As Glen opened the door, he immediately saw a tall, slightly hunched figure calling out on the neighbor's lawn, holding something in his hands.
The old man turned his head when he heard the door open. Upon seeing Glen, his voice trailed off, as if he wanted to ask something but stopped. He simply showed a sinister smile.
If it had been the original person, Dylan, he would probably have been frightened enough to slam the door shut and lock himself inside.
But Glen wasn't scared. He returned the old man's smile with one of his own, a calm and composed expression.
The old man stiffened, as if wondering why this usually spineless guy was suddenly acting so brave today. He snorted coldly, turned, and walked back into his house, slamming the door behind him.
Hadn't he noticed the dead dog? Glen shifted his gaze from the neighbor back to the spot where the bulldog had died the night before. It was empty now. His expression turned serious.
He took several quick steps to the spot and crouched down. Upon closer inspection, he could still see faint traces of blood, though they had either been wiped away or licked up by something.
So something does roam around here at night... but what exactly? I'll have to investigate later... Glen stood up again and glanced back at the old man's house before heading back inside his own.
He went straight to the storage room and found a wooden stick, something whose original purpose he couldn't tell. He swung it a few times, and it felt comfortable in his hands.
"This will do," he muttered.
Although Glen was confident in his abilities, he didn't intend to take any chances. After all, the old man had a gun.
The big bearded man had left his revolver out in the woods. Glen figured that after robbing the old man, he could go retrieve it. As long as he found some bullets, it would still be useful...
With these thoughts in mind, he left the house.
The town was as quiet as ever. The fog hung thick in the air, something typical of the region. The sun did shine sometimes, but it was a rare sight. Without Glen's memories, someone might think this place was a ghost town, always shrouded in mist.
Glen stepped into his yard, staying alert to his surroundings while thinking through his plan in case of a confrontation.
He jumped lightly over the fence, landing on the old man's lawn. He hid the stick behind his back and approached the front door. He knocked.
Knock, knock.
He waited for a while, but there was no answer.
What's going on? This old guy should be rushing out, ready to beat me up. Glen's eyes flickered, and he knocked again.
"Hey, old man! I need to talk to you, open up! I won't hurt you, I promise!" Glen shouted, his voice slightly mocking. Just a little robbery, nothing serious.
He waited, but there was still no response. He switched to banging on the door, the sound now much louder, but it had no effect.
Is he gone? Glen stopped for a moment, thinking, then said, "Aren't you curious where your dear pet is?"
At that, he heard a clattering sound from inside the house.
Ah, now he's moving. Glen tensed, prepared for whatever would come next, eyes locked on the door.
But he was wrong again.
No movement.
Glen's eyes twitched, and his forehead tightened.
"Fine, then! Don't blame me for breaking in!" he yelled as he took a few steps back and then kicked the door open with a loud bang.
The not-so-sturdy door flew off its hinges, but Glen didn't rush inside. Instead, he quickly darted to the left, just in time to hear the sound of a gunshot.
Bang!
The old man, standing inside with a raised gun, seemed caught off guard by Glen's quick reaction. He froze for a moment but quickly went to chamber another round.
However, Glen had already charged into the house, swinging the wooden stick with lightning speed, aiming for the old man's head.
In a panic, the old man raised the gun to block the blow.
The impact vibrated through his arm, causing him to flinch in surprise.
But before the old man could react further, Glen landed a heavy punch to his stomach, causing him to stumble backward, almost gagging on his last meal.
The old man wildly swung the rifle, trying to hit Glen, but Glen dodged with ease. His previous training kicked in—he knew how to handle a gun-wielding enemy.
Seizing the opportunity, Glen disarmed the old man, grabbing the rifle and kicking him aside.
"Old man, you'd better behave, or..." Glen threatened, eyeing the old man who was slowly getting up.
The old man was about 6'3" tall, with thick arms, clearly a physically imposing figure. But his current state, disheveled and frazzled, made him seem less intimidating.
"Kid, I don't know what's happened to you, but don't get too cocky. Our neighbors don't like noisy residents," the old man rasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
Glen didn't bother answering the old man's question. Instead, he asked, "Where do you keep your food? Tell me, and I might spare you."
The old man froze, surprised by the sudden change in topic. "Wha... what do you mean?"
"What do I mean? I'm here to rob you! Didn't you figure that out? I'm starving, so stop wasting my time, or things will get messy," Glen said with an irritated tone.
The old man's face darkened, but he slowly lifted his hand, pointing to a room inside the house. "It's... it's in the kitchen."
Glen didn't hesitate. He grabbed the rifle and walked straight toward the kitchen, where he immediately began rummaging through cabinets. The sound of food being devoured filled the air.
The old man sat on the floor, unsure of how to react.
What had happened to this kid? He was a completely different person now—stronger, faster, and with a strange aura. Could it be that he was possessed by some kind of spirit?
After eating his fill, Glen finally took a moment to consider his own situation.
He could clearly feel that his body was stronger than the average person's. His punch had been enough to take the old man down with ease—if he hadn't stopped himself, the old man would have stayed on the ground, unable to get back up.
All of the wounds from yesterday had already healed, leaving no trace. That was strange... When had this change occurred? He remembered feeling weak when he first arrived, but now he felt full of power.
Glen clenched his fist, feeling the strength surging through him.
He stopped thinking and walked back to the old man, saying, "Thanks for the meal. Don't feel too bad about it. You used to bully me, right? It's just karma. As for the rifle... I'm taking it with me."
With that, Glen walked out of the house, leaving the old man seething in the doorway.