The Demon’s Menu

Chapter 537: Those Fathers!

Apple City, the McPherson household.

As a moderately successful businessman, the McPhersons had long entered the middle class, and as a husband and father, McPherson prided himself on improving the life of his wife and daughter through his hard work.

For over a decade, it had been like this, until three months ago...

His daughter went missing!

A trip to Cherry City had resulted in the disappearance of his daughter.

McPherson reported to the police immediately and rushed to Cherry City.

But, to no avail.

Even after three months, there was still no word from his daughter.

This left McPherson in despair.

Because he knew his wife was even more desperate than he was.

At this time, he was her support.

If he also showed despair, then the entire family would be ruined.

So, every day he encouraged his wife.

Only when no one else could see would he reveal his sadness and regret.

Why?

Why couldn’t he have accompanied his daughter?

Why did he have to be so busy?

Every bout of self-blame pierced McPherson to the heart.

Today was no exception.

While it was still dark, McPherson quietly left the bedroom and entered his study, sitting there with a numb brain and unfocused eyes.

Only when sunlight began to shine on him and the nanny started busily preparing breakfast did he come to his senses.

Slap, slap.

Raising his hand, McPherson gently patted his face, dispelling the negative emotions there, and he forced himself to smile.

He was going to see his wife.

And just at that moment—

Beep, beep.

The fax machine started up.

McPherson was startled.

After his daughter’s disappearance, he had passed on his company affairs to his deputy and devoted himself entirely to finding his daughter and accompanying his wife, so the fax machine had not made a sound for a long time. ???????

With some curiosity, McPherson looked at the paper emerging from the fax.

When he saw the content clearly, the smile McPherson had been trying to maintain completely twisted.

Rage filled the face of this husband and father.

"Cherry City?"

"Big shot?"

"Emod?"

McPherson gritted his teeth, his voice squeezing out from between them.

He almost subconsciously picked up the hunting shotgun stored in the cabinet of the study.

He wished he could blow these people away, one by one.

However, the little rationality that remained told him not to be impulsive.

He was too weak on his own.

He needed to unite more people.

And this was not difficult, for after his daughter’s disappearance, McPherson had discovered while searching for her that not only his daughter, but many other girls had gone missing on trips from Apple City to Cherry City.

Naturally, these families had come together.

The more people, the greater the strength.

This was the consensus of everyone.

In these families, there were those who had brought up some terrible suggestions, but many families were unwilling to believe them.

But now?

Looking at the names on the paper, McPherson went straight to the phone.

One must face what needs to be faced, right?

Now, all he hoped was that his daughter and more girls were safe and sound.

As for those people?

He was determined to send those bastards to hell!

He swore!

...

Pineapple City’s Boyka woke up from his drunkenness once again.

Subconsciously, he reached for the bottle.

He didn’t want to be sober; he just wished to remain dead drunk.

Because only then could he forget the pain of losing his daughter.

That was his daughter.

His only daughter.

His only relative.

With his daughter gone, he felt as if his world had collapsed.

Get drunk!

Get drunk!

Being drunk would make one forget everything!

Thinking this, Boyka uncorked the bottle, but just as he was about to tilt his head back and gulp down the liquor, the door was slammed open and a middle-aged man ran in.

"Stop drinking!"

"There’s news about Duda and Kola."

Duda, Boyka’s daughter.

Kola, this middle-aged man’s daughter.

Both had gone missing together a month ago on a trip to Cherry City.

"What?"

"What did you say, old Kola?"

Boyka threw away the bottle and seized his old friend by the arm.

"See for yourself!"

Old Kola handed the fax to Boyka.

Bowing his head and rubbing his bleary eyes, Boyka’s features flushed red quickly and fierceness appeared in his eyes as he read the content.

"Don’t act rashly, we need to contact more people."

"You understand?"

Old Kola urged his old friend.

"Yes, I understand."

"You go contact the others; I need to sober up."

Boyka headed for the bathroom as he spoke.

Watching his friend vigorously wash himself, Old Kola did not hesitate but turned to run outside.

He had to alert more people.

Amidst the sound of retreating footsteps, Boyka lifted his head, looking at his own dispirited reflection in the mirror.

"I’ve let you down again!"

"Sorry, this is the last time!"

Boyka murmured softly as he began shaving his beard and hair with a razor; the filthy pajamas were torn off, revealing an astonishingly fit physique.

Especially on the shoulders, where there was an eight-pointed star tattoo on each.

On the outer side of the deltoid muscle, extending down the arms, were a series of tattoos resembling iron wire coils.

And on the left side of the chest, within a casual circle, there was a dot.

The shoulder’s eight-pointed stars came from an organization he once belonged to.

The iron wire coil tattoos on the outer deltoid muscle extending down the arms represented a past he least wanted to remember—his time in prison.

The tattoo on his chest? Read the latest on

It symbolized the habits and skills he had gained during the prison life he least wanted to recall.

The former represented disdain.

The latter was... a fight Master.

Boyka’s palm covered the tattoo on his chest.

He took deep breaths.

He had once sworn never to use force indiscriminately.

But...

There were always people pushing him!

Why were there always people pushing him!

All he wanted was to live out the rest of his life in peace!

If you shattered my life, then I will return the favor tooth for tooth, eye for eye!

Determined, Boyka’s eyes lit up with a light that seemed almost tangible.

He raised a fist and swung it at the bathroom wall.

Bang!

In the muffled sound, the bathroom wall, covered with tiles, shattered, revealing a hidden package. Boyka grabbed the package, brushed the dust off, and unzipped it.

An old brown jacket, a stained T-shirt and trousers, and... blood-stained boxing wraps.

Boyka picked up the wraps and started winding them around his hands, layer by layer.

The coldness in his eyes intensified.

Like a drawn sword.

The next moment, he put on the T-shirt, trousers, and then the old jacket, and walked straight out.

Wait?

He could not wait any longer.

He wanted to send those bastards to hell with his own hands.

...

Time is supposed to be the best healer.

Not sure who said that.

But to Shelton, that sentiment was bullshit.

With his wife murdered and his daughter missing, time had already turned into poison for Shelton.

With every passing day, the toxicity intensified.

He lived like a zombie, and if it weren’t for the belief that he must find his daughter, he would have ended himself long ago.

And now?

As he looked at the fax in his hands, he cried out.

"Wait for me!"

"I’m coming!"

"Daddy is coming!"

With those words, Shelton entered the basement.

This place had once been his study.

It had once held his interests.

But ever since his wife was murdered and his daughter went missing, the nature of his research project had changed.

It had become dangerous and deadly.

...

Cherry City, Hunter’s residence.

Davide and Hunter had been sending out faxes one after another.

All these faxes were addressed to the parents of missing girls.

They knew very well that by themselves, they couldn’t oppose the big shots of Cherry City, only by rallying more people could they possibly stand a chance against them.

The number of missing girls was in the hundreds, spread across several cities surrounding Cherry City.

From morning till afternoon, it was only then that the two finished their task.

And the fax machine Hunter had just bought was already overheating.

"Is there more?"

Hunter pointed to a list that included fax addresses for major newspapers and TV stations in Cherry City, Apple City, Pineapple City, and others.

Clearly, the young man didn’t trust the media.

Because he had seen far too often the true face of these media outlets.

It was truly nauseating.

"Yeah."

"This issue needs more attention!"

"Otherwise, relying solely on those parents might stir some waves, but ultimately, they will vanish without a trace."

Davide nodded firmly.

It was a desperate measure he thought of.

Though the gathered parents were strong, their enemy was even stronger.

Some necessary support was needed.

Otherwise...

They would still fail!

Davide was well aware of what those big shots would do if driven into a corner.

Just as he knew what they would be facing once those faxes were sent out.

The ears and eyes of the big shots were extraordinary.

Or rather, those who sought to get close to the big shots would definitely tip them off.

About ten minutes?

Five minutes?

Or even shorter, they would become the target of public criticism.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

One by one, the faxes were sent.

Davide took several slices of bread and two cartons of milk from the refrigerator, didn’t heat them up, and shared them with Hunter.

Their time was running out.

After finishing their meal quickly, Davide stored the laptop securely on his person.

Hunter checked the bullets in his handgun.

Then, the two of them walked outside.

They needed to stay hidden for a while, until the final gathering.

Of course, that was the best-case scenario.

In fact, as Davide drove the car out of the street corner—

Bang!

Another car slammed directly into the driver’s side door of Davide’s car, pushing it with full force against the wall to the side.

The airbags burst out instantly.

By the time Davide and Hunter regained their senses, a group of burly men in black suits had already surrounded them and raised their guns.

Davide had a bitter smile on his face.

Although anticipated, these people arrived faster than he had expected.

And they had no intention of talking.

They were there to silence them.

"Sorry."

Davide apologized to his partner once again.

"It’s okay. It was my choice," Hunter shrugged his shoulders.

The two men exchanged a smile.

Then, they drew their guns simultaneously.

Waiting passively for their end was not their style.

Even in death, they would return fire.

Davide and Hunter’s actions were fast, but still not as fast as the black-suited men who had already aimed their guns.

The men were about to pull the trigger, set to turn Davide and Hunter into a honeycomb of bullets.

But someone was even faster—

Bi!