Chapter 32: Chapter 25 Talent: Fury, Kill!
After arriving at the cemetery.
Brian didn't rush to fulfill his obsession.
First, he went to the tombstone of his unmarried mother, Emmaline Keller, placed a bouquet of flowers, and then sat down. Against the bleak evening wind, he recounted Alli being adopted, Andres dying a violent death, suffering retribution...
Actually, he knew.
In this world, there was no such thing as retribution.
If he hadn't intervened,
The worst outcome for Andres would have been only to go to prison, to work on a sewing machine, to pick up soap, and he might even have found joy in that existence—getting medical care when sick, free psychological counseling if feeling aggrieved, and often enjoying those "humanitarian care gifts" and letters sent by the fools outside...
This was truly ironic.
After pouring out his heart.
Brian exhaled a long sigh of relief, feeling much more comfortable inside.
Having spent a lot of time at the Forensic Bureau,
he had seen too much of the diversity of human nature.
There were those who, for the sake of insurance fraud, engineered accidents to kill their own sons and daughters.
There were hypocrites who locked up their mothers, wives, and daughters for others to indulge in, earning drug money.
...
Regarding such matters,
Brian's heart had long been numb.
Even so,
he was still moved by the fate of Emmaline Keller.
Good people,
Should not have to endure such fates!
And those bad people,
Did not deserve to receive humanitarian care!
Brian clenched his fists, his mind uncontrollably recalling the pleasure of inserting a screwdriver into Andres's neck that day.
He seemed to have found the real cure for his psychological ailment!
...
The silver moon hung high above.
After sitting idly for a long time, Brian saw that the cemetery was now completely empty, then moved to the adjacent grave and silently unzipped his trousers...
Shortly after,
A distinctive warm current flowed into both of Brian's kidneys.
At the same time,
A moment of enlightenment hit him.
This time, after fulfilling the obsession, the gift he received was a kind of passive talent: Fury!
"Fury?"
Brian was somewhat puzzled.
He understood passive talents,
But what was Fury?
Extreme anger, a burst of rage?
Looking at the night raven on the dry branches of the cemetery trees watching him, surrounded by the many somber tombstones,
Brian thought it over but ultimately didn't dare to experiment in this unsafe place.
He would wait until he got back.
..
After leaving the cemetery,
Brian got into his car, inserted the key, turned on the headlights, illuminating the dim surroundings.
He was just about to start the car to return,
When a handgun, Silent, stretched out from the back seat, pressing against his head!
"My wallet's at my chest, I'll close my eyes, won't see your face clearly..."
Brian raised his hands obediently from his heart, motionless, indicating that he had no intention of resisting or posing a threat.
Click~
A cold sensation passed from his raised hands.
By the time Brian realized what was happening, his hands had already been cuffed with silver handcuffs.
"Get out of the car."
The gun at his head was withdrawn.
A deep voice came from behind him.
Brian glanced at his waist but eventually chose not to fight back and obediently positioned himself beneath the car.
With his enhanced sense of smell activated, it would severely impact his daily life, and the mental toll was significant; he usually kept it off and hadn't expected to be targeted today.
In the light escaping from the car,
Brian could also make out the attacker's appearance.
The person was a tall, white middle-aged man dressed in a suit, with a badge representing the LAPD on his right collar.
This kind of attire was typically exclusive to plainclothes detectives.
This guy was from the Detective Bureau!
Moreover, Brian felt the man looked familiar but couldn't remember where he had seen him before.
"Pal, is this some kind of misunderstanding? I am..."
He attempted to throw out his NW member status for self-protection.
But before Brian could finish speaking,
The next moment,
The white detective threw a hook punch that landed heavily on Brian's stomach, causing his mouth to gape open as he tried to scream but was in too much pain to even breathe. He doubled over, half-kneeling on the ground, powerless to resist.
The white detective took advantage of the situation to lay Brian on the ground, skillfully searching him, dumping items like the gun and ID he had just received all over the place, making sure Brian had no way to counterattack, before lifting him from the ground and throwing him onto the vacant space in front of the car.
He secured his handgun, took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, took a deep drag, and then, exhaling smoke, said in a deep voice, "Mr. Brian, it's a pleasure to see you again. Now you can tell me how you killed Andres."
"Cough, cough~"
Brian struggled to stand.
He spat out a mouthful of saliva, looking at the man in confusion, "I have no idea what you're talking about; furthermore, have we met before?"
The white detective shook his head, threw another hook punch, and knocked Brian to the ground again, "Andres's body was the one I brought to the Forensic Bureau. I was following behind your colleague at the time."
"Cough, cough~"
This time Brian spat out a streak of blood.
He struggled to rise from the ground, looking at the white detective as if he were insane, "Just because I came to visit the poor victim, you think I'm the killer who murdered Andres?"
"Keep pretending," the white detective said, looking at Brian as if he were a clown, "After eight o'clock here, no one shows up except for the drunken Tomb Guardian. We have plenty of time to talk tonight."
Looking at the man under the car lights, surrounded by smoke and with an unclear face,
Brian showed an expression of helplessness and anger, "I just received a message from a colleague, feeling sorry for that tragic mother's fate, that's why I came here. Also, I don't know what you're talking about; Tom didn't tell me that Andres was the killer and that he committed suicide out of guilt."
"I don't understand why you people are so stubborn."
The white detective flicked away his cigarette butt, picked up Brian's temporary NW member card from the ground, patted it, and said smilingly, "Do you know what your mistake was?"
Listening to the man's assertive tone,
Brian stopped speaking and silently bowed his head.
But the white detective seemed to enjoy the process.
He continued,
"Andres died too cleanly.
The killer's method was professional, the fatal blow quick, accurate, and ruthless.
This shows that the killer is very familiar with human anatomy, that's your first mistake!
The second mistake is that you acted too quickly.
Andres had just killed his wife and neighbor, and then was found dead in a hotel.
He was a loner with no friends, drunk and unkempt that night, and late at night, apart from you, your colleague Tom, and the patrol officer on duty, no one else knew the situation Andres was in."
"Tsk, tsk," the white detective dropped Brian's credentials back at his feet, "A forensic assistant with a sense of justice, a keen case-solving nose, hating evil as your enemy, and beating the police to kill the murderer... What a bloodthirsty forensic story.
Too bad, you ran into..."
"Are you done?"
A deep, hoarse voice came from beneath Brian's lowered head.
The white detective paused.
What?
He instinctively looked towards Brian's position, only to meet a pair of bloodshot eyes.
A chill ran through him.
The next moment,
Dust flew off the ground.
A shadowy figure appeared in front of the white detective in an instant, hands raised high like axes, and came smashing down with a howling sound.
With a crisp snap,
The white detective, weighing over one hundred eighty pounds, twisted his head and fell to the ground, eyes wide open, his body collapsing weakly.
Brian, breathing heavily, looked at the detective's eyes that would no longer close and revealed a ferocious smile, "Now that you're done, you can die!"
The man was right.
There was no one around.
He had plenty of time to dispose of the body.