At the same moment.
The church, lit only by candlelight, remained dim.
York, an "heretic" in the eyes of some, had walked up to the Jesus Statue, made the sign of the cross before it, and then, backpack in hand, continued towards the lounge.
Upon reaching the lounge, York first went to the wardrobe, opened the one with only two sets of vestments, and after some fumbling, pulled out a hidden bottom door.
As the sensor light came on, a shelf embedded in the wall immediately appeared before him.
The lounge was indeed a lounge, but it also contained his small arsenal.
He had become this cautious because he had offended too many devils, and there was no telling who might come seeking revenge.
The overall layout of the shelf was similar to the shelves in his home warehouse, with layer upon layer filled with corresponding firearms, magazines, and ammunition boxes.
The first layer held pistols, the second automatic rifles, the third shotguns, and the fourth submachine guns... After carefully sorting and placing the firearms from his bag, York, with the gaze of someone looking at a treasure, closed the concealed bottom door, and then closed the wardrobe door.
"Off duty!"
York kneaded his shoulders and walked out. Before leaving, he didn't forget to make the sign of the cross before the Jesus Statue and say,
"Good night..."
This was his routine; another day had passed.
The night was uneventful, and it was business as usual. York, like a commuter, left his home with his backpack, got into his Ford F-150 Raptor, and drove to the church.
Throughout the morning, he listened to the worries of five parishioners, as he usually did.
These worries were nothing major, mostly everyday trivialities: family relationships, financial pressure, workplace dissatisfaction, the hardships of raising children, and so on.
And according to the parishioners' requests, he would offer his advice and comfort, warming everyone like a central air conditioner.
Regrettably, no random missions were triggered.
As he was about to see off the last parishioner, Ms. Camille Benjamin, the chairwoman of the Lance Community Committee, who had just recovered her composure from his comforting words, suddenly said to him before leaving,
"Father, the Lance Community will be holding a charity event in a couple of days. Would you be able to attend?"
York briefly considered his personal schedule for the coming days and did not refuse.
"If I am free that day, I will go."
Ms. Camille, carrying her handbag, smiled and nodded. "I understand, Father. We will send someone to check on that day."
"Mm."
York made the sign of the cross on his chest. "The Lord will bless you all."
"Thank you for your support."
Ms. Camille also made the sign of the cross on her chest, nodded deeply in response, and then, under York' gaze, left the church.
After seeing off the last parishioner, York returned to the main altar in the hall, pulling out his vibrating phone as he walked.
"..."
"Dear Father, I have sent you the information regarding the Vance gang to your email..."
The information from Hanna, the informant, had finally arrived. He had been eagerly awaiting this message, as he felt restless not avenging Old Brown after inheriting all his assets.
Ignoring the 'kiss' emoji in the message, York continued his steady pace towards the lounge, sat directly in front of the desk, took out his laptop, powered it on, and clicked on the email icon.
He logged into his personal account, then opened the encrypted email from Hanna and entered the password.
As the password was entered, name after name, accompanied by photos, appeared in a detailed list on a table. It also included their current locations, usual haunts, and habits... Looking at each name, York instinctively thought of Old Brown. His eyes darkened, and he silently took out his phone to transfer one hundred thousand to Hanna.
That day, York again put up the sign that read, "Temporarily unavailable, please excuse the inconvenience," and, carrying a backpack, drove away from the church... Burgundy Bar, a bar that was still open during the day.
Although there were far fewer customers than at night, many people were sitting around the bar or at tables, eating and drinking. The atmosphere was relatively calm.
In a corner of the bar, three men sat. Their faces were cold and heavy, and they were downing glass after glass of liquor.
The palpable murderous aura around them kept others from approaching.
Standing behind the bar was a middle-aged man wiping glasses. He glanced at the customers who kept their distance, then looked at the three men drinking in silence and said,
"Drink less. Don't ruin my business."
Bang!!!
In the middle of the three, a heavily bearded man with particularly dense body hair slammed his glass down hard and said coldly,
"F*ck!!! Those damn DEA and COPS, they raided two of my places!!!"
The middle-aged man glanced at him, his words completely unreserved.
"Wadang, it's better to keep a low profile lately. Wait for this storm to pass."
"I'm not reconciled!" Wadang, who seemed to be the leader of the three, said in a deep voice. "I will get this debt back!"
At this, Wadang's cold gaze settled on the middle-aged man.
"Have you found the killer who took out Felton and his men? If it weren't for the problem on Felton's end, this matter wouldn't have escalated so much!!"
The middle-aged man paused his glass-wiping, shook his head, then nodded.
"The storage devices at Felton's place have been destroyed, but we did find a suspicious old man using roadside cameras."
Wadang frowned, a murderous glint in his eyes as he said coldly,
"Who is it?"
The middle-aged man shook his head, resuming his glass-wiping.
"The gang is still investigating, but it'll be soon, probably in the next few days."
Wadang took a deep breath, gritting his teeth and saying bitterly,
"Alright! I'll wait!!"
Just then, a bell jingled at the door.
The middle-aged man stopped wiping the glass, looked over, and was about to greet the newcomer when he saw a man in a suit, wearing a hat and a mask, walk in. He held a piece of paper and glanced in their direction.
The middle-aged man frowned, instinctively feeling that something was wrong. He shouted a warning to his companions.
"Wadang!!!"
But at that instant, the man had already confirmed his target, raised his pre-prepared Beretta 92FS, and pulled the trigger, aiming at the wide-eyed middle-aged man.
"Bang!!!!"
A bullet hole erupted in the middle-aged man's forehead, and he collapsed straight to the ground.
"Ah ah ah ah ah ah!"
"..."
As the gunshots rang out, the customers present panicked, instinctively ducking and seeking various covers. The bar was thrown into chaos.
At the same time, Wadang and his two companions, hearing the shout and gunshots, were startled and tried to retaliate.
But they had already lost the initiative; the man's gun was already aimed at them.
Bang bang bang bang bang!!!!
A continuous volley of gunshots caused blood to erupt from Wadang and his two companions, and bullets piercing their bodies sent wood splinters flying from the bar.
After firing all fourteen rounds, leaving the three lifeless bodies sprawled on the shattered bar, the man shifted his aim to the cameras above.
Three shots: bang bang bang.
After disabling three cameras, the man glanced at the trembling customers inside, turned, and walked out, quickly leaving the scene...