"Hello, Father Mude."
The beloved orphanage in Queens is a charitable institution established by a coalition of surrounding churches, providing refuge for orphans and abandoned children, including those with disabilities. The lives of hundreds of children depend on scant social assistance each month. Despite the support from numerous churches, they still struggle, not only due to the daily costs of living but also because some of the children face serious health issues.
"Peter, you're here again! The children have been looking forward to your visit," Father Mude said warmly.
On the nearby lawn, a dozen children laughed and played basketball or kicked a soccer ball. Upon seeing Peter, they joyfully waved and called his name, but they didn't approach, understanding enough to play among themselves, allowing Father Mude and Peter to chat privately.
"This is for little Ed's medical expenses. I haven't had much extra lately, so I could only gather this much," Peter said, handing over a not-so-thick envelope containing his latest paycheck.
Father Mude sighed, recognizing the difficulty of their situation. The amount was not large, as Peter was trying to fill a vast, bottomless pit. To be precise, he was not originally from this world; his name was Li Fangxu, a genuine young man from Huaxia. One day, while playing a game called "Killer 6," he dozed off at his computer desk, and when he woke up, he found himself in this unfamiliar world.
Accompanying him was an inexplicable system, quite peculiar in nature. It resembled a combination of various skills, akin to a character from a role-playing game, but required dollars to purchase. The catch was that he could only spend money earned from good deeds, while funds acquired through robbery or other illicit means, even if from his own hard work, could not be used to buy skills.
This system was called the "Killer System," allowing him to earn commissions by eliminating those deemed bad, thus dispensing justice while also earning reward points. For instance, the fifty thousand dollars he had just given Father Mude translated into five points added to his mental tally, with a single swift kick costing twenty points to redeem.
Feeling the strong, revitalizing energy coursing through his legs, Peter couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he heard Father Mude's sigh. He had arrived in this world a year ago, waking up in an abandoned building. His target as a killer was the head of a family, and the memories he absorbed drove him to pull the trigger. He had watched as a bullet tore through the man's chest, piercing his heart.
There was no disgust or resistance in his thoughts; killing felt as effortless as cracking open a sunflower seed. Gradually, he understood why he was so cold. Abandoned by his parents in childhood, he had been absorbed by a killer organization. After rigorous training, he emerged as the only survivor from the training camp.
Then he came to New York, working for the organization until one day it was dismantled, leaving him without orders. The emptiness of thought led him to Father Mude, who offered him a job and meals, helping him establish this orphanage. He witnessed the arrival of disabled and trafficked children, one by one, brought to this haven.
The story seemed beautiful, but the reality was harsh. The children faced numerous problems, not because they were disobedient, but because illnesses were silently claiming their lives—congenital heart disease or various inherent ailments. In the past year, Peter had personally taken seven children to the crematorium, burying them in the shrine built in the orphanage's backyard.
The church couldn't provide adequate medical care; even basic maintenance was a challenge. After all, this was merely a charitable institution, relying on donations from society. To put it bluntly, it was like begging for alms; if someone offered, there would be food to eat. The church's orphanage had more options than a beggar, as the city government allocated a portion of funds yearly for assistance.
Watching the children's desperate expressions, Peter felt the weight of their maturity. They might not fully grasp why they lacked parents, but they buried their fears deep inside, unable to envision the outside world. For them, the vibrant world was merely a colorful tale in books. Some children were born blind, and to them, the array of colors was nothing more than darkness.
Taking up arms for the sake of these children, his first mission had been to eliminate that head of the family. Now, that man's son, Ed Kreach, was the child Peter was desperately trying to save. Ed's mother had committed suicide, the reasons unknown but undoubtedly tied to Peter.
Guilt didn't exist within him; his cold-blooded nature seemed to have fused with his soul. He was Peter, and he rationally felt that he should save this child, regardless of whether the father was his target or if the mother had died because of him. There might be a tinge of guilt, but money was something that simply couldn't be ignored.
Having met the killer intermediary, Morse Griska, Peter had presented his unusual yet seemingly absurd request, which the elderly man accepted. With twenty-two missions completed and none failed, the largest payout exceeding two hundred thousand, his commission was fairly equitable—fifty-fifty. Over the course of a year, his reputation had grown in the circles of New York.
"Peter, you really don't need to do this," Father Mude's gentle voice broke through Peter's thoughts.
"You can earn more money; perhaps it's time for a change—for the sake of that child, for the orphanage, I should make a change. The system may not accept this money, but sometimes dirty money can be quite useful."
"There have to be some who give, right? You taught me that the source of love is in our actions, spreading the value of love and allowing all to feel it, just like we do."
"The cure for congenital heart disease is challenging, and the daily cost of medication…"
Listening to Peter's explanations, Father Mude felt a sense of helplessness. Faith and words were meant for the healthy, but for sick children, how could one convince them that there was a God who could heal them? For kids, a cartoon or a candy could often be more effective than lofty ideals of Jehovah or angels. God loves humanity, but He doesn't save lives.
"I'll handle the money issue; children are the future. Who knows, one of them might grow up to be a figure like Jobs or Gates. In that case, we could all benefit, right?"
Realizing the key to the problem, Peter no longer clung to his past. Congenital diseases weren't just Ed's problem; other children also faced various ailments. However, the urgency surrounding congenital heart disease made it particularly critical. With enough funds, he could perhaps do more. What motivated him wasn't important; what mattered was his desire to take action.
"You're still so naive," Father Mude remarked with a sunny smile, praising Peter. Unbeknownst to him, Peter was about to undertake a task of execution. If he knew, he might scornfully toss the envelope aside, rejecting the idea of using such dirty money to save innocent children. Yet, he might also compromise, pretending to be unaware, knowing that the children were the priority. Nothing was more precious than life. Peter didn't want to gamble, so he chose to keep it a secret. Now that he had a plan and an idea, there was no need to waste time here; he had plenty of time to play with the children later. Securing the money was the key.
"Then I won't keep you. I have some matters to attend to today."
"Take care of yourself; don't always sacrifice rest for money. Your health is the most important."
"Yes, I understand. I'll quickly find a way to solve the money issue, so you can rest easy."
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"In terms of physique, he stands at 1.82 meters, an Asian whose appearance is hard to determine. However, based on our analysis, his activities cover all four districts of New York, primarily sourced from Hell's Kitchen, where he is under the employ of Morse Griska. His external title is 'K,' but no one knows his true identity or real name. He is currently one of the most dangerous assassins under Morse Griska, and it's reported that Jin Bing is looking for him and intends to hire him."
In the office of the director of SHIELD, Nick Fury stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the view beyond the glass window, listening to the report from the agent behind him. A battle was about to unfold that he could not control. What he wanted was peace, yet society was inherently fraught with conflict.
"Where is Frank?!"
Frank Castle was a remarkably skilled Marine, someone Fury respected greatly. However, he had refused to serve and join SHIELD, opting instead for a domestic life. Tragically, he lost everything he loved in an accident, and his thirst for revenge transformed him into a silent devil. When a weapon meant to defend the country broke free of its constraints, no one could imagine what kind of existence he would become.
Once a man inspired by Captain America, he was now a figure of terror, ruthlessly killing those he deemed deserving of death. He needed no laws, no arguments, and no idle talk. The only response to any justification was a bullet. People became mere targets, shot to pieces. Such incidents had occurred three times just last night.
"I'm not sure, but the Black Widow is currently searching for him. We might get results soon."
Fury felt helpless; Frank was his friend, and he should help him. Hearing that Frank intended to assassinate Jin Bing, yet the news was being spread everywhere, made Fury's head throb. He rubbed his bald head in frustration, complaining, "This idiot always expects me to clean up after him! Can't he just keep calm for once?!"
"Sir, his wife and child were brutally murdered!"
"I know, which is why I'm here investigating those damn assassins!"