I started as a pirate and connected to other worlds

When the war is going on above, in the dream world, an endless gray fog covers the surrounding areas, extending from the wasteland in the distance to the forest white high-backed chair in the center of the world. It is hazy to the eye. This is a world that will not change for thousands of years. .

Time seemed to have pressed the stop button here, it was quiet, there was no sound, only the blue-purple soul fire was burning quietly behind the high-back chair, it was the only thing that could be called life.

"Wow~"

Suddenly, there was a sound in the space. Someone yawned, destroying the rare silence.

The blue-purple soul fire flashed, and a tall, slender, but slightly childish figure appeared on the forest white high-backed chair. His index finger tapped on the table, and the forehead protector that symbolized the identity of the sand ninja was particularly conspicuous. .

"I am the first one again today, those lazy idiots."

After stretching, the doctor complained in boredom. There were not many people as diligent as him these days.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't sleep. You're really a fucking talent. I've seen people rolling around in their dreams, but I've never seen people sleeping in their dreams. Doctor, don't sleep."

He put his hands together and patted the doctor's face with a cold slap. The doctor shuddered and woke up from his dream, and his body relaxed.

"Who did I think it was? I was shocked. It turned out to be a missionary. Everyone is here?"

The doctor opened his eyes wide, clapped his hands away, muttered, and glanced around.

Preacher, hermit, businessman, poet, eh, poet?

No, how can a poet be so young? He is a newcomer?

Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and his index fingers pointed at a small bean directly opposite him, with an expression of surprise and joy.

"Wow, wow, you are...home? How did you end up like this?"

In front of the doctor, a young man wearing children's pajamas, no more than seven or eight years old, glanced at him, slumped in a chair, his eyes as bright as black gems were lifeless, and his soul appeared like a silver fork. Constant rubbing on the table.

"Why? Why are you all so big? Why am I the only one who looks like this? Eight years old, eight years old. What can I, an eight-year-old kid, do? Can I be tough?"

The doctor's eyelids twitched slightly, which was indeed not something an eight-year-old child could say.

If every eight-year-old child has this kind of "ideological awareness", what nonsense is the aging of the population? Good health, good education, fewer children and fewer children, and family planning are the mainstream things that should be considered.

Turning his head, an able-bodied man like him cannot understand the pain of a writer, even though he has experienced such days, after all, who hasn't had childhood yet?

But at that time, his sister Ye Cang was also young and cute. She drank pure white milk in her mouth every day. How could a mere writer understand the joy of being a child?

Even though he was the one who was fed and tamed, and it was real milk, in any case, the two of them were not from the same world.

Holding his head high, the doctor looks at people through his nostrils, and his delicate face has a feeling of looking down on the world.

A long chain of contempt extended from one end of the stone round table to the other. The writer's eyes twitched, and the expression on his face became stiffer, as if he had been struck by a dimensionality reduction.

"Those bastards!"

At this unanimous voice, the writer looked to his left. He saw the hermit hunched over, with his big black-grey, shiny metallic tail coiled on a high-backed chair. He was also itching his teeth with hatred.

The writer is just a little smaller, but at least he still has it. It will only take a few years for him to grow up and use it, but he doesn't even have this organ, those bastards.

He secretly made up his mind that when he was free, he would capture an Akili beast to see how he could transform into a human being.

As for the secretary, he is raising it, he is raising it, Snowballmon is already raising it.

"Humph."

With a thick nasal sound coming from his nose, the writer glanced sideways at the hermit, with such deep contempt that he almost overflowed.

A man who doesn't even have a dick... no, a male beast, actually has the nerve to sit here?

His eyes darkened, and there was no expression on the hermit's mechanical dragon face.

He was actually despised by an eight-year-old baby. Steel Seadramon could tolerate it, but Infinitydramon couldn't tolerate it either. He wanted revenge.

Unknowingly, his eyes looked at the silent businessman. With his gloomy little eyes, he looked like an old virgin.

What is revenge? Finding a sense of superiority in others is called revenge. The chain of contempt between men is everywhere, but he must not stand at the lowest point of the chain.

Feeling the provocative gaze of the hermit, the businessman smiled faintly, and then quickly became extremely innocent. His melancholy temperament seemed to mean that there would be no more joys and sorrows in this life.

"Before joining the Brave Team, I actually worked as an evaluator for alien custom girls for a period of time."

In an instant, the whole space seemed to be audible.

"Hey, hey, you can't blame me. It's not my fault. They always do it on their own. I'm a gentleman and I never do anything."

There is no greater sadness than heartbreak, and no sadness greater than silence. The hermit wished he could extend a middle finger to him as a symbol of friendship, but unfortunately, he didn't even have a middle finger.

dong dong!

"Okay, okay, let's stop here to reminisce about old times, and let's talk about business first."

The missionary knocked on the table lightly, interrupting the merchant's Versailles behavior, his eyes full of indifference.

He has a sister and a house, his parents are both busy, and the ghost lady is on his shoulders. She is just a foreigner's mother. Did he, the undead knight, say anything? Is he suffering from celiac disease?

This group of personalities is really immature at all. He still has to preside over this meeting today.

After forcing themselves together, everyone who was shocked by the businessman's dimensionality reduction looked over with some interest. Regardless of their strength, once the chain of contempt is formed, it will not be so easy to reverse it next time.

I glanced around and saw that today's missionary had a particularly bossy vibe.

"Where's the poet? The poet didn't come today?" the missionary asked with some confusion. After all, he didn't come every day, so he couldn't know everything.

The hermit was limp like a dead snake with the body of an old beast, weakly lifting its thin tail. Before talking about the size and existence of this problem, he was actually the big brother, but now, he was burned out. All done.

"I met him the night before yesterday. He said he wanted to fight, but he hasn't come recently."

"Ah."

The missionary who had just come into power nodded in style, skipped the topic, tapped the knuckles of his right hand lightly on the table, and turned to look at the writer.

"Okay, the poet's side is not a big problem. The most important thing today is the writer's welcome party. How about it? Which world are you living in now? It feels like..."

Looking up and down, the SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas couldn't look serious at all.

The writer rolled his eyes.

"Asian, living in Marvel's Hell's Kitchen, not a mutant, not a devil from hell, not a magician, I'm just an ordinary person."