Life or Justice!!!

As the three left, it was time for the two officers to finish their shift.

In the police station, two officers were packing up their things, getting ready to leave.

"Brown, want to grab a drink later?"

The younger officer, LeBron, asked while packing up.

LeBron was in his late twenties or early thirties. Working in a place like Hell's Kitchen wasn't easy. The criminals and gangs held more power than the police, making LeBron's job full of constant danger. For someone young and full of righteous anger like him, the job here was a daily challenge.

On the other hand, Officer Brown, who had worked in Hell's Kitchen for over a decade, was much more experienced. LeBron often heard stories of Brown's bravery and cleverness in his early days, fighting against the dark forces of Hell's Kitchen. LeBron held a lot of respect for him and would frequently ask for advice.

Brown was now in his mid-fifties. His short hair had grayed, and the wrinkles on his face were more pronounced. Hearing the concerned invitation, he smiled warmly.

"LeBron, I'm an old man now. You should be spending your night with a gorgeous woman, not sitting in a rundown bar, listening to old music from the last century, and figuring out how to comfort an old guy like me."

LeBron chuckled, scratching his head.

"Honestly, that's not really my style. I prefer hearing your stories from the past."

Brown shook his head, slightly helpless.

"There's nothing left to tell, LeBron. Even the best of us get old. The future belongs to your generation."

Seeing that LeBron wasn't backing down, Brown added, "Let me off the hook today. I've got some personal stuff at home to handle, like I said earlier."

"Oh, I see!" LeBron understood and patted his chest. "If you need anything, just let me know!"

"Okay! I will!"

Brown smiled gratefully.

"I better head home now, kid. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow!"

…

Brown's car slowly pulled up to an old building.

It was a dilapidated structure, about as old as Brown himself. In a city like New York, such a building looked completely out of place.

Who would have thought that in this bustling, wealthy city, there could be such a rundown, filthy building?

It was just like when Brown, fresh out of training, never imagined that in the "Big Apple," a place as notorious as Hell's Kitchen could even exist.

Coming from a poor background but with a strong will and firm beliefs, Brown had once been ready to wage war against the dark forces.

When he won his first big case, he was awarded a medal and given this apartment as a reward.

At that time, he naively thought that he would one day eradicate the evil from Hell's Kitchen and rise to the top of the ranks.

But after that, everything changed.

He parked the car and, coughing, made his way into the building.

At fifty-six, Brown's body was riddled with ailments due to a lack of self-care in his younger years.

The building had no elevator, so he had to slowly make his way up the narrow, dimly lit stairs, wheezing as he reached his sixth-floor apartment.

At the door, he fumbled for his keys, inserted them into the lock, and pushed the door open.

"Stephen, is that you?"

A woman's voice called from inside as soon as the door opened.

"Yes, it's me! I'm back. How are you feeling today?"

His fatigue seemed to vanish as he responded, his tone suddenly full of energy.

"I'm feeling fine. Why are you home so late today?"

A woman emerged from the bedroom, wearing pajamas. She was about the same age as Brown, her face pale and her body abnormally overweight.

Brown gave her a gentle smile.

"Are you hungry? What did you eat today? I can make something for you."

The woman shook her head and, with a concerned tone, said, "Don't overwork yourself. You're not young anymore. Let the younger ones handle the hard stuff."

"I know, I know! You should go back and rest."

Brown helped her back to the bedroom and tucked her in.

She sighed. "Don't push yourself too hard. If you keep this up, don't blame me if I stop caring about you."

Brown's face twitched at her words, but he forced a smile. "That'll never happen. You're going to take care of me for the rest of my life."

"I can't... I don't have much time left..."

Her voice gradually softened.

"Don't say such foolish things, Penny." Brown caressed her face. "Everything's going to get better."

"I know... I've always believed in you..."

…

In the living room.

After Penny fell back asleep, Brown quietly got up and went to the living room to smoke.

The ceiling fan whirred overhead, producing a creaky noise that only made Brown more irritable.

One cigarette after another burned out, just like the years of his life.

In front of him was a pile of medication boxes.

They were for Penny's diabetes, most of them already empty.

This cramped, dilapidated apartment without an elevator or air conditioning was supposed to be the starting point of his bright future. But instead, it had become his endpoint.

After getting this place, he continued his brave efforts to fight crime.

But slowly, he realized something was wrong.

The criminals began to anticipate his moves, and he started failing more often. Promotions in the police department passed him by year after year, going instead to those who were adept at kissing up and doing as little as possible.

Then his wife developed diabetes, lost her job, and the medical bills kept piling up.

Years passed in the blink of an eye, and Brown finally understood—Hell's Kitchen wasn't a place for justice.

The residents here were mostly unemployed, illegal immigrants, or fugitives, all connected to crime in one way or another.

If justice were truly served, then everyone in this place would need to be judged.

Including those at the police department.

It wasn't just one or two officers colluding with gangs. Nearly everyone had some form of connection to the criminals.

They took bribes, offered protection, tipped off criminals, and even brazenly frequented illicit establishments.

Brown, unwilling to compromise, was naturally sidelined.

Nobody wanted to see him succeed, which is why, after all these years, he remained just a regular officer, without any close friends.

His closest connection was the young officer who had just arrived. In him, Brown saw a reflection of his younger self.

He wanted to urge the kid to apply for a transfer while it was still early.

But in the end, he didn't say a word.

He could tell that hearing such advice from someone he admired would crush the young man's spirit.

Another cigarette burned out. Brown instinctively reached for the pack, only to find it empty.

And he had no money to buy more.

Medication cost money. Life cost money...

Everything required money.

What mattered more—life or justice?

The question that had plagued Brown for most of his life now seemed to have a different answer tonight.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello..."