jason.
Once the door was open, Brian didn’t hesitate and quickly stepped out.
Then, he raised his hand to close the door and rolled to the side.
A wooden door—Brian was sure, if Jason wanted to, he could break it down directly; he wouldn’t put his safety in the hands of a man who looked incredibly dangerous.
So after a standard evasive maneuver, Brian leaped over the stair railing and down.
The door opened once again.
Jason stepped out, standing in the shadows and watching the receding figure of Brian, shaking his head.
With that motion, the hockey mask appeared and disappeared, emitting an indescribable ferociousness and horror.
But Jason was unaware.
He thought it was normal.
He enjoyed the sense of freedom and comfort that ca with wearing the mask.
As for Brian’s rejection?
Jason didn’t take it to heart; since the other party had refused, he certainly wouldn’t insist.
After all, he was more accustod to acting alone.
The invitation just now was rely polite and compensatory, prompted by the information Brian provided.
He, Jason, wasn’t one to take advantage of others for no good reason.
But if the other party refused, then it was not his problem.
Phew!
With that thought, Jason took a deep breath and then let it out heavily, a faint voice coming from behind the mask—
"The world is filthy again!"
The next mont, the tall, robust figure was completely hidden in the twilight’s afterglow.
...
Inside the stretched limousine, Emod sat calmly, one hand resting on the armrest of his chair, the other holding a glass of red wine.
Emod’s fingers lightly pinched the glass stem at the base of the cup, and as his wrist shook slightly, the fragrance of the wine involuntarily wafted out.
There was sweetness and a faint hint of fruitiness.
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