The church door swung open as several thugs with distinctive dreadlocks pushed their way inside.
Upon seeing the young Jason, the leader—a man called Gold Tooth—paused momentarily, his expression confused. "Where's the old priest?"
Jason glanced at the group and immediately the system informed him that four of the five men were Iron-tier Target.
These guys are trouble!
He shook his head calmly. "Father Julian has departed on a pilgrimage to the Vatican. He'll be away for some time. How can I help you gentlemen?"
Gold Tooth frowned suspiciously. "And who exactly are you?"
"I'm the acting priest. I'll be managing this church for the next three months. And you are...?"
Gold Tooth shook his dreadlocks confidently and stepped closer. "Listen up, rookie. We're the Flame Crips Gang. Didn't the old priest tell you about the church's protection arrangement?"
Jason feigned surprise as an unpleasant realization formed in his mind. He shook his head slowly. "No... he never mentioned anything like that."
Gold Tooth jabbed a finger against Jason's chest. "Then allow me to enlighten you. This neighborhood enjoys its relative peace and quiet only because of the protection provided by the Flame Crips. We charge a reasonable fee for our services. That's fair, isn't it?"
Jason hesitated, wondering how anyone could possibly associate the words "peaceful" and "quiet" with Hell's Kitchen.
He gestured toward the cross hanging behind him. "But I was under the impression that churches are under His protection?"
"You clearly don't understand how things work here," Gold Tooth said with a dismissive wave. "He fights demons, we fight street thugs—we each have our territory. Without the Crips watching over you, even God himself couldn't keep this church standing overnight!"
Jason scratched his head, suddenly remembering the envelope of cash still in his possession.
"So... how much is this monthly 'protection fee'?" he asked tentatively.
"Five thousand dollars," Gold Tooth replied without hesitation.
You old bastard! Jason silently cursed Father Julian. Now I understand why you ran out of here so quickly!
System, are you asleep? Why didn't you identify that con artist priest as prey?
"Um... gentlemen, I really wasn't informed about this arrangement, and I don't have that kind of cash on hand. Perhaps you could return tomorrow... or better yet, the day after tomorrow?" Jason suggested hopefully.
Gold Tooth smiled, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes as he casually drew a pistol from his waistband. "What do you think?"
Jason gritted his teeth. Despite his newly acquired Combat Master skill, taking on five armed gangsters remained extremely risky.
Even if they couldn't shoot accurately, a random bullet could still end his life instantly.
Better play it safe. There will be plenty of time.
He reached for the envelope and produced a forced smile. "You know what? I just remembered I happen to have $1,500 in cash. Please, take it!"
Gold Tooth holstered his weapon with a satisfied smirk and clapped Jason's shoulder carelessly. "That's more like it. Those who cross the Flame Crips never meet a pleasant end! You're smarter than you look, kid."
Jason maintained his smile. "Since you've collected your protection fee, where should I find you if I encounter any... trouble?"
Gold Tooth waved dismissively. "End of the street—Flame Auto Repair Shop. You can't miss it."
"Go with God, gentlemen. May He bless your path," Jason said politely, showing them out.
The five thugs exited the church, laughing among themselves. One of them snickered, "Man, I knew this Asian pushover wouldn't dare resist. My piece was fully loaded—if he'd tried anything, I would've dropped him right there!"
"Yeah," another chimed in. "We should stop by more often..."
A younger gang member added, "Did you see his face? Clearly furious but forcing himself to smile—just like those kung fu movies!"
Behind them, Jason's rage began to boil over.
Your whole family can go to hell!
Damn it. Initially, since you were the only one not tagged as prey by the system, I might have considered sparing you.
But now you're finished—all of you are my prey!
You're fucking dead!
I swear, not even God himself can save you now!
Jason took a deep, calming breath, closed the door, and bid farewell to his "guests" with a final forced smile.
...
The so-called Flame Crips was a minor street gang consisting of barely a dozen members, occupying the lowest rung of the criminal hierarchy.
Without strict organization or leadership structure, they could only perform the most basic criminal activities.
Petty theft, mugging, scams, small-time drug dealing—their membership primarily composed of wayward youth from nearby neighborhoods.
They couldn't compare to established criminal enterprises like the Italian Mafia, the Yakuza, or the various Triads.
Yet they remained dangerous in their own way, precisely because these reckless individuals placed little value on their own lives or others'.
Late that night, five intoxicated figures stumbled out of the auto repair shop.
They had barely gone a few yards when an egg dropped from above, striking Gold Tooth squarely on the head.
He stood frozen in shock. His companions, seeing the yellow yolk dripping down his face, erupted into raucous laughter.
"Shut the hell up!" he snarled, embarrassment quickly turning to anger as he scanned the area for the culprit.
"SPLAT! SPLAT!"
Two more eggs found their marks, splattering three more gang members. They quickly spotted a figure in dark clothing wearing a mask standing at the entrance to an alley across the street.
The mysterious figure calmly raised a middle finger in their direction before disappearing into the darkness.
Fueled by alcohol and rage, the gang members charged across the street without a second thought, rushing blindly into the dark passage.
After a few steps, one of them felt a sudden, sharp pain in his foot and collapsed with a howl.
Another misstepped and plunged his leg into an open sewer grate, crying out in surprise and pain.
A third tripped over an invisible wire, smashing his head against the pavement with enough force to draw blood instantly.
Before the remaining two could even process what was happening, "THWACK! THWACK!"—two precise strikes rendered them unconscious.
From the darkness came a cold, measured voice: "So much for your tough talk!"
Minutes later, an old pickup truck rumbled out of the alley and gradually disappeared into the night.
...
In the backyard garden of Hopewell Sanctuary, under the cold, indifferent moonlight, Jason pulled back the tarpaulin covering the truck bed. Five pairs of terrified eyes immediately fixed on him.
Each man was gagged and tightly bound with rope.
Anyone experienced in killing knows that taking a life is the easy part—the real challenge lies in disposing of the bodies.
Jason surveyed their collective size and compared it to the deep hole he had excavated in the garden that afternoon, realizing with disappointment that he had dug too small a grave.
With a resigned sigh, he picked up the shovel and resumed digging.
In the truck bed, Gold Tooth and his crew watched Jason's methodical work with mounting horror.
Their bodies twisted desperately against their restraints, faces streaked with tears, eyes silently pleading for mercy.
Jason remained unmoved.
After completing his first system task the previous night, he had spent considerable time analyzing several key components of the evaluation:
Upgrade, cause of death, freshness, end-of-life emotion, and sentiment.
He wasn't entirely sure what "Upgrade" entailed—the term itself provided little insight.
But the remaining four elements were easier to interpret.
The cause of death corresponded to freshness, suggesting the system encouraged him to employ varied methods of "punishment" for his prey.
End-of-life emotion corresponded to sentiment. Similarly, the system rewarded him for inducing strong emotional responses in his prey during their final moments—fear being just one possibility.
Now, he was absolutely certain that the sentiment of these particular prey had definitely reached five stars.
Next came the manner of death: buried alive.
He tossed the five men into the deep pit one by one.
The last to go was the gang member whom the system had not yet identified as target.
But Jason understood this didn't necessarily mean he was a good person.
It simply meant he was newer to criminal activity, his sins not yet having accumulated to the threshold level.
Jason patted the young man's face almost gently. "I hadn't originally planned to kill you. But you just had to open your mouth with those insults.
So disrespectful!
Go down there and have a nice chat with whatever deity awaits you. Maybe in your next life, you'll be reborn as someone decent!
Of course, if you manage to reincarnate and come back for revenge in eighteen years, I'll welcome the challenge—if you can find me."
Hearing these words, the young man struggled frantically, but Jason had bound him too thoroughly. Like a worm in mud, he could not escape his impending fate.
All five were now piled in the deep pit. Before beginning the burial, Jason smiled down at Gold Tooth and said, "See? I told you this place is under divine protection, but you insisted on interfering with His business.
Now I have no choice but to send you to meet Him personally, in accordance with His will.
Remember to put in a good word for me, so when my time comes, He'll remember my faithful service!"
"Rustle... rustle..."
Jason had barely shoveled two scoops of dirt when he heard someone knocking at the church door.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
He froze. Had he been discovered?
Impossible!
He stuck the shovel into the ground, quietly made his way to the second floor, and peered cautiously from the balcony.
To his relief, there were no police cars in front of the building—only a tall, lanky figure pounding on the door and wailing: "Open up! Please, Father... open the door..."
Jason considered ignoring him, but if the man continued making such a racket, it would inevitably attract unwanted attention.
After ensuring the men in the pit couldn't escape, he reluctantly answered the front door.
A bearded man reeking of alcohol stumbled forward. Jason tried to hold him steady, but the man convulsed with a loud "HURRGGH!" and vomited spectacularly all over the floor.
Jason momentarily contemplated adding him to the collection in the garden. The pit was already prepared, after all!
Perhaps sensing this murderous intent, the man burst into tears: "Father... my life is in ruins! I can't go home... can't face my wife... Father, can God help someone like me...?"
Jason rolled his eyes in exasperation. What timing! I was just sending some messengers to meet God—should I ask them to deliver your message too?
Or perhaps you'd prefer to deliver it personally?