Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 246 Worm

As Lu Xun once said, people's joys and sorrows are not shared.

That's true. At this moment, Constantine just wanted to get a good night's sleep. He didn't want to pay any attention to this friend who had suddenly come to visit him, nor did he care why he had come to see him. After all, generally speaking, people who come to see him are either there to collect debts, seek revenge, or ask him to do dirty work.

A friend is visiting? Don't be ridiculous. His cronies are unlikely to bring him any good news, and Constantine is always exceptionally clear-headed about this.

“He looks terrible, Constantine. He came all this way, begging to see you.”

"Jesus, is he still here?"

“Don’t call God by his name, Constantine, that’s too rude.” The old lady sighed wearily. “I think he’s probably gone. He didn’t say goodbye or thank me, and he owes me seventeen and a half pounds—I sent a package to America for him at the post office.”

Constantine opened his mouth, silently cursed the swordsman, and then pulled seventeen and a half pounds from his pocket—he was just a bad person, but not poor, or rather, precisely because he was a moral vacuum, he usually had some spare money on hand—if he didn't squander it.

The people he owes money to are usually not normal people, or even people, so what he owes is often not money. Constantine's attitude towards this small amount of money is relatively open-minded.

"As if I'm not busy enough dealing with these red worms."

The landlady grumbled in dissatisfaction. She wanted to say a few more words, but Constantine seemed not to want to listen at all and went straight upstairs. Obviously, talking to him at this point was like talking to a brick wall. So she ran back to the kitchen to continue torturing her cabbage.

"Insects?" Constantine thought to himself as he climbed the steps. "No wonder there are such clean cars parked outside."

He inserted the key into the lock, and only then did he have to think about the friend he had come to visit—Gary Lester, a pure drug addict with virtually no redeeming qualities, and like himself, a wild magician who didn't care about black magic or normal magic, using whatever was available.

"What does this swordsman want from me? Just to send a package?"

He was puzzled and opened the door, then went into his room.

The living room lights were still on, but no one was there; it seemed Lester wasn't here. The doors and windows were closed, and the heating made the room warm and cozy, instantly dispelling the chill of the rainy day and making it quite comfortable.

The room was fairly clean and bright, with hardly any dust—Mrs. M was a woman with a sharp tongue but a kind heart; she had been cleaning upstairs for the past few months, except for today—because Lester had stayed in his own house today.

He breathed a slight sigh of relief. It was good that the person was gone; at least there would be less trouble. He put his suitcase aside, hung his wet trench coat on the side, opened the window to let in some fresh air, and plopped down on the sofa.

"Damn it, I always miss home when I'm out, but I never feel comfortable coming back. Lester is such a bastard."

Scattered furniture, open books, and waste paper were scattered everywhere. The musty smell and pungent sour odor wafted into the nostrils from the kitchen. Even the rain outside the window smelled like diesel fuel. All these smells were quite intense, as if they were welcoming him.

This was definitely Lester's doing, and he doesn't like it.

Constantine lit a "Scar" cigarette and swayed back and forth on the sofa. The sofa, which Lester had been sitting on for who knows how long, no longer conformed to his body shape, and the rough fabric was scratching him uncomfortably.

"Damn, I want to go out."

He casually picked up an old copy of The Sun from the side and flipped to page three, where the scantily clad women helped calm him down.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't help thinking about Gary Lester. Why on earth did this guy come all this way to find him? Judging from Mrs. M's words, he seemed a bit strange. Could it be some kind of freakish demon looking for him again?
At this moment, his gaze was fixed on the table under the newspaper, where a syringe was placed, and only a little bit of the liquid inside had been injected.

"That gatekeeper..." Constantine's anger grew even stronger. Although he had been smoking thirty Ska cigarettes a day without fail for many years, he did not consider himself an addict. He hated drugs and naturally hated his friend's meth.

Although this stuff may not be ice, it is definitely poison in any case.

He picked up the syringe and saw tiny black limbs and transparent wings in the clear liquid inside—the fragments of a fly.

Constantine immediately got goosebumps: "Jesus Christ—the bug? That bastard is so high he's lost his mind."

But since the needle is still there, it means the person hasn't left.

He sprang up from the sofa and went into the kitchen to find Lester, but the stench that greeted him made his stomach churn again.

Dirty cups, plates, and bowls; milk bottles floating in the sink, covered with a layer of colorful mold mixed with grease, making it look like they'd been sitting there for months.

"Damn it, that guy only stayed here for half a day, half a day!"

Constantine gritted his teeth as he watched the few little elves crawling across the kitchen floor. There was no doubt that Lester and nature's recycling system had taught him a lesson.

At this moment, he couldn't help but wish that guy would just hide in the refrigerator and freeze to death.

Then he was vomited by the black tide that was scattering and fleeing in the refrigerator—it was full of lively little lives.

"vomit!"

Oh my god, help! I have trypophobia!
After vomiting, Constantine didn't want to stay in the kitchen any longer. There was nothing in the refrigerator except for bugs, so he went to the bathroom, where strange noises were also coming from.

"Did that guy die from a high in the bathtub?" He forced open the bathroom door, trying to suppress his discomfort, and shouted, "Get out! Whatever you are! Get out!"

At that moment, a thin, bald man suddenly came into his view.

At this moment, Constantine almost wished that the guy would just give up.

Countless moths, mosquitoes, cockroaches, flies—all sorts of flying insects buzzed around him, their noise so loud it could penetrate the door. These creatures crawled all over his body and the entire bathroom, while the uninvited guest sat in the bathtub, scratching his body with both hands and pleading with Constantine at the door.

"John, is that you? Friend, you have to help me, you have to help me! I feel so awful, my addiction is acting up again."

"I feel so itchy and uncomfortable all over—"

"It feels like bugs are crawling on me!"

(End of this chapter)