Chapter 106 The Order

Metropolis, late at night.

Two beams of golden headlights pierced into the deserted block from the corner of the street, and the black car slowly stopped on the side of a remote road, extinguishing the lights and engine. The door opened, and a middle-aged man wrapped in a black windbreaker jumped out of the car, with his hands in the windbreaker pockets and a black hat on his head, looking quite like an English gentleman.

The man picked an inconspicuous alley on the side of the road and got into it. After a round of twists and turns in the dark alley, he came to a rusted green iron door in a moment. He stretched out his black leather gloved right hand and tapped the door three times, then took a half step back and waited patiently.

A few seconds later, the inside of the iron door was pulled open at eye level, a face hidden in a hood appeared behind the door, and a man's low voice came from the shadow of the brim: " What color is the water in the Angela Sea?"

Boundless question. But the man in the trench coat replied unhurriedly: "Red, as bright red as blood."

The gap on the iron door was immediately closed, and a second later there was the sound of the old rusty lock being pulled open from the inside. The man in the trench coat reached out and pushed the door gently, and the door was opened with a slight creaking, revealing a long, narrow and dark corridor.

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

"They've been waiting for you for a long time, you'd better hurry up," said the hooded man. "I heard that your trial didn't go well, so you may need some luck today."

The man in the trench coat nodded, pulled the brim of his hat, and walked quickly into the dark corridor. The hooded man did not follow, but took the iron gate with his backhand, and continued to stand motionless behind the door, like a loyal door god.

Passing through the ten-meter-long corridor, the man in the trench coat pushed open a devastated wooden door at the end, and an open hall suddenly came into view. There was no window in the entire room, and there was a wooden round table in the center. The only dim light came from five candles placed in a specific arrangement on the table. The candlelight flickered, and the light flashed from time to time from the shadows in the dark corners of the room, like nocturnal animals living in the dark.

"You're late, Glinton Marcus," said the man in the shadow, "and the great 'Centre' would not like this bad habit."

"My sincerest apologies, elder." The man in the trench coat, or in other words, Glinton Marcus bowed in the most devout manner, "but the FBI and the police are staring at me recently, which has caused me some trouble, so There will inevitably be delays."

"That's your own problem." The elder hummed, "Speaking of which, your completion level in this trial is really unsatisfactory. Your designated target is the overpass on 103rd Street, not a university commercial street. And of course, you shouldn't have been noticed by the police or the FBI in the first place, and that would have caused us a lot of unnecessary trouble."

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

Thinker

The man was silent for a while, then bowed slightly: "It will develop like this, all because of some unexpected accidents that I can't expect, but I don't plan to defend myself. My trial has indeed failed, and I am willing to accept 'teaching' Any disciplinary action against me by the regiment and the center."

"That's not too busy." The voice in the shadow softened a little, "Although the trial went wrong, the 'Order' also knows that it was because of some unexpected accident, and we are by no means accidental. Unreasonable. After all, the bomb was detonated in public, which is enough to prove your loyalty to the 'Centre'. So it's not impossible to turn things around..."

When the man said this, he stopped for a long time, his tone suddenly changed, and he scolded: "Who is here? Who did you bring in?"

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

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

"It's me." Mike Marcus walked into the dim candlelight, glanced at several people in the room with unprecedented awe, and finally landed on the man in the middle, "...Dad. "

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

"Please, although our relationship has never been very good, you are my father." Mike said lightly, his tone uncharacteristically calm, "You can hide from the police and the FBI, but you can't hide from me forever. I followed you. It's been a while, and honestly, although I've always thought you were a jerk dad, I never really believed that the bomb was really about you...until now."

Mr. Marcus was silent for a while, his eyelids lowered intentionally or unintentionally, avoiding the direct gaze of 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 to this place, and he already knows too much. Now you can either prove your piety to the 'Order' , so that this kid will never be able to speak unless he wants to be one 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, several figures in the shadows disappeared like ghosts.

Mr. Marcus took off his hood and stared at Mike for a long time. His son has never followed his wishes in anything since he can remember, as if he was born to fight against his father, and he still seems to have the ability to always do bad things at critical moments. 's superpowers - it's as if he'll always be there by accident at the worst time, like now.

"Is that you?" Mike broke the silence and asked directly, "I need to hear from you about that bomb."

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

"So you can make it explode under the bridge?" Mike frowned and said in a rare serious tone. "A lot of people could die."

"It's a small number, compared to the number that will die," said Mr. Marcus calmly. "It's inevitable."

"Inevitable? You know how you sound like a cannon fodder from one of those cults in the movies? You're brainwashed."

Mr. Marcus shook his head: "No, I'm in great shape. I'm doing this for good reason. The Order has helped me see everything, and I've seen the world clearer than ever before. The planet we live on is sick, very sick, and we've brought the only vaccine to it."

"Oh yes? Then who did you hear that? A public service advertisement?"

"No," said Mr. Marcus, with a mixture of solemnity and devotion on his face, "the earth itself told us this. Everything we do is of the earth's own will, and the 'Order' can Listening to the voice of the earth is the equivalent of an elected executive."

Mike couldn't bear it any longer: "Well, to be honest, when I came here to find you, I had so little hope. Now that I think about it, I really feel like I'm hopelessly stupid, and now I'm still trying to reason with a neurotic theory."

He sighed and looked at the man who had become unfamiliar in front of him with a complicated expression: "It's still a bit embarrassing to say, but you know? Although you have always been such a bastard father, even though we have never Agreed on anything, but...I still think of you as my father. And..."

He paused, dipping his fingers into his messy hair.

"...I don't know, but just maybe... Maybe all along, I've wanted your approval."

Mr. Marcus averted his gaze and remained silent. For just this moment, the man may have felt a little bit of guilt and shaken for his words.

"But not anymore," Mike insisted. "It's over, Dad. I'll call the police, call the FBI, whoever can end your crazy group. And then maybe I'll go to a mental hospital for the rest of my life. To visit you, I will ask them to arrange a comfortable single room for you."

"No, child."

Although he already knew that his father had become a madman who was brainwashed by the cult, he saw that Mr. Marcus pulled out a black pistol from under the coarse cloth cloak he wore without saying a word, and pressed it mercilessly at the muzzle of his son's gun. At that moment, he was still stunned for a moment.

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

Mr. Marcus raised his eyelids again, and the eyes that looked at him were like a pool of cold stagnant water: "I don't think you would do that."