Mystery: The Ancient God is Actually Me

After a brief exchange, the clock craftsman told Klein that all the crossed names on this piece of paper have been recovered, or their family members have voluntarily given up, and those marked with a spare red line under the names are from their families. The only child of the family, they are the only young people in the family. If they disappear inexplicably like this, the remaining parents will also face the predicament of being unable to survive in a few years.

Workers in the Eastern District generally suffer from severe physical aging. Generally, they are in their 40s and 50s as old age.

Klein's eyes swept across the red lines, and finally glanced at Old Kohler, who also looked very carefully, and lowered his head in silence.

"Have you found it recently?"

"Have you found any clues?"

Looking at the craftsman's strange eyes, Klein added another sentence.

"I'm a reporter, and I'm currently investigating the Eastern District. Maybe I can help you."

However, the development of things was contrary to what Klein thought. The craftsman with the red mark on his face suddenly became alert and stood up nervously.

"We have nothing for you to investigate, it's all ordinary people here."

Why did he react so much? A reporter came here to investigate these missing people before and caused trouble to the people here?

But why is he investigating these missing persons?

Seeing the craftsman waving his hands, just wanting to pick up something to drive him away, Klein had to defend himself:

"I'm just a small reporter, not an expert who can contribute to newspaper columns. Even if I finish the report, it won't necessarily be seen by a few people, and I won't cause you trouble."

He pointed to Kohler beside him, and then explained:

"This is the guide I just hired today, and I just happened to pass by here."

"Then this isn't something you can manage, so what's the use of telling you?" The completely cheered craftsman didn't listen to Klein's explanation at all, and he still looked like he couldn't get in.

He already had his only wrench in his hand, waving it aggressively across his chest.

"Sir, let's go."

Seeing Kohler beside him also beginning to persuade him to leave, Klein sighed, simply gave up his defense, bit his lip, and said abruptly:

"I paid you to answer my question. If you don't want to answer, please return the money to me."

As soon as he finished speaking, the old Kohler, who was gently pulling on the corner of Klein's shirt, and the stubborn craftsman stopped together.

give him money?

What are you kidding me, Bansule can make my family have an extra week of rations!

The craftsman holding the wrench clenched his right hand tightly again, and his left hand pulled a few coins on the table that had not yet been recovered into his pocket.

"Do you think if I go to the police, will the police finally put you in jail for robbery because they are afraid that I will report their inaction?" Klein, who saw the other party's further actions, did not flinch, but went further, with a low voice. Sounds aggressive.

Suddenly, the craftsman who was still in high spirits trembled, raised his right hand, and seemed to throw the wrench in his hand at Klein's face at any time.

Boom!

If he is caught in prison, what will happen to his children and family... Under the duress of such a tragic prospect, the man of medium stature suddenly collapses on the chair behind him, hands in his The wrench hit the ground hard.

"You bastard..."

Watching the other party compromise, the gloomy Klein glanced at Kohler beside him, and found that the half-old worker also had an indescribable fear on his face, as if he was afraid that the good gentleman who invited him to dinner would suddenly become a foodie. Human demon.

"I think now you can tell me why you reacted so much just now."

Klein's question struck again, but this time the craftsman moved his fingers symbolically and stopped struggling.

"Gangs, these are all made by gangs, we all know that."

He didn't wait for Klein to ask questions, and he said the following content in a cathartic manner, with a hint of choking in his voice.

"Although it can't be all their handwriting, they can't tell us who has any hope of getting back."

The gangs he mentioned are all extreme gangs composed of plateau people, which are not the same as corporate organizations such as the Huili Party, which believes in order and calls itself the black police.

"Then what does this have to do with your hostility to reporters just now?" Klein quickly asked.

Hearing this, a tangle suddenly appeared on the face of the craftsman who was sitting on the chair.

"Because before, because some reporters came here to ask similar questions before, those gangsters came to us the next day, beat many people, and threatened us not to make things worse."

"They, they said that there are big people behind them. Even if some of us gather enough money to go to Backlund Bridge to hire a professional lawyer, there is no hope." This is both an explanation and a confession. The craftsman covered his face in pain, and cut out a few white marks on his pitted cheek.

His words with a little cry infected Kohler, who also experienced the pain of losing his son, and made the old worker sigh.

A gangster with a big man behind it?

The inspiration in Klein's mind was suddenly touched.

He felt that he was close to something, very close, with a little force, he could pierce the piece of paper covering the truth.

"Do you know who the big man is?"

Suddenly, the half-bent craftsman froze, and after a long time he raised his head, his eyes full of gloom.

"I don't know, it's a big man for us anyway."

Klein, whose clues were suddenly cut off, suddenly didn't know what to say, and a wave of anger was stuck in his chest for no reason. The original revenge was avenged, and the joy of killing two enemies by himself has almost disappeared now, replaced by Something heavier.

But in the end, he couldn't say anything, just bowed, said sorry, and left here with old Kohler.

The light yellow three-story building was getting farther and farther behind them, and the two walked on the street in the East District without saying a word.

This place is very close to the edge of the Eastern District, close to the Backlund Bridge District, almost a hundred meters away.

Looking at the landmark building of Backlund in the distance, Klein's eyes stayed on the Tower Bridge and said to himself:

"Is that kind of situation just now common to the residents of the East District?"

Knowing this sentence was asking himself, Coller paused for a while, a little confused, and it took a few seconds to convince himself to say something.

"I think maybe not."

He didn't see Klein's inquiring gaze, he lowered his head and smiled bitterly. His face devastated by time and life was full of complexities, and wrinkles piled up together.

"Actually, I don't know what happened there recently, but after I moved out of there, I found that similar tragedies are actually more common. Many families can't afford a house and can only rent a temporary bunk. Sometimes children If you lose it, you don't know who did it."

"More often, they can't support their children at all. When they are old and sick, they can only enter a free workhouse, and then... eat a few meals and wait to return to the goddess' kingdom of God. ."

He is also a devotee of the Evernight Goddess.

But he didn't actually know the teachings of the goddess of the night, but his father believed in the goddess of the night. Most of the factories where he worked before were all believers of this god, so he believed in it for a lifetime.

Klein shook his head, his eyes were blocked by the reflective lenses, so he couldn't tell what he was thinking.

He was silent for a while, raised his hand to the carriage on the street, took advantage of the time when the carriage was coming, and finally said to Kohler:

"Thank you for your help today. You are a good guide. If there is a next time, where should I go to find you?"

Hearing the hope of making money like this in the future, the haze on Kohler's face was swept away, and he pursed his lips excitedly.

"You just have to go to the dock this morning. I'll be there every day waiting for work."

Seeing his sudden bright smile, Klein nodded and stepped into the hired carriage that had just stopped in front of him.

"Goodbye, goodbye sir!"

The carriage was getting farther and farther away. Klein saw from the reflection of the glass that Kohler, who was wearing shabby work clothes, was still standing on the edge of the Eastern District, waving his arms vigorously, saying goodbye to him.

There was a thick wall between them, separated.

............

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Clark. With this money, I think my investment will be much safer."

In the Intis restaurant, Philip Watson gathers caviar from a plate with a fork and raises a glass to Clark Nolier, who is sitting across from him.

Listening to the other party's thanks, Clark Nolier with high cheekbones and neatly combed hair nodded with a smile, held a glass with the other party and drank the red wine.

"You should thank yourself, Mr. Watson."

"If it weren't for your investment having a bright enough future, I certainly wouldn't put my money in the bank with you."

Putting the half-cooked meat on the plate into his mouth, Clark leaned against the soft cushion of his back, and blinked mischievously with his green and gray eyes.

How could I have invested in your shipping business if I hadn't gotten some news from Major General Quinas?

The banker sneered disdainfully in his heart, and turned his eyes to the side of the table ~www.wuxiamtl.com~. Watson, who wanted to go further, wanted to say something, but put down the glass, and the whole person twitched.

Without warning, the gentleman who was smiling just now suddenly covered his heart, blood rushed to his head one after another, and his heart was beating wildly.

boom.

After struggling for a while, Philip Watson, who was still alive and kicking in the last second, fell on the table, and his face and the plate came into intimate contact.

The shadow behind him floated, and Fabti, who was injured in his abdomen, walked out slowly, and Clark Nolier, who was sitting opposite, froze in his seat like a sculpture, as if the stop button had been pressed.

A good identity... Fabti gently pushed Watson, who was dead, who could no longer die, and the fat body of the businessman fell straight to the ground, silently blending into the shadows.

Fabti, who looked like a young man, sat in the vacant seat, the shadows under his feet twisted, and fresh blood climbed up from his ankles. In a blink of an eye, the ancient **** turned into Philip Watson.

"Please take care of my business in the future."

Clark Nolière blinked, and Watson was still smiling across from him.

Mystery: The ancient **** is actually me https://