I revived the Demonic Sect in North America

Li Ang squinted and hesitated for a moment.

Thinking of the system's prediction, he had a vague premonition that the black man in the shadows was the black drug dealer who would kill Karen in two days.

The other party may be a vicious lone wolf.

They most likely have firearms or other lethal weapons on hand.

Thinking of this, Li Ang dared not risk going up alone this time, so he said to the others:

"It's okay, there are many of us. We'll go and see together. Everyone be careful and keep your distance."

After Li Ang finished speaking, he gestured for everyone to follow him, while he slowed down and slowly approached the shadows in the corner.

As they drew closer, the human figure in the shadows gradually became clearer in everyone's eyes.

That was an old black man.

The old man was shirtless, leaning against the wall in the corner.

He was sitting on a dirty olive-green military jacket.

The moment they saw the old man clearly, everyone gasped and instinctively took a small step back.

It wasn't because the old man looked too fierce, but because his appearance was truly horrific.

The old black man's bare upper body looked like a piece of parchment that had been roughly crumpled and unfolded.

It was covered with a crisscrossing network of hideous scars.

Some of these scars are thin, long cuts or shrapnel tears, while others are twisted folds left by large-area burns.

The most shocking thing was that there was a noticeable, round, sunken old scar on the old man's left chest near his heart.

The edges of the scar are extremely irregular, like the marks left by a bullet.

Besides being covered in scars, the old man was also so thin that he was almost unrecognizable, making him a sight to behold.

However, in stark contrast to his body covered in wounds was the expression on the old black man's face.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the old man did not show the numbness or pain that is common among homeless people.

His eyes appeared unusually bright and sharp in the dim light of the mouse hole, like two obsidian stones that had been carefully polished for many years.

A faint, kind smile lingered at the corners of his mouth.

His smile made him look less like a dying man and more like an old man sunbathing in his backyard when a neighbor came to visit.

The old Black man's gaze slowly swept over the group of uninvited guests before him, and he spoke first:

"Hey, good afternoon kids, what are you here for? Oh, let me see what's on your T-shirts? Homeless Shelter Project? Wow, that looks cool."

The old man's voice was a little hoarse, but full of energy, with an old-fashioned Black accent, and he spoke in a very relaxed tone.

The students unconsciously relaxed a little.

This was the first person they encountered after entering the rat hole who they could communicate normally with and even joke with.

With interviewees finally available for the fieldwork, everyone was quite excited.

Emily mustered her courage and asked the old man:

"Hello sir, we are a student organization that organizes a homeless shelter project. May we interview you?"

The old man shrugged, the movement aggravating the scars on his chest, causing several wounds to burst open.

But he seemed completely oblivious to the pain, appearing utterly unconcerned, and his kind smile even deepened.

"Of course, pretty young lady, I'd be happy to serve you."

Emily blushed slightly and asked:

"May I ask who you are and why you are here?"

The old black man laughed:

"Who am I? As you can see, child, I'm a homeless old man. As for why I'm here..."

He thought for a moment, then smiled easily:

"Because I can't think of anywhere else I could go."

Emily's face showed sympathy as she continued to ask:

"Excuse me, sir, we meant no offense. On the contrary, we are here to help you."

"Come here to help me?"

The old man raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over the group of high school students with clear yet foolish eyes, and said with a hint of inquiry:

"This place isn't safe... You guys seem pretty brave, not like the average student."

Before Emily could speak, Justin, who had been feeling stifled the whole way, puffed out his chest and interjected with an unconscious sense of superiority:

"Hey sir, you have a good eye. You know, we're from Tribec High School in Manhattan. We're definitely different from the mediocre students in the Bronx."

As Justin spoke, he glanced disdainfully at Li Ang, who was of local Indigenous descent.

When the old man heard Justin say that the group came from Manhattan, a glint flashed in his eyes, but he quickly put on a kind and friendly smile again.

This change was quietly observed by Li Ang, who had been keeping a close eye on him.

The old man deliberately pretended to be candy, nodded and said:

"Oh, so you're from Manhattan, no wonder. Forgive my ignorance, but I imagine Tribec must be a top-tier private school, right?"

Justin, even more smug, said with his nostrils flared:

"Of course. Only those of us who have received the best education have the real ability to help someone like you who is in need of help... well, someone like you who is in dire need."

The old man seemed not to hear the sarcastic remark Justin almost blurted out. He leaned forward slightly and asked with great interest:

"Oh? You really have the ability to help me? And how do you plan to help?"

"Huh? How can I help? Well..."

Justin was speechless when he heard what the old black man said.

He just wanted to come along to get some college experience for his resume; he never thought about any plans to help the homeless.

So he instinctively looked at Emily.

Seeing Justin's pleading look, Emily quickly turned to Li Ang, intending to ask for his opinion.

Li Ang, however, did not intend to step forward. Instead, he quietly nodded slightly to Emily, encouraging her to speak up herself with his eyes.

Emily and Li Ang already had a tacit understanding.

At that moment, he instantly understood Li Ang's meaning, recalling his previous discussion with Li Ang, and said to the old man:

"Hello sir, it's like this, we don't know what we can do right now, so we'd like to conduct an interview with you first to understand the difficulties you're facing and what your needs are. Then, based on our own resources, we can provide you with some assistance within our capabilities, even if it's just something very small."

The old man was visibly taken aback after hearing this.

His smile faded slightly, and his sharp black eyes scrutinized Emily for a few seconds before he slowly nodded, his tone becoming more serious:

"You're a smart young woman. Really. More humane than many politicians and journalists who just shout slogans and take pictures. They never care about what we ordinary people need; they only care about what they want to get from us."

Emily blushed again after hearing this, feeling both excited at being recognized and deeply ashamed.

Just an hour ago, he was the inhuman person this old black man described as someone who only knew how to shout slogans and take pictures.

Thinking of this, Emily trusted Li Ang even more and couldn't help but cast a grateful look at him.

Li Ang met her gaze and immediately gave her an encouraging smile.

Emily was even more encouraged and mustered her courage to continue asking:

"Thank you for your recognition, sir. May I ask about your current predicament? For example, these injuries on your body—were you bullied by someone? Do you need us to help you contact legal aid?"

"Hahaha! I'm being bullied?"

The old man laughed wildly, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world.

The loud laughter echoed incessantly in the empty corridor, sounding somewhat eerie.

"No, no, child, you can rest assured, no one can bully me here."

The old man's words immediately piqued everyone's curiosity.

Justin, who has never been fond of people from the lower classes, bluntly offended them:

"Hey, old man, don't be so stubborn. If you weren't bullied, how did you get all these gruesome wounds?"