Life in North America, you call this an autopsy officer?!
Chapter 267 - 186: Old Hardenn’s Little Story, Jumping Off the Building (April Monthly Ticket Extra 2)

Chapter 267: Chapter 186: Old Hardenn’s Little Story, Jumping Off the Building (April Monthly Ticket Extra 2)

Old Hardenn looked at Brian helplessly, "I’ve signed a confidentiality agreement..."

"NW organization’s confidentiality agreement?"

"FBI’s confidentiality agreement."

Hearing this, Brian rolled his eyes, "Since when do our NW people have to follow the FBI’s confidentiality agreements? Besides, if I tell you, are you going to report me?"

He felt that he had some issues with the FBI, always clashing with them. Now the mere mention of the FBI triggered a stress response.

One day he’d get them!

Seeing this, Old Hardenn had no choice but to explain:

"Well, truthfully, I don’t really want to see that thing again.

The first time I saw it, it must’ve been over thirty years ago.

Back then, I was a young and promising Mounted Policeman with my own family and kids, until I saw those messed-up lines, and my life completely changed... Got a smoke?"

Click~

Brian lit the cigarette for Old Hardenn personally.

It was evident that Old Hardenn’s emotions at the moment weren’t as calm as he appeared on the surface.

His fingers, clutching the cigarette, were trembling slightly:

"That day, we received a tip-off that a wanted serial killer was hiding out on a farm. When we got there, we found the serial killer’s body hanging from a stake with that mark carved on his chest.

The mark resembled a tattoo that had been sprayed on.

From that day, our jurisdiction started to see a lot of bad guys getting killed.

Some were drug lords, others were seemingly ordinary people who were criminals behind the scenes, whether it was prostitutes, bullying kids, or aged scum... No matter what their identity was, several would die each day.

Every time, the dead would be left with these messed-up lines.

Later on, after a lot of investigating and background checks, we found out that the victims had this Curse Pattern tattoo appear on their bodies out of nowhere, and the next day they would die in all sorts of ways.

The situation got pretty big.

It wasn’t until a few gang-affiliated officers were also found murdered in the precinct that the nature of the case completely changed.

This was a challenge to all law enforcement.

But we couldn’t even confirm the identity of the killer.

Ambushing potential victims with similar signs in advance proved useless.

In the end, victims would inexplicably choke on food, drown in their drink, or simply stop breathing during their sleep.

We called this mark the Curse Pattern, which meant that as soon as this pattern appeared near someone, it signified that their life countdown had begun.

Out of options, the FBI eventually got involved."

Brian listened with intense interest, "And then what happened?"

The killer felt somewhat familiar to him, only much more arrogant than himself.

Just hearing Old Hardenn talk about having a family back then...

Brian remembered that Old Hardenn had a son and a daughter and a granddaughter with black rap talent, always boasting about her.

As a colleague, he still hoped that Old Hardenn hadn’t faced any of those tragic events.

Old Hardenn shrugged:

"And then?

There was no ’then.’ Afterward, I don’t know how the FBI handled it, but soon after they got involved, cases like that stopped happening. The killer might have run off to another state, or maybe he was dealt with by the FBI people.

Inside the FBI, there are many Mutants like that.

In any case, all of us officers who had seen the Curse Pattern were required to sign very serious confidentiality agreements.

If this case hadn’t been so baffling and so much time hadn’t passed, I probably would have forgotten about the pattern already."

Seeing Old Hardenn naturally conclude there was no further event, Brian felt his fists harden, "Since nothing happened to you, why did you start off by saying you had a family and all, then react so exaggeratedly, shaking hands and all? I almost thought you’d encountered some misfortune!!!"

He was starting to regret his own probing, thinking he had stirred up tragic memories for Old Hardenn.

Old Hardenn exhaled a puff of smoke, proud of having played a trick on Brian, "Doesn’t that make for a better story atmosphere? As for my hand, I’ve been gaming a lot recently, got some cramps. Ah, getting old, back in my youth, I..."

"You started out in the Mounted Police?"

Brian interrupted Old Hardenn, curious.

The Mounted Police were a bit behind the times, but purebred police horses came at a high price.

Maintaining a purebred police horse was almost equivalent to the salary of ten officers, so although there’s always been a Mounted Police force in every state, their numbers were low, usually filled by white officers.

Old Hardenn, a black man, and that too over thirty years ago.

Back then, the entire Californian police force didn’t have many black officers, let alone a black Mounted Policeman.

That’s because California was prosperous and therefore more open-minded.

In other states...

For the same crime of robbery, white robbers might get sent for correctional labor at most. Black robbers... their only hope to survive was to run faster before the cops arrived and not get caught, otherwise, they really might get shot.

Brian had reason to doubt Old Hardenn was boasting.

Old Hardenn:...

He touched his nose somewhat awkwardly, "I was in logistics for the squad, but when we were understaffed, I’d help out armed too. After all, having a black man on the team made many things easier to deal with, and when facing black criminals, there was a buffer for communication."

"But in your previous self-introduction, you always said you were solely in logistics."

Seeing Brian show interest, Old Hardenn continued: