Shortly after, York, fully armed, drove out of his garage in a Ford Raptor, cutting through the darkness, leaving only its striking red tail lights behind. It was past midnight, and he roared along the roads, quickly reaching his destination.
"130th Street!" York muttered the address as he calmly got out of his car in front of the low-rise building.
He was wearing a bulletproof suit, with twelve full magazines hanging on either side, each with a capacity of fifteen rounds, totaling 180 rounds of 9mm bullets.
Approaching the building's iron door, York took out his Beretta 92F pistol and kicked the door fiercely. With his extraordinary physical abilities, far surpassing average human strength, the door burst open and flew several meters inside.
Screams erupted from within.
"Women?"
York furrowed his brows, his magical power and heightened senses fully activated as he stepped inside. He encountered the same horrific scene as Old Brown – room after room filled with terrified women, huddling in corners, shaking with fear.
"NO!"
"Please…"
"Don't kill me…"
"I'll do anything, just tell me what you want…"
Despite his experience with life and death and having seen all walks of life, York didn't want to see this. He coldly proceeded inside, gun in hand.
As he moved deeper, he saw bodies in the open doorways, lying in pools of blood.
York, anticipating this outcome, took a deep breath and continued.
The scene in the room was clear.
Three bodies on the floor, two by the wine rack, and three beside the sofa. The white-haired old man on the sofa was motionless.
The evidence pointed to a fierce gun battle.
Approaching Old Brown's body, York pressed his lips together. Since their separation, he had mentally prepared for this day.
Suddenly, one of the bodies at his feet stirred.
"Save me, save me…"
The person at the front grabbed York's leg with surprising strength.
Looking at this struggling man, York recalled the young troublemakers who had once teased him.
Bang!!!
Without expression, York shot the man in the head, ending his life.
With the hand at his feet now lifeless, York continued towards Old Brown, gently lifting the old man.
"We're going home, Mr. Brown."
...
As the Ford Raptor left, police cars with flashing blue and red lights soon arrived, led by a grim-faced Officer Beck.
"Go in!"
He commanded his team of officers to storm the building.
...
Old Brown, who had no children and was an outsider to the area, had few close acquaintances. Still, York gave him a dignified funeral, ensuring he wouldn't leave this world alone.
Following Old Brown's freshly penned will, York buried him beside his wife, Judith.
During the eulogy and memorial, York, wearing his long-unused priestly vestments, recounted the lives and memories of Old Brown and his wife Judith at the church altar.
He shared stories that Old Brown had told him.
During the reading of scriptures and prayers, York recited Bible verses, leading attendees to contemplate life and death and seeking comfort and prayer for the deceased.
The final step was the committal and farewell ceremony. In the presence of York and the attendees, with a cross and personal items like a photograph of Old and Judith Brown on the coffin, it was slowly lowered into the grave.
Watching a familiar face being buried, York sighed and picked up the Bible for the last prayer.
His voice echoed in the quiet cemetery.
"Lord, we gather in this solemn moment to seek comfort and strength from You. We commend the departed soul to You, asking You to embrace him/her in Your eternal love.
Lord, let us remember the life of the departed, the love, kindness, and wisdom he/she brought into our lives.
Comfort their family and friends, Lord, and grant them peace and forgiveness.
May Your peace and forgiveness be upon the soul of the departed and their family and friends.
We pray in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."
...
After the funeral, as he watched believers like Ms. Mosan leave, York stood alone at the grave with his Bible, turning to the lawyer standing nearby.
"Mr. Brown left me something?"
The lawyer in a black suit nodded, handing over a document envelope.
"Mr. Brown left you all his possessions and house. I've transferred everything under his name to you, as per his instructions."
York was stunned, not expecting such a gesture. He had donated most of Old Brown's belongings as per the will left at his home.
"This was Mr. Brown's personal wish?" York asked hesitantly.
"Yes, he came to me just yesterday," the lawyer confirmed.
After the lawyer left, York stared at the envelope, struggling to grasp the reality. Though he and Old Brown had a long association, such a large bequest was unexpected.
Old Brown's house in the Temm community was quite valuable, worth several hundred thousand dollars. And then there was over a hundred thousand dollars in cash – the result of the old man's savings.
Remembering his interactions with Old Brown, York glanced at the photograph of Old Brown and his wife Judith on the tombstone, their smiles so bright.
Rubbing his face hard, York walked away.
He owed a debt of gratitude, repayable only in blood.
Walking towards the church, York took out his phone and called a familiar informant.
"Yo? Dear Father? What brings you to call me?"
A playful, teasing voice came through the phone.
Remembering the woman with the annoying personality, York spoke seriously.
"I need you to dig up everything you can on a small gang named Vance – including their members and associates. The more comprehensive, the better..."