Not long after.
A fully armed York drove his Ford F-150 Raptor out of the garage.
With the pedal to the metal, the Raptor tore through the darkness, instantly leaving behind only its glowing red taillights.
It was already past midnight, and York sped along, reaching his destination in no time.
"Number 130!"
Muttering the address, York calmly got out of the car, looking at the low-rise building on his right.
He was wearing a bulletproof suit, with twelve fully loaded magazines, each holding fifteen rounds of 9mm ammunition, totaling one hundred and eighty rounds, hanging on both sides of his interior.
Looking at the tightly shut iron gate of the low-rise building, York pulled out his Beretta 92F pistol while delivering a powerful kick.
An average person's strength, including speed, is rated at ten. York, with an all-around physique of twenty-four, double the average, was clearly beyond the scope of ordinary people.
With a bang, the iron gate was forcefully kicked open by York, flying several meters inward.
The loud noise triggered screams from inside.
"Women?"
York frowned, activating all his magic and five senses, and walked inside.
Just like Old Brown, he witnessed a heinous scene.
In one small room after another, the people inside seemed to be in shock, huddling in corners, trembling in fear as they looked at him.
"..."
"NO!!"
"Please..."
"Don't kill me..."
"I'll be good, I'll do whatever you want..."
"..."
Looking at these women, even though York was long accustomed to life and death and had seen the myriad states of the human world to the point of not wanting to see more, he walked deeper inside, gun held indifferently.
As he went further, through the open doorways, the bodies lying in pools of blood came into view.
York, having already anticipated the outcome, took a deep breath and continued walking.
Everything in the room was clear.
Three bodies at his feet, two bodies by the wine rack on the right, and three bodies by the sofa.
The white-haired Old Brown lay motionless on the sofa.
All signs pointed to a fierce gunfight having occurred in this room.
Looking at Old Brown lying on the sofa, York pursed his lips and walked over. From the day he parted ways with Old Brown, he had already prepared himself mentally.
Just then, the body at his feet seemed to stir.
"Help me, help me..."
York looked down. The body lying closest to him had grabbed his foot with considerable force.
Looking at this stubbornly struggling person, York instantly recalled the young men who had teased him that day.
Bang!!!!
York, expressionless, gave him a headshot, sending him to ask Jesus if he poops.
The hand at his foot released, and York continued towards Old Brown on the sofa, then gently picked up the old man.
"Time to go home, Mr. Brown."
"..."
The Ford F-150 Raptor departed, and shortly after, several police cars with flashing blue and red lights roared up. Officer Baker, looking grave, was the first to get out.
"Charge!"
He waved his hand, leading a group of officers into the low-rise building... Old Brown, having no children, was an outsider who had moved from another place, and he didn't have many close acquaintances.
But York still gave him a dignified and perfect funeral, ensuring he wouldn't be alone when he passed.
Following Old Brown's freshly written will, York buried him next to his wife, Ms. Judith.
During the eulogy and memorial service, York donned the vestments he hadn't worn in a long time—chasuble, stole, maniple, alb, and liturgical shoes—and in the church's main altar, he recounted the lives and memories of Old Brown and his wife, Ms. Judith.
He shared with the attendees the stories Old Brown had told him.
During the scripture reading and prayers, York read passages from the Bible to lead the participants in contemplating questions of life and death, and to seek comfort and prayers for the deceased.
The final step was the committal and farewell ceremony.
Under the witness of York and the participants, Old Brown and his wife Ms. Judith's coffin, adorned with a cross and some personal items like a photo, was slowly lowered into the grave.
Seeing someone he knew so well laid to rest, York sighed inwardly, then picked up the Bible to perform the final prayer for the repose of the soul.
The participants behind him, such as Mrs. Morsan and other believers, also closed their eyes and clasped their hands in prayer.
York's voice echoed in the quiet cemetery.
"..."
"Lord, we gather in this solemn moment, asking You for comfort and strength.
We commend the departed to You, asking You to receive his/her soul and bring him/her into Your eternal embrace.
Lord, let us reflect on the life of the departed, feeling the love, kindness, and wisdom he/she brought among us.
We ask You to comfort their family and friends, granting them peace and forgiveness.
May Your peace and forgiveness be granted to the soul of the departed, and to his/her family and friends.
We pray in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."
"..."
The funeral ended.
After seeing off participants like Mrs. Morsan and other believers, York stood alone with the Bible before the grave for a long time, then looked at the lawyer standing nearby and said,
"You said Mr. Brown left something for me?"
The lawyer, who had just arrived and was dressed in a black suit, nodded and handed over a document envelope.
"This is what Mr. Brown left for you. I have transferred all his property and house under his name to you, as per his instructions."
York was stunned, having never expected this. According to Old Brown's will left at home, he had basically donated everything Old Brown left behind, as instructed.
"Mr. Brown personally asked you to do this?" York asked hesitantly.
The lawyer nodded, stating seriously,
"Yes, Mr. Brown came to me just yesterday..."
After the lawyer left, York looked at the document envelope before him, still processing it for a long time. Although he and Old Brown had known each other for a long time, this grand gift was clearly a bit too much.
Although the house Old Brown left was in Tem Community, its location was decent, and it could sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
And that wasn't all; Old Brown also left over a hundred thousand dollars in assets.
These were all savings the old man had accumulated.
Involuntarily recalling his interactions with Old Brown, York glanced at the photo of Old Brown and his wife, Ms. Judith, on the tombstone.
Their smiles were so radiant.
York vigorously rubbed his face and left the spot.
A kindness received can only be repaid with blood.
As he walked towards the church, York pulled out his phone and called an intelligence dealer he knew.
"Oh? My dear Father? What makes you think of calling me?"
A lively, extremely flirtatious, mature female voice came from the phone.
Through the voice, York recalled the woman with a foul temper like a brat. He twitched his lips and said seriously,
"Help me investigate this small gang called Vance. I need as much information as possible on its members, including its peripheral personnel..."