Chapter 3 Chapter 2

In the world of verbs, killer is a job without future tense.Discussing the future is not auspicious. But not only do I have no future tense, I've even lost the past tense, leaving only the damn present progressive. Some people say that people are made of memories.According to this definition, I can only be regarded as half a person. There are not many things left to me in the first half of my life. The most reliable relic is the tattoo on my heart, a red fighting fish that is emitting flames. I rely on this only clue as my name. Strange to say, when I "woke up suddenly" five years ago, I completely forgot who I was, I forgot my age, name, what school I went to, what kind of job I had, and even my nationality. Not sure, because I can speak nine languages, fluent in English, Italian, Korean, Thai and Chinese, and not very fluent in Malay, Hokkien, Shanghainese and a local dialect of Cambodia, if I hadn’t used to be very There is a passion for language learning, otherwise my previous job must have been an errand that required frequent travel.

I'm good at the butterfly, the most difficult form of swimming.I can dive.I know the latest auction prices of several well-known antique watches at Christie's.I am familiar with all the details of trigonometry.I can sing every song by Avantasia Rock Band.I love watching the Alien movies, especially the fourth one.I remember every football rule.But now I can't even remember what my mother looks like.I used to have sex with women after that, some for money, some not, but my dick and I don't even remember what kind of women we fucked five years ago. Of course, some special "legacy" is worth mentioning.

Judging from the body inertia that I can easily decompose an unfamiliar gun with my eyes closed, no one can guess that I used to be a person who lived in the hail of bullets, policemen, soldiers, mercenaries, survival game enthusiasts, etc. Yes, I have some suspected scars or painful bullet marks on my body. My body surface must have faithfully remembered the past, but my spirit has forgotten everything. "Perhaps you should be thankful." "Lucky?" "God must be merciful to your past and uproot the sins rooted in your memory so that you can live without burden."

I remember the psychiatrist who just graduated from school told me so in the hospital in Munich. I wondered if the psychiatrist had misunderstood his occupation. Those lines that sounded like a motherfucker should have come from the priest's stinky mouth, not written in my prescribed diagnosis report.That was a few years ago. Speaking of God, of course I don't know if there is a God. If so, I know God is not on my side.The real sin begins after my memory fades. For example, in the past, I worked for a while under a gangster in Thailand. It was the kind of gangster who had enemies and asked someone to wrap a piece of newspaper with a bad gun for you and your partner, and asked you to go to a restaurant. A low-level killer who shot a few shots at the pig who spoke the loudest inside.

Oh oh oh oh oh oh I did it a few times, but no matter what, I have a feeling of being overqualified, no, it's a sense of degradation of a tiger being sent by a wolf, it's not right, it must be wrong, I must not be that kind of hell What a mess. I'm going to have to take some time to record all this with this voice recorder.