Abyss Train

Chapter 835 Tantrum②·There is a Voice

[Part ①: Twelve dollars an hour]
You were awakened by a sirens and there was a pungent smell of sulfur in the air. All these sudden changes made you inexplicably nervous.

It's not yet completely light -

——The billboard of the office building next door is right above your head and you can see it.

[Create a new beautiful life with Miami]
The sharp, piercing sound of the flute makes your heart beat faster, yes.

Once upon a time, you relied on it to drive away criminals, make suspects lose their will to fight, and make lawless people tremble in fear.

Later, when you were squatting in a public community with a syringe in your pocket, you would hear this sound and you knew it was time to go.

The community will complain about you because you can't find a suitable place to live, even a small apartment. You wander in public places, find a step, find a place to sit, and then fall into a sweet dream.

Until the sirens sound, you realize that that sense of security no longer belongs to you.

When facing questioning, you repeatedly explained tirelessly that you were once a state police officer, and that you once believed that you could recover your spirit and face life through drug rehabilitation, but why?

Why did it become reasonably legal in the United States? And it seemed to just happen?

Ben Rickett, you are dying.

But I want to congratulate you for making it through another day. You have temporarily overcome this desire.

"Hey! Hey!" A bomb-sniffing dog came in from the top floor, followed closely by the police officer -

——The first time this Florida police officer saw you, he didn't draw his gun.

"What happened, officer?" You were very tactful and immediately put your hands where you could see them.

Police officer: "There was a case of self-immolation in this apartment, right now."

Before you could finish your words, the police dog seemed to smell your scent and it circled around both sides of your trouser legs, especially your pockets. In the end, it didn't sit down or bark loudly, and spared your life - you have successfully quit drugs for thirty-one days.

"Oh," the white police officer was obviously relieved. "Do you have your ID with you? A driver's license will do? Give them to me."

You carefully took out a pair of chopsticks——

——Yes, chopsticks, to prevent your fingers from completely entering the blind spot of the police officer’s field of vision.

Take out your old documents, including your driver's license, police officer ID, and the drug rehabilitation center registration card prepared for you by the anti-drug team.

The white police officer was a little amused: "Don't be so nervous"

"I don't know how good the police officers in Florida are now, and I don't know how fast you can draw your gun, brother." You learned how to eat Chinese food a long time ago. In order to survive, these chopsticks have become the last bit of decency. "Did you turn on the law enforcement camera?"

The white police officer responded: "It's always on, don't worry."

Your desire to survive is very strong, and you repeatedly emphasize: "The recording will only be available after you turn it on."

The white police officer then said: "I know"

You breathed a sigh of relief, and while the police officer was verifying your identity, you asked:

"——Who set himself on fire?"

"The agent landlord of this apartment, the manager who manages the apartment business for the real estate owner, should be an agent, right? I don't quite understand how these commercial real estates work." The white police officer looked through your ID. When he saw the police officer's ID, he was quite surprised. A trace of contempt flashed across his face, but he quickly calmed down - he didn't want to be complained about.

"Okay! Mr. Ben Rickett, have you been sleeping here last night?"

You guessed who the protagonist of the self-immolation story was, but you didn't expect that the boss would end his life in this way.

In your impression, this fat guy with fat all over his body is very afraid of pain. As long as you are a little tougher, this guy will never dare to use force. Even if he pulls out a gun, it is just to scare people.

Will he set himself on fire? Is it that simple?

You didn't mean to be nosy, you just asked one more question.

"Is he dead?"

The white police officer nodded and continued with the routine questions.

"last night."

You interrupted, "I just came back after recording a show at the TV station. To be specific, the show wasn't over yet. I got paid one thousand two hundred dollars and immediately returned to the apartment building."

"When I walked in and climbed the stairs, I heard the young boss calling to order pizza. He lied to the pizza guy and asked for three servings for one person."

"I felt it was unnecessary. He could have been bolder, and we had a conflict and a verbal dispute."

"Because he was sending money to a YouTuber, and I was a little bit rude when I was paying for the room, and he pointed a gun at me, it must have been a VP9 pistol - and the bullet exploded in the magazine, and I don't understand why."

"I was so tired at the time, and I thought the pizza delivery guy would take care of him, so I went back to the rooftop to sleep."

"Until the sirens woke me up, all I could say was this—"

"—Did you turn on your body camera? Is it recording?"

The white police officer was inexplicably surprised at your speaking speed. He was a little dazed, and until you finished telling him the whole story, he felt that it all seemed like a lie you made up - although the pizza delivery guy had later had contact with the young boss, who was still alive and kicking at that time.

"His hand was injured by a gunshot, and he didn't go to the hospital because the medical expenses were too expensive." The white police officer added: "I called the surveillance camera in the apartment. Thank you for your cooperation, Ben Rickett."

"This guy set himself on fire in the middle of the night. For some unknown reason, he is now a charred corpse."

"You'd better sleep somewhere else. Do you need community assistance, Ben?"

You shook your head, hoping for just a moment of peace.

The officer pulled a business card from his wallet—

"——I know there's a warehouse near the docks where you can help out. There's work there that pays twelve dollars an hour. You can work and go as you please. I know people like you don't like to be tied down."

This is such a wise statement that you can hardly refuse.

Don’t like being bound? What does it mean to not like being bound?

Who likes bondage?

"Thank you."

After saying this in a lukewarm manner, the white police officer immediately slipped away from the top floor, leading the dog.

You cover your head which is in constant pain, and endure the pain brought by the stage reaction. You need a lot of water, and you feel very thirsty.

Looking in the small refrigerator next to the old newspapers, you found two bottles of purified water that were about to expire. These were originally a tool used by the small boss to make money. They only cost eight cents or even cheaper in the supermarket downstairs. On the rooftop, if you unscrew the lid a little bit, it will cost you three dollars.

But it doesn’t matter, the boss is dead now, died in the flames.

After two bottles of ice water, you feel better, and then you fall on the sofa bed again, lying with a pile of old newspapers. [Part ②·Burning with anger]
At twelve o'clock noon, you wake up on the top floor of this haunted house.

You had a very long dream, in which you saw the black dog again.

It spews flames at you, as if it is chewing firewood. It is grinning and making creepy strange noises.

In the darkness, you feel like the ceiling is about to melt with the flames, and it seems like you’re not the only one in the narrow utility room.

There is another miserable soul trapped with you in this narrow room. You see the black brother, his body festering, with smelly blood scabs peeling off from his charred flesh. He is rolling in pain, burned by the evil fire of the black dog.

Finally, your posture of lying on the sofa bed relaxed a little, the heavy feeling in your chest was relieved, and you woke up from your dream.

Your eyes are dry and your throat is smoking again. You need more water, Ben Rickett.

Let's go! Get moving! Let's go! It's already twelve o'clock!
Start a new day, start your new life.

Back on the street, you cross the yellow warning line, still a little uncomfortable with the fresh air outside. In the past, when you walked out of the crime scene, you always had a feeling of being in another world - as if the victim's soul was still there, wanting to confide in you.

You bought two bottles of water, and when you took out your business card from your trouser pocket, you became interested in this job that paid $12 an hour.

Maybe this kindness will really become your hope in life, a job of packing and mailing goods? It seems so simple, so mechanical, and so fulfilling.

6◇9◇Book◇Bar

Just walk two streets to a warehouse at the Bay Area Pier and you will find the person in charge.

Mr. Ben, Mr. Ben, go forward.

Try to take a step forward, yes!
By the time you come to your senses, you have already arrived at the bustling sales floor of the warehouse.

The live broadcast theme has been decided, the logistics vehicle is waiting nearby, the warehouse supervisor pulls you aside and gives you a work badge - as for the process in between? You have already forgotten it!

How did you get here? How did you get this job?

It seems that another personality in your body has helped you complete these tasks.

Then all you have to do next is pack these things one by one, put on the postal labels, mark the addresses one by one, and hand them over to the next staff member.

The live broadcast room is very close to you, only about two rooms away, and you can hear some sounds, very familiar sounds.

Perhaps it is the voice of a well-known anchor, roaming in subways, studios, company offices, and police offices. Almost everyone in Miami State, almost everyone who has used TikTok, has heard the voice of this anchor.

"You think it's expensive? Very expensive?"

"I have been selling products on Tik Tok for so many years. It is difficult for manufacturers to do business. There are so many staff members waiting for this bite of rice to eat. I think sometimes we can't put all the blame on ourselves."

"The U.S. economy is so good right now, can't you afford this little money?"

In just a moment, all your nerves are burned with anger.

Why? why?

You look at the luxury cars outside the warehouse and see the hot girls holding selfie sticks waiting for the next wave. It seems that everything is so far away from you. You desire so many things, but get so little.

Why do these bastards make so much money? Why do these scammers get to eat so much lard? And no one comes to expose them?
Why can he scold the audience with a clear conscience? Why? Why is there so much injustice!
Without any hesitation, you were diligently putting on labels and tags in the last second, and in the next second you had kicked open the door of the live broadcast room - you felt your hands and feet burning, and your anger was growing stronger and stronger.

In almost an instant, you grabbed the assistant's clothes and pressed him on the greasy-haired and powdered big shot.

You smashed the glass, and the sharp edge of the glass hit the comedian's head. Blood spurted out in an instant, and he died instantly. It was all for the show.

You are so strong, Ben Rickett. Your anger is almost bursting from your eyes.

You can't control yourself. You stuffed all the remaining glass shards into the corpse's mouth, and kept opening and closing his jaw, asking him to treat the wild words he had said as a knife and swallow them back into his stomach.

Amid the screams, you feel an unusual tranquility, as if everything is moving away from you, as if all the noise has disappeared, including the emptiness in your heart.

In just a moment, you are filled with courage.

Your hands were covered in blood when you walked out of the live broadcast room, but soon, the scars were burned by a flame, leaving only charred skin, which was not much darker than your original skin color.

You know, these days of depression and anger are finally coming to an end.

You walked up to the luxury car and just took a look at it, and it immediately began to burn, as if the evil fire that burst out from you was spreading rapidly.

A few steps further out, the sexy girl who was still doing an outdoor live broadcast was stepping on the white sand.

She was still shaking her hips, showing off her 800ml fake breasts, which made them look very elastic - you burst the implant in her nose, causing her eyes to roll up and she passed out, and at the same time you heard the sirens, but this time you did not panic, as if it was natural.

Sooner or later you'll be executed by the state police, and you've already seen where you'll end up.

Your mind has gone into a state of frenzy. Facing the audience on the other end of the phone, facing the popularity data of more than 8 million people in front of the screen, facing the ever-increasing flow of information - Ben Rickett, you have become a star, the focus of everyone.

you say--

"—She's lying to you! She's lying to you!"

"Her paid content is fake! It's synthesized by AI! There are thirteen air ticket travel records in the background!"

"Hey! She's not a college girl from Florida! She has a lot of bosses!"

You couldn't wait to find a driver's license from the warm body.

"She's thirty-three years old! Why!? Why are you still spending money on her? Why?"

“Don’t you have your own life?”

The live broadcast room was closed, and you felt lost, as if the coastline was moving away from you, and everything was moving away from you.

You ran back to the warehouse like a flash, climbed onto the logistics truck without thinking, turned the key and fled to the city -

——Mr. Ben, you don’t know where to escape to, and you don’t even know how to live the rest of your life.

Arriving at the underground parking lot of a hotel in Dongcheng District, you evaded twelve surveillance cameras, and the police car failed to catch up with you. You avoided the height-restricted railings and returned to the exit of the motel, but a car blocked your way.

You know, that's a road rage person, a 100% pure idiot.

His driving skills are terrible, he was almost driving in the opposite direction, trying to compete with you at the exit.

After honking the horn two or three times and seeing that you didn't respond, the female driver rolled down the window and yelled at you:

"——What the hell are you doing blocking the road?! Do you want to get slapped? Are you a retired Marine? Why are you looking at me so arrogantly? Are you looking for death?"

You had no extra mercy for him, so you gently stepped on the accelerator and pushed his Land Rover into the traffic on the highway.

Just for an instant
A fireball shot out from the gas cap of his Aurora and was carried far away by the tanker truck in the fast lane until the black tire tracks also began to burn.

Ben Rickett, you have killed three men.

God bless you! a voice said! Well done!
(End of this chapter)