Old Jack had two things to do today.

First, he had to go pay his water bill.

Second, he had to go kill someone.

Since he was a bit of a procrastinator, he always liked to put off difficult things until the end.

So he wanted to kill this one first.

......

......

6am.

Holy Calendar288 - London.

The morning was not much different from dusk, visibility was poor, the Berlin-made airships drifted lazily overhead like giant whales, blocking out the already low sunlight, and the whole city looked like it was covered in dust falling from the sky.

But amazingly, if you looked up, you could still see the great smokestacks in the distance spewing smoke.

These smokestacks were like a flag, highlighting the supreme power and wealth of the empire, and after the gates of hell were opened, these smokestacks swallowed even more diligently.

In the words of the newspaper....."If the factories don't work harder, what about the financial expenses?Who will feed the army?Who will build the weapons?Who will take care of all the demons running through the doors?"

Speaking in grandiose terms, even someone like Old Jack, who hadn't read much, knew that what came out of those smokestacks was the blood and sweat of the poor people.

As for the money, it all went into the pockets of the capitalists.

Oh, the word [capitalist] was not popular at that time, so old Jack used to call them by some other words.......

Example: assless bastard.

......

Shannon Street in Lower Town, a small street about two kilometers from the Thames.

It had taken Old Jack three hours to get here, and by now the morning fog had lifted, and as he looked around he could see a field of not-so-fresh cow dung, garbage cans on the side of the road that no one had cleaned in months, steam rolling out of the sewers, and two rats running past a wild cat that was just yawning lazily.

And at the end of the street was a grocery store, and even after the fog lifted, the store remained hidden in the shadows of the surrounding walls.

All this suggested that this was a good place to kill.......

Old Jack was happy.

He stepped over the cow manure on the floor to the door of the grocery store and pushed his way in.

"Morning!" he greeted a pot-bellied boss behind the counter.

The boss, holding a newspaper with his eyes peering over the top of it, didn't make conversation and looked menacing and unfriendly.

Old Jack looked at those eyes, the obviously cirrhotic liver covered in red blood, and the extraordinarily protruding beer gut and decided that this was the guy he was going to kill today.

"Excuse me, is there a fruit knife around here?" he asked.

"Over there."The owner didn't have the heart to point in any direction with his eyes.

"Thanks."Jack thanked him and walked over, picking up a handful that were still in good hands and walking back to the counter.

""7p."The owner continued in that unfriendly tone.

Jack figured that with that kind of unfriendly and bad temper, it made sense that someone would want to buy his life.

Of course, he didn't want to worry about who this guy had pissed off, he just wanted to get this job done and pay the water bill now.

"Excuse me, is there a police station nearby?" he asked as he pulled out a shilling and placed it on the table.

"No."

"Then....How many customers are there?"

"There's no one on the street, where are the customers?" the owner muttered nonchalantly, turning to get change.

Jack nodded reassuringly, then picked up the knife.

It sliced into the other man's neck very smoothly.

......

Sometimes, Old Jack always wondered why human beings were so fragile and could be killed by a knife, but could be enough to rule the whole world.

And those demons are obviously very powerful, but the gates of hell opened two hundred years ago, but still blocked by humans in the Antarctic continent, even the Drake Passage can not cross.

Is it really because of those steam chariots that rely on boiling water to move?

Or......Is it because of those contractors who have created a symbiotic relationship with the Demon Deed?

Whatever, he is just a no-name assassin, usually take orders and muddle through, maybe one day he will not be able to do it, starve to death in his own home, the battlefield, he does not have the heart to care.

This year...... hasn't been easy for anyone.

But luckily, today's job was quite simple, the knife was sharp and easily pierced the other person's neck, then tore through the neck muscles, up to the throat, and with a flick of the wrist, cut the entire airway.......

Watching the owner stare at himself with horrified eyes, covering his neck and collapsing, writhing on the floor like a fat, swirling maggot, Jack sighed helplessly and turned back, turning the door sign to the [CLOSE] side, pulling the curtain closed and unlocking the door at the same time.

So fat, how much effort would it take to carry it out in a while? Fortunately, this street is now not many people,10 minutes, should be able to carry to the sewer..

Just thinking about it......

Suddenly, Jack had another not-so-good feeling as he saw the man on the ground covering his throat so tightly that his fingers were caught in the wound, the thick knuckles poking and prodding right into the bright red gap.

"Uh.....Shouldn't ......"

The words had barely left his mouth when his premonition came true.

This boss had managed to puncture his artery.

Fat people usually have high blood pressure, and people with high blood pressure have fragile blood vessels.......

In an instant, blood gushed out of the wound like a small fountain, spilled up to the ceiling, and was then smashed into a large, large blood splatter that crackled and splattered on the ground.

As we all know, killing someone is actually a very simple thing, but when the corpse sprays blood everywhere, it can be annoying to clean up....It's the same reason that cooking is easy, but scrubbing the dishes is annoying.

So Old Jack's whole being was in disarray at that moment.

He leaned against the door, rubbing his head painfully, and once again the thought of a hasty retreat came to his heart.

"How can this be?!"

......

And just as he was in agony.

"Ring ring ring......"

A series of phone bells suddenly rang.

Old Jack froze and followed the sound, finally finding the phone under a pile of newspapers on the counter.

A fairly standard 'Scottish Youtha.Bell' phone, still considered popular in this day and age, but it wasn't cheap.

He looked at the phone in front of him, which kept making noise, and hesitated whether to pick it up or not.

After weighing it over and over in his mind, he decided that it would be better to pick it up first, even if he didn't speak, to hear what the other party was saying.

So.....He put the microphone to his ear ......

A very clear male voice came over the phone.

"Hello, is this Mr. Jack? I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to make sure you......finished killing?".

"???"

Jack felt his mind go blank for a moment, and then a ridiculous and very bad feeling crept into his head.

"Snap!"

He snapped the microphone back.

To be honest, he was a little confused.......

What the hell?The guy on the phone said 'Mr. Jack', right?

Was he talking to me? But how did he know I was here?

Also, what was the meaning of the phrase 'finished killing' in his mouth?

While he was wondering, he suddenly heard a knock at the door.

Old Jack immediately turned his head, after more than thirty years of working as an assassin, at this moment, he actually held his breath in a very perverse way.

''Who could it be out there?''

He searched and subconsciously began to be glad that he had just unlocked the door.......

It should be a passing guest, just don't make a sound and the other person will have the good sense to get lost.

But......Thoughts Before They Fall .....

"Ka-la!Ka-la!"

The lock surprisingly made a few soft clicks!

After that......The doorknob turned slowly ......

Immediately after that, it was simply pushed open.

......

Outside the door stood a man in a trench coat, very tall but also very thin,about 30 years old, a very typical English face, that is to say, his nose was a bit high, which made the whole features appear a bit too three-dimensional.

The gray sunlight shone in from the edges of his body, casting an eerie golden hue over the blood that filled the room.

The man glanced down at the fountain of plasma that had not yet stopped in front of him, and instead of showing any panic, he sighed in relief as if in a dawning realization.

"Hoo --- I said it, waiting outside for a full5 minutes also did not see you out, thought you missed it, it turned out to be the arteries broke ah; does not matter anyway, you finished killing is good, so ......It also counts as a man's stolen goods."

The man said, glancing at Old Jack on the side, and seeing his stunned face, he casually took off his old bowler hat and put it on his chest, and slightly lazily bowed his body:

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, my name is Sherlock.Holmes, a detective."