John Wick received new orders and did not linger any longer.
His style from his assassin days was still implemented to the fullest.
After nodding to the bishop, he turned and left, already thinking about how he might find Lucy's biological parents.
Watching John Wick's departing figure, York displayed a mysterious smile.
He had never seen the assassin appreciate anyone before.
Usually very straightforward, everyone he meets is faced with an expressionless demeanor.
Clearly, Lucy's act of vengeance had stirred something in the assassin's heart.
Vengeance is vengeance, but what Lucy did was also typical of what assassins often do.
"However, leaving this girl's matter to him, I've lightened my own load."
York leaned back, letting his back press against the contoured chair, casually gesturing with his hand.
The report John Wick had just submitted flew into his hands using telekinesis.
Telekinesis, truly a convenient tool, able to accomplish just about anything.
The only thing it requires is the mind's imagination and mental power.
"Oh, there are quite a few leads."
York glanced at the document, flipping a page, and muttered to himself in surprise.
It detailed how many people had taken the bait named Lucy.
Of course, without him, Lucy would probably still be just a lab rat and a toy in the eyes of others.
But after he intervened, Lucy became the bait for his fishing.
Now it seemed the catch was substantial.
This organization had no idea someone was targeting them.
As they rushed towards Lucy's location with intent, they were already being watched by clerics hidden at the roadside, stationed in every possible position, or other affiliated personnel.
This was a classic case of one in the light and one in the dark.
"Indeed, it's a cult."
Flipping a page and seeing the related explanations, York's eyes conveyed a bit of disdain.
This page wasn't about something tangible, but rather about the house and its underground base.
It featured a series of harrowing photos.
The reports left behind in those underground bases were primarily data on the abuse of victims.
For instance, what to do to the victims on the first day.
Mind control.
Harm control, etc.
Each day's method of abuse would not repeat, whether it was beating or slapping, etc.
Even the food was tampered with.
One could say, the victims lived through a hellish existence every day.
Lucy's case involved giving hope only to then inflict despair.
Because only by driving her to despair would she no longer feel pain, no longer resist, like a walking corpse.
After overcoming this, the victims were subjected to the final test.
Exploitation, as the name suggests, involved flaying the victims, peeling off all their skin without anesthesia.
York remained silent, shaking his head as he read through the series of descriptions.
"Pain, survival, hope, despair, what kind of research is this cult conducting? What are they trying to obtain through such methods?"
Unfortunately, York couldn't figure it out.
But looking at the victims' unfocused, lifeless eyes in the photos, York seemed to realize something.
"It couldn't be what I'm thinking, could it?"
Combining the word 'cult,' York tilted his head uncertainly and continued to flip the page.
The terminology he encountered made him feel helpless, even causing him to chuckle.
"Indeed."
Seeing the term "martyr" on the page, York chuckled.
His mind was filled with knowledge, and just that one word gave him a rough idea of what the organization was about.
Martyrs are typically associated with religion, known in the church as "fatal saints" or "martyrs."
In the early days of the church, this term was related to apostles, people who bore witness to their faith and suffered martyrdom for the church.
According to records, Saint Stephen was the first martyr to die for Jesus Christ.
Therefore, in the history of the church, martyrs are generally revered.
Combining the cult's experiments, York sighed.
He knew the basis of these experiments.
Martyrs revered by people meet three conditions.
One, they must sacrifice their physical lives and truly experience and endure death.
Thus, the cult's systematic, methodical, merciless, progressively cruel treatment probably aims to fulfill this condition of sacrificing the physical life.
Exploitation, then, allows the victims to experience death in a painless state, at the brink of death.
York linked all these aspects in his mind, but still couldn't understand what exactly the organization was seeking.
Because in the church, a true martyr is not so superficial.
In simple terms, if martyrs could be easily created in such a manner, then they wouldn't be true martyrs.
In the church, martyrs must meet a very important prerequisite: they must sacrifice for a cause and do so voluntarily. Thus, church martyrs are mostly those who voluntarily sacrifice themselves for others, ultimately believed to be taken to heaven.
Thus, there is a principle: those willing to sacrifice their lives to save others are believed to be taken to heaven.
"So what do they want?" York wondered, unable to solve the puzzle, eventually shaking his head and tossing the file onto the desk.
"We can only wait for tonight."
He had a feeling that this matter would be resolved today.
Indeed, York's guess was not wrong, and the development of events unfolded just as he had anticipated.
Before evening arrived, he quickly received a summary of all the information from Brother Wilo.
---
Inside a luxurious building, surrounded by a group of fellow monks, Brother Wilo flicked his knight's sword, easily shaking off the blood stained on the blade, then sheathed it back as pristine as before.
Behind them were some non-official personnel cleaning up the scene.
Just like with Lucy, the battle had ended quickly.
Despite the presence of sharp firearms, humans ultimately could not compete with those who were transcendent.
What does transcendent mean? It means surpassing ordinary humans, in both strength and bodily states.
Brother Wilo, expressionless, led a group into the mansion.
The residents nearby were all influential figures.
But Brother Wilo felt nothing, just looking at the elderly woman sitting on the sofa, still holding a glass of red wine, and calmly asked.
"Georgina Ochoa?"
"Why would church people be here?" The elderly woman's polished demeanor, her tone calm with an air of authority.
The Ochoa family, one of America's hidden conglomerates, involved in numerous sectors including heavy and light industries, traditional industries, and several mining industries, casting their influence across America's metal, chemical, rubber, automotive, food, and air transport sectors. Additionally, they had ties through marriage or alliances with other families or conglomerates, making the Ochoa family a true behemoth.
But Brother Wilo's heart remained unmoved, even having killed many of the Ochoa family members without any fear or even bothering to answer her question, but instead calmly stated.
"Miss Georgina, Bishop York wishes to meet with you."
The elderly woman's eyebrows lifted slightly, a touch of surprise on her face, though her expression remained unchanged.
However, the trembling of her wine glass betrayed her inner turmoil.
"Bishop York?"
The elderly woman's mind flashed through legends of this bishop, whether hearsay or not, but this figure was someone many feared to provoke.
"Why would such a person want to meet me?" The color of the elderly woman's face began to fluctuate.
"For what you have done." Brother Wilo was concise, extending his hand in a gesture.
"Please!"
Georgina stared at Brother Wilo, understanding the implicit meaning behind his expression.
That is, if she did not move, this group of calm-faced, church-dedicated clergy would probably take action, unapologetically and without regard for her status, forcibly taking her with them.
Just as had happened outside, no one could stop these formidable individuals.
This is one reason why officials do not provoke the church.
No one knows who else might be a member of the church, one of its zealous followers.
Combining the bishop's uniqueness with what she knew, Georgina took a deep breath, finally setting her wine glass down and picking up her handbag to follow the clergy's lead.
Stepping outside, the luxurious mansion was a mess, despite having hidden here, she couldn't escape.
---
At night.
Georgina, carrying her handbag, stepped out of the car and looked at the ordinary church in front of her, feeling somewhat sentimental.
That such a figure would be here, serving the public.
This reminded her of some rumors, rumors that this bishop was somewhat unconventional compared to others.
Thinking of her potential fate, Georgina straightened her clothes, ignoring the other clergy around her, and walked up the steps alone.
At the top, she first saw a very young, very distinguished-looking nun.
Georgina nodded respectfully to her, then continued inside.
What she didn't see, however, was the slight chill in Sister Eileen's eyes.
But obviously, even if Georgina had seen it, she probably wouldn't care.
Because, combining all the facts, she probably knew her own fate.
It was very sudden, as if something she had never considered suddenly happened.
With her family and even the outside world showing no signs of reaction, she was undoubtedly abandoned.
"But it doesn't matter, perhaps I can learn the answer I've been wanting to know all my life."
Walking into the empty, candlelit tranquil church, looking at the figure under the statue of Jesus, Georgina's eyes actually showed a hint of fanaticism.
She took one step after another, finally stopping a step behind Bishop York, and bowed.
"Bishop York."
York turned and glanced at her.
Georgina Ochoa, 84 years old, one of the key figures of the Ochoa family, and part of the main lineage—at least her son was a
leading figure in the Ochoa family.
And this organization was personally founded by this elegantly dressed yet simple old woman.
Without exception, none of the members were ordinary; each was either a patriarch of a family, an important member of a consortium, a retired official, or a significant member of a political family.
And most crucially, these members were all contemporaries of the old woman, meaning the organization was actually a group of elderly people.
This made York sigh internally and also feel a headache coming on, hence the random mission trigger.
It seems that tasks capable of triggering random missions are indeed not easily resolved.
At least for now, he was troubled, not by the elders' identities, but because they were all elderly.
Because whether it's penalties, laws, or any punishment, these elders were mostly beyond the age range subject to such measures, which made dealing with them neither straightforward nor simple, just disgustingly complicated.
"Sit."
Seeing the elderly woman trembling, York certainly wouldn't let her stand for so long.
After all, people of such advanced age could easily suffer complications from a simple fall, potentially leading to immediate death.
York pretended not to notice the old woman's gaze and turned away.
Georgina pursed her lips and took a seat beside the bishop, her handbag in tow.
"Why do these things, seventeen years of experiments, how many have you harmed?" York sighed as he recalled the report.
"Or rather, what do you want to know? Are you trying to create a saint?"
Georgina looked up, like the bishop beside her, towards the image of Jesus: "Respected Bishop, do you know what the real world is like after death? Is it taken to heaven by the all-knowing and omnipotent God, or is it hell?"
York remained silent; he had never died, who could know what the world after death looks like?
Although he knew of the world where evil spirits dwell, the image of hell, he could not truly answer this question, as no one who has not died can say what they will see after death.
"This question is a bit sensitive, even touching on matters of faith," York unconsciously furrowed his brows.
Because church clergy and believers all firmly believe in the existence of heaven, and many sacrifices and actions are premised on the belief in heaven and God's guidance.
But he had never seen God or heaven, nor sensed heaven's presence.
While he believed in the possibility of God and heaven, belief and seeing are quite different matters.
"Is it for such a trivial answer?" York asked calmly.
"Yes, for just such an answer." Georgina pulled an old notebook from her handbag and flipped it open.
"We've gained wealth and power, laws and regulations are made by us, looking down on others from on high, but in reality, after death, we are nothing,
So we started using the resources we control to conduct these numerous experiments, the real world after death, what does it actually face, is it truly heaven or hell?"
___________________
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