American Variety: Scientific Exorcism

"It's already 22 o'clock. What's the name of that live broadcast account? This time should be the time of the live broadcast..."

While the cleaners were still cleaning up, Yorks took advantage of his free time to start dealing with unfinished business.

It’s nothing, just confirming the exorcism live broadcast.

He originally wanted to deal with this matter when he returned to the church, but the ensuing gun battle interrupted his rhythm.

Yorkist clicked on the live broadcast site with familiarity and searched for the exorcism live broadcast room number.

The gunfight that just happened is at best a trivial matter and spice in life that is not worth mentioning.

Supernatural events are what really matters to him.

No matter how I watched the exorcism live broadcast, I felt that there would be big problems in the future.

Especially when he knew that "Satan" was looking for him, he would always think of this exorcism live broadcast from time to time.

This is a whim feeling, and Yorkers usually takes this feeling seriously.

For people like him, whims can never be explained by illusory feelings or simple physiological reactions. The probability of accuracy is frighteningly high.

Recalling the string of numbers, Yorks quickly found the exorcism live broadcast room.

What makes him happy is that this live broadcast room is already blocked.

"Well done."

Regarding the mysterious affairs in the church, Lord York rarely praised him in his heart.

I'm afraid those in the church also feel the risk.

At this time, the cleaning work seemed to have come to an end, and those sturdy men had already walked out with various cleaning tools.

"Father York, all the cleaning has been done." The old man Charlie, who had been staying away, appeared in front of him, holding a black fisherman's hat on his chest.

"Would you like to check first?"

Yorks put away his phone, glanced at the burly men getting on the bus one after another, and nodded.

"good."

You must check, the 500,000 cannot be wasted, but once inside, Yorks realized the value of the word "professional" even more.

What is called professional? This is professional.

Under the cleaning and arrangement of those scavengers, the doorway was restored to its original state. Not only that, the corpses and blood in the main building hall, including some indescribable fragments, bullet casings, firearms and even wooden fragments connected to the benches, had disappeared. There is no trace.

The important thing is that they also restored the messy benches to their original positions, making them clean and neat. If the half-rotten benches were removed, there would be no sign of a gunfight.

After looking around, for the first time, Yorks had the illusion that the five hundred thousand dollars was worth spending, and he could even get one million dollars.

Thinking of those ten burly men with calm faces but extremely nimble movements, Yorks silently gave them a five-star rating.

"You're a pretty good janitor, Charlie."

Old man Charlie rarely showed a smile, "As long as you are satisfied,"

As he said that, the old man Charlie glanced secretly at the priest who made him change his original impression, and then said cautiously.

"Then, let's go back first? Father."

Hearing this, Yorkshire withdrew his inspection gaze,

"Well, I'll give it to you."

The venue moved outside again.

The old man Charlie sat in the passenger seat facing him, still holding the fisherman's hat on his chest and lowering his head in salute.

"Good night, Father Yorkist."

"Good night, Charlie."

Yorks nodded and watched the two cleaning trucks leave, then turned around and entered the church with his SHAK-12 in hand, preparing to pray before going back.

Praying in the morning announced the beginning of the day, and praying in the evening naturally concluded it. Only in this way could the day be considered complete and he could close the door and go back to rest.

Put the SHAK-12 in your hand back where it belongs, turn off the dazzling overhead lights, and light the white candles that are about to burn down to the bottom to increase the atmosphere.

Yorks glanced at the statue of Jesus who seemed to be listening quietly, and then at the hall illuminated only by candlelight. He just sat on the front bench and prayed with his fists in his hands.

Nothing else. At most, he was telling what happened today and repenting about what happened just now, so as to make the altar in the hall see blood. After just a few words, he still didn't hear the reward sound, and Yorks felt a little regretful.

Sometimes, praying every morning and evening can actually trigger some random rewards, but there is a high probability that they will not be available tonight.

Looking at the statue of Jesus, which had always remained unchanged, Yorks breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to get up and call it a day and go home.

But for some reason, there were a lot of things going on tonight, and another heavy footsteps sounded in his ears.

Yorks subconsciously stopped moving and looked at the door.

"John?"

Everyone has their own walking habits, and by extension, the sound of their footsteps is naturally different.

And this kind of heavy and strange light footsteps could only be heard by Yohan, the God of Death, with his figure.

Sure enough, a heavy-looking man appeared at the door.

Wearing a black suit, he has flowing black hair and an unkempt beard. His face is rough but clear-cut. He exudes a firm and calm temperament, and his eyes are deep and focused.

This is not the god of death, John Wick, who avenged my dog's life, who else could it be?

His eyes were calm and he nodded.

"Father Yorks."

When he saw the familiar figure from his previous life, Yorkist showed a rare sincere smile and glanced at his abdomen. Based on the footsteps and the strong smell of gunpowder smoke, he could feel that Yohan might have been injured.

"John! How are you lately?"

"Um."

John Wick nodded, continued to take heavy steps, walked to the bench next to York, sat down, and first made the sign of the cross to the statue of Jesus.

"Father, I'm sorry about what happened here. I've already paid for the cleaning."

York's smile remained unchanged, and he did not intend to investigate why the other party knew about this matter so quickly.

After all, intelligence in the killer world circulates with each other. Not only is the Grizzly Bear Gang tracking Yohan, but Yohan may also be tracking the Grizzly Bear Gang.

It is not difficult to imagine that it was the old man Charlie who most likely told Yohan.

"How much did you pay?"

"500000."

"Okay, that's the agreed price."

"I will compensate for all the losses in the church," John Wick continued without stopping.

"The Grizzly Gang will also be eradicated."

This was said firmly, and Yorks smiled. It was completely consistent with the impression in his mind. The John Wick of this parallel world had a strict, tit-for-tat style.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to do a series of things like repaying my dog’s life.

Thinking of the series of movies he had watched in his previous life, Yorks did not refuse pretentiously, although to him the Grizzly Bear Gang was just a little ant that could be easily crushed to death.

"John, do you need my help?"

John Wick shook his head, looking at the statue of Jesus, his tone was still calm, "Father, if you can, I hope you will not interfere."

After hearing this, Yorks combined with his impressions from his previous life and felt that this seemingly bulky God of Killing might really want to kill him tonight...

"John," Yorks asked again, gesturing to his abdomen.

"Are you sure everything is fine?"

"Um."

John Wick nodded, stood up immediately, and said seriously to the priest in front of him.

"Goodbye, Father Yorks."