I revived the Demonic Sect in North America

Emily blinked, not quite understanding at first, and asked in confusion:

"Small business?"

Elmer flashed a bright smile, gave the students a knowing look, beckoned them closer, and whispered:

"Yes, kids, your poor old man Elmer is covered in injuries and can't do much work. He can only do a little business, selling painkillers and relaxation gadgets. You know, in this great country of America, a lot of people need these. Of course, I can also make a little money on the side."

Everyone immediately understood.

Isn't this just a reinforcing agent?

Everyone involuntarily recalled the cardboard package that the old black man, Elmer, had dropped on the ground earlier.

Inside were small packets of white powder.

Li Ang's heart skipped a beat. He was basically certain that the old black man, Elmer, was the black drug dealer who was about to kill Officer Karen two days later.

However, he outwardly pretended to be a devoted fanboy, seemingly agreeing with Elmer's statement.

Emily, who was standing close to Li Ang, was an innocent girl who couldn't hide her feelings, and her face turned pale in an instant.

Her large blue eyes were filled with disbelief as she asked in surprise:

"Mr. Jackson, are you saying you're dealing drugs?"

"Hey! You can't just say things like that, little girl!"

A fierce glint flashed in Elmer's eyes, then he shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and said:

"Um, I mean, don't put it so harshly, kid. You should put it another way. For example, there's a book in Japan called 'The Miracles of the Namiya General Store,' and I'm like the Namiya General Store in a mouse hole, specializing in selling good things that help people temporarily forget their pain."

Emily still insisted:

"Isn't that still selling drugs, Mr. Jackson? That's illegal!"

"So what? What can be done?"

Elmer's smile vanished, and his voice turned somber.

He suppressed his anger and said resentfully:

"You think I don't know drug trafficking is illegal? You think I want to get involved in this stuff? But besides selling drugs, what else can I do with all these injuries?"

Emily was somewhat intimidated by Elmer's imposing presence, but she still stubbornly insisted:

"Mr. Jackson, we will report your situation truthfully to the relevant departments. We believe they will soon provide you with assistance and arrange a suitable volunteer position for you. You must trust the government and pull yourself together!"

"Relevant departments? Kid, are you talking about those fat pig bureaucrats at the Department of Veterans Affairs, sitting in air-conditioned offices in Washington, doing nothing all day but sucking the blood of soldiers and drawing salaries without working?"

"Mr. Jackson, how can you speak so critically of the staff of the relevant departments?!"

"Criticism? Oh no, young lady, I'm just stating the facts! Why do you think I, a decorated sergeant major, would end up in this rat hole?"

Elmer's sudden outburst startled everyone.

While everyone was tense and apprehensive, they couldn't help but be curious about Elmer's ordeal.

In the high-pressure environment at the scene, no one dared to speak up and provoke the black old man whose temperament had changed drastically.

Fortunately, Elmer had been holding back his grievances for years, and now that he had finally vented, he cleared up everyone's doubts:

"When I was young, I was full of passion and fought for the Federation in the Vietnam War, leaving me with many wounds. After I was discharged from the army, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Every night I dream of the cries of my fallen comrades on the battlefield, and I can't sleep all night long."

As he spoke, Elmer nervously pulled down his pants, leaving only a pair of gray underwear with a tear.

More gruesome scars were revealed on his lower body.

He pressed his finger hard against the most obvious dented bullet hole-like wound on his chest, and said viciously:

"Look! Look closely! This is all the blood I gave for this country! And what did I get? When I came back as a half-dead cripple after my discharge, those fat bureaucrats said I had died on the battlefield and demanded I prove I was who I am! Oh! How ridiculous! My medals, my scars, none of them can prove my identity. They actually used such a stupid reason to embezzle the subsidies that were rightfully mine!"

This impassioned accusation immediately stunned everyone.

Emily said tremblingly:

"Mr. Jackson, perhaps I can help you apply for the reinstatement of your status..."

Elmer curled his lip in disdain and said sarcastically:

"Oh, so should I kneel down and thank you properly, kind Manhattan lady? Do you think I'm illiterate and can't write a letter myself? In fact, I've written no less than twenty applications, but all I ever get is the same old bullshit reply from the Department of Veterans Affairs: 'Processing your application, please wait patiently,' without exception!"

Emily choked for a moment, then asked again, unwilling to give up:

"Mr. Jackson, perhaps the city government and community can offer you some assistance?"

Elmer was even angrier upon hearing this, and immediately roared:

"The community? The city government? Oh, of course! They certainly helped me! They sent the police to clean up this rat hole, kicked me out like trash, and greedily confiscated my only bedding and the little bit of life-saving medicine I had painstakingly saved up!"

Thanks to them, my only place to live will be completely shut down next week! I will be homeless again! I swear, if I ever see another police officer or government worker, I will kill them!

Li Ang felt a chill run down his spine once again.

The students were all silent.

Even the most saintly Emily eventually ran out of words.

Elmer's anger did not subside; his chest heaved violently, and the hideous scars on his body writhed like venomous snakes in the dim light of the rat hole.

"Little girl, what else do you have to say? You want me to cheer up? But what do I have to cheer up with? My rotten bones that ache terribly on rainy days? The wailing that buzzes in my head at night? Or your nonsensical pleas for help?"

Provoked by Elmer's words, Emily finally broke down, tears welling up in her eyes, and she choked out:

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson, I didn't know..."

"Don't know? Of course you don't know! How would you little brats who live in fancy Manhattan apartments, drink Starbucks, and sleep around with everyone know!"

Elmer's eyes were fixed on Emily, yet it was as if he were looking through her at something else entirely.

"It was me! Carrying fifty pounds of tattered gear, I fought a three-year guerrilla war against those elusive Vietnamese in the muddy leeches of North Vietnam! It was me! My chest was ripped open by shrapnel from a Vietnamese RPG grenade, blood gushing out like a broken faucet! It was me! My back was covered in Vietnamese napalm, my flesh sizzling as it burned, I was almost turned into a roasted pork chop!"