Chapter 185

Chapter 185: Talk Reason…

When the elevator opened, Song Cheng saw Yu Sheng step out with his two teammates. Irene sat on Yu Sheng’s shoulder. Foxy stood at his side. But Song Cheng’s gaze landed first on the thing dangling from Yu Sheng’s hand.

It was a vicious-looking club. Rings of rebar were welded together, packed with blades, nails, and rusty metal stubs. Song Cheng had seen every kind of nasty weapon in years on the front line, but his first reflex was still a twitch at the corner of his eye. Even a picture of this thing would need censor blur. It hurt to look at.

Yu Sheng walked out swinging his Tetanus Staff, eyes bright with excitement as he looked at Song Cheng, like a sleepy man who had just found a pillow: “Where are those Angel Cultists?”

Song Cheng felt a little dazed. He had known since the day the Director first invited Yu Sheng into the Special Affairs Bureau that one day this guy would stroll into headquarters like it was his living room, but he had not expected him to show up carrying that. He could not stop staring at the club: “…What is that in your hand? The guards did not stop you?”

“Guards? What guards?” Yu Sheng asked, puzzled.

Song Cheng slapped his forehead: “Right. I forgot you did not take the normal door.”

Yu Sheng chuckled, hefted the Tetanus Staff, and gave it a testing swing. After the last fight, he had upgraded it. Now the head carried twice as many nails and rods. He held it up for Song Cheng to see: “This is the Miaomiao Tool. I will need it in a bit.”

As the club swayed near his face, Song Cheng noticed two small metal plates welded close to the head. Each plate had two rough, scorched letters. One read “reason.” The other read “critique.”

“I want a good talk with those two Angel Cultists,” Yu Sheng said seriously, “help me set it up.”

He tossed the staff onto his shoulder: “Lead the way.”

A yelp sounded on his shoulder. He turned just in time to see Irene tumble to the floor.

Yu Sheng frowned: “Irene, why are you sitting on the floor?”

“You swung that stick and knocked me off!” the little doll rushed back, elbowed his knee, and shouted, “You cannot tell left from right?”

Yu Sheng stared in silence.

Sweat prickled Song Cheng’s back. He was used to seeing strange things in the Special Affairs Bureau, but this style of chaos was new. When the doll finally settled down, he eyed the club again and spoke carefully: “I think I know what you plan to do. I have to remind you, we have rules. We are a proper agency. Even when we interrogate cultists, we have standard steps and strict bans.”

Yu Sheng thought for a moment: “What if the cameras break?”

“Even then, no. There is no such thing as a monitoring vacuum in this build-” Song Cheng started to say, then his phone rang. He pulled it out fast: “Director.”

A calm voice came through: “The Human prisoner Containment Zone, Section A 16, monitoring System is down.”

“…Director?” he asked.

“Do I need to repeat that?” the voice replied.

A chill crawled up the back of his neck. He glanced around the empty corridor. Even with no one there, he felt the Director’s eyes on him from every direction, with the nearest gaze less than a meter away: “No, that is not necessary.”

“Good. Take him.”

He put the phone away and looked at the three from the Hotel team with a strange expression.

“Come with me. I will take you to the Containment Zone,” he said.

Yu Sheng had not heard the voice on the phone, but he could guess what happened. Nothing in this building escaped the Madam Director.

[Good. If she is watching, the lines will not be crossed.]

He looked relaxed and even smiled. With Irene on one shoulder and “reason” on the other, he followed Song Cheng. As they walked, he asked, curious: “Do you usually watch that show where a bunch of girls start a band?”

“That is my daughter’s doing,” Song Cheng answered, weary, “I change it back and she changes it again.”

Led by Captain Song, Yu Sheng’s group threaded the maze-like headquarters, passing door after door built for security and corridors and rooms that gave off an uncanny air. Yu Sheng felt they had left the “main building” and were headed for some deeper “space.” After a good while, they crossed an “office” lit with red lamps, pushed through the door at the far end, and stepped into a circular hall like a transit hub.

Corridor mouths lined up around the rim. Armed guards stood watch. Weapon Systems pointed down each passage. Warning signs gave off steady pressure.

Without a word, Song Cheng completed identity checks and logs, then led them into one corridor.

On the way, he kept glancing back at Yu Sheng, who strolled like he had all the time in the world.

Yu Sheng noticed: “I was actually about to come find you,” he said at last, “when you called to say you caught those two Angel Cultists, I was already dressed and had filed for Door Opening. I came to talk about them.”

Song Cheng’s look shifted: “What do you mean? You-”

“I checked a few things yesterday. Do you remember why Little Red Riding Hood and I went to the museum’s white Exhibition Hall in the first place? Right. The one with the sacrifice ritual. Those two Angel Cultists made trouble there and got caught. The Curiosities Association contact who hired Little Red Riding Hood recently died,” Yu Sheng said slowly.

“I heard. Another department is handling it,” Song Cheng replied at once, frowning, “from your tone, you found something else?”

“Those two Angel Cultists were probably after ‘Fairy Tale.’ They were not aiming at Little Red Riding Hood personally, and it was not random,” Yu Sheng said, “the dead contact had many links to Fairy Tale while alive. I cannot say yet if it was murder or an accident. You need your specialists for that. But from what I have found, the reason the cultists targeted and swayed him was his connection to Fairy Tale. They have been planning this for a long time.”

Foxy, who rarely spoke to outsiders, muttered with anger: “I heard from Benefactor about the victim. Cultists are hateful.”

Yu Sheng nodded: “It is complicated. I will tell you the details later.”

Song Cheng listened, thinking, and stopped before the last gate. Before ordering it open, he glanced again at the word “reason” on the club.

“Be honest. You really plan to use that thing?” he asked.

“I have limits,” Yu Sheng said, serious, “and I brought Foxy. She knows a lot of healing arts. I promise I will not make it hard for you.”

“I am not worried about that. I mean, plain pain does not work on them,” Song Cheng shook his head. He could tell this person did not know Angel Cultists as well as he did, “if hurting them worked, we would not still be empty-handed. The Special Affairs Bureau has methods far more effective than ‘bodily punishment,’ including hypnosis, Illusion Techniques, truth agents, even a Neural Interference Rig. The results are the same. Ask a question and they refuse to answer.”

He did not spell it out, but the meaning was clear.

Anyone can hit someone. If it worked, it would have worked already.

Yu Sheng only smiled.

“Did I say I was going to ask them anything?” he said.

Song Cheng froze: “…Then why bring that?”

“For fun,” Yu Sheng said.

The heavy gate slid open. Yu Sheng walked in with his club, Irene, and Foxy. The Door closed behind them.

The guard by The Door shifted, uneasy: “Sir, this is not by the book.”

“I will take responsibility,” Song Cheng said, gaze fixed on the sealed door as he drew a slow breath, “take me to the monitoring room.”

“Right next door,” the guard answered.

…

The pale blue barrier vanished. Yu Sheng eyed the advanced tech with open curiosity, wondered briefly about the Bureau’s level of science, then fixed on the bald man sitting not far away.

The man lifted his head, calm as a pond.

Those clear, still eyes looked as if they had seen through everything.

His voice was level, like it stood above common sense: “Looks like today will be busy. A new trick. When will you learn that the Lord’s loyal servants will not-”

Yu Sheng strode forward and brought the staff down.

He had no plan to ask.