The sweat-soaked pajamas clung tightly to my back.

I suppressed my fear.

I asked back, "What are you talking about?"

"How did you know?"

I have only met the resident of 404 a few times.

He looks like he's in his early twenties, with dyed blond hair and several tongue piercings.

Whenever a beautiful woman passes by, he leans lazily against the wall.

His greedy eyes scan every inch of their skin like a black crow.

All the neighbors dislike him from the bottom of their hearts.

At this moment, the other side of the page keeps showing "Typing...".

2 minutes passed, but there was still no reply.

Just as I was about to exit the page, he sent a picture.

It was a dark, pixelated screenshot from a video.

In the center of the photo was Restaurant 501.

A husband and wife sat upright on the dining chairs.

At first glance, there seemed to be no problem.

As I zoomed in with my fingertip.

Tongue!

A fresh, plump tongue was instantly magnified several times.

I gasped for breath!

The tongue of the wife in Restaurant 501 had been pulled out completely.

It hung weakly at the corner of her mouth.

Her upper jaw was forcibly pried open, stretched to an extremely exaggerated extent.

The husband sitting next to her had his hands chopped off.

Black blood stains flowed all over the floor.

Both of them had their eyeballs gouged out, their eye sockets like black abysses.

Bottomless.

The timestamp in the upper right corner of the picture indicated 1:35 a.m.

In other words,

When the sound of chopping came, the 501 couple were already dead.