The slave was very clean and careless. He rolled up his sleeves and revealed his skinny arms. A slender wound on his arm was dripping blood. The blood stained from bright red to dark red, and finally turned black and red. His sallow face also became pale, his forehead was covered with cold sweat, and it was obvious that he had been infected with zombie poison.
The guard took the rope around his neck and walked around the hall like a hyena, letting everyone see if his wound was fake. More than 20 base leaders tested the wounds one by one, and then nodded.
Simon Song looked forward to a scientist wearing a white coat at the side of the hall, and raised his squat to signal him to give medicine to the slave. The white swearing promised, carefully opened the metal box held in his arms and showed everyone a bottle of pale green potion.
The legendary salvation potion finally appeared, and the heads of the bases couldn’t help but stand up and walked to the center of the hall, surrounded by the white scorpion and the injured slave, and wanted to verify the effect with their own eyes.
Simon Song has seen it many times. He has never felt strange, sitting firmly in the main position. When his eyes swept through the unmoving Gong family, the twilight was dark and frowned.
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