The British "Sun" is the infamous red·tp [red letter super eye-catching headline party] - for ease of understanding, you can think of it as the ultimate gold enhanced version of u 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's 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 regards 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 appearing from the roots.
He has a pair of very beautiful eyes, dark red eyes like enstatite, with golden flames shining from the pupils. These eyes cost 600,000 euros, which is the top medical beauty surgery in the human world.
Create such beautiful artificial eyes.
"David Victor" Wilson muttered in front of the workbench, fiddling with his pen like a fanatical star-struck fan, "If it were you, what would you write?"
Many years ago, Mr. Wilson had a chance encounter with David. From then on, they fell in love 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, and write down clearly how free and unrestrained she was after she broke the appointment, and how lucky she was to save her life.
One thing is particularly important.
That is to make it clear that the real murderer is a forty-six-year-old former pigeon breeder at James Park.
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, interrogate 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 firmly.
"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 faene (fake news), as long as it's easy to sell, as long as it's good-looking, that's when I 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 miss you all the time. I love you! More than myself."
"Victor Victor"
"Give me your inspiration."
"Give me all your essence"
A title appeared on the page.
The name is [burytheight·Burial Light] - it is a bizarre story about ancient legends of gods and monsters.
It's not real at all, it's very 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 style of writing - 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 faced the blood and meat juicer to get a fresh hot drink.
Even the mixed drink 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.
People in this business cannot rely on inspiration. David Victor also needs to travel around, communicate with countless people, and collect materials on the spot.
It is a pity that Wilson did not 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 needed 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.
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 would 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 by one, just picking flowers and grass on the roadside, and completely presenting these characters and events 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 one kilometer outside Downing Street.
This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content! In the presence of the heroic spirits of the British dynasties in the past.
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 very clean. Even the bullet casings were not visible. There were only 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 gunpowder smoke and nicotine solvent used to drive away wild animals, 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 blame Winston Spencer for this murder.
He could only use mythical legends combined with pseudoscience to explain it to the people and vampires.
First, imitate David Victor's word order and write the most critical subtitle.
It's called [Gene Mutation 3141] - this genetic mutation is very common in Europeans, and was also reported in The Independent in 2014 as the result of DNA sample verification of Jack the Ripper 160 years ago.
According to anecdotal evidence, Wilson learned that Winston Spencer was fond of widows.
How about a sad story?
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 murderous crimes, 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 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 of them tried to resist but also welcomed her, and they got together that night."
"They went to the Aferya Hotel and had a drunken carnival 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 can transport readers
Grasp them by the throat, Victor! That’s what you do! Right? Grab them by the throat, but don’t kill them!”
"But Barbara can't hide it from Jack, and she can'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 her husband, who loved her all her life and was still willing to be her foil despite knowing that she had cheated on her. More than two hundred others died.
All the burial objects are regarded as 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 committing a sin 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 think of whom to pour this dirty water on, and how to pour it out reasonably and convincingly."
He got in the car and rushed to the former site of the park by the Thames River, vaguely remembering several places that Winston often went to. If you can add some truth to the lie, the effect will be particularly good.
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 nature selects the fittest to survive. In my eyes, you are like a piece of meat on the dining table that is available for grabs. 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!"
This chapter is not over yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content! 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, right?"
"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?"
"Commander-in-Chief, Staff Officer and Staff Lady of the Royal Airborne Division"
"anything else?"
"Prince Charles had tea with him."
"Oh, it's really outrageous. What else is there?"
"Both Chancellors of the Exchequer fought with him in sword duels and ultimately lost to him."
"Well, besides these people, who else does he know? Isn't there something dirty? Someone mean? For example, murderers, kidnappers, terrorists, etc.?"
The doorman thought for a moment
"He never treats these people as conversation topics. I'm also very curious."
Wilson frowned and continued to ask, "Then where does he like to hang out?"
"Besides 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 he had heard a very boring story, "it is worthless material"
The doorman's eyes became more and more frightened, and he tried hard to search his memory to find something useful.
"No 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, are displeased with what they see.
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 garbage 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, "Set up 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 was breathing heavily, and the corners of his mouth were twitching, 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 just 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
No criminal gang has anything to do with it? You've made me so confused! How am I going to write him into another vampire faction now?"
"He 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 suffer from dizziness, hemorrhagic shock and other complications after losing about 500 milliliters of blood.
Take his life.
He felt that his body temperature was dropping, and the huge fear overwhelmed all reason.
He would just nod and say yes, and he became crazy.
The hemp rope was used to strangle the arm, which initially caused burning pain, then itching and numbness, and finally swelling and coldness.
His face was pale and he begged for mercy in unclear words.
"Please, please let me go, please, please, please."
Wilson wanted to take out the manuscript from his clothes and talk to this confused [material] about how to write the 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 steady as a mountain and unshakable, was used to hold weapons and pull triggers. It was also used to write, make money and kill people. The arm 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 from 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 rainstorm and thunder."
The neat bird feathers on the coat are woven into 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 burst into flames! His skull deformed 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 inexplicable 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, under the blood-red light, he could see a blond man in his early thirties laughing enthusiastically, as if there was something wrong with his brain and he kept laughing.
Within a few dozen seconds, the doorman woke up from the mild 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 tightly wrapped around his body, and he disappeared into the basement hallway like a sharp arrow——