Lin Xingci squatted in the ventilation duct on the third floor of the dungeon, listening to the screams outside, and the screen of the translator in his hand was dazzlingly bright. Damn, another one dies. Old Zhou next to him spat, his cigarette butt flickering in the darkness. You said you, an interstellar translator, why are you here in this damn place? Lin Xingci said nothing.
