What's wrong with a novelist opening multiple pseudonyms?

98-99

Chapter 98 Chapter 98

[The populous city is in chaos.

The living dead wandered around the crashed vehicles on both sides of the road. They walked through the rolling smoke, looking for living things to fill their empty stomachs.

The walls were covered with splattered red and black bloodstains, and there were handprints dragged on the irregular bloodstains, large and small, stacked into a picture of hell like a giant tree with scattered leaves.

My new partner and I drove fast on the road, and wherever we went, it was like Moses' rod splitting the sea.

The living dead tried to catch up, but were all thrown away by the dust from the car. I stepped on the accelerator wantonly, and my partner silently looked at the shadows that were pulled apart on the side of the road. There was sympathy in his eyes that I could understand, but could not experience.

He sympathized with the living, the living dead, and himself.

"Save some time to sympathize with me." I said, "It's really painful to be your partner. The guns in the back seat of the car are all for display. Because I don't want to drive the car and run over those zombies, I, a weak creator, have to drive... Am I not the one who deserves the most sympathy?"

He was speechless, and apologized to me softly after a while.

I have no position to accept it. After all, he is still my savior. It's better to symbolically exist the few "human shame" for a while.

When the disaster broke out, it was he who decisively took out his weapon and killed those guys who tried to divide me into four or five categories one by one.

It's no exaggeration to say that at that time, I seemed to witness the arrival of the god of death who always favored me.

The neighbor's eyebrows were filled with daunting hostility. Seeing the zombies fall beside me, the hostility disappeared in an instant and turned into a strong sadness.

He was very skilled. The Raven 1911 tactical pistol he carried with him was a special model developed by the mercenary group. So it was not difficult to judge his identity. What concerned me more was the man's style.

My contradictory neighbor, he could not kill on his own, even against the living dead, and when he saved me in a hurry, his eyes were staggered, as if he was controlled by muscles to transform himself into an emotionless killing tool.

After completing the command, the killing tool returned to standby mode. He pretended to be no different from an ordinary person, just staring at me with empty eyes.

I could see yellow sand all over the sky in his eyes, and cold corpses in the cold wind. Those corpses were not complete, and were more miserable than the living dead on the ground, and they all had the same face - the appearance of Mr. Neighbor.

I approached him with the threat of being accidentally injured by conditioned reflex, and brushed away the sweaty black hair on his forehead with my fingers.

"You saved me, Mr. Neighbor, are you going to save me all the time?"

His consciousness returned, and he realized that he was not on the battlefield. The blood flashing back in his mind was not for killing, but for saving people. The rescued person showed no gratitude, and his jaw was raised with a clean line.