"It's already 10 PM. What was that live streaming account called? It should be streaming around this time..."
While the cleaners were still at work, York took the opportunity to deal with some unfinished business. He needed to confirm the status of the exorcism live stream he was interested in. His original plan was to deal with this upon returning to the church, but the subsequent gunfight disrupted his schedule.
Familiar with the process, York quickly found the live streaming site and searched for the exorcism channel. The recent gunfight was just a minor, insignificant event in his life, merely a seasoning of sorts. Supernatural events were what truly mattered to him.
The exorcism live stream seemed like it would lead to major problems in the future, especially since he knew "Satan" was looking for him. He often thought of the live stream, driven by a sudden inspiration. For someone like York, these impulses were never just whimsical feelings or mere physiological reactions; they were eerily accurate.
Remembering the sequence of numbers, York swiftly located the exorcism live stream. To his satisfaction, the channel was already banned.
"Well done."
York rarely praised the Church's secret affairs department, but they seemed to have sensed the risk and acted accordingly.
At that moment, the cleaning was nearing completion. The burly men had finished and were packing up their equipment.
"Father York, the cleaning is complete," Charlie, the old man who had kept his distance, approached York, holding his black fisherman's hat to his chest.
"Would you like to inspect it?"
York put away his phone and nodded, watching the cleaners get into their vans.
"Certainly."
Inspection was necessary, considering the half a million spent. However, as soon as he stepped inside, York fully appreciated the true value of their "professionalism."
The cleaners had restored the entrance to its original state, but more impressively, they had cleaned the main hall of all traces of the bodies, blood, unnameable fragments, shell casings, firearms, and even bits of wooden benches. They even reorganized the disheveled benches neatly back to their places. Except for a few damaged benches, one wouldn't guess a gunfight had taken place here.
After a thorough inspection, York felt that the fifty thousand was well spent, even a hundred thousand would have been worth it.
Thinking of the ten calm yet efficiently working men, York mentally awarded them a five-star rating.
"Your cleaners did a good job, Charlie."
Charlie smiled for a rare moment. "I'm glad you're satisfied, Father."
Speaking cautiously, Charlie peeked at the priest who had changed his earlier impression of him. "Then, shall we head back now, Father?"
Hearing this, York withdrew his inspecting gaze.
"Yes, I'll see you out."
The scene shifted back outside. Charlie sat in the passenger seat, still holding his fisherman's hat to his chest in a respectful posture.
"Good night, Father York."
"Good night, Charlie."
York nodded and watched the cleaning vans depart before turning to re-enter the church, planning to pray before going home.
Morning prayers marked the beginning of the day, and evening prayers brought it to a close. Only then could he close up and rest peacefully.
After returning the SHAK-12 to its place, turning off the bright overhead lights, and lighting a nearly burnt-out white candle for ambiance, York sat at the front row of benches and prayed, recounting the day's events and confessing the incidents that had led to bloodshed in the hall. Despite not hearing the usual reward notification, York felt a slight regret; sometimes, daily prayers could trigger random rewards, but not tonight, it seemed.
As he prepared to rise and leave, another set of heavy footsteps echoed in his ears, halting his movement.
"John?"
Each person has a unique way of walking, and correspondingly, their footsteps sound different. The heavy yet oddly light footsteps could only belong to the assassin John, with his distinctive physique.
Sure enough, a somewhat cumbersome man appeared at the entrance.
Dressed in a black suit, with flowing black hair, scruffy beard, rugged yet distinct facial features, and a demeanor both firm and calm, those deep and focused eyes belonged to none other than the assassin John Wick, who York had saved before.
"Greetings, Father York," said John with a calm gaze and a nod.
Seeing a familiar figure from his past life, York genuinely smiled, noticing John's abdominal injury from his footsteps and the strong smell of gunpowder. He could tell John might have been hurt.
"John! How have you been?"
"Fine."
John Wick nodded and continued his heavy steps to sit beside York, first making the sign of the cross towards the Jesus statue.
"Father, I apologize for the events that occurred here. I've already paid for the cleaning."
York's smile remained; he wasn't concerned with why John knew about the incident so quickly. The assassin world thrives on mutual information flow. Not only was the Bear Gang after John, but he was likely investigating them as well.
It wasn't hard to guess that Charlie had informed John about the cleanup.
"How much did you pay?"
"Fifty thousand."
"That's the agreed-upon price."
"I'll compensate for all the damages in the church," John continued, his tone unyielding.
"And I'll take care of the Bear Gang."
This resolute statement matched York's image of John Wick in this parallel world – a man of tit-for-tat justice, much like his character in the movies York recalled from his past life. Not one for sentimental refusal, York accepted John's offer. After all, to him, the Bear Gang was just a minor nuisance.
"John, do you need my help?"
John shook his head, still calmly speaking to the Jesus statue. "Father, if possible, I'd prefer you not to get involved."
Hearing this, York combined his knowledge from his past life and surmised that the seemingly cumbersome assassin might indeed be gearing up for a direct confrontation tonight.
"John," York gestured towards John's abdomen, asking again.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes."
John Wick nodded, then stood up, facing the priest earnestly.
"Goodbye, Father York."