That was a middle-aged man who was riding a skinny horse and was travel-stained.
His hair and beard had not been trimmed for who knows how long, and his whole person looked dull, but his eyes hidden in the shadow of the brim of his hat glanced around with the ferocity of sizing up prey, just like in a supermarket.
Select goods.
Su Ming didn't know what the Saint Killer's current state was. Was he still intoxicated in the memories of those years? Or did he already know that he was in a dream state of reincarnation?
But when he saw that look, the mercenary understood.
If the Holy Killer only had the memory of that year, then his eyes should be eager now, and he would rush to the drugstore immediately to buy medicine to save his wife and daughter.
But he didn't. There was only one thought in his eyes, and that was to kill. He wanted to kill everyone here.
"It seems we have to come up with a backup plan." Su Ming sighed, put Bobo down, and found a barrel for him to hide in: "The original plan won't work. The Holy Killer is now 'lucidly dreaming.'
, his mind is full of hatred and he will no longer buy medicine."
According to the original history, he felt a little thirsty after buying medicine and went to the bar to drink some water and eat something. As a result, the 'heroes' who massacred the Indians were also celebrating there and vividly described how they killed the indigenous women first.
After X was killed, and then scalped and sold for money, he felt uncomfortable after hearing this, so he got into a conflict and was knocked unconscious, which wasted time.
"What should we do?" Bobo revealed his head from the barrel, holding the lid with both hands.
Deathstroke dug into his pocket, then took out two revolvers with a smile, played a trick on his hand and replied calmly:
"We are in the Old West, so let's use Wild West methods to solve it. If he wants to kill these people in his memory, then I will get ahead of him and kill them all."
"It sounds like you are irritating him." Bobo tilted his head, and the corners of his mouth turned downward: "It's like at a circus carnival, someone picked up an air gun and was about to hit a balloon, but you didn't say anything.
, I stepped on all the balloons and popped them."
"That's a good metaphor. It's almost the same." Su Ming closed the lid for him and poked a hole directly in the barrel with his finger so that the orangutan could observe the outside world: "The Holy Killer is a tool with its own will.
, you have to prove that I have the qualifications to talk before negotiating terms, right?"
The orangutan's eyes were exposed in the hole in the barrel, and he made a smacking sound: "Tsk, be careful anyway. You know that Harley and I have to decompose the body when we collect it, right?"
"Haha, what a joke." Su Ming walked out of the alley with two guns and let out a sinister laugh: "A mere resentful spirit can't kill me, so just sit tight in the bucket and wait and see.
"
After saying that, he walked towards the center of the street and blocked the carriage transporting the scalp.
At this time, you can see that all the images on the street shook at the same time, and all kinds of strange eyes fell on him.
The midday sun was shining overhead, and the shadows in the gray world became very faint. The cry of an eagle came from somewhere in the distance, and the atmosphere suddenly cooled down.
Several cowboys who were protecting their scalps from the carriage came out with their spears loaded. A man with a mustache and a fierce look on his face shouted loudly:
"Get out of the way! Don't block the road!"
But what he responded to was a backhand shot. He didn't even need to take aim. The death knell had already locked onto his forehead right from the mouth where he made the sound.
"boom!"
Although his pistol is also a revolver, the craftsmanship is from the 21st century. It is completely different from the dream of the 19th century. However, this gun shot the head into a rotten watermelon very realistically, perfectly restoring the power in reality.
This is quite interesting. This memory dream also has the ability to keep pace with the times and self-calculate. It seems that God and the Angel of Death are willing to take advantage of the Holy Killer.
He was only given a biscuit box when he was released from "Creation", but the prisoner who imprisoned the Holy Killer even created an "advanced dream" for him. This is quite like a real-time calculation program in a game.
I had a pretty good time playing it myself, after all, Deathstroke’s ability to play this game is like cheating a player.
Although everyone can be considered a mercenary, and these cowboys can even be said to be seniors, there are differences between ordinary people.
As gunshots echoed in the streets, bullets accurately hit the heroes on horseback. They fell to the dust like broken sacks, and the residents on both sides of the street also screamed.
"Robbery! Someone robbed!"
"There are gangsters! Everyone, take up arms!"
"God bless us!"
Chaos, disorder, different people have different manifestations, the residents hid in the buildings on the street, hiding behind the windows, maybe peeping at the battle, maybe taking aim quietly.
But this didn't matter to Su Ming. Even if the cowboys quickly dispersed and tried to fight back with their guns, their strength was too far apart.
He flipped open the magazine, and the orange-yellow hot bullet casing rolled out. He calmly loaded the bullet under the hail of bullets, and then there were 12 more gunshots with almost no time to aim.
Okay, the targets are all dead. According to the rules of the Old West, the twenty or so fast horses and a cart of scalps in the dream belong to him, the last person standing.
It's just that Deathstroke is not a real robber. Even in his dream, he has no hobby of collecting other people's scalps.
He just killed the Holy Killer's target first, leaving the target with no one to kill.
Now you can see the down-and-out middle-aged man stopped at the street corner, sitting on his horse with his head tilted, looking at the stranger who suddenly appeared, as if he was confused.
He has been trapped in this dream for more than a hundred years, endlessly repeating the act of slaughtering these "pioneering heroes", but this time it seems to be completely different, and a cowboy who has never appeared before appears.
Which angel is it in disguise? Or is it a devil? Or is it a prank by God?
he does not know.
The man's mind was a little dazed, and he couldn't understand this situation for a while. He just watched the stranger take out an apple-sized object from his pocket, threw it into the second floor of the building on the roadside, and picked it up one by one the next second.
The body with the shotgun fell to the street amid the explosion and flames, emitting the aroma of barbecue.
Is he an outsider? But how did the other party enter the prison of hell?
stay......
However, let's follow the same steps as before, first kill all the residents in the town, and then compete with the mysterious man.
He turned over and dismounted and raised his pistol. He saw a resident hiding behind the window. Everyone in this town deserved to die. Why did the town need to be built so far away from his home?
In fact, he took his wife and daughter into the ravine to escape the world, but can you reason with the paranoid?
"boom!"
But before he could shoot, the mysterious man was faster than him and snatched his prey with one shot.
The Holy Killer frowned. He moved his arm again and aimed at a bar prostitute. There was a wall between her and him, but he could smell the woman's stink, right there...
"boom!"
There was another gunshot on the street, and it was still not the gun fired by the Holy Killer. The stranger got the first shot again. The other shot penetrated two walls, and used the refraction of the bullet to still hit the target accurately.
The Holy Killer couldn't help but feel a headache, and at the same time, the long-lost anger also welled up in his heart. In the Wild West, whoever shoots faster is indeed better at beer, but wherever he aims, the other party will hit him...