Chapter 356: The Nightingale’s Song
Finally, after firing more than a dozen shots, the young man ran out of bullets, and silence fell over the slaughterhouse. The intense gunfire had left the air thick with smoke, the acrid scent of gunpowder filling everyone's nostrils. Stray bullets had pierced the dry ice cooling pipes, causing the liquid inside to vaporize into a dense white fog that obscured everyone's vision.
For a moment, the slaughterhouse was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the heavy breathing of the short man and the confident footsteps of the young man, Peak.
"They… are they dead?"
The tall man, still shaken, knelt on the ground and looked around anxiously.
"Dead for sure."
Peak took a drag from his cigarette, flicked the butt away, and exhaled a smoke ring. "The only question is whether the organs are still usable. I probably shot them up too much—might not be worth much now."
The short man clutched his wrist, grimacing in pain as he struggled to stand. His face twisted in a vicious snarl. "Damn those reporters! I swear I'll cut off their heads and keep them in formaldehyde as trophies."
Peak lit another cigarette, took a puff, then spat on the ground. "The guy's yours. The girl's mine. She's a real stunner—just my type."
"Oh, really? Then wouldn't I be even more your type if I were still alive?"
A voice interrupted.
"What's the point if there's only a head left?"
Peak had been enjoying his cigarette, but upon hearing the voice behind him, his face changed drastically. He spun around, raising his gun—only to be met with a powerful airborne kick.
He was sent flying backward.
And that wasn't even the worst of it. Mid-flight, his large, brutal hunting rifle was snatched from his grasp by another figure.
With a loud thud, Peak crashed into the tall and short men, knocking them all over. They tumbled across the floor, rolling a good distance before coming to a stop.
As the smoke cleared, two figures emerged—Hoffa and the girl.
They were covered in dirt and blood, looking rather disheveled. But the blood wasn't theirs. Neither of them had suffered even the slightest injury.
"How… how is this possible? Not a single scratch on you?!"
Peak clutched his chest in disbelief as he stared at them.
"Because I have an excellent bodyguard. Do you?"
The girl leaned slightly against Hoffa, grinning playfully.
She nudged him with her elbow. "See? That worked out pretty well. Having you around was a great call."
Hoffa didn't respond. He simply stood there, holding the hunting rifle, staring at it blankly. Truth be told, he still didn't fully understand how he had done all this. It was as if something had fused with his very blood, transforming into pure instinct. But why was he able to kick a grown man into the air like that? He wouldn't know until he recovered his lost memories.
Compared to the girl's relaxed demeanor, the three men across the slaughterhouse were paralyzed with fear. They clung to each other, staring at the boy and girl as if they were looking at monsters.
"Here, give me the gun."
The girl said, intrigued, reaching for the weapon in Hoffa's hands.
Hoffa dared not refuse. He obediently handed it over.
She examined it from all angles, even peering down the barrel. As she admired it, she murmured, "Muggle weapons… interesting."
Then, with a sigh, she lamented, "It's a fine weapon. Too bad its owner isn't worthy of it anymore."
With that, she hoisted the hunting rifle and began walking toward the trio.
Her slender figure seemed insignificant, but as she moved through the dim slaughterhouse, the overhead lights cast deep shadows around her. Coupled with the lingering smoke, she looked like a feline predator prowling through the twilight.
As she advanced, fear surged uncontrollably in the three men's hearts. Realizing that their judgment was at hand, they turned and bolted for the exit.
But the short man—the fastest among them—was shot down before he could escape.
Bang!
A deafening gunshot rang out.
The short man's body jerked forward unnaturally, crashing face-first into the door, shattering the glass panel.
Then, like a slug, he slowly slid down, leaving behind a trail of crimson.
"Hahaha~"
The girl laughed in delight, as thrilled as a hunter savoring a fresh kill.
Hoffa, standing a short distance away, felt a chill run down his spine at the sound of her laughter. His palms began to sweat.
"One bullet left," she announced, smoke curling from the rifle barrel. "Let's see if either of you dares to run."
The remaining two men didn't dare move. They stood rooted to the spot, trembling. The tall man had even wet himself, his eyes rolling back as if he might faint at any moment.
She pressed the barrel against his mouth. "The organs you've been harvesting here… where are they being sent?"
The tall man trembled like a leaf, his voice breaking as he stammered, "I—I'm just a worker… I… I don't know anything…"
"Oh?"
She shifted the barrel to Peak's lips. "You seem like the boss here. Why don't you tell me?"
Sweat poured down Peak's face, but he still shakily pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with unsteady hands. He forced a smile. "Of course—they're sent to the top hospitals. Half go to Europe, half to America. You know how high the demand is over there."
"Oh?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Must be making a fortune."
Peak exhaled a puff of smoke and grinned. "It's just business—simple supply and demand. These soldiers were going to die anyway. We're just maximizing their value, letting them help more people even in death. We're creating jobs, boosting the economy…"
"So what you're saying is—you're a philanthropist?"
The girl clicked her tongue in mock admiration. "How noble of you."
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I'm just a businessman, you understand. But if you let me go, I'd be more than willing to pay any price—dollars, pounds, francs, marks… whatever you want! Any service you need, I can provide!"
The girl's smile faded.
"Really?" she asked.
"Really." Peak nodded confidently.
In response, she pressed the cold, black barrel of the gun against his mouth—knocking the cigarette from his lips.
"Hold it in your mouth," she said seriously.
Pike stared at the gun barrel in shock. "Are you joking?"
The girl, maintaining a solemn expression, simply nodded and repeated, "Hold it in your mouth."
In the distance, Hoffa felt his hands go numb. His head started to ache as well, so he covered his face with his already stiff hands, unable to bear watching.
Seeing how serious the girl was, with not a hint of a joke in her demeanor, Pike swallowed hard. Fear swelled within him, and cold sweat poured down his chin like a waterfall. His body trembled as he shut his eyes in despair. Kneeling by the gun barrel, he slowly opened his mouth.
The moment his stained, smoke-yellowed teeth were exposed, the girl impatiently shoved the barrel into his mouth. She then crouched down, covered one ear with her hand, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!!
A deafening gunshot echoed.
Pike's skull exploded, and a mixture of red and white splattered onto the tall man's face.
Already on the brink of terror, the tall man completely lost his mind. He clutched his face and let out a series of piercing screams.
"Aah!"
"Aah!"
"Aah!"
"Aah!"
"Aah!"
One after another, shrill and frantic, like a frightened prairie dog.
"Shut up!"
The girl stood up, pulled the gun from Pike's mouth, and aimed it at the tall man, pulling the trigger with a sharp click.
But the shotgun was empty. The last two rounds had already been fired. Nothing came out.
Yet, that changed nothing.
The moment the girl pulled the trigger, the tall man went rigid and collapsed backward. As he hit the ground, a stream of greenish-red bile trickled from his mouth and nose. He had been scared to death on the spot.
The girl froze. She walked over and nudged him with her foot, then bent down to check his breathing. Straightening up, she scratched her head.
"Pathetic."
She muttered.
Now that none of the three were left alive, she tossed the shotgun aside, shoved her hands into her pockets, and walked over to Hoffa.
Hoffa swallowed hard, staring at the girl with unease. He had thought of handing these men over to the police or the courts for judgment, but the girl had been decisive—swiftly executing them without hesitation.
"What are you standing around for? Start searching. See if there's a heartstone."
The girl ordered.
Hoffa frowned. "I already told you, it's impossible. You heard him—there's no way for a heart to grow a stone inside it."
The girl scowled. "I said search. Since when do we take a human trafficker's word as truth?"
Hoffa sighed. With no other choice, he began rummaging through the gruesome scene, searching amid the blood and bones. But, just like in the other areas, there was nothing unusual—only flesh and remains.
In the farthest room, however, Hoffa and the girl found a cluttered desk covered in cigarette butts. Several telephones rested on the table, next to a constantly printing telegraph and fax machine. The printer was still spitting out fresh rolls of paper, while older sheets had piled up high on the floor.
Curious, Hoffa picked up one of the rolls and scanned the text.
"North America, New York Harbor—Kidney Mainline.
$79.10."
"Buy more.
$79.11.
Sell short.
$79.13.
Trade up."
The entire page was filled with similar cryptic terms and numbers, line after line, seemingly endless.
"What is this?" Hoffa frowned, staring at the paper.
The girl leaned over and observed for a moment before saying, "I've heard Muggles are obsessed with something—something virtual."
"Huh?" Hoffa looked at her in confusion.
"Stock indexes, futures, things like that."
"And what are those?"
The girl shrugged. "I don't know the specifics. But I imagine it's all the same filth. Let's expose them all together."
Saying this, she led Hoffa back to the three corpses. Without hesitation, she stripped their clothes off in a few swift movements. Then, dipping her finger in the fresh blood, she wrote a line of large English letters across the bodies of the short and tall men:
"Organ Traffickers!"
She then marked them with a large red X.
Next, she turned to Pike's corpse and wrote another phrase:
"Human Flesh Trader."
Again, she marked it with a big red X.
When she finished, she turned to Hoffa.
"Now, before night falls, carry these three outside."
Hoffa hesitated. "Outside?"
"That's right." The girl nodded, hands on her hips. "Hang them at the top of the hospital. Then, open the main doors and light torches—let everyone see!"
Hoffa fell silent. Somewhere deep inside, he heard a faint melody, light and pure, like a hatchling's chirp in the spring or a nightingale's song at dusk.
"Are you afraid?" the girl asked when he didn't respond.
Hoffa met her deep, piercing gaze. Despite the lingering unease and fear in his heart, there was also a faint sense of satisfaction. Justice had been served. These criminals got what they deserved.
"Why wouldn't I?"
He murmured.
Under the night sky, Hoffa followed the girl's instructions. Donning a white executioner's coat, he stuffed the three organ thieves into rubber sacks and wheeled them outside. Across the street, the last embers of a fire flickered, still attracting a crowd. None of them noticed the three corpses now hanging from the Red Cross emblem atop the building.
It wasn't until the fire behind them blazed anew that their attention shifted. Then, screams erupted one after another, waves of panic and morbid curiosity rippling outward. Reporters and bystanders swarmed toward the scene, drawn like sharks catching the scent of blood.
From a distant rooftop, Hoffa watched as the crowd encircled the building, and—oddly—he felt a hint of satisfaction.
He turned to glance at the girl's blood-streaked face. Somehow, the fear he had always felt toward her lessened just a little.
"Do you have anywhere you want to go next?" he asked.
"Why do you ask?" she replied indifferently.
"If you don't have a specific destination, we could go to Yorkshire together," Hoffa suggested.
"Oh?" The girl raised an eyebrow. "That's rare. Why Yorkshire?"
Hoffa patted the pocket where his watch lay and said, "Someone entrusted me with a task before they died."
(End of Chapter)
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