Law America, the Devil's Agent

The sky outside the law firm's floor-to-ceiling windows gradually darkened.

Link packed up the case files on his desk, walked out of the law firm, and headed down to the open-air parking lot.

My old Corolla is parked here.

He used the key to open the car door and started the engine.

The engine finally let out a reluctant roar after a long while.

The radio is on FM 90.9, and the Philadelphia Public Radio host is broadcasting tonight's municipal news:

Three more shops in the city center were vandalized, two shootings occurred in North Philadelphia, and the city council is discussing cuts to the police department's budget.

The commonplace reports did not attract Link's attention; he turned the steering wheel and merged into the city's evening traffic.

The destination is Kensington.

It's the most chaotic place in North Philadelphia.

It once boasted a proud industrial base and bustling markets, but now it is nothing but abandoned factories, empty streets, and people abandoned by the world.

Link parked the car in the designated parking area set up by the gang.

If he had parked somewhere else, he might have had to walk to work tomorrow.

He locked the car doors and walked along the sidewalk.

Link was already used to seeing needles and medicines everywhere on the roadside.

He lives on the seventh floor of a dilapidated building. The door lock was pried open last month, and the landlord patched it up with a piece of sheet metal.

He opened the door and pressed the switch on the wall.

The fluorescent lights came on, illuminating the room, which was less than 20 square meters.

A bed and a few simple pieces of furniture.

This is his home in Philadelphia; it's run-down but only costs a thousand dollars.

  

Link took off his coat and hung it on the hanger. He walked to the window and looked out, where the city's night view came into view.

This is Philadelphia, the city of brotherhood, the former capital.

The constitution was drafted here, the Stars and Stripes were born here, and the Liberty Bell rang here.

Independence Hall is just a few blocks away, and millions of tourists make a pilgrimage each year to see the gilded liberties and yellowed covenants.

But Kensington will always be Kensington.

On a street covered in skull graffiti, several people in hoodies were trading something under a streetlamp.

Further away, groups of hunched figures leaned against roadside deck chairs, their fates unknown.

A heaven, a hell.

Linka closed the curtains and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

Staying by the window for too long might be misunderstood by gang members; some of them, if they're high on drugs, might just pull out a gun and shoot.

He loosened his tie and lay down on the bed. He hadn't rested for a moment since last night, and now he felt extremely tired.

After resting with his eyes closed for a while, Link began to review his day's gains:

A considerable sum of five hundred dollars appeared in my wallet.

Kona's two hundred was her fee for doing the desk work. The other three hundred came from the veteran.

For someone as stingy as him, who usually uses the pro bono legal consultation channel provided by the Soldiers' Association, to take out an extra tip, he must be extremely satisfied with the service.

After counting the banknotes, Link folded them neatly, put his hands behind his head, and began his calculations:

The primary concern is the economic crisis. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loans still loom over him, and each monthly bill feels like a ticking time bomb.

But today's start gave him hope for a turning point.

For every lawsuit he wins, he not only earns commissions and faith points, but also gains an ability in the process.

He felt that this matter had great potential for future development.

Secondly, there's Pennsylvania's concealed carry permit.

He has acquired powerful firearms skills, and he needs a legal license to match those skills.

In America, a country where everyone owns a gun, Link always believed that he had to take the initiative into his own hands.

Moreover, it is perfectly normal for an American lawyer to carry a firearm while handling a case.

The last thing is physical health.

The original owner had been staying up late for a long time, had irregular eating habits, and lacked exercise, resulting in extremely poor physical fitness.

This physical body needs to be modified; the frail Asian physique will cause a lot of trouble.

Lawyers are a profession that values ​​reason, but there are always times when you encounter unreasonable people and places.

"Gurgle—"

As Link was planning his future, his stomach suddenly growled loudly.

Hunger swept over my whole body.

Although there are still some canned goods and prepared dishes in the refrigerator.

But Link rejected those technological and grueling jobs without a second thought, feeling he was simply not up to the task.

We've won a great battle today, so we should treat ourselves.

A few streets to the south have Jamaican-owned barbecue restaurants; the food is good and the prices are reasonable.

Thinking of this, he got up, took off his suit jacket, put on a worn-out hoodie, and went out.

The night wind carried the stench of urine from the street vendors as Link cautiously made his way towards the barbecue restaurant.

Looking at the fairly lively crowd on the street, he suddenly remembered something else.

It's the weekend, and I've offered my suggestions. I wonder what the situation is like with my clients right now.

……

Under the same night sky, in Southwest Philadelphia.

A car slowly pulled into the driveway in front of a detached house with a pale yellow exterior.

Allison Caterro and Rebecca carried large shopping bags from the car, all containing items from high-end supermarkets.

These are the supplies they prepared for a wonderful weekend.

The two of them pushed and shoved their way into the porch, just like any couple who had just returned from a date.

"Thump—"

Once the door was closed, Rebecca couldn't wait to pull Alison into her arms and give her a hug.

Allison laughed and leaned back, the shopping bag hitting the door frame with a rustling sound.

The things in their hands had long since been thrown aside.

The living room lights were off, but they already knew every inch of the house intimately…

In the darkness, their kiss seemed to forget everything, relying solely on instinct to remove the shackles one by one.

In the heat of passion, they were completely oblivious to the dim light streaming through the slightly ajar door of the master bedroom at the end of the corridor.

Rebecca's lips brushed against Alison's earlobe as she groped her way to push open the door.

Then they both froze at the doorway, the scene before them one they would never forget:

The bedside lamp was on.

The dim light shone on the naked body on the bed:

Daniel lay on his side, one hand supporting his head, the other intently controlling his desires.

His gaze was fixed intently on the large photograph facing the headboard:

That's his and her wedding photo.

It was springtime, on the steps of the Evangelical Church in Lancaster County.

Allison in a white wedding dress, and Daniel in a Marine Corps uniform.

"OH MY GOD!"

Alison screamed and quickly put her clothes on.

The sound was so sharp it almost tore the bedroom roof apart.

Rebecca was so surprised by this scene that she took a step back and bumped into the door frame.

"FUCK! What are you doing?!"

Daniel did not stop his piston-like movements.

He simply turned his head to look at the doorway, his expression calm and even showing a smile.

"Oh, you're back?"

An eerie silence fell over the room.

After a while, he let out a low, wistful sigh.

He then wiped his hands with the bed sheet.

The whole process was unhurried, as if they didn't care about the two people at the door at all.

"What are you doing here!"

Allison's voice trembled, whether from anger or disgust, it was hard to tell: "How dare you..."

"This is our house, darling!"

Daniel sat up in bed and said with amusement:

"I shouldn't need to apply in advance to do what I want on my own bed, right?"

Rebecca's face flushed red. She stood in front of her lover and picked up a vase from the side:

"Get the fuck out of here."

Daniel tilted his head to look at her, his expression one of genuine confusion.

"Are you Rebecca, the lead singer of that band?"

I've heard your songs in Kandahar before, but this isn't your territory. Are you sure you want to attack me?

Attacking a veteran, attacking the owner of this house?