Chapter 1: Beast's Home

n right now was solving his basic living problems. He assured, "Don't worry, I won't do free labor for anyone."Because Martin-Davis had a criminal record, Elena warned him again before going out: "You...With the end of the Mountain Laurel Festival, Atlanta's 2003 spring festivities officially came to a close.

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In a community within the city of Marietta, located in the outer satellite city, Martin-Davis hobbled into the living room, his injured knee protesting with pain.

He came to North America just a week ago and is still getting used to it.

On the bare wooden walls of the living room, two yellowed posters were pasted.

One is the cover of a certain version of "Float."

The other one is the T-1000 from Terminator 2.

Martin sat on the sofa, dust dancing in the air made his nose itch, a sneeze about to erupt was thwarted by something hard poking his bottom.

A rusted spring top pokes through a discolored sponge and non-woven fabric.

Martin grumbled and shifted to the other side, the damaged foam pad sunken into a crater, soft as one of Dani's giant balloons, cradling his most vulnerable areas.

He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his heart.

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It is both a balloon and a difficult, hard-won future.

Martin drifted north for many years, honing his acting skills and learning related abilities step by step. He even acted as a stunt double for a few years. Finally, he managed to secure some minor roles through sheer determination and hard work.

At the start of the new year, Martin landed a role that ranked among the top five in the cast list.

If the drama airs smoothly and I last another five or six years, maybe I can become a veteran actor.

Martin, the owner of a good wine bar, was celebrating wildly with people. After drinking several self-made cocktails, he fell asleep headfirst in two giant balloons. It is possible that respiratory distress caused the tragedy.

When I woke up again, it was 2003 in Georgia.

Let me know if you have other text you'd like me to translate!

Prior to his current situation, Martin Davis was struggling. His most recent job was as a house repairman. He fell off a roof last week and injured both his leg and head.

Martin seized the opportunity, becoming 22-year-old Martin Davis. But memories of his previous life in America were like a program needing to be decoded, running relatively slowly for now.

This week, Martin spent most of his time getting familiar with the language and is gradually able to communicate normally.

The front door swung open from the outside, and Elena-Kate, with her brown hair tied in a ponytail, came in, her key dangling from her hand. Her younger brother, Harris-Kate, carried a paper bag behind her.

Elena was beautiful, with delicate features and a statuesque figure. Her smooth face lacked the freckles common among white people. As soon as she entered, she said, "Are you better Can you speak normally now"

Martin retorted with a middle finger, as if he'd done it countless times before: "What do you know Your IQ doubles when your head hits the ground."

Elena stood tall, her bleached-blonde hoodie stretched to comical heights: "Good. Get a job. I don't want to feed you slackers another week. I have two little kids to raise, and can't afford to keep you."

During the week Martin was injured, his neighbors, Elena and her four siblings, came over to bring him food.

"As Dr. Bill said, you have a 70% chance of being fully recovered in a week," Harris-Carter put the paper bag on the low wooden table and said, "Free bread from the church, this time with fried chicken."

He turned and walked away: "Bill has been working for two months, cured twenty sheep and thirty-five cows, without making a mistake."

Before leaving, Harris turned back and said, "The bike is mine today. I'm going to tutor someone."

“You two idiots, take me to the vet!” Martin swore, snatching the paper bag without ceremony.

Elena plopped down next to Martin, rubbed her sore butt, and said, "You don't have ** for medical insurance, I can't afford to take you to a real clinic. Bill used to live on this street, he never charged us for seeing him."

Martin took out the bread and munched on the fried chicken, recalling his injury and previous job as he spoke. “The house repairman owes me two weeks’ pay, and then there was this injury,” he said, trying to think of ways to make more money.

He was so poor, his pockets were cleaner than his face. Some thoughts just popped out of his head automatically.

"You better get some money!" Elena snatched a piece of bread and took a big bite. "I'm not going to hold it against you for all the food you've eaten this week, and all the mooching you've done these past few months. But this house rent, your no-good old man hasn't paid it in six months."

She glared at him, her eyes blazing like a towering mountain peak: “The worst thing that ever happened, this past Monday your dad ran off with my mom, claiming it was love and freedom!”

This reminded Martin, he searched his memory, sadly discovering that he was not as simple as a pauper.

The month before Jack Davis took Emma Carter, former Martin Davis borrowed six thousand dollars at high interest from the owner of Beast House.

Two people patted their butts and excitedly went on a trip around the world, leaving two messes behind.

Martin murmured, "The first installment on the high-interest loan is due immediately."

"Go pray to God for a miracle," Elena shrugged. There's no cheap sympathy among paupers.

Martin shook his head and said, "God doesn't bless the poor."

“Soon it’ll be the annual disability benefits review for this year, and my uncle James's benefits have always been collected by Jack. Jack has left behind evidence, now he eloped with Emma, and the benefits are going to be gone.” Elena became distressed and frantic: “How can we maintain this godforsaken life without money”

Martin was just about to ask a question, then he remembered that this house belonged to James Carter. "Your uncle died eight years ago," he said, "from eating the wrong flour."

"I'm now certain, you didn't get knocked silly." Elena wasn't even concerned, she pointed to the small copse of trees behind the house: "James is buried there."

She was still worried a few days ago that Martin, having gone from a pauper to an idiot and then back to a pauper, would be another mouth to feed. Now that her mood had eased, she nonchalantly said: "James is lucky to have been freed from the pain of poverty. We were the ones who dug his grave."

"Damn it!" Martin groaned, a headache coming on. Hell's own poor souls, afflicted with incurable diseases.

Elena pulled out her scuffed phone, glanced at the time, and stood up. "I should get to the mall for my shift," she said.

Martin said nonchalantly, "Don't worry, we'll figure something out."

Elena, however, looked at the T-1000 poster and said, “Don’t go back to that damn theater troupe as free labor. He never went back to the Marietta Theater Company after he became famous.”

Martin's only concern right now was solving his basic living problems. He assured, "Don't worry, I won't do free labor for anyone."

Because Martin-Davis had a criminal record, Elena warned him again before going out: "You poor bastard, you can't do it. I'll settle accounts with you. Let's see how much money I owe for all the times we clapped together! And I'll call Beastly Home Club and tell them you're willing to be a stripper to pay off your debts! Think about why they gave you high-interest loans in the first place!"

Please note that the original text was empty.

“You're the one who should be paying for applause! I always give you hundreds of millions worth of goods!” Martin said, sounding completely justified.

Elena held up both middle fingers.

After Martin finished eating the bread and fried chicken, his stomach was filled with food, and his legs didn't seem to hurt anymore.

After tidying up a little, he stepped out and stood in the sunshine, taking a slight look around.

Maryetta was a small town in the sparsely populated southern suburbs, even in the dilapidated community of Clayton where Martin lived, every house had a small yard in front of its detached wooden dwelling.

In the yard next door, fenced in with broken wire, a boy was digging a hole. There was a piece of cardboard beside him.

This is Elena's ten-year-old brother.

A vintage Dodge pickup truck rumbled down the cracked road, its side painted with a dancing man and the words "Beast House" below.

The car stopped at the roadside, and the muscular man who got out looked at Martin and said, "Martin Davis"

Let me know if you have any other text you'd like me to translate!ible that respiratory distress caused the tragedy.When I woke up again, it was 2003 in Georgia.Let me know if you have other text you'd like me to translate!Prior to his current situation, Martin Davi...