Chapter 184: Interrogation
At precisely 10:15 in the morning, Song Cheng once again arrived at the Containment Facility’s high-risk detention zone.
The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, its pristine white walls devoid of any decoration. Bright, unwavering lights spilled from the ceiling, while every few meters, faint red illumination glowed from embedded fixtures lining the walls, ceiling, and floor. At both ends of the corridor, heavily armed guards stood watch at T-junctions, their vigilance unwavering. Hidden within the corridor’s security modules were countless sensors, surveillance devices, and automated sentry weapons, ensuring maximum protection.
Heavy, fortified doors lined the corridor at regular intervals, some glowing with a reassuring green light above, while others emitted a harsh, piercing red glow. This facility was one of the Special Affairs Bureau’s most secure “prisons,” designated for the containment of the most dangerous and elusive “humanoid prisoners.” Those confined here had either wreaked havoc upon the Borderland, awaiting judgment, or posed a massive potential threat—individuals whose freedom would warrant a joint manhunt from half a dozen powerful factions.
Angel Cultists, naturally, fit right in.
Song Cheng approached one of the reinforced doors at the corridor’s end, briefly inspecting the indicator light and the information displayed on a wall-mounted screen. He glanced at the security guard accompanying him—a heavily armored figure whose face was hidden behind a thick, visor-equipped helmet.
“What’s the status of the prisoner?” Song Cheng asked, his voice calm.
“Stable. No activity detected, no self-harm or escape attempts,” replied the guard, his voice muffled by the armor. “Apart from basic physiological functions, the prisoner remains seated, seemingly engaged in prolonged meditation.”
“What about the Mind Monitoring and Barrier Device readings?”
“All security systems are operational. We can confirm that the prisoner has not communicated with any hidden entities or made contact with accomplices,” the guard reported. “We’ve observed a few instances resembling silent prayers, but no supernatural forces were detected—likely just mundane devotional acts.”
“Understood,” Song Cheng nodded slightly, then asked, “What about the other one?”
“Isolated in Zone B—same situation. Calm, silent, and uncooperative. Routine interrogations and hypnosis sessions failed to extract any information. To be honest, these cultists have remarkably resilient Mind Barriers.”
“That’s expected. Considering what they worship, it’s not always about the strength of their Mind Barriers—sometimes, it’s that their minds have already shattered beyond normal cognition,” Song Cheng replied, exhaling slowly. “But we have to interrogate regardless.”
“Understood,” the guard acknowledged, stepping forward to manipulate the locking mechanism on the reinforced door. “You’ll have one hour for interaction. During that time, all security measures will be on high alert. Please maintain composure and control any emotional fluctuations.”
With a series of low mechanical hums and the hiss of pressurized seals releasing, the alloy door gradually slid open, revealing the interior containment chamber.
A semi-transparent blue barrier split the cell into two sections. The outer area near the entrance was barren, while beyond the barrier, a minimalistic bed and a simple gray-white chair marked the inner space. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all padded with a durable, slightly elastic material, and numerous robust, dome-shaped devices embedded in the ceiling occasionally emitted red flashes and faint buzzing sounds—cold and foreboding.
Seated in the chair was a tall, gaunt, bald man dressed in plain white prison attire. His neck and wrists bore advanced restraint devices. Motionless, he stared blankly at the opposite wall, his face devoid of emotion.
As the heavy door sealed shut behind him, Song Cheng approached the barrier, pressing his hand to its surface. After a few breaths, the barrier faded, and he moved directly toward the cultist.
The bald prisoner finally shifted his gaze from the bare wall to Song Cheng, his eyes calm and detached, devoid of any trace of human emotion.
“You’ve come again,” the Angel Cultist remarked with a faint tone of indifference. “A pitiable soul trapped within a cage.”
“In your eyes, I’m the one imprisoned, right? You see this world as a cage—while your so-called Master languishes in another,” Song Cheng replied without a hint of agitation. “But take a look at yourself—you’re just as caged as anyone else.”
“I am indeed confined here, but I experience a freedom far beyond your comprehension,” the cultist responded with a faint smile. “And my Master, His ‘confinement’ is but a holy ordeal. He shall, as foretold, break his bonds and descend upon this wretched world. When that day comes, the faithful shall be blessed, and you—lost in your ignorance—shall endure suffering most fitting.”
Song Cheng remained unmoved, a trace of curiosity flickering in his eyes. “I suddenly find myself a bit intrigued. You and your companion—just which ‘Angel’ do you follow? As far as I know, the Dark Angels are numerous, and Angel Cultists are divided into countless sects. Some believe in multiple angels simultaneously, while others are steadfastly devoted to just one… So, which one do you serve?”
The Angel Cultist spoke calmly, as if recounting a series of events that had already occurred in his vision. His tone was tranquil, almost indifferent, as he fixed his gaze upon Song Cheng. “You’re beginning to show curiosity about my Lord. You’re questioning me, trying to pry into the secrets of my faith. Then, as time passes, you’ll show signs of fascination, asking for more teachings. Eventually, you’ll start behaving like someone touched by the whispers—perhaps after a few days, or cautiously, after a dozen. You’ll present yourself as someone secretly affected by my Lord’s influence—a fellow believer.”
His body leaned slightly forward. “On the seventh or eighth day, I would let down my guard, sharing too much about my Lord and my comrades. You would then take that information to your superiors—save your breath. The scent of the Sanity Blocking Agent is practically seeping from your pores.”
Song Cheng’s expression remained unchanged, showing no reaction to the cultist’s declaration, as if the supposed ‘revelation’ had no effect on him whatsoever. After a few seconds of silence, his lips curved into a faint smile. “Impressive. Seems like you’ve got quite a bit of experience—but your companion’s not nearly as adept.”
“Oh, so it’s the second route,” the Angel Cultist murmured, shaking his head. “You’ve separated us to make us doubt each other’s loyalty and devotion. Your methods are simpler than I expected.”
Song Cheng eyed the cultist before him—a bald, stoic figure whose demeanor seemed stripped of all mortal frailties and weaknesses, making his presence starkly unsettling. After a brief moment, Song Cheng exhaled softly and sat down casually on the narrow prison cot.
“No worries. We’ve got plenty of time. I’m not much of an interrogation expert, but more qualified people will handle that soon enough. For now… let’s just chat.”
…
An hour later, the metal door to the cell slid open, and Song Cheng stepped out. An armed guard approached him. “Did you learn anything, sir?”
“Same as last time. Damn stubborn as a mule. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the universe collapsed and only these Angel Cultists were left standing—still preaching their nonsense. This one’s special, though—seems to have some kind of prophetic ability, predicting the outcome of every word or gesture I make. No wonder our previous interrogators couldn’t crack him.”
“A Prophet?”
“Hard to say. I’ve never heard of a Prophet joining the Angel Cultists. Besides, if he were truly one, how would we have caught him so easily? More likely, he’s been influenced by his Angel, gaining some sort of clairvoyant power… Just my rotten luck.”
The guard listened quietly, and when Song Cheng was about to light a cigarette, the guard raised a hand to stop him. “Leader, smoking’s not allowed here.”
Song Cheng froze, then awkwardly put away his lighter and cigarette. Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. The irritation on his face instantly faded, replaced by a forced smile as he answered. “Director? No, no, I’m just catching a break… You need something? Uh? Really?”
His expression grew complicated as he listened, finally replying with some hesitation. “You want me to contact him? Are you sure that’s wise? After all, he’s not one of our Special Affairs Bureau operatives… Well, if that’s your call, I’ll give him a ring.”
After hanging up, Song Cheng stared at his phone, caught between reluctance and contemplation. The armed guard glanced over curiously from behind his visor. Song Cheng waved him off to stay on standby, then dialed a number with a brief pause.
After a few rings, a voice came through. “Hello? Captain Song?”
Song Cheng cleared his throat. “Uh, Yu Sheng? Got something to tell you—remember those two Angel Cultists you tipped us off about? The Special Affairs Bureau managed to catch them. The Director wanted me to see if you were inter—”
Before he could finish, an eager response cut him off. “Yes!”
Song Cheng was momentarily stunned. “Uh… Alright then, I’ll come pick you up.”
“No need. Just send someone to the fifty-four-and-a-half floor to meet me—I’m already here.”