America? No, it's the warp!

Footsteps sounded from inside the door.

The sound of a person's footsteps.

"She's alone? That makes things easier."

A few seconds later, a crack appeared in the door, and half a familiar face peered through the gap.

Not much has changed compared to what I remember.

Esme asked warily:

"Who should I look for?"

Logan's face had changed so drastically that even Jonathan Shawn, who had only seen him a few hours earlier, didn't recognize him, let alone his ex-wife whom he hadn't seen for a year.

"Esme, it's been a long time. I'm not looking for anyone, I just want to go home."

There was too much information, and Esme couldn't believe it for a moment. She stared intently at the face, trying hard to recall, and then realized that the man in front of her looked exactly like her husband from four years ago.

No, it should be said that he has become the same as he was four years ago.

But after recalling everything, she faced another problem:

The same problem as a year ago.

Who should we choose?

Is it her current boyfriend, or her husband outside the door?

After much deliberation, she made the same choice.

After all, the person outside the door was just a homeless man, and a mentally ill one at that.

"You can leave now, you're not welcome here."

Her tone was icy, devoid of any warmth, and before she could finish speaking, she was about to close the door.

Logan braced himself against the door with one hand, speaking bluntly:

"Are you kidding me? This house is mine. I can call the police anytime I want to kick you and your lover out."

He had wanted to do this for a long time, but the problem was that he had to prove he was the homeowner, Logan.

However, he had no identification documents.

If Bicth knew this, or if he couldn't get his ID today, he would immediately go to the police and report that someone was illegally occupying his residence.

When the police can't find the homeowner, things will get interesting.

"What exactly do you want? There are no feelings left between us."

Esme stopped pushing the door open, as if she were talking to a suitor.

"It seems she didn't realize I don't have any identification documents, which makes things easier."

"Stop being so narcissistic! I told you I just wanted to go home."

As the stalemate continued, another voice rang out from inside the room:

"Is this your incompetent husband? Let him in."

It was a rough voice.

Esme suddenly felt confident and stopped making things difficult, and then opened the door wide.

Logan went inside and immediately began searching for the source of the sound.

He's a black guy.

He was sitting at the head of the table, eating lunch.

He had an unfriendly face and a strong physique, but not the kind of dead muscle like George's; it seemed to be the result of combat training combined with a moderate amount of aerobic exercise.

The muscles in the calves are particularly well-developed, clearly indicating frequent running and exercise.

Logan was also observing the furnishings inside the room.

The first thing you see when you enter is a picture frame hanging above the sofa in the living room.

Inside is his wedding photo with Esme.

Several photos of the two were also displayed in other parts of the living room.

"That's strange. It's like they're deliberately creating the illusion that we're still very much in love."

"Who is this for?"

"But one thing is certain: we are clearly not divorced."

Another notable feature of the interior:

It's blue.

Blue sofa covers, blue tablecloth, blue curtains.

The black man even had a blue paisley scarf wrapped around his head.

"The crippled gang is a bit tricky, but not a big problem."

Logan didn't greet anyone and went straight to the head of the table.

"Double enhancement of blood and energy, double enhancement of muscles, and an emergency [heat wave]."

"At this distance, I can stab him in the neck with a knife before he pulls out his gun."

"Esme, please give me lunch."

He really intended to eat here.

"No wonder he's a homeless man, he asked for food without saying a word. Esme's cooking must taste better than rotten apples from the trash can."

The black man grinned lewdly. If he didn't need to show his ID, he would have punched him right now.

"It's so-so. What kind of delicious food can you expect from something made for chimpanzees?"

"Besides, I think rotten apples are pretty good too; they're tastier than a police bullet."

"I heard that a couple of days ago, the 'Crippled Gang' robbed a leaf specialty store, and one of them was arrested by the police yesterday."

"Do you think he wants to eat a bullet or a rotten apple?"

Logan poured himself a glass of water and drank it down in one gulp with a smile.

The black man in front of him was like a speechless chimpanzee, bombarded with words and unable to retaliate.

But at the same time, they dared not make a move, for who knows how the other side knew that one of their underlings had just been arrested?

A member of the police? Or some figure from the underworld?

How could the news arrive so quickly?

I only received the news this morning.

Just when things were getting tense, Esme, who was carrying a lunch, came to the rescue.

Logan took the plate and started eating immediately.

He devoured the pan-fried salmon fillet in a few bites, then ate the accompanying mashed potatoes with a spoon, and commented:

"Not as good as British food."

After a moment of silence, Esme finally couldn't help but break the silence:

"What exactly do you want? You're not just here for lunch, are you?"

"Look at you, always in such a hurry."

Logan ate the sweet mashed potatoes without any hurry.

"You're always in such a hurry. Just like a year ago, when we weren't even divorced yet, you already found someone new."

"I remember he used to be a pretty boy, how come he's turned into a dark-skinned guy now?"

"Is it because he's well-endowed and skilled in bed?"

"If you had just said you were so thirsty, I would have bought you two gun machines."

After another round of input, Esme no longer dared to look him in the eye.

Because everything they said is correct.

Although most Americans are not moral, the courts will speak for them, the juries will speak for them, so they will mostly act as if they care about morality.

For example, this bitch didn't feel ashamed when she cheated.

What's the point of erecting a memorial archway now?

Logan felt one serving wasn't enough, so he went to the kitchen, which connects to the living room, and made another one.

No one spoke throughout the entire process.

At the dinner table, the incompetent wife and her incompetent lover looked at each other helplessly.

When Logan returned to the table, the black man forced a smile and said:

"Brother, do you know I'm part of the Crippled Gang?"

"Of course I know, the room has more blue than the American flag."

Logan cut into the fish fillet on his plate. "But so what? You think you'd survive a bullet to the head?"

I'm not a coward!

The black man exchanged another glance with Esme, frowned, and reached for his waist with both hands.

Esme stopped her, picked up a photo of the couple from the side, and kept pointing at the photo while whispering:

"He can't move, otherwise how will he collect his money?"

The black man sighed, sat back down at the table, and started gnawing on the fish fillet again.

Logan didn't hear their whispers, but he noticed their movements and guessed what they were talking about.

"They have reasons why they can't touch me."

"And what can make them do this is only real monetary gain."

He had an idea and decided to test the waters.

"My purpose today is simple: I found a job, and I need my veteran's certificate to prove my veteran status in order to receive more benefits."

"That thing should be with you, right?"

Esme's reply was quick:

"No!"

"No... I mean, your veterans can't be found..."

Logan stared at her face and noticed the lies and unease in her micro-expressions.

Just as I suspected.

"It's not that I didn't receive any of my discharge benefits; it's that this bitch somehow took them away."