Chapter 152 Funeral

February 27th.

Budapest, the capital of Hungary.

A cemetery in the suburbs.

A small funeral is being held here, with only a dozen or so people dressed in black suits coming to pay their respects.

The subordinates had dug a pit beforehand and then put the body in—well, Sergio was already a pulp when he was brought in, completely unrecognizable. It's not impossible that it was deliberately damaged, but they couldn't say anything, so they put him in anyway.

The group stood there, wondering if they should say something to the leader. Generally, in movies, people say something at funerals, or shed a few symbolic tears and cry for a while.

This kind of work was not something these C-level members used to do, but given Sergio's sudden death in South Africa and the parliament's indifference, his cronies had to organize it in private—after all, they were all on the same page.

The suffocating silence lasted for more than ten seconds. The leader decided to fill the blank space in the speech, so he cleared his throat and said, "Actually... it's not so bad to die. It's like being free from suffering... Damn, thinking about it, this idiot has never suffered, right?"

The man was wearing a rented suit and was extremely thin, as if he was doing a fat-squeezing weight loss exercise every day—it must be said that he did a good job in this regard, although the overall effect was mediocre. However, he felt good about himself, and every day he would sculpt his body and then take a lot of hallucinogenic drugs, which was a double stress relief.

People who are into art like to play with things that ordinary people don't understand, and shamelessly believe that they represent trends and the evolution of thinking.

Thinking of this, he looked at the words engraved on the tombstone again—the content was roughly that a hero who gave his life for the future of mankind was buried here. He was so kind, gentle and upright, and spent his whole life on the road of protecting life or eliminating evil. He was a great benefactor.

Hamilton nearly fainted on the spot. Was this really Sergio? Anyone who didn't know better would think he was God's illegitimate son, doing good deeds until his death? It's absurd, bro.

"What idiot made this tombstone? It's awful."

He hissed in his cigarette and complained to his subordinates. Sergio wasn't religious, and if that dimwitted brain of his had even a little more reverence, he wouldn't have ended up like this. Although he didn't care about any mystical things like God, Jesus, or reincarnation, look, this is karma.

"Okay, respect the dead. Such a hasty funeral—held in such a garbage city—if he knew, he would definitely kill your whole family, or fuck your relatives until they screamed in hell."

The person in charge of the funeral arrangements originally intended to hand it over to a professional funeral company, but considering that this bastard still had a few close friends in the alliance, he symbolically chose the best cemetery in the area and simply handed over the body recovery process to them.

Hamilton thought this was a good idea, to prevent the hearse from being hijacked by his former enemies along the way. Those people might keep the box of paste in the freezer and shake some every morning to make a drink as a form of revenge.

Ah... the funeral. He felt a tightness in his chest. How could there be such a torturous life, such an unbearable situation?

Then the subordinates started singing—it was agreed beforehand that there had to be some ceremony.

It wasn't a piece of music for mourning at all; it was from a newly released album by a popular band—Hamilton thought Sergio would definitely like it, full of classical music style, which he sang several times a day—the lyrics were about a protagonist who had committed numerous evil deeds throughout his life, disappeared during a gang conflict, and whose family and friends eventually only found his body. This man's life had no highlights worth praising from beginning to end, and he knew this all along, yet he still chose to sink into depravity.

The band was very niche, but he was moved by the extremely similar despair when he first heard it, and it almost became the case that whenever he heard someone die, he would think of this song.

He sang a few lines along, only to find that his singing skills were as bad as ever.

Okay, fuck your classic stuff. Hamilton figured someone must have wanted to laugh, but held back because of his authority. He didn't know if Sergio's ghost could hear him, but he'd probably be quite pleased with the comical sight of everyone singing together in front of his tombstone.

When the song ended, he told his subordinates to get a bottle of Hennessy, unscrewed the cap, and poured it onto the box. Then he threw a few rows of cigars and model photos from his briefcase, lit them with a lighter, and gave them to the other person.

“Alright.” He stared at the burning scene for a long time, then said, “As you can see, the unfortunate guy buried here is Sergio. He came from Albania—one of the worst slums in all of Europe. I don’t know who his parents were, or if they ever loved him. I’m guessing they never did. After all, this idiot was a born devil, indifferent to the lives of others and his own future. But people like him are the ones who have the means to survive in Eoubs’ circle.”

"In the eyes of the powerful and wealthy, it is just a decent-tasting dessert and a reasonably usable knife. In the long run, it will become a consumable."

Someone coughed, feeling that it wasn't appropriate to say this now. Who knows if those observers are watching us? Dude, you'd better watch out.

When Hamilton got emotional, he spat into the pit.

“I wouldn’t say I hate him, but I certainly don’t like him either. I bet nobody likes this guy.” He continued, with an expression that suggested he was criticizing a bad movie. “He’s pretty good. If he had come back alive, he would definitely have been promoted to B05. This guy has wanted to join the council his whole life. Even though I’ve said he has no chance, he just won’t give up. He’s always craving something boring and flashy… People are usually like that before they die.”

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