Chapter 581 One of them

One of Chapter 581

In the interrogation room, both Belicia and Raphael left.

Thales looked at the empty room on the other side of the glass motionlessly, his eyes dead and complex.

Sunset bar...

Yara...

The familiar name echoed in his memory, and every time it caused endless waves.

Since that chat with Gilbert, as a prince and burdened by him, he has buried them in the deepest part of his heart.

Until just now.

Thales squeezed his fist subconsciously.

The crime of Hell River was not threatened by any outsiders, but he continued to roar and roar in his veins.

"Your Highness, would you mind pushing me again?"

Morat's cozy and comfortable voice came, coupled with the black veins vines all the time, pulling Taylors back from reality to complex thoughts.

It also made him more upset and restless.

Tells turned slowly, looking at the Black Prophet.

But Thales did not move, nor did he help the old man with a wheelchair that made him very sick.

why.

Why is it here...

In front of his most feared person.

"You brought Belicia on purpose, right?"

Tells was expressionless and indifferent.

The old man in the wheelchair put down the tea cup and turned back carelessly.

"Not only to show me the consequences of what I did."

Teres looked cold and looked directly at Morat:

"You know her identity, her past."

"You know my past too."

"So you deliberately asked Raphael to mention the sunset bar."

"In front of me."

The black prophet stared at him, a smile on his wrinkled face.

"How is it, Your Highness, are you surprised?"

Somehow, this smile was so awkward in the eyes of Tells.

proud.

dark.

hateful.

There must be a picture.

"What do you mean? What are you going to do?"

Tells stared at Morat with his eyes spitting fire:

"old man."

The interrogation room instantly became depressed and dignified. The black veined vines on the wheelchair and knees of the old man squirmed uncomfortably, with a very fast frequency and a noisy sound.

In the darkness and death, the black prophet giggled.

Faced with the anger and accusation of the prince, he carelessly turned the wheelchair and turned to face Faces:

"I thought that when you saw that the secretive department was so attentive to your wishes, you should be very happy to hear the news of your childhood playmate again."

Morat looked down at the teenager in front of him:

"Tears..."

"prince?"

He deliberately left a very long pause between the two words, causing the teenager to frown.

They seemed to return to the afternoon of the Mindis Hall, where Taylors-a beggar, an illegitimate child, a boy with a secret, an uncertain future-and the most terrible and most insidious of the Kingdom of Stars, were pursuing the taboo leader for the first time. meet.

At that time, Ginny, Gilbert, and even Yoder were beside him, and even the old witch Serena helped him.

But now, in the old nest of the Kingdom Secret.

No one can protect him.

Except himself.

"But when I asked you for help, you said that," Tyers stared coldly at the old man:

"Only when I am strong enough can I talk about protecting them."

"Otherwise they will only be my...weakness."

He has a bad look:

"Affected by people."

Morat whispered softly:

"Good, you remember."

The black prophet's expression was cold, and the surrounding temperature dropped instantly.

"Then why do you ask Count Gilbert Casso to let him search for them nonstop all these years?"

"Even if I ask Raphael for help, I have tried my best to hide my eyes and ears?"

Tells was cold in his heart.

he knows.

The Duke of Star Lake looked at Morat's smile: the old man in front of him knew exactly what he asked Torquilbert to find.

as always.

but……

Yara.

Thales called the name again.

Do not.

He couldn't let the black prophet find her.

Because that girl is not just Yara.

She is Yala Sariton.

Assassin's Flower.

"Look? This is the problem, that's why you haven't been in harmony with Mystics for many years," Morat's cool and sharp eyes clung to him, a must-have:

"We always do what we do, and we can't get up and down."

Black veined vines coiled up again on his knees, rustling again and again, like many poisonous snakes entangled in one place, strange and dangerous.

Tells gritted his teeth.

Torn in disguise and disguised in the Fuxing Palace, witnessed countless tragedies in the interrogation room and felt uncomfortable, dissatisfied with the frustration of esoteric affairs over the years, and worried about Yara and the beggars At this moment, it merged into the blood vessels of Tyers, and merged with the crime of the prison river into his tortured nerve.

Ignite dissatisfaction in his chest.

Pointing straight at the old man.

"I said, put away your sniffing nose around, and less of my things."

Tells gritted his teeth:

"Or did you make up your mind to threaten me with their chips?"

The black prophet laughed silently:

"You are in danger in the Northland, Your Highness."

"Therefore there are so many worries that it is difficult to believe so much that we doubt our motives, which is not surprising to me."

"In fact, you act prudently, think twice about everything, this should be a good thing..."

Tells interrupted him with a sneer.

"Then why it hasn't been quiet in the past six years, why did I have to expose this matter in front of me after I returned to China?"

Morat paused for a moment, thoughtfully.

"You are right, Your Highness."

"We started to focus on this matter..."

The old man's tone was sharp:

"It is precisely because you have returned home."

"Because you, the Duke of Xinghu, now-to be precise, when you were just dissatisfied with my wheelchair-are really good enough to be so powerful."

Morat looked at the other end of the interrogation room:

"So we will let you see the scene just now."

"Your "weakness.""

weakness.

Tells was cold.

"What do you mean?"

The black prophet grinned.

"His Royal Highness, you are so clever and clever. You don't need to say much to understand the purpose of your majesty."

"Regarding what you see as a'scrap'," the old man turned to the empty room on the other side of the glass, the black veined vine branches back and forth, as if staring at Tyers all the time:

"How do you feel?"

Mess.

Tells was completely empty.

Without waiting for his answer, Morat slowly said:

"Unemployed workers at the winery..."

"The duel weapon order of the blacksmith shop..."

"The nobleman led by the blade protests..."

Every time he said a word, Tells was in a trance.

"The murder case caused by lettuce..."

"Also, the northern **** Hongfang Street..."

These, these are all...

Tells' lips moved slightly, but he couldn't squeeze out even one word after all.

"I know."

Morat's tone eased:

"You feel very wronged, very depressed, very sad, very upset."

"All of these are not your intentions."

"But this is the power of power."

The power of power.

Tells was speechless.

The Black Prophet continued to stare at him with a full smile, but no warmth in his eyes.

"Before that, everyone must have warned you, whether it was Earl Casso or Lady Gini, or even Your Majesty: As a prince of stars, the Duke of Star Lake, the heir to the throne of this kingdom, your decision will have a far-reaching impact, afterglow endless."

Tells took a deep breath: "I know, I will try to make up..."

But Morat suddenly shouted loudly, overshadowing his confession:

"But maybe they haven't told you the crueler part: what you did is not really important compared to where you are."

"How to make up will not help."

Tyres looked up in amazement.

"what?"

Doesn't matter?

To no avail?

The old man moved the wheelchair to him, his voice hoarse:

"Because your "behavior" itself is more influential than its content and substance."

"The important thing is not what you did, not whether you did it or not, not even if you did it right or wrong, but you were there."

At that moment, the black prophet's eyes looked like a bottomless black hole, with a suction force never seen before, which covered Taylors firmly:

"It's your location and existence."

What matters is not what you did...

It is your position and existence...

Tails frowned, staring at the old man.

But what he thought of was another "person" in his mind:

[Tears, this world, they don’t hate us... what they don’t forgive and unacceptable is not our behavior...]

[It is our existence. 】

"Under the power of power, you have a different position from others, and the gap is fixed. No matter what you do upstream of power, what will happen will always happen."

The black prophet's expression was indifferent, his eyes narrowed, and he looked at Tyers, but he seemed to look far into the distance:

"When you are a little rough, the torrent is rolling."

"You underestimate, but the color is heavy."

"You whisper, you are deafening."

Morat sighed slowly, feeling inexplicably:

"Power, it pours down like a flash of torrents: from you, to the nobleman who was the blade leader, to the merchant Dagori and the old blacksmith Gibbon, to Miss Bellisia and the poor Fruit and vegetable farmers, up to the thousands of people all over the kingdom, can't do anything."

"No one can pull it, and no one can stop it."

"This is the'weak spot' that will ultimately prevent you from reuniting with your childhood playmates for many years."

Tells froze.

[His Royal Highness, IMHO, it’s easy to find their whereabouts...]

[But, after finding it? 】

Gilbert's words sounded in his mind:

[Have you ever thought about your rewards, rewards, or even just secretly observing, is it possible to affect them? 】

[It’s easy to do one thing, but it’s extremely difficult to deal with the innumerable consequences of this matter perfectly. 】

Thinking of this, Tyers grew more depressed.

"You mean... no matter what I do, power will always distort what I do, and as a prince, I can only accept it in exchange for a cold and hard heart?"

Morat did not speak, and he looked carefully at the teenager in front of him.

There was silence in the interrogation room for a while.

Until the eyes of the black prophet refocused:

"In fact, in order to prevent such accidents and losses, upstream of power, at the top of the crowd, around us..."

"A high wall was built from this."

Tells raised his head.

The black prophet's eyes were shining, and he said:

"Let's avoid a noble person like you, a buffer wall that has been lost forever."

"Thereby separating the flash of power from the thunder."

Morat turned his wheelchair and looked at the empty interrogation room:

"So we have the social etiquette, the fashion of life, the decoration of the facade, the style of behavior... These seemingly unrelated factors are all the result of power, and it is the social dam that it builds on its own during the operation."

"Different groups are used to distinguish people, differences are used to separate high and low, rejections are used to label categories, and breaks are used to regulate behavior."

"Come and tell the world: They are very different from me and others." (Theyareallthatwearenot.)

Tells frowned.

The Black Prophet's eyes are sharp:

"Yes, they interrupted communication, fostered estrangement, fostered conflict, and marked class."

"But it also built a natural flood pond for the barbaric power of rampage."

Looking at the puzzled Tells, Morat snorted softly:

"Yesterday, if you drank that glass of wine according to etiquette, if you followed the aristocratic fashion and ate something else, if you wrote "No Duelling" on the facade, if you insisted on the royal solitary style of the royal family, not the security Protesters like Kerr Bailar refused to come..."

Morat remarked:

"And here, this is the "weakness" you exposed yesterday-at least one."

He didn't go on.

But Thales's brows grew tighter.

The prince suddenly remembered that, on the day he returned to Eternal Star City, Mallos impersonally prevented the prince from showing his head and insisted that he stay in the carriage in a low-key manner, saying that this would "reduce a lot of trouble."

And he...

He proudly gave Mallos a sword.

Morat exhaled, allowing the black veins of his knees to stretch randomly:

"Most nobles and high-ranking people have grown up under such norms since childhood, almost instinct: they know to act with self-control, to be cautious, to be ceremonial, to be serious and upright, they subconsciously practice segmentation And the principle of segmentation to avoid becoming a bad role model and breaking the dyke, letting power—whether it is top-down suction or bottom-up buoyancy— devour them."

With a feeling of loss to the bottom, Tells snorted ironically.

"You mean, I need to go back and rebuild my etiquette class?"

But the black prophet looked sharply, ignoring his intervention:

"But it also breeds a problem for these people for daily use without knowing it: they are used to doing it like instinct, but they don't know why."

"They can't cross this high wall and the dam. Outside of the norms, they will be at a loss as they face the brutal posture of power after breaking free."

The old man in the wheelchair looked directly at Taylors and his tone changed:

"But His Highness, you, you are different."

Tells was startled.

The black prophet slightly curled his mouth:

"Although you came from a noble background, you started to feel cold."

"You are based on the upper reaches of the big river, but you can experience the monstrous waves on the other side of the river more than most noble children and young officials."

"And today you saw how they are insignificantly caused by the tiny ripples under your noble fingertips."

Tells bit his lower lip.

"First these messes, then my past..."

The prince suppressed the chaos and confusion in his heart:

"Having said so much, you want me to stand on this high wall, make trade-offs between power gains and losses, make sacrifices, ignore and accept the "huge waves" after the "ripple", and then be considered to overcome the weakness and become Really'powerful'?"

Speaking of which, Tyers felt depressed.

Morat stared at him for a long time.

But unexpectedly, the old man finally shook his head.

"Do not."

"I told you to eliminate my weaknesses."

"But the means need not be rigid."

The next second, the tone of the black prophet hurried, and every word contained strength:

"When there is a little turbulence, there will be a torrent of water."

"Understated, there will be heavy ink."

"Whisper quietly and you will be deafened."

Morat's eyes flashed, including a blade:

"From another perspective, this is not a weakness, but an advantage."

"It is the real power of power."

"How many people dream of power."

At that moment, Tells had an illusion:

The old man in a wheelchair in front of him embodies the deepest point in the endless darkness and devours all the light.

King Nunn, King Chaman, King Kessel...these people seemed to be on the dark side, looking at him faintly.

The black veined vines made an ominous noise, and the creeps became more intense.

"You don't drink well, let countless brewing workers lay off their jobs and be laid off and unemployed by the banquet organizers' doubts and doubts about your preference..."

"But your definite taste in wine and drinks can also force wine merchants to think harder to make better wine, or do everything possible to expand new business routes for export abroad."

The black prophet suddenly became aggressive:

"Your reckless duel at the banquet will cause thousands of young people to blaze the streets with impulses."

"But your courage and fearlessness in the face of the duel can also inspire the kingdom's martial spirit and sweep away the obsession."

"Your tolerance and forgiveness to the criminals like Bailar will make countless subjects unstable and ready to move."

"But your harsh pursuit of justice and life can also warn people's spirits, deter unhealthy practices, and unite the people of high cleanliness to go through the flames for you."

"You have become a common practice in the banquet, and the results will be effective, which will lead the profit-seeking villains to flock to the crowd, and fight for the misfortune of the people."

"But you can also turn your palms into words, make contributions, lead the kingdom and open the way out in the future."

Tells stunned the secretive intelligence manager.

I saw the old man gloomy and authentic:

"You, who are on both sides of the high wall, should focus on these, not on the ruins of power after the flood tide."

The power of power.

Taylors stared at Morat, confused and confused.

But he immediately remembered another passage:

[Trust me, your people can always give you unexpected, counterproductive feedback. 】

[People will always respond to the ruler by surprise and surprise him. 】

Duke Xihuang seemed to stand in front of him again, with a terrifying face, and smiled unconsciously at him.

Tells felt a block.

"But you said," he said hardly:

"My "behavior" itself is more influential than its content and substance."

"No matter how I do it, there will be countless messes, and if I make up for it..."

"Yes!"

The black prophet interrupted him loudly, but the viper's vocal voice was very forceful at this moment:

"So, you have to be more dedicated and go all out,"

"Trying to make the content and substance of your actions," he held out his finger and pointed to Tyers' heart:

"Beyond itself."

"The original sin that transcends its position and existence, in turn, covers its weaknesses."

"You are worried that with your power bonus, your concern for your childhood companions will become their ferry bell?" The black prophet suddenly mentioned the things that Taylors care about most: "Then you have to think more about how Let your concern, your behavior, go beyond the limitations brought about by your power, and drive away the rushing ferry boat."

Tells was uncertain and confused.

"What you have to do is not make up, but control. Not standing on this high wall and sighing, but riding this high wall and making waves."

The black prophet snorted: "There is a proverb in the Far East..."

"Gentlemen serve things, villains serve things."

Tells pondered silently.

"His Royal Highness," Morat pressed the arm of the chair, and the black veined vines on the top gradually calmed down: "The first king does."

"Prince Midiel is like that."

"Your Majesty Kessel, too."

Hearing a familiar name, Taylor frowned hard.

He stared at the other person:

"If...I can't do it?"

The black prophet smiled.

"You can do it."

Morat pulled the wheelchair back to the prince.

"From the moment you return home, you can do it."

"You have already prepared it."

"Only one foot away."

He said vaguely:

"It's just that you are too cautious, too scared, too vigilant about its unpredictable power and possible consequences."

Thales gritted his teeth and was confused.

After a few seconds, he suddenly raised his head and looked at the black prophet's back.

"I do not like you."

"I know," Morat looked back:

"But as I said, it doesn't matter whether you like me or not."

"The important thing is that if you don't like me, can you surpass my established position with you," the old man said slowly:

"Under your control, bring real utility."

Tells' expression changed slightly.

Morat took a deep breath and pulled the wheelchair, ready to leave.

It was at this time.

"Are you alone?"

The Black Prophet moves.

I saw Taylors gaze behind him:

"Lord Hanson, you said before, it has been a long time and a long time since I met you, and I can feel relieved in front of you without worrying about the person who lied to you."

"That feeling must be lonely."

Morat didn't speak, only the backside.

"So..."

The tone of Tells slightly changed:

"Red Witch."

At that moment, Tyers saw that the black veined vines on the black prophet's wheelchair shook.

"It is said that Ms. Kashan, who can deceive you, is not afraid of the person who lied to you... Is she one?"

Morat remained silent, only the black veined vines wriggled back and forth, more and more cheerful.

The atmosphere in the interrogation room became very subtle.

After a few seconds.

"Excuse me, I am older and have limited energy."

"I'm going to rest first," the Black Prophet was immobile, but the demon vine on his knees shook horrificly, covering the wheels and dyeing it in endless darkness:

"Raphael, entertain your Highness well and make sure he is at home."

Taylors turned his head in amazement, only to realize that Raphael had stood at the door unconsciously.

The boneless man bowed respectfully.

Morat's wheelchair was covered with dark vines, rolling up strangely and surprisingly, leading him forward and disappearing outside the door.

The interrogation room was restored to tranquility and ease.

Tells stared blankly at the direction of the Black Prophet's departure.

"So, his wheelchair can actually move by itself."

He murmured:

"It doesn't need me to push."

Raphael came to his side and smiled:

"Sometimes, some people may need to push that one."

Tells sighed.

"For so many years, how did you get along with him?"

Raphael raised his eyebrows and looked at the door where the black prophet disappeared.

"He said," Huangguren said calmly:

"And I listen."

Tells hummed sullenly:

"I guess so."

Raphael smiled easily and signaled to the door:

"As I said, you will only be more uncomfortable when you come to the secret department."

The sigh sighed and followed Raphael out of the interrogation room.

"Belcia, the girl is gone?"

With a complicated mood, Taylors walked through the portrait of Princess Theodora of "The Most Bright Star" ("I am not looking at you, you are a curse, narcissism!"-- Tells’s inability to move his anger at the small theater), asked one after another.

Raphael nodded:

"Why, you want to stay with her for a while?"

Tells frowned and looked at him with dissatisfaction.

Raphael smiled easily and raised his hand to surrender.

Tells gave him a glance and snorted:

"It's you... Cohen?"

"He'll be fine," Raphael said, blushing and panting, without shame: "When she realized he was not me."

"But you won't," Tyls said coldly, with a hint of lifting the bar: "When he realized you sold him."

"It's okay," Raphael was completely unburdened and relaxed:

"He's used to it."

"And, Cohen..."

Raphael gave a slight pause, with a corner of his mouth, and put what he wanted to say into his heart:

He couldn't beat me again.

"Raphael."

The two marched silently for a while, and Thales suddenly said:

"Do you often do this?"

"Give me... wipe your ass?"

Raphael frowned.

"Morat said, I have not been in harmony with the secretive department-we will always do our own thing, we can't get up and down." Teres said quietly.

"I brought you a lot of trouble..."

Raphael sighed slightly.

"Probably." He said casually and said nothing more.

Tells snorted softly.

Is it.

"But it's not all trouble? Should I... help?"

Tells thought about the "message" I saw today and the "butt" wiped by the secretive.

[What you have to do is not make up, but control. 】

Raphael was silent for a while.

"Do you want me to be honest?"

Tells looked at the boneless man.

"The country is a conference, Longxiao City, a great desert, a camp of sharp teeth..."

Raphael looked the same, counting the locations:

"Basically, in all the occasions where you "play freely" and save the world by yourself, what you help..."

"It's all busy."

Tells changed his face.

"No way?"

Raphael turned his head and gave him a polite smirk.

"but--"

Taylors caught up in his footsteps, not eager:

"Guo is a conference, if it weren't for me to move Jane..."

"We have a backup plan."

"In Longxiao City, if I go back and defeat Rumba..."

"We also have a backup plan."

"The Great Desert..."

"Unsurprisingly."

"Blade Camp..."

"Completely busy."

Tells didn't go up in one breath, and said uncomfortably:

"really?"

Raphael shrugged: "The Kingdom Secret is the most well-planned place in the stars. We have a record for any accidents-including you, the prince's **** is one of them."

Hearing the name, Taylors took a deep breath and reminded himself not to be angry.

"Okay, take that most exaggerated example..."

"Six years ago, when you executed "Dragon Blood", did you think it would get out of control like this? Sariton? Shield of the Shadows? Darkroom? Chaman Rumba?"

Raphael glanced back at him.

"of course."

"All as expected."

Taylors was stunned, and was suddenly laughed angrily:

"Your secret science... how dare you say that?"

Raphael shook his head and slowly said:

"This is true."

"The status and function of the mystery department, the relationship and the strength of the two countries have already determined what will happen if the Dragon Blood campaign starts."

"But the most important thing is that, no matter how things develop, they are still within acceptable limits and have not exceeded our expectations."

"Even if there is an accident, it is within the scope of the backup plan."

Tells snorted disdainfully.

"Really?"

Thales took a deep breath and remembered the conversation he had just made with the Black Prophet about the consequences of power:

"Chaman is king and ambition is better than Nun."

"The north is eroded and the confusion far exceeds expectations."

"The prince was captured, and Wang Tong was in doubt."

"These are also planned?"

The two went on.

"Don't we say that? Rumba won or Nuen won, or the two sides fight to death," Raphael carelessly said:

"After the dragon's blood, Exeter will definitely break apart, and it will be difficult to converge, just like now."

"As for Rumba's ambitions, the situation in the North, or your whereabouts..."

"All within the plan."

Ok.

Tells sneered again and again, he folded his arms:

"What about disaster?"

"Once the **** big octopus in Longxiao City is out of control, and the Queen of Sky hasn't come yet?"

Raphael was silent for a while.

"Relax, we also have a backup plan."

The boneless man said lightly:

"Even if the dragon does not come, we have an absolutely safe way to completely suppress the scourge of blood."

Recalling the power of the magician Giza, Tells smiled ironically.

Is it.

I deeply doubt it.

"Then, your strategy was seen by the Red Witch, what happened to being backdoored and laying eggs? What is the backup plan?"

"Since I'm going to Longxiao City, I must fight against the dark room," Raphael didn't panic:

"Blocked by them is also expected."

"Aren't you safe out."

Tells tilted his mouth and shook his head.

It sounds like a hard mouth.

"Then King Chaman entered the Palace of Heroes, when he was ready to align with the Grand Duke, when the coalition forces went south and invaded the stars?"

The prince said coldly:

"Don't tell me, that was also expected?"

"Also have a backup plan?"

Raphael never looked back:

"of course."

Taylor shook his head disdainfully and sneered:

"Yeah, the backup plan is a chimney that lets the little boy turn back into the Heroes Palace..."

Rafael's footsteps suddenly came!

They stopped.

Tells looked back suspiciously.

"This should be the top secret, but, Your Highness, since you are so doubtful..."

At that moment, the prince suddenly discovered that the boneless man's expression was extremely serious.

"I said so."

Raphael's red eyes stared straight at him:

"Do you think that if Rumba successfully framed you as the murderer of King Nun, and even convinced the Grand Duke to send troops south, would we really have no countermeasures?"

Countermeasure...

Tails frowned secretly.

"Going a step further, you have stood here for six years when you thought you were saving the world alone and turning the tide..."

The prince changed slightly.

Raphael's tone is very mysterious, with a deep meaning:

"How do you know that in the Yingling Palace..."

"Ally with us, allies that cooperate with each other..."

Only listen to Rafael's faint tunnel:

"Only Rumba?"

The voice fell.

Time seems to be still in that second.

Tersch froze completely.

Only Rumba.

what……

meaning?

In the quiet corridor of the secret department, Raphael stared blankly at the stunned Taylors.

"It might not be polite to say that, Your Highness."

"Even if your original choice was quite bold,"

On their side, "East Oriental Shadow" Alf looked at them quietly in the portrait.

"But you are only in the game, in countless spare pieces..."

Raphael's eyes narrowed, his tone deep:

"One of them."

Tells froze for ten seconds.

One of them?

At that moment, Taylors seemed to return to the stormy blood six years ago, and revisit the night noise of Longxiao City.

The disaster strikes, Nunn's death, Black Sand enters the city, the Grand Duke Alliance, the South Star, the Grand Duke, King Chaman...

but……

An old scene flashed through my mind.

Tells only felt that his thinking was stiff and difficult to achieve.

Longxiao City, Ying Ling Palace.

Everything in the past, like a beautiful picture, was just torn apart by Raphael.

but……

Do not.

One of them.

Do not!

Raphael looked at the prince's soulless look, smiled with satisfaction, and turned around again.

But at this time.

"Baylar."

The boneless man turned back strangely.

"Anker Bailar, the assassin last night."

I saw Taylors slowly raised his head, his face trance, muttered.

"Raphael, I want to see him."

The prince frowned tightly, slightly anxious:

"right now."

I can't block me anymore this time! (I’m all back, cast a monthly ticket!) [Theyareallthatwearenot.-White Mills, Power Elite]

(End of this chapter)