Chapter 9

November 27th, evening, 22:39, a hotel in Linyi.

Scram lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He had been lying there for half an hour but still felt no drowsiness.

The numerous clues of the case were tangled in his mind, making it difficult to sort out and hard to ignore.

Although his main task this time was not to solve the case but to "investigate the identity of any ability users involved in the incident and try to determine their abilities," it seemed that both his mission and the truth of the case itself were at a standstill.

"Ah..."

With a long sigh, he finally got up.

He washed his face, put on a set of sportswear, and left the hotel.

During the day, when performing official duties in public places, he had to wear a suit, as per the organization's regulations. But now, he could wear something that made him feel more comfortable.

Actually, Scram did not like suits, not at all.

He had once been a soldier, or rather, still was. His rank of "Lieutenant" was not given by the EAS but earned on the battlefield before joining the EAS.

Unfortunately, despite spending many years on the front lines and earning enough military achievements to be promoted to a higher position, his background, or rather, the class his family belonged to, remained a barrier to his advancement.

Of course, he felt frustrated about this...

Those young masters who had never even smelled gunpowder, why could they go to military academies? Why could they become commanders right after graduation? These talkative young men used the blood of soldiers to embellish their resumes and used the careers of their subordinates to pay for their mistakes, becoming generals without shedding a drop of blood. And soldiers like him, from the lower class, no matter how great their achievements, still had no chance of advancement.

Was this fair?

He had asked himself this question countless times, but... he had never tried to answer it.

Because he thought the question was stupid, and anyone who seriously considered it was even more stupid.

Anyway, at this point, at least in terms of his position, Scram was no longer part of the federal army. In a sense, he should thank a certain young master who was talking strategy from a command post...

If it weren't for the "blind command" from his superiors, Scram wouldn't have been captured during a mission. If he hadn't been captured, he wouldn't have been interrogated. If he hadn't endured various tortures beyond human limits during the interrogation, his ability wouldn't have awakened... If his ability hadn't awakened, he wouldn't have been recruited by the EAS.

Whether it was turning a disaster into a blessing or surviving a great calamity, life was sometimes magical: you never knew if the next chapter of your life would be bright or filled with filth. All you could do was keep turning the pages, not give up, and persist until the light came, or be drowned in filth.

...

23:03, evening, Sunshine Youth Behavior Correction Center.

Scram ran to this place. Although the hotel where he stayed was not close, for someone like him, running on the flat city roads in running shoes without any load was almost like taking a walk. He wouldn't even breathe heavily within five kilometers.

"Who's there?" As Scram approached the entrance of the building, the guard on duty quickly noticed him and came over to ask.

"Shh... It's me." Scram pulled down the hood of his sportswear, revealing his face under the streetlight. "Keep it down. If there are reporters nearby, you'll attract them."

"Sir." The guard recognized his face and immediately stood at attention and saluted.

"Alright, no need to salute. Go back to your post." Although he said this, Scram still returned the salute in a very standard manner. "I want to check the scene. The time will vary... Just let the other units know via the radio."

"Yes, sir." The guard responded and turned to go, pressing the radio on his left chest as he walked to report.

Scram quickly passed through the gate and entered the main building of the correction center.

At this time, although the building had power, the lights were not on. Of course, for people of this era, using a phone as a flashlight was common knowledge.

Scram relied on the light from his phone, starting his search from the first floor and continuing up to the fifth floor. During this process, he tried to imagine himself as another person—Che Wuchen from two days ago.

He strictly followed Che Wuchen's description, mimicking his actions and calculating the time.

From 18:36 when Che Wuchen arrived at the scene to 19:25 when he called the police from the surveillance room, it was 49 minutes. What exactly happened during these 49 minutes? This question always troubled Scram.

Perhaps it was just Scram's baseless speculation, or perhaps Che Wuchen's testimony was the truth. But no matter what, he still wanted to verify it, even if it was futile, at least it would give him peace of mind.

...

39 minutes later, Scram stood in Professor Tang's office.

His verification was complete. He had searched all the rooms, and the surveillance room was next door. However, the time he spent was ten minutes less than Che Wuchen's.

So... where did those ten minutes go?

Scram took a deep breath and sat down in Professor Tang's comfortable office chair, resting and thinking: "Was I too fast? It's possible. After all, everyone's search rhythm and efficiency are different. Che Wuchen was in a state of high alert, always ready to encounter an ambush, while I was searching knowing the rooms were empty...

"But if it's not due to this reason... what could he have done in those ten minutes?

"Delete the footage? Destroy evidence? These theories were already refuted this morning. As he said... if he was really an accomplice, there was no need to participate in the case in this form, or he could have done it without the police noticing.

"No matter how you think about it, he can't be an accomplice... It doesn't make logical sense, and it's hard to fabricate a motive to support this behavior.

"So... am I just being stubborn?"

If categorized as a detective, Scram would be a traditional American hard-boiled detective, the type who relies on case experience and intuition to lock onto suspects and uses efficient, quick, and forceful methods to advance the investigation.

Compared to the logical and rational deductive detectives, the hard-boiled detectives have a clear disadvantage—limited potential.

In ordinary cases, this might not be obvious, and the hard-boiled detectives might even seem more efficient. But in more complex cases or when the murderer is smart, the hard-boiled detectives often hit a bottleneck or wrongfully accuse innocent people.

Moreover, hard-boiled detectives have a tendency to become overly invested in a case. Especially with major unsolved cases... the more beyond their capabilities, the more they can't let go.

Sometimes, they might pursue a suspect based on a mere hunch, "I know it was him," without sufficient evidence. This approach is more like a politician's, "deciding on a stance before hearing the problem and then addressing the problem from that stance."

Using this method, even if they catch the right person, it's just luck, a gambler's victory.

Even if they objectively bring justice to society, subjectively it's just a gambler's self-satisfaction.

Scram was now in this state... due to his lack of reasoning ability, he could only struggle between his suspicion of Che Wuchen and self-conviction.

Unconsciously, he sat in the chair, lost in thought.

"What!" After an unknown amount of time, Scram's unfocused gaze suddenly caught something, which made him jump up from the chair.

In that second, with the light from his phone, he noticed a small area under the desk that had a different color from the surroundings.

It would be hard to notice this difference during the day or with sufficient room lighting, but in the darkness, the light from the phone revealed the area's reflection and the dust marks around it, forming a neat rectangle.

Scram's heart rate increased, and the rush of blood to his head made him extremely clear and excited.

He immediately bent down and crawled under the desk to examine it closely. After a brief hesitation, he reached out and gently pressed the wooden board.

The board then popped out and slowly opened, revealing a mini touchscreen on the back. The screen displayed a password input interface.

Based on the number of digits, it was a six-digit password. Although the number of digits wasn't many, it would be difficult to guess in a short time, and there might be security measures after multiple incorrect inputs.

Therefore, Scram did not rashly input the password.

He sat back in the office chair and looked around the room from that angle, gathering all the information he could see.

Based on his experience, passwords for specific places are often recorded near the usage location. For example, many people use sticky notes to write down numbers they need for work and stick them on the walls around their desks or on their computer monitors, so they can see them when needed.

However, after searching for five minutes, Scram found no numerical clues in the room.

He thought for a moment, then had an idea and crawled back under the desk.

He squatted in front of the touchscreen and looked up... Sure enough, on the underside of the desk, six digits were written in oil-based pen. Only from his current position, holding a light source and looking up, could he see them.

Without hesitation, Scram entered the six digits on the screen and received an "accept" response.

Whoosh—

Two seconds later, with the sound of a valve releasing pressure, the bookshelf behind Professor Tang's desk... opened.

It was indeed a real bookshelf with real books, but it also functioned as an electronic door.

Scram, seeing this, quickly stepped out from under the desk, stood up, and leaned against the bookshelf, preparing to enter the "secret room" behind the wall.

Although he didn't have a gun, he wasn't afraid because he was an ability user. In most cases, abilities were more lethal and reliable than conventional weapons.

"Is anyone there? I'm a police officer." Before entering, he raised his voice slightly and called out.

This was both procedurally and logically sound.

If there was someone in the secret room, they would have already noticed the door opening. If the person was a surviving victim, his words would prevent them from reacting violently. If the person was the culprit, whether he spoke or not, they would still attack, with no difference.

Ten seconds passed in silence.

Scram no longer waited. He tensed his nerves, prepared for a sudden attack, and entered the secret room. However... what he saw was just a dead man.

It was a man in a white coat, around fifty years old, with a face that even in death seemed insincere. As the saying goes, "the face reflects the heart."

Scram had seen photos and knew this dead man was Professor Tang.

At this moment, Professor Tang's body was strapped to a bed, with an electroshock device connected to his head. A man like Scram, who had seen many deaths, could judge by the smell that the man had been dead for about two days.

However, out of caution, Scram still approached, checked the pulse, and examined the rigor mortis to confirm his judgment.

"Phew..." Since the secret room was small and had no hiding places, Scram quickly determined that there was no one else besides Professor Tang. "At least I found one of the missing people," he muttered to himself, beginning to inspect the room, hoping to find new clues.

But the result was...

"Tsk..." Two minutes later, Scram connected a USB drive he found in a safe in the corner of the secret room to his phone and opened a video... a video that made him feel disgusted and angry.

"You old bastard..." After watching a bit, he turned off the video and began to check how many such files were on the USB drive.

Even with his poor reasoning skills, Scram could guess that the videos Professor Tang shot in this secret room were either for his personal perverse pleasure or intended to be sold for profit.

Thinking about this, he couldn't help but forget his role as an enforcer and secretly felt a sense of relief at the deaths of Professor Tang and the center's employees.

But he quickly calmed down and began to think about the questions...

"Why was the safe open?" Scram whispered. "And... if someone opened it, why didn't they take the contents?"

The safe he referred to was a high-security private storage cabinet designed by a subsidiary of "Shen Guang Group," requiring an electronic key, voice password, and a complex multi-input password to open.

Besides the USB drive Scram picked up, the safe also contained a box of cash, a stack of bearer bonds, a box of electronic cards, a pile of paper documents, several fake IDs, and even a gun.

"Perhaps... the old bastard opened the safe himself, planning to take the items and run, but was caught by the murderer just in time?" Scram quickly thought of an explanation, frowning. "But the murderer didn't touch the contents... does this mean they only cared about revenge, not other things? Or..."

"The murderer left these materials intentionally." Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind Scram.

Since Scram had just relaxed his guard and was deeply engrossed in thought, he didn't notice anyone approaching... The sudden voice startled him, and he instinctively used his 180-degree head-turn "special skill."

"Don't be afraid, it's me." Che Wuchen's face still looked calm, but in the darkness... it gave off a chill.

"Why are you here?" Scram turned his body and took a cautious step back.

"I couldn't sleep, so I called you to discuss the case, but the hotel said you were out. I thought you might be here... and the guard downstairs confirmed it."

"Hmm..." Scram thought for a moment and probed, "Do you have a habit of calling people in the middle of the night?"

"You're awake, aren't you?" Che Wuchen's response was calm and confident. "We're in the same line of work. I knew from the first glance that you're the type who doesn't sleep until the case is closed."

"Ha... alright." Scram laughed, though he didn't want to admit it, the other person was right. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough." Che Wuchen looked around. "I apologize for saying your reasoning was poor earlier..." He paused and looked at Scram. "Just for finding this secret room... you're already better than me."

"Thanks, just luck." Scram said, handing over some documents he had taken from the safe. "Want to see?"

"No need, I can guess the content." Che Wuchen said. "And... these files might contain things I shouldn't see."

"What do you mean by 'things I shouldn't see'?" Scram blurted out.

"Lieutenant..." Che Wuchen, for the first time, used a more sincere and less distant tone. "No... Mark, have you ever thought about why a scumbag like Professor Tang could wreak havoc in Linyi for so many years? Do you think, given his background and abilities... it's realistic for him to have done it without the support of a larger power?" He glanced at Scram's phone. "Take the video you just saw, for example. It might have been a 'tribute' to a higher-up in the federal government..."

"So you're saying..." Scram's tone turned cold. "You want me to stop investigating? Or to cover it up?"

"My opinion doesn't matter." Che Wuchen said. "What matters is... what the murderer thinks."

"The murderer?" Scram repeated the words, then his expression changed. "Wait... this could mean..."

"Why did the murderer call the police? Why did they involve EAS? Why did they open the safe but then seal the secret room?" Che Wuchen said. "Now everything makes sense."

"The murderer knew... if the local police found these materials first, the truth might be covered up..." Scram followed the other's line of thought, muttering. "So they set this up, wanting me... an EAS agent to get involved. They believed I had the ability to discover this secret room and be the first to access the materials in