Chapter 106: Order

Metropolis, late at night.

Two golden car lights pierced into the deserted block from the corner of the street. The black car slowly stopped by the side of a remote road, turning off the lights and engine. The door opened, and the middle-aged man wrapped in a black windbreaker jumped out of the car, with his hands in the windbreaker pockets, and wearing a black hat, which looked like an English gentleman.

The man picked an inconspicuous alley on the side of the road and got into it. He walked around in the dark alley and came to a rusty green iron door in a moment. He stretched out his right hand wearing black leather gloves and tapped the door three times, then stepped back and waited patiently.

A few seconds later, the inside of the iron door was opened at the same position as the line of sight. A face hidden in the hood appeared behind the door, and a man's muffled voice came out from the shadow of the brim: " What color is the water in the Angela Sea?"

The problem is not marginal. But the man in the windbreaker replied unhurriedly: "Red, bright red like blood."

The gap on the iron door was immediately closed, and a second later there was the sound of the old rusty lock bolt being pulled open. The man in the windbreaker stretched his hand on the door and pushed it gently, and the door panel was opened with a slight creak, revealing the long and narrow dark corridor.

The man in the hood stepped aside and handed the man in the trench coat a coarse cloth cloak with a hood attached. The man took off his hat, handed it to the gatekeeper, then put on the coat, and pulled the brim of the hood to cover most of his face.

"They have been waiting for you for a long time, you better hurry up," the hooded man said, "I heard that your trial was not going well, so you may need some luck today."

The man in the windbreaker nodded, pulled his hat brim, and walked quickly into the dark corridor. The hooded man did not keep up, but instead put on the iron door with his backhand, and continued to guard behind the door motionlessly, like a loyal door god.

Walking through the ten-meter-long corridor, the man in the windbreaker pushed open a devastated wooden door at the end, and an open hall suddenly came into view. There is no window in the whole room. There is a wooden round table in the center. The only dim light comes from five candles arranged in a specific arrangement on the table. The candlelight flickered, and the light dangled from the figure in the dark corner of the room from time to time, like a nocturnal creature in the dark.

"You are late, Grinton Marcus," said one in the shadow, "and the great'center' will not like this bad habit."

"My most sincere apologies, elder." The man in the trench coat, or Greenton Marcus, bowed and said with the most pious attitude, "but the fbi and the police are staring at me recently, which caused me some trouble, so Delays are inevitable."

"That's your own problem." The elder hummed, "Speaking of which, your level of completion in this trial is really unsatisfactory. Your designated target is the overpass of 103rd Street, not the University Commercial Street. And of course, you shouldn't have been detected by the police or the fbi. That would cause us a lot of unnecessary trouble."

After a pause, he concluded: "So in my opinion, your trial is a complete failure, and the'center' cannot accept your participation."

The man was silent for a while, and then leaned slightly: "It will develop into this because of accidents that I could not predict, but I do not intend to defend myself. My trial has indeed failed, and I am willing to accept the teaching. Any punishment by the regiment and the center."

"That's not too busy." The voice in the shadow eased a little. "Although the trial has made something wrong, the'Holy Order' also knows that this is because of some unexpected accidents that you cannot predict, and we are absolutely nothing. Irrational. After all, that bomb was actually detonated in public, which is enough to prove your loyalty to the'center'. So things are not without room for reversal..."

The man stopped for a while, his tone changed suddenly, and he sternly reprimanded: "Who is here? Who did you bring in?"

Glinton Marcus was taken aback: "I didn't bring anyone here."

There was silence for about two or three seconds in the darkness, and then there was the sound of clothes rubbing and shoe soles jumping on the floor.

"It's me." Mike Marcus walked into the dim candlelight, swept across the few people in the room with unprecedented solemnity, and finally fell on the man in the middle, "...Dad. "

"Mike?" Mr. Marcus frowned in surprise. "Why are you here?"

"Please, although our relationship has not been very good, but you are my father." Mike said lightly, with an abnormal calm tone, "You can avoid the police and fbi, but you can't avoid me forever. I followed you It's been quite a while, and to be honest, although I always thought you were a pretty bastard dad, I never really believed that the bomb was really related to you...until now."

Mr. Marcus was silent for a while, his eyelids drooped intentionally or unintentionally, avoiding the direct stare with his son: "You shouldn't be here, you should go away."

"I don't think so, Mr. Marcus." The man in the dark said again. "He followed you and found this place. He already knows too much. Now either you can prove your piety to the Order , So that this kid can never speak unless he is willing to be part of us."

Mr. Marcus turned around: "I need five minutes."

There was no echo in the darkness. But when the flickering candlelight flashed from that corner again, the few figures in the shadow had disappeared like ghosts.

Mr. Marcus took off his hood and stared at Mike for a while. His son has never followed his will in any matter since he remembered, as if he was born for the purpose of confronting his father, and he also seems to have something bad that can always come out at critical moments. Super powers-he seems to always accidentally appear at the worst point in time, just like now.

"Is that you?" Mike broke the silence and asked straightforwardly, "I need to hear you tell me about the bomb."

Mr. Marcus was silent for a while and nodded: "It's me." After a pause, he added: "You shouldn't have stolen that car."

"So you can let it explode under the bridge?" Mike frowned and said in a serious tone that was rare for him. "Many people may die."

"That's just a small number, more than the number that is about to die." Mr. Marcus said calmly, "It is inevitable."

"Inevitable? Do you know that you now sound like a cannon fodder in the cult organizations in the movie? You seem to be brainwashed."

Mr. Marcus shook his head: "No, I am in a very good state. I do all this for good reasons. The'Oriental' helped me recognize everything, helped me to clear the clouds and see the world clearly like never before. Looks like. The planet on which we live is already sick and very sick, and we have brought the only vaccine for it."

"Oh, is it? Then who did you hear that? A public service announcement?"

"No." When Mr. Marcus said this, his face was mixed with solemnity and piety. "It is the earth itself that told us this. Everything we do is based on the will of the earth itself, and the cult can Listening to the voice of the earth is equivalent to being an executive officer."

Mike couldn't bear it: "Well, to be honest, when I came here to find you, I still had such a little hope. Now that I think about it, I really feel that I am hopelessly stupid, and now I am still trying to follow a neurotic theory."

He sighed and looked at the man in front of him who had become stranger with a complicated expression: "It sounds so embarrassing to say, but do you know? Even though you have always been such a bastard father, even though we have never I have agreed on any one thing, but...I still think of you as my father. And..."

He paused and put his five fingers into his messy hair.

"...I don't know, but it's just maybe...Perhaps I always want your approval."

Mr. Marcus avoided his gaze and said nothing. Only for this moment, this man may feel a little bit guilty and shaken for his words.

"But it's not anymore." Mike resolutely said, "It's over, father. I'll call the police, call fbi, whoever can end your crazy group. Then maybe I will go to a mental hospital for the rest of my life. Visiting you, I will let them arrange a comfortable single room for you."

"No, kid."

Although he knew that his father had become a lunatic brainwashed by a cult, when he saw Mr. Marcus pulling out a black hole pistol from under the coarse cloth cloak he was wearing, he pressed it coldly and ruthlessly against his son's muzzle. At that moment, he still froze for a moment.

After all, he still underestimated the madness of the cultists.

Mr. Marcus lifted his eyelids again, and the eyes facing him were like a pool of cold stagnant water without any fluctuations: "I don't think you would do that."