Exorcist of the American Nightmares

Experienced individuals often have a plan for every critical moment and every challenge they might face, even before they act.

Old Brown was exactly this kind of person. Even in his seventies, his military habits served him well.

Before he acted, he already knew what he would face after eliminating the three men in front of him, so the moment he took down the third man, he immediately dove behind the sofa.

The plan was simple, but he overestimated himself.

In that instant, Old Brown felt his movements were terribly slow, and he could only try his best to shift his vital points out of the way.

Thud! The first shot from the Russians by the wine rack drilled straight into his shoulder.

Thud! The second shot quickly followed, piercing his back.

"Ugh!"

Old Brown grunted, intense pain striking his senses, nearly causing him to pass out. However, he clenched his teeth and, lying on the sofa, used his last bit of strength to shift his gun's barrel towards the wine rack and fire.

Bang!!!

Aiming for the large target of the enemy's chest to ensure accuracy, he hit his mark.

Thud!!! One of the Russians looked down at his chest, clutching it and collapsing in agony.

"Volk!!!"

The remaining Russian shouted, distracted, but he didn't stop. He continued firing at Old Brown, who was lying on the sofa.

Time was equal, and in that moment, Old Brown also pulled his trigger.

Bang!!!

Bang!!!

Both gunshots almost sounded simultaneously.

The Russian's bullet struck first, viciously burrowing into Old Brown's exposed back.

Thud!!! Blood sprayed, and Old Brown, now pale-faced and covered in sweat, slowly collapsed onto the sofa, barely holding onto his gun.

Meanwhile,

Old Brown's bullet also found its target.

Thud!!! It accurately entered the Russian's chest, right at the heart, blasting a blood hole.

"Ugh!"

The last Russian looked down at his blood-soaked chest, then at Old Brown lying motionless on the sofa, his eyes filled with a strong unwillingness before he slowly fell to the ground.

The room fell into a deadly silence.

After a few seconds, there was movement on the sofa.

"Cough! Cough!"

Breaking through the deadly quiet, Old Brown, knowing the outcome, suddenly opened his eyes, having recovered from the painful shock.

"Cough! Cough! Three left..." Old Brown took a deep breath, ignoring the still bleeding wounds on his back and shoulder, and with great effort, shifted to lie on the sofa, forcibly holding his gun aimed at the door.

He stared intently at the door, awaiting the arrival of the three men. He knew the room couldn't mask the sound of gunshots.

Sure enough, hurried footsteps approached.

"Cough!" Old Brown coughed and kept his eyes fixed on the door. In that moment, his hand became very steady.

"What's going on with these gunshots? Boss, didn't you say we should conduct business properly?"

Accompanied by the sound of voices, Bild and two others burst through the door.

The time it takes for a person to process visual information is indeed very rapid, typically around 200 to 300 milliseconds, but this reaction time also depends on many factors, including individual response speed, cognitive ability, and level of attention.

When processing more complex information, people need more time to react appropriately.

So, when Bild and his two men entered, they had already given Old Brown the advantage to fire first. Seeing and processing the entire room's situation, they had inadvertently given Old Brown the chance to pull the trigger several times.

Bild and his men wore expressions of disbelief. They never expected their own people to be the ones dead. Seeing Old Brown lying on the sofa, gun aimed, they were shocked.

"Bad news!!!"

...

Old Brown seized this instant. Without any hesitation, he fired as quickly as he could.

Bang bang bang bang!!!

Bild, leading the way and just reaching for his gun, was hit by several bullets, his expression full of unwillingness as he fell.

As Bild collapsed, the remaining bullets hit the two men behind him with unstoppable force.

The two had already drawn their guns, but their actions were no match for the speed of bullets.

Before they could aim and pull the trigger at Old Brown, several bullets had already burst through them.

Bang bang bang!!!

Of course, they weren't dead yet. Before falling, they reflexively pulled their triggers.

Unfortunately, their bodies had already changed shape, and their shots missed, hitting the sofa where Old Brown lay.

With a few thuds, the room once again fell into silence, save for a few dying breaths.

"Cough..."

Old Brown, out of bullets, dropped the gun from his hand to the floor.

"Cough..."

As he coughed, blood came from his mouth. Lying on the sofa, he looked into the void with a smile, as if seeing someone.

"Wait for me, my dear, I still have unfinished business..."

With his last breath, Old Brown shakily took out a bloodstained phone from his coat and placed it on the sofa, pressing the speed dial by feel.

He no longer had the strength to hold the phone to his ear.

At that moment,

In a basement warehouse,

York was sorting enchanted bullets into boxes, one by one.

His shelf was filled with boxes of bullets, a veritable small arsenal. A significant portion of York's expenses went into these bullets.

In one word, those who play with guns spend most on bullets.

"Done."

York closed a box and slid it onto the shelf, marking the end of his day, followed by a bath and bed.

Looking at the neatly stacked and categorized boxes of bullets, York nodded in satisfaction and headed upstairs. But before he could step on the first stair, his phone in his pocket rang.

"Who could it be this late?" York took out his phone as he walked.

Seeing the caller ID, York stopped dead in his tracks.

"Old Brown?" The old man's late call gave York a bad feeling. He quickly answered.

Upon answering, he heard Old Brown's voice.

"Father York, sorry, you're the only one I can contact now..."

Listening to the voice coming from the phone, York's face turned extremely grave. He could hear Old Brown's weakness, as if he was gasping for air.

"Mr. Brown, are you alright?"

"Cough! I'm fine..." Old Brown's voice gradually became faint until it disappeared.

"Father, can you come over? There are people here who need help..."

York only heard an address at the end.