"Mr. McKel, that's all there is to it. ”

"Thank you. ”

"Good luck. ”

After coming out of prison, Michael first went to the store to buy a razor and sorted out his image in a modest hotel.

Then he went out into the streets, walked around, and did nothing.

The next day Michael buys a ticket to New York and embarks on his final journey to take revenge.

Michael is a descendant of British immigrants, and in terms of racial rhetoric, he is a true 'Caucasian'. ’

He looked deeply masculine, and when he was in the car, several little girls only shook their heads with a faint smile when they hinted at him.

This only adds to his charm, but Michael doesn't care at all.

His only thought now is revenge, and he will never forget the scene of his wife lying on fire in the street.

The demons in white robes and pointed tricorne hats burned her alive, a nightmare that Michael will never forget.

So after those people found him and put the photos and addresses of the people who participated that night in front of Michael Keil, he knew what he was going to do.

He had waited for this day for too long.

......

......

June 11, New York, isolationism is gaining popularity.

The main leaders of the First Movement Committee gathered in New York's Times Square and shouted slogans such as 'Freedom, Freedom from War, American Independence'.

As people shouted along with the slogans, several gunshots rang out in the square.

In the center of the rally, four spokesmen who stepped on wooden boxes killed two people on the spot, and then the shooter threw away his pistol and sat calmly on the ground waiting for the police to arrive.

The police were not far from him, but the chaotic crowd at the scene made it impossible for the police to get close at all.

It took more than ten minutes for them to finally squeeze into the crowd and point their guns at the 'dangerous' murderer, fully armed.

Michael was arrested on two counts of first-degree murder.

In court, Michael pleaded guilty to his crimes, and when the judge asked him why he did it, a smile appeared on his lips.

"Your Excellency, where is your wife from?, England, France, Germany, Holland, Ireland, or Spain?" said Michael in a mocking tone.

"Mr. McKel, is this question relevant to the question you are trying to answer?" the judge asked in court.

"Yes... Because my wife is from India, does anyone remember the arson murder of his wife in the street eight years ago? ”

When Michael finished speaking, there was a brief dead silence in the courtroom, and then an exclamation suddenly rang out: "Michael Rumba, arson... Oh my!"

Michael Rumba, sentenced to eight years in prison for manslaughter, was his wife, after he put gasoline in his car and inadvertently started a fire.

His wife fled from the car into the street and crawled for dozens of meters before she was completely charred to death, while she still had a 6-month-old baby in her womb.

"Silence, silence..."The judge struck the gavel with all his might, but he could not stop the clamor of the people.

Because the matter involved white people, and it was the largest anti-war group in North America, and it took place in the high-profile Times Square, the trial was public.

Present were not only government officials, parliamentarians, members of anti-war groups, but also ace teams of major newspapers and magazines.

"Mr. Tanrumba, is there any connection between these two things?"

"Mr. Tanrumba, are you saying that the verdict was wrong?"

"Mr. Tanrumba, is there a secret here?"

"Mr. Tanrumba, are you avenging your wife and children?"

"Sir... Are you saying that it was a white man who killed your wife?"

Such a straightforward question is simply provoking a new round of social contradictions, which idiot is this, does he want to provoke the confrontation of the whole society?

The corners of his mouth twitched back when everyone turned their eyes to the questioner and saw the Los Angeles Times badge hanging on his chest.

The riot at the scene forced the judge to declare an 'adjournment,' but the name Michael Rumba appeared again in the major newspapers.

The next day, Time magazine made a rare black-and-white photo of the cover.

The cover shows a black figure with raging flames all over it, and the title is "Who's the Murderer".

In the courtroom room, a gloomy man sat in front of Michael and said in a threatening tone: "I think you know your situation very well, you killed someone, no one can save you, but your words and deeds are likely to cause other trouble." ”

Seeing that Tan Rumba didn't speak, the other party leaned over and lowered his head and whispered, "Even if you don't think about yourself, you should think more about your family, they are already old." ”

Bang.

The door was suddenly pushed open, and a smiling Saliev Gandolbar in a straight suit and a briefcase stood in the doorway.

"I am a senior counsel at Mahathir Mohamad's law firm, Sariyev, and from now on, we will provide free legal services to Mr. Tanrumba, if there is any problem, please let me know first. ”

Salev put his business card on the table and looked at each other with a smile on his face.

"It's not something you can do to meddle, you need to figure out who you're fighting against. The other man slapped the table and stood up.

"With whom, the president?" said Salev, saliev smiled nonchalantly, and the four assistants behind him also walked in, and the small room was full of people.

"Write down the gentleman's words, 'We should figure out who we're fighting against,' is that what you say?" asked Saleev, looking at his assistant.

"That's right. The assistant smiled funny and shrugged his shoulders to record.

"Damn. Seeing his performance, the visitor was angry and wanted to jump to his feet, and as soon as he reached out his hand, he grabbed Sariyev's collar.

"Wow," he said, holding on to himself, Sariyev raised his hands and looked out the door, where a camera was pointed inside.

"Shoot clearly, especially the face, by the way, give him a close-up. Saliyev smiled wryly.

After waiting for a long time, the other party didn't make a move, but his face turned blue and white for a while, and he couldn't help but ask very boredly, "Excuse me, hurry up, okay?" My hands are about to sore. ”

"You'll regret it. Viciously loosened his collar, pushed away the camera at the door, and strode away quickly.

"What a blessing... I thought I was going to the dentist today!" Sariyev patted his folded collar and sat down indifferently across from Michael Christopher.

"Mr. Tanrumba, now let's think about how we can make them pay. Saliyev smiled meaningfully.

Dealing with those boring business cases every day has made him not excited for a long time, and I hope this case will make him find it interesting.