"Why..."
Father York considered Old Brown's entire situation but still couldn't understand it. He could only surmise that something might have happened on the day they met, because the building Old Brown had emerged from wasn't his own house.
Given Old Brown's principles, he would always avoid trouble if possible and never proactively do anything unless something truly serious had occurred.
Recalling Old Brown's tone, Father York put the envelope away and walked out.
He lacked crucial information, but he also respected Old Brown's choices.
"Cough..."
Old Brown, with his white hair, walked slowly, glancing back at the old church. His face was calm, his hands in his pockets, as he headed in a certain direction.
Due to his chronic emphysema, he couldn't engage in strenuous activities. Any intense movement would cause him difficulty breathing, a feeling of chest tightness, and suffocation. In severe cases, this chronic illness could lead to fainting and death.
"Cough."
Old Brown coughed again, starting to feel short of breath, but his steps remained firm and unwavering, continuing at the same slow pace.
After a long time, Old Brown finally reached his destination.
"..."
"Haha!!!"
"Look at him!!!"
"..."
It was those voices again. Old Brown's eyes showed no ripples, as the sewer entrance and this area had no surveillance cameras, making it a blind spot and thus a base for those people.
Old Brown stopped and looked towards the source of the sound. It was still that group of scumbags, extorting a passing couple, laughing and joking throughout, like hyperactive lunatics.
"Is she your girlfriend? So pretty."
"Don't be scared! Just hand over some money for a toll."
"You wouldn't want to see things you don't want to happen, right?"
"..."
Thinking of something, Old Brown's breathing quickened again. He instinctively clutched his chest and, without attracting attention, walked towards the path on the right, finally entering the house on the right through a small door beside the path.
He walked inside, opened the inner door, and stepped in.
Inside was a layout of two bedrooms, a living room, and a bathroom, but it was already a mess, strewn with bottles, cans, and junk food. The furniture was dilapidated, and there was a frozen lump of feces and urine on the sofa. The walls were covered in messy graffiti.
This was only after one day.
Old Brown pursed his lips, stepping over the trash on the floor, and walked towards the inner room, just standing at the doorway for a glance.
Inside, the room was extremely dirty and cluttered, with trash everywhere and the bedsheets stained. Yet, in the middle, sets of discarded tools remained.
He knew what these tools were—drug paraphernalia. Clearly, this place had become a drug den for that gang of scumbags.
This was probably also why that gang of scumbags had targeted his old friend and comrade-in-arms.
Old Brown's eyes grew colder. He slowly walked to the broken window, pulled the tattered curtain to obscure himself, and watched the arrogant scumbags, his gaze calm.
Compared to where he lived, his lonely old friend's place, the house beneath his feet, faced this sewer directly.
As Old Brown watched, the scene in his mind shifted to that morning when he emerged from his old friend's house and happened to encounter Father York.
"..."
"Brown, I'm scared."
Hearing his old friend's words, he looked at him, somewhat stunned, but understood what he meant.
"I've always been scared, Brown. They put dog feces in my mailbox, and once they threw it in my face. One night they smashed my window. They called me... uh, you know those ugly words..."
Finally, he saw his old friend pull out a bayonet from his in my arms and said earnestly,
"I can't take it anymore."
"..."
He had tried to persuade him, and urged his old friend to call the police, but only received one reply.
"I've called the police countless times, Brown, you know it's useless."
"..."
That morning, after his persuasion, his old friend promised not to do anything, but after they parted ways that day, his old friend died that very night, covered in bruises, the cause of death being several stab wounds to the chest and abdomen.
Because he died in the sewer in front, the scumbags who frequented the area were also arrested by the police, but without evidence, they were released after only a few hours of detention.
Who would care about a lonely Old Man? Besides him, no one else would care, including the police... "Cough."
Thinking of this, Old Brown coughed, staring at the scumbags still bullying passersby, his eyes unwavering.
As a retired officer who had participated in real wars, the one thing he didn't lack was patience.
After an unknown amount of time, Old Brown glanced at the sky. The sun had set without him realizing it, and he also saw the scumbags at the sewer entrance beginning to disperse, each going their own way.
Among them, a lean young man exchanged fist bumps and chest taps with another group before separating from them, walking alone towards Old Brown's direction.
"The time has come."
Old Brown silently pulled a pistol from his pocket and checked the suppressor on the muzzle.
If Father York were here, he could tell him the model and specifications of this pistol.
It was a Sig Sauer P365-380, with a magazine capacity of ten or twelve rounds, a quick trigger reset suitable for rapid firing, and low recoil.
These features made the P365 easy to control even in the hands of the elderly or women.
In other words, this pistol was perfectly suited for someone of Old Brown's age.
"Cough."
Old Brown coughed, confirming the pistol was in order. He watched the scumbag, who had already disappeared into the alley, and began to move towards the door.
At the door, Old Brown could already hear footsteps outside. He simply opened the door.
As the door swung open, Old Brown saw Willie, who had separated from his group, just entering the building.
At the same time, Willie, who had entered the building, also saw Old Brown opening the door. He raised an eyebrow, a little surprised.
The two met in the narrow corridor.
Looking at the Old Man, who was just staring at him, unmoving, Willie frowned deeply.
"Old Man, don't you know this is my territory? Get lost!"
However, Old Brown had already quickly raised his gun. Though old, his speed was not slow. He was old, and could only deal with young people in such an unexpected way.
Willie's heart skipped a beat. Although he didn't know what was wrong with this Old Man, his right hand quickly fumbled for his waistband.
Unfortunately, in a narrow encounter, the brave win. Old Brown had already gained the upper hand, aiming his gun and pulling the trigger directly. Although there was a suppressor, the gunshot was muffled but still audible.
With a bang, Old Brown's first shot hit Willie's right hand.
"Hmph!" Willie cried out in pain, his right hand knocked to the side.
In that instant, Old Brown's muzzle had already shifted. His face calm, he pulled the trigger again.
With a second bang, this second shot hit Willie in the chest.
"You!!! You!!!"
Willie was somewhat disbelieving, staring intently at the Old Man in front of him, clutching his chest as his body went limp and he fell forward.
He had no idea why this damned Old Man wanted to kill him!!!
However, just as he fell to the ground, Old Brown pulled the trigger again.
With a bang, the third shot accurately hit Willie's forehead, killing him instantly.
Pfft!!!!
Flesh met the hard ground, producing a dull thud.
Having shot one person, Old Brown's face was utterly calm. He merely looked at the corpse lying in a pool of blood, put the pistol back into his pocket, then put his hands into both pockets, slowly putting on a pair of gloves, completely unafraid of anyone passing by.
After this step, he reached back, grasped the doorknob, and gently closed the door, then slowly walked towards the corpse.
Although he didn't know who had killed his old friend, anyone from the sewer was an accomplice to the murderer, one of the killers.
Old Brown stood before the corpse for a few seconds, then bent down with some effort and began to move the body, turning him over.
Blood continuously flowed from the bullet holes in the corpse's forehead and chest, but Old Brown didn't mind at all, his hands constantly searching various parts of the body.
Before long, he found a Colt M1911 pistol, a small bag of white substance, a wallet, and some miscellaneous items.
These items were already stained with blood. Old Brown continued to pull a black plastic bag from his pocket—a common plastic bag used for groceries. He simply tossed all the items into it.
"Cough... The first one..."
Old Brown looked intently at the still shocked face on the corpse. He rose with effort, carrying the plastic bag, and slowly walked towards the exit, his entire demeanor like that of a passing Old Man...