Exorcist of the American Nightmares

"Why..."

Combining all the information about Old Brown, York still couldn't figure it out. He could only think that something might have happened on the day they met, as Old Brown had emerged from a building that wasn't his home.

Based on Old Brown's principles, he would avoid trouble whenever possible and certainly wouldn't initiate any actions unless something serious had happened.

Recalling Old Brown's tone, York pocketed the envelope and walked out.

He lacked crucial information but respected Old Brown's decision.

"Cough..."

Walking slowly, Old Brown glanced back at the old church, his face calm as he tucked his hands into his pockets and walked in a certain direction.

Because of his chronic emphysema, he couldn't do vigorous activities. Any strenuous movement would make him breathless and feel suffocated. This chronic condition could lead to fainting or even death if severe.

"Cough."

Old Brown coughed again, feeling short of breath, but his steps remained determined and slow.

After a long time, Old Brown reached his destination.

"..."

"Ha ha!!!"

"Look at him!!!"

"..."

Again, those voices. Old Brown's gaze remained undisturbed. The area, lacking surveillance cameras and being a blind spot, had become a den for those scum.

Old Brown stopped and looked towards the source of the voices, encountering the same group of scum extorting a passing couple, laughing maniacally as if afflicted with hysteria.

"She's your girlfriend, huh? Pretty."

"Don't be scared! Just pay a toll, and we'll let you pass."

"You wouldn't want to see anything unpleasant happen, right?"

"..."

Thinking of something, Old Brown's breath became rapid again. He subtly moved to the right, entering a building through a side door without drawing attention.

Inside, he found a two-bedroom, one-living room, one-bathroom layout, but it was in disarray, littered with bottles, cans, and junk food. The furniture was dilapidated, with a mound of frozen feces on the sofa and graffiti-covered walls.

This was just one day's change.

Old Brown pursed his lips, stepping over the trash on the floor and heading into one of the rooms, peering inside.

The room was filthy, littered with trash, and the bed was stained. But amidst the chaos lay a set of discarded tools.

He knew what these tools were for: drug use. Clearly, this place had become a drug den for those scum.

This was probably why they targeted his old friend and comrade-in-arms.

Old Brown's gaze hardened. He walked to a broken window, pulled the torn curtain to hide his silhouette, and watched the brazen scum, his expression calm.

Compared to his own living space, his lonely friend's home, the house he stood in, faced the drainage where those scum congregated.

As Old Brown watched, his vision shifted to that morning when he encountered Father York while leaving his friend's house.

"..."

"Brown, I'm scared."

Hearing his friend's words, Old Brown looked puzzled but understood his meaning.

"I've always been scared, Brown. They put dog feces in my mailbox, once even hitting my face. Some nights, they'd break my windows. They call me... well, you know those unpleasant words..."

Finally, he saw his friend pull out a bayonet, speaking earnestly.

"I can't take it anymore."

"..."

Old Brown had advised him to call the police, only to hear, "I've called the police countless times, Brown. You know it's useless."

"..."

That morning, after convincing his friend not to do anything drastic, they parted ways. However, his friend died that night, beaten severely, with stab wounds in his chest and abdomen.

Since he died in the drainage, those scum were detained by the police but released hours later due to lack of evidence.

Who would care about a lonely old man? Apart from him, no one cared, including the police.

"Cough."

Thinking of this, Old Brown coughed, his gaze unwavering as he watched the scum still harassing passersby.

As a retired military officer who had seen real combat, patience was something he had in abundance.

He waited for what seemed like an eternity. As the sun set, he noticed the scum at the drain's mouth starting to disperse.

One of the thinner young men, after bumping fists and chest-bumping with the others, walked towards Old Brown's location alone.

"The time has come."

Old Brown silently drew a pistol from his coat, checking the silencer attached to the barrel.

If York were here, he could identify the gun's model and specifications.

The Sig Sauer P365-380, with a magazine capacity determined by the magazine, either ten or twelve rounds, featured quick trigger reset for rapid firing and minimal recoil.

These features made the P365 manageable even in the hands of the elderly or women, meaning it was well-suited for someone Old Brown's age.

"Cough."

Old Brown coughed to ensure the gun was ready, watching the scum disappear into the alley and then moved towards the door.

Upon opening the door, Old Brown saw the separated scum, Willie, enter the building.

As their paths crossed in the narrow alley, Willie, surprised, raised an eyebrow.

"Old man, don't you know this is my territory? Get lost!"

But Old Brown had already raised his gun, his old age belied by his swift action. He could only surprise the young with such tactics.

Willie was startled, reaching for his waistband too late.

Unfortunately for Willie, the brave prevail in a narrow path. Old Brown had the upper hand, aiming and firing. Though silenced, the gunshot was still audible.

With a bang, Old Brown's first shot hit Willie's right hand.

"Hmph!" Willie grimaced as his hand was forced aside.

In that instant, Old Brown aimed again and fired.

Bang, the second shot hit Willie's chest.

"You!!! You!!!"

Willie, in disbelief, stared at the old man before collapsing forward, clutching his chest.

He had no idea why this damned old man wanted to kill him!

As he fell, Old Brown fired again.

Bang, the third shot accurately hit Willie's forehead, killing him instantly.

Thud!

As the body hit the hard ground, Old Brown, expression unchanging, watched the corpse bleed out, then put the gun away and donned gloves, unconcerned about passersby.

After sealing the deed, he gently closed the door and approached the body, although unsure who exactly killed his friend. If they were from the drainage, they were accomplices, all guilty.

Old Brown stood over the body for a few seconds before bending down with some effort to turn it over.

Despite the gory wounds, Old Brown searched the body, finding a Colt M1911 pistol, a small bag of white powder, a wallet, and miscellaneous items, all blood-stained.

He then took out a common plastic shopping bag from his pocket and dumped everything inside.

"Cough... The first one..."

Old Brown glanced at the shocked face on the corpse, then, carrying the bag, walked towards the exit, his demeanor that of a passerby...