American variety show world begins with subduing Jason

The open-air stadium on the ground was brightly lit and bustling with people.

Even though it is one of the most prosperous areas in the county, it is still a remote area near the border of the Federation. Due to its geographical location, public entertainment activities in Sun Valley are still somewhat lacking.

Especially at the end of the year, a popular rugby match is a rare treat, not to mention that all the students from their own high school will be there. As a result, most of the residents arrive early to secure their spots, and the town is suddenly empty.

However... not everyone is interested in this.

Amidst the clamor of the crowd, a figure quietly changed out of their uniform, got into a private car, and drove away.

Although its absolute area is not very large, the local history is very long. It is one of the earliest settlements in the surrounding states. Many lush ancient trees are preserved on both sides of the road. The thick oak and cedar branches intertwine and cast large shadows under the dim streetlights.

The car glided silently along the path and turned into a spacious but rather simple house.

Although the two-story brick and stone building has undergone modern renovations, traces of antiquity can still be seen in the details.

In stark contrast to its understated exterior, the interior of the house is extremely luxurious, filled with top-of-the-line home appliances and expensive furniture. Even more peculiar is that almost every wall is adorned with at least one animal skull specimen.

This kind of arrangement is usually used in some old-fashioned households in the Federation, but those usually depict the wolves, deer, bears, and the like that hunted by the owner. However, what is hanging here is only one kind of thing:

--goat!

Black goat with spiral horns.

Angolan goats with long, glossy hair.

A Spanish goat with a scarf-like head of fine down.

The variety is countless. The meticulously crafted heads are lifelike, looking down at everything with an indifferent attitude, as if they are monitoring something.

This is not some kind of exaggerated description, but a straightforward statement of facts.

Numerous eyes, gleaming with a gelatinous sheen, shifted slightly, their inner glimmers revealing tiny, dark red pentagrams that flickered in and out of existence. The eerie power they exuded was like invisible venomous snakes, gripping the man who had entered and moving with him.

Such a horrifying scene would be enough to make any normal person scream hysterically, but for the visitors it was just a common occurrence.

After all... who would be afraid of their own guard dog?

"Why are all the defenses activated? What happened? Is it necessary to be this careful?" Sheriff Nick Goode took off the baseball cap that was covering his face and casually tossed it on the corner of the table, looking at the black-haired man on the sofa with a puzzled expression.

The man's hair was neatly combed and gleamed with the shine of hair wax. His well-fitting, handmade suit clung to his body without a single button undone, even indoors. His appearance was impeccable, exuding the standard aura of a white elite from head to toe.

He elegantly picked up his glass, added a few ice cubes, poured in half a glass of amber-colored whiskey, and handed it to his returning brother.

"Uncle Ander brought news from the state legislature that there have been frequent supernatural events in the Federation recently, and the higher-ups are on high alert. It's best to be cautious during this critical period."

Nick's expression changed slightly, and he immediately tensed up. He took the glass of wine, took a sip, savored the spicy and sweet aftertaste, and hesitated before saying:

"Then what can we do? Perhaps we can temporarily cancel the sacrificial ceremony and postpone it for a few months? Anyway, there is a certain time limit for the ritual."

"No!" The man flatly rejected his suggestion, straightening his back and frowning.

“My uncle’s and my terms are almost up, and there are several competitors vying for our positions. If we want to continue in office and carry on the family’s glory, ‘that’s’ blessing is an essential key,” said Will Good, the county’s chief administrator, firmly.

Nick toyed with the crystal-clear glass, a hint of worry appearing in his eyes. He lowered his voice:

"Actually... in my personal opinion, the family's current wealth and power are already sufficient. Trying to climb higher would likely bring trouble. If we attract the attention of those with ulterior motives, we would have a hard time withstanding an investigation..."

"Don't overthink it." Will Goode frowned and raised his hand to interrupt his advice.

"The arena of power is like a rushing river. To swim in it, you must struggle to maintain your position. If you relax even slightly, you will be swept away or even sink to the bottom."

Will downed the drink in his glass in one gulp, his eyes gleaming with fervor, and said:

"It is precisely through this spirit of continuous struggle and pioneering that the Goode family has come this far." He grinned and smacked his lips, licking the remaining wine stains.

"As for the death of a few poor country bumpkins... it's nothing. Once you reach a certain level, even if you're discovered, it doesn't matter. Those big shots are far more ruthless than us! No one will hold you accountable for it."

Will gave a sinister smile. He was well aware of the filth of the upper class and was not as afraid as his brother.

"Is the target properly equipped?"

Nick's facial muscles twitched slightly as two youthful and beautiful faces flashed through his mind. He slowly nodded and said:

"This time the target was very suitable, with a strong motive that was enough to convince everyone."

“Very good!” Will stood up with satisfaction, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes. “I really miss the days decades ago when information was scarce. Back then, no one would pry into the details of a small matter in the slums. Unlike now…” He shook his head self-deprecatingly, his tone a mixture of arrogance and helplessness.

"...They actually had to find a way to give a reasonable motive."

"Hmph, let's go. We'll start tonight. As before, you over there prepare for the aftermath and find a plausible explanation for the impending 'tragedy.'"

……

……

In the long, dark tunnel, Tina stumbled and ran, occasionally glancing back in fear.

She clutched her lower abdomen in a daze, streaks of bright red blood seeping through her fingers, waves of excruciating pain jolting her nerves and leaving her with no time to think of anything else.

Suddenly, she seemed to kick something, and the girl stumbled and fell to the ground in a sorry state.

Ignoring her wounds, she scrambled to her feet and tried to escape again. Just then, she trembled and stiffly looked up. In front of her, the chaotic colors shifted and changed, and a familiar face appeared.

"His!"

The wavy steel lines on the alloy boning knife suddenly surged, drawing out a dark, flowing light, and plunged into Tina's chest without any resistance, before cruelly twisting it in one swift motion.

Enduring excruciating pain, she stared incredulously at her former lover, her lips moving as if they were dead.

"Sammy, why..." The question was only half-finished when a thick darkness swept over her, dragging her into an abyss...

"Ah—glug!"

Tina let out a high-pitched scream and rolled off the bed.

Still shaken, she collapsed on the floor, trembling as she turned on the lamp. After catching her breath for a long time, she finally managed to calm herself down.

"This is the second time... It's definitely more than just a dream!"

Chapter 311 Networks and Information

Inside the yellowed plastic case, a PC cobbled together from various secondhand parts hummed and hummed, its sound mingling with the clatter of keyboard keys.

"Deaver, have you found the information?"

Tina, looking haggard, covered her forehead and hopefully moved closer to the monitor.

"Dear sis, I'm putting in my best effort, could you please move your beautiful face to the side for a moment?"

The Black teenager pouted his thick, sausage-like lips, his chubby face brimming with a desire to complain.

You're a computer illiterate who only knows how to do cheerleading and doesn't understand high technology...

But under the bloodline suppression of his sister, a terrifying creature, the boy wisely kept his mouth shut.

Even without speaking, his expression clearly betrayed his thoughts. Normally, Tina would have given this brat a good beating, but she wasn't in the mood now and just kept urging him on.

She didn't have to wait long; Deaver excitedly pressed Enter.

"I found similar cases! I've compiled them together."

Short, stubby fingers traced across the fluorescent text, narrating it in sequence.

"In 1924, a 12-year-old mentally ill child smashed the heads of his entire family with an iron bar in his sleep..."

In 1936, a serial killer codenamed "The Shorty" worked at night and murdered six innocent people in six days...

In 1950, a milkman suddenly went insane and murdered several housewives who opened the door to collect milk...

In 1962, a woman named Ruby Lane sang love songs and murdered her roommates with a razor...

In 1975, a camp administrator with a sack over his head attacked students at the Nightingale Summer Camp, resulting in more than a dozen deaths and injuries.

Then there's the most recent, and most well-known, incident in 1988, when department store clerk Benjamin Ryan invited several classmates to play arcade games at night, only to kill them all while wearing a skull mask..."

One bloody murder after another was vividly described by the little fat man.

However, his hard work only earned him a satisfying flick on the forehead.

"What do you mean by asking me to find relevant clues and then recounting all the murder cases that have happened in this area? Are you tutoring me in history?" Tina glared at him and pinched his chubby face hard.

"What does this have to do with my situation? Get to the point!"

"Let go, let go, I'll tell you." Deaver struggled to break free from his sister's clutches, no longer daring to keep her in suspense.

“I found a dubious report that, after the 1988 department store massacre, a tabloid reporter interviewed the killer’s parents. According to them, Benjamin Ryan had been experiencing recurring nightmares before the incident, raising suspicions that he had mental health issues. However, because he was shot and killed by patrol officers on the night of the attack, no one pursued the matter further.”

Deaver moved the mouse to bold and enlarge a section of text in the computer document, highlighting it in red.

"It is said that he was killed by himself with a knife in his dreams time and time again."

Coincidentally, in the 1975 summer camp massacre, the same administrator had mentioned a similar experience to his family before his death.

Tina frowned and objected: "But what I encountered wasn't my own image."

"So why don't you ask...?" The Black boy mumbled, glancing at the phone on the table. His parents worked in a neighboring county year-round, and he and his sister grew up under the same roof. He was well aware of the other woman's failed "special" relationship.

These words were like a wake-up call. Tina struggled for a moment with a complicated expression, but finally dialed the number...

As the faint, intermittent sounds came, her pupils trembled and widened, the muscles in her hands twitched unnaturally, and then she suddenly relaxed.

The microphone slipped limply and dangled precariously from the edge of the table leg.

Under her brother's worried gaze, Tina murmured as if in a daze:

"Sami had almost the same nightmare, and the person who killed her..."

"It's me!"

……

……

Within the intricate magic array carved into the floor, large clusters of grayish-yellow flames flickered and swayed like campfires, casting flickering light on the faces of the group.

Nick and Will stood at the front of the crowd. Behind them, the county sheriff and the sheriff, were senior lawyers, well-known business owners, television editors, private hospital doctors... without exception, all of them were powerful figures in the county.

But here and now, they have only one identity: members of the Goode family, the oldest and most prestigious family in Sunnyvale.

These social elites, now dressed in ancient robes as dark as night, wearing pale and ferocious ram's horn skull crowns, with strange symbols drawn in blood on their foreheads, looked like mysterious medieval priests, chanting fervently and devoutly around the fire. To anyone who looked at them, they were the standard cultists.

In stark contrast to their sinister appearance, what they uttered were the purest and most authentic sacred words:

"For to everyone who has, more will be given, and he will have plenty; but from him who does not have, even what he has will be taken away..."

The aphorisms from the Gospel of Matthew converged into a wave of sound, echoing within this confined space. Like a drop of dark ink falling into clear water, a deep darkness on the ground rapidly expanded, transforming from a two-dimensional plane into a three-dimensional one, violently writhing and churning, like a large pool of boiling mud.