The young man named Heath turned pale, helplessly leaning his broom against the wall and brushing dust off his hands before walking into the house. The lyrics he hummed also changed.,His portly belly strained against his soiled, floral-patterned shirt, while his face was covered in a tangle of white whiskers like tangled electrical wires. His sparse hair, barely enough to count on one hand, failed to conceal his shiny scalp. Coupled with his textbook-perfect beer gut, this short, stout old man's first impression wasn't exactly charming.,These three guys held their guns very steady, seeming to have done this sort of thing before. And they weren't wearing masks, clearly not intending to leave any witnesses alive.。