Outlaw Abyss

The cities say to you, A sinner may atone for his sins with his blood. The boy in the cell licked his tongue and smiled. He had just woken up from a bellless darkness. He doesn't remember what day of the week it is, he doesn't know how many steps he is away from the gallows, and he doesn't remember what pain feels like - this body has been empty since he broke the necks of those five people with his own hands. It was as empty as a room that had been stripped of all the furniture, not even dust was left. Then someone put an injection into his veins. The hot stuff crawled along the blood vessels toward the heart. Pain. The pain, which he had forgotten for so long, was burrowing out from between his bones. He smiled in the black bag - something he thought he would never feel again in his life. When I woke up again, there was no sky above my head. There is only a low metal dome and countless pale spotlights that never go out. The radio said, seven in and one out. Say pardon. Talk about ascending into the dome. He raised his middle finger at the nearest surveillance camera. He doesn't care about absolution. He didn't know the dome was a larger cage. Little did they know that all survivors would eventually be drained of their life force and turned into living batteries that would never wake up. I didn't know that this maze was not a Colosseum but a slaughterhouse. He only knew six people to kill. He only knows that the heart that was stabbed will heal on its own, and the fists that others hit him will bounce back twice as hard. All he knew was that the blood on the ground was fishy. The blood is fishy. This is what life is like. He didn't know why the woman who had been following him for eight days kept staring at him. He didn't know why the desperado with prosthetic legs sheathed his sword. He didn't know why the little girl riding on the back of the three-headed beast never spoke. He only knows one thing. Wancheng said that sinners can atone for their sins with blood. But there wasn't enough blood. Seven madmen abandoned by the world, a dome that never opens, a pardon that never comes. Concept: Concept of "MANIAC" This is a story about "sin and redemption". The dome tells you that sinners can be purified. Divine corpses can purify sins. The winner of the seventh round can ascend to the dome and obtain eternal forgiveness. Minus spent sixty-one days on death row, and no one asked him why he killed. Where was the Dome's law enforcement team when his sister was surrounded and tortured to death by five men? It took him two years to find the five people one by one, and it only took twenty minutes for the court to pronounce the verdict. He is a sinner. What about those who create sinners? This is the question MANIAC asks - Who has the authority to define sin? Who has the right to pardon? Seven Maniarks, seven crime files tampered with by the Dome. The files said they were thugs, lunatics, killers. The truth is hidden in their respective pasts: a revengeful orphan, a doctor whose wife was killed by the medical monopoly, a victim whose limbs were chopped off by drugs, and a girl who was abused by a foster family. Their sin is real, but they are not born sinners. They are people who, after being crushed by this city, put the pieces back together in their own way. And what about the dome? The Dome is the ruler of the city, the author of the Reaping Day, the true master of the Divine Bones. They suck the life force of people with supernatural powers to maintain immortality, turn living people into batteries, turn fighting into live broadcasts, and turn justice into ratings. They sit thousands of meters high in the sky, forever holy, always correct, and never judged. This is the core of the idea - upside down justice. The person being judged is in the judgment seat. The judge is in the cage. The people in the cage decided to tear this lie apart, not to become heroes, but because they had nothing to lose except this life. A group of fanatics who have been abandoned by the world, in a cage of lies, use the most primitive methods - fists, bombs, rebound damage, and the fangs of the three-headed beast - to resist a paradise that will never judge. The ultimate proposition of dystopia has never been "how dark the world is", but whether the people in the darkness are willing to take a bite. Seven people were bitten. What about after you bite? Unimportant. What matters is the bite itself.