American Evil God, starting with the American rebel leader raising poisonous insects.

A month of calm and tranquility has passed.

The sheriff's office and the police department remained baffled as to the redneck's whereabouts.

He did not appear in the wealthy neighborhoods, and even if someone saw him in other poor neighborhoods, they would not call the police.

They cared more about their own lives than the reward money offered in the bounty notice.

Don't forget Luigi.

The informant's reward was nowhere in sight, and he was even killed by people in the community.

But today's sheriffs and police officers don't have time for that.

Today is Sheriff election day.

Although it had been pre-arranged, they still had to provide the most important security for the esteemed Calvin Kirdy.

Today is the third day, and the lecture will be held in the lobby of the YMCA Casino.

It's a place frequented by veterans and some local older white men.

Although these people were not on good terms with the Gildi family, they were still considered the family's private soldiers.

Winning votes and providing welfare can also make them remember the good deeds of the Gildy family.

The main reason is to praise Calvin Kildee, since he's the current manager and is actually going to work here.

There were a few people standing in the hall.

Most of them were men in work clothes or old military uniforms, aged forty and above.

There was a smell in the air that was a mixture of tobacco and aged beer.

The podium was a temporary structure.

A huge American flag was hanging behind him.

Calvin Kirdie stood behind the podium and adjusted the height of the microphone.

He was wearing a light blue shirt today, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his muscular forearms.

With one button undone at the collar, it looks casual and approachable.

"Ahem, folks."

He spoke, his voice amplified through the speakers.

"I am Calvin Kirdy, a veteran who served ten years in the military..."

He did serve in the military, in the National Guard, doing clerical work.

But it is not important.

"...Tonight I stand here not as a politician, but as a brother who once carried a gun just like you."

The veterans in the audience grinned.

Calvin continued.

He mentioned community safety, increased police budget, and advocating for more benefits for veterans.

Pause after each paragraph to allow applause to start naturally.

Everything is going smooth.

He subconsciously looked up and glanced at the corridor on the second floor.

There should have been security personnel watching that area.

Then he caught a glimpse of something else.

A drone, about the size of a palm, hovered high up on the side of the hall.

The camera was pointed directly at him.

Calvin paused for a moment.

He did not arrange for drone filming.

The publicity team said that only two local newspapers came today, and they were both from their own side.

How could this be...?

boom!

A gunshot suddenly rang out.

Calvin Kildee felt a burning sensation in his throat, followed by a cold, stinging pain.

And then, that was it; he added flowers to his neck.

It's a good thing he wasn't named Kirk, or he would have become a saint.

The scarlet splattered on the tablecloth of the podium, quickly spreading into a dark red.

He fell backward and crashed heavily to the ground.

The crowd scattered instantly.

A figure stood motionless in the crowd.

He was wearing a brown leather jacket and work pants, and carrying a short-barreled rifle.

The rifle muzzle was still emitting smoke.

It's Carl Jensen.

He turned around, raising his rifle to point at the security personnel on either side of the podium who had just drawn their guns.

boom!boom!

Two gunshots rang out.

The invincible Gundam helmet has blossomed.

The other four officers were scattered on both sides of the hall.

They drew their guns, but Jason's rifle moved first.

boom! boom! boom!

Three shots rang out, and three police officers fell.

They were all shot in the head.

The last officer was too slow; he had just put his hand on his gun holster when he stopped.

He spread his arms out and raised them, shielding everyone in front of him.

Other officers made the same choice.

They stepped back, disappearing into the agitated crowd, and removed their police badges from their chests, stuffing them into their pockets.

Since no shots were fired at the beginning, let's pretend we never came today.

Jason didn't look at them.

He walked up to the podium.

Calvin Kirdie was still lying on the ground, twitching slightly as blood continued to gush out.

Jason crouched down and drew his military knife from his waist.

The blade was pressed against Calvin's forehead, and he slashed down forcefully.

Horizontal, vertical.

A cross-shaped incision, deep enough to reach the skull.

Sheathed the knife, knelt on one knee, clasped his hands in front of his chest, and the cross pendant slid out from his right hand, hanging on the back of his hand.

"Lord,"

He said in a low voice.

"He has atoned for his sins."

The hall quieted down a bit.

The bolder veterans gathered around again, but this time they all carried one or two weapons.

At the same time, they all took out their phones with great interest to record the beautiful moments of life.

Jason moved; he stood up and bent over.

One hand grabbed Calvin by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

He then turned to face the crowd.

He pulled a stack of documents from his pocket.

The edges of the paper were stained with blood.

"My name is Carl Jensen."

The voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the hall could hear it clearly.

"This is my daughter, Erica Jensen. She attends Michigan State University."

He held up a photograph.

That photo was taken during Erica's spring outing; she's smiling brightly.

"Thirty-eight days ago, I received a report of her being covered in needle marks, along with a death report from a party."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the crowd.

"But..."

Jason continued, his tone subdued and calm.

"The Lord gave me divine revelation."

He opened the file, pulled out a sheet, and held it up.

That was a medical record.

In the upper left corner was a photo of a young man, and in the center of the page were several lines of handwritten notes, one of which was circled: "Liver, high match".

"She has been selected as part of Jenny Kildy's human data for the drug."

He threw the documents into the crowd.

The paper scatters in the air and is caught by a white man in the front row.

The man glanced down, his pupils contracting.

"Isn't that Stephen's son?"

He murmured, his voice carrying through the deathly silence.

Jason pulled out a few more documents, holding them up one by one and then throwing them down.

"Toby Miller, kidney."

"Mark Rodriguez, heart."

……

With each name read aloud, a piece of paper would fall to the ground.

The crowd began to stir.

The whispers blended into a muffled hum.

Fellow countrymen.

Jason raised his voice, cutting through the noise.

"I will avenge my daughter, I will carry out the Lord's will and sacrifice the Gildi family to the Lord."

He threw the Gundam on the ground, where it landed with a dull thud.

"I will punish all those who ride roughshod over us and treat our children like mere commodities."

Jensen spoke slowly and deliberately.

"All of them were offered as a sacrifice."

He raised his right hand, the back of his hand facing outwards.

The cross-shaped scar between the palm and the back of the hand was clearly visible under the light.

The scar began to burn, the temperature rose rapidly, and a dark red light shone through the skin, like a red-hot iron branding.

A surge of heat coursed through my body.

The muscles tensed, and the bones made a faint cracking sound.

His vision suddenly became clear; he could see the pores on every face and hear the beating of every heart.

A certain boundary has been crossed.

As the power increased, some things changed.

Courage is stirring.

A thin, almost invisible, dark red mist enveloped him, then drifted outwards, touching the nearest crowd.

A veteran blinked.

His hands, which had been trembling with sadness, stopped.

He looked at Jason, at the cross scar, and suddenly felt something in his chest ignite.

It was something he had long forgotten, something he had long suppressed: anger and courage.

May the Lord bless me.

Jason said.

As soon as the words fell, the first response rang out from the crowd:

May the Lord bless you.

Then came the second, and the third.

The voices changed from whispers to chanting in unison, from scattered sounds to a unified chorus.

Their gazes towards Jason changed.

The sadness and fear faded, replaced by a suppressed calm.

The sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance.

Jason lowered his hand.

The halo receded, but the resonance still trembled in the air.

He glanced at the crowd, then turned and walked toward the side door.

The crowd automatically parted to make way for a passage.

No one spoke; they just watched him leave.

He walked out of the hall and disappeared into the night.

The sirens grew closer, and red and blue lights streaked across the street.

In the lobby, people began to bend down and pick up the documents from the floor.

One, two, three.

They carefully folded the papers and tucked them into their pockets or arms.

No one discussed it, no one spoke loudly.

They simply collected in silence and left in silence.

Kaven Kirdy's Gundam lay on the podium, blood still seeping from the cross-shaped mark on its forehead.