ecstasy

Doudou twisted his face and spoke in an exaggerated manner.

The mathematician quickly retreated back into the cardboard box. Who had installed a camera in the police station? No wonder the vents looked so clean, as if they had just been mopped. It turned out someone had been there before him.

And it doesn't look like the common one - it doesn't even need wires or data cables to work, it should have a built-in battery and a floppy disk for storage. If that's the case, then it's not something you can buy on the market.

"Ha ha--"

A shrill laugh suddenly rang out, then stopped abruptly:

At some point, Doudou had grabbed the camera in his hand, his face twisted as he tried to hold back his laughter - there was a grayish colloid in the powder stuck to the bottom of the camera, which was pulled out by Doudou and became a thread in the middle.

chewing gum!

Doudou played with the dirty colloid in his hands while lip-syncing; the mathematician had no idea why Doudou thought it was so funny.

The mathematician lowered his head and hid his face in his arms - the musty smell in the ventilation duct made him irritated:

Who would install cameras in a police station? Using chewing gum as a mounting point meant they weren't intended for long-term surveillance; it could even be a spur-of-the-moment decision. With such reckless abandon, could it be that the pursuers anticipated their arrival at the police station?

The mathematician pushed the cardboard box inwards, then moved forward to the edge of the vent, facing Doudou: He wanted to see what was going on with this camera.

Squeak and snap.

A sudden sound came from right below the pipe.

First there was the teeth-grinding sound of the door opening, followed by a crisp sound and the lights coming on: the sudden change interrupted the unfinished communication between the two of them.

Someone walked into the office where Doudou and the mathematician were sitting, and there was more than one person.

-

The mathematician lowered his head, opened his eyes wide, and used one hand to hold his glasses to prevent them from falling.

Looking down from above, the scene was somewhat comical—two figures in medical coats walked in, but they were pressed so closely together that they almost looked like the same person.

This is like a scene from a comedy action movie:

The man in the white coat behind him followed closely, his toes almost touching the heels of the man in front with every step; it was as if his belly button was about to connect with the other person's lumbar spine.

But even a short-sighted mathematician could see it: the person lagging behind, the shiny round tube sticking out from the slit in the clothes.

The mathematician recognized the object—in fact, he had found it earlier that night in the sofa in his new home.

It was a pistol with a silencer extending from the barrel.

-

Is it necessary to be so close? What kind of coercion are these two people doing? Kidnapping?

The sudden and bizarre scene once again stretched the mathematicians' nerves, which they had thought were beginning to harden, to their limit:

How to do?

The mathematician looked at Doudou and asked this question in his mind. It was clear that he wasn't the one who could make the decision at this moment.

Whether Doudou, who could make decisions, could think straight remained uncertain. If he could make his own decisions, he would absolutely not act rashly. Intervention would undoubtedly bring trouble, and it wouldn't be a minor one. He would enter a law enforcement agency in the middle of the night with a silenced pistol and threaten the medical examiner. Who knew how powerful the forces behind this were?

There was already a wave of terrifying guys with the power to cover the sky with one hand following the mathematician, and he didn't want to add another group: he still didn't want Doudou to suddenly jump down and twist off the kidnapper's head along with the hostage.

First observe what's going on down there, eliminate the danger, and then wait until the person with the gun leaves.

At this moment, the mathematician saw Doudou turning around:

He opened his mouth into an O shape, raised his thumb and index finger to form a pistol, and with his other hand, he held the monitor and gum between his fingers, twirling them back and forth. Doudou's hands had already left the walls of the tunnel, but his body remained parallel to the bottom; the tip of his sneaker had, at some point, dug into the wall, firmly locked in place.

It was a circus-style pose; mathematicians hadn't expected to see anyone doing it so casually in real life, as if it were just a matter of crossing one's legs.

[Bang, bang, bang.]

His mouth opened and closed constantly, and his hand, which was like a pistol, imitated the action of firing: Doudou's eyebrows were raised very high; the mathematician guessed that he was laughing.

Doudou raised his hand, pointed at himself—then pointed downwards:

The mathematician's hands twitched. He wanted to throw his arms up, wave them with all his might, make an "X" sign, or any gesture or movement that could represent negation: Was it really necessary to create such a complication at this already complex juncture?

But in the next blink of an eye, he saw Doudou had already put his palm on the bottom of the pipe.

【Hold. 】

A single word flashed through the mathematician's mind like a meteor -

boom!

Then, he saw the galvanized steel plate under Doudou shattering like a Wangwang snow cake with an explosive sound; and according to the material science knowledge mastered by mathematicians, this kind of tough metal is much more likely to deform than to break.

boom!

There were two concave shapes at the top of the ventilation duct, which looked like footprints: Doudou had disappeared from the mathematician's sight.

-

Doudou fell to the ground faster than the galvanized steel plate of the ventilation duct and the outer layer of gypsum board.

Da da da da da.

Doudou casually picked up the nearest piece of plasterboard: he used it as if it were a dinner plate, catching every falling piece of debris - the originally loud and high-pitched clatter of the collision became crisp, echoing only in the morgue.

Not far away, the hostage-taker and the hostage-takers were stunned; the scene before them seemed so inexplicable that no one could react.

Hey.

When Doudou caught the last piece of galvanized sheet metal, he turned around and winked at the mathematician above him, as if to show off.

Chapter 41 Shooting the Window to the Soul

Richard was stunned. He hadn't thought himself the type to remain motionless in the face of danger. He could feel the shoulder he was gripping, shaking like a sieve: the forensic doctor he was holding hostage was the type to tremble in the face of danger.

Or maybe it was simply that the forensic doctor did not understand the situation he was facing as deeply as he did: he did not, like Richard, stimulate the instinct of Homo sapiens to remain frozen in order to gain a higher chance of survival when facing other predators tens of thousands of years ago.

By the time Richard felt he could breathe again, the boy in the yellow raincoat had already walked not far in front of him: holding the stacked and broken ceiling in his hands, like a waiter showing off his serving skills.

The boy's mouth was curved, his teeth gleaming brightly in the incandescent light. But it wasn't a smile—there wasn't a single muscle tightening in his eyes or brows, as if his face were separated: like some animal imitating a human to express friendliness.

Observation and analysis are part of Richard's job; it has almost become his instinctive reaction.

Richard felt his brain heating up and rolling like magma; past knowledge and training flashed before his eyes - as if he was back at the training camp at headquarters, in the "Applied Psychological Strategies" class: he never skipped classes, always took notes, and never missed homework; in the end he got 95 points in this course: perhaps because of this, he was sent out to do field work as a surveillance person.

He swallowed the saliva that had been flowing excessively from his nervous mouth. If he could go back in time, he really wouldn't study so hard. Actually, it would be nice to socialize with professors and colleagues. Even if he ended up being the last in the Special Package Handling Department or being sent to Latin America to record the variations in samba dance moves, it would still be an interesting life.

The most important thing is to be alive. Has anyone mentioned the quality of the milk tea shops in the underworld? How many nightclubs and dance halls are there in the tongue-pulling hell?

Chuck Lee had never been to a nightclub or a dance hall: now he was beginning to regret it.

[The first step is to establish communication—communication that is non-aggressive and can avoid risks.]

Knowledge, training, and learning still mattered. Even if his mind wandered off into the clouds, past achievements still surfaced automatically in Richard's mind, prompting him to react.

Richard took a step to the left, hiding his body behind the medical examiner but sticking his head out.

"Hello! Little Peng. No, buddy. My name is Richard - it seems that we happened to be in this awkward place, which is also a coincidence. What's your name?"

[Don't call them "little friends"! What teenagers who enter puberty hate most is not being recognized as mature, independent individuals.]

The professor who taught "Applied Psychological Strategies" seemed to have emerged from his brain and added a criticism:

[Damn, the words are too stiff! Richard, you can't learn anything from him!]

The boy in the yellow raincoat was not the first high-risk [target] Richard had come into contact with: but the killing and destruction caused by every criminal and patient whose files he had read came more from the military training they had received and the corresponding weapons they were equipped with - 93% of them were firearms.

It's like an "invisible man" whose head was blown up by himself during the day.

Instead of fighting with bare hands against a fully armed, systematically trained and experienced team. No, it was a massacre.

The manifestations of ecstasy are more dangerous to oneself than to others - this is the common sense that Richard was taught. It seems that common sense is often broken.

The boy in the yellow raincoat leaned over and placed the two piles of galvanized steel sheets and gypsum board fragments on the ground—they didn't even shake at all—then leaned forward again:

"Eh? I've seen you before: Did you come to Tianhu Community yesterday? Or maybe I'm mistaken. You're wearing a mask, so I can't see your face clearly. But I recognize your eyes."

[Skip my question, don't want to exchange names: this is not a good sign.]

Sweat slid down Richard's brow and into his mask.

He made a dangerous decision:

His left hand still held the pistol against the forensic doctor's waist, but his right hand carefully and slowly raised to his face, pulling the mask down to his chin, exposing his entire face.

"Yes, we met yesterday afternoon. What are you doing here? I have some official business to attend to. You saw it on TV, right? Some special business."

Richard raised the question cautiously. He was so short of information that he didn't even know how to proceed with this "chat" that concerned his life:

"Is there anything I can do for you? I'll do my best."

Let the other person make the request first—just don't make concessions, but don't refuse either: Listen! Listen carefully to every word they say. Build understanding through listening—infer from understanding, infer the nature of the other person's ecstasy symptoms; avoid the minefields in the other person's heart.

The morgue has no windows, only nine temporary storage compartments for bodies. Generally, police stations of this size would perform autopsies at nearby hospitals, but the Mong Cai City Police Station has a dedicated morgue.

It's small and the equipment is not complete.

The boy in the yellow raincoat stood before Richard, making no attempt to answer. However, he kept turning his head and surveying his surroundings, seemingly with great interest.

At such close range—no more than 220 centimeters apart—if Richard had only slightly raised the muzzle of the gun against the coroner's waist and angled it slightly, he could have shot him between the eyebrows, perhaps even in the eye. Given Richard's training, this was a nonstandard shooting maneuver; but it was also highly likely he would have hit the neck, liver, or heart.

He could also choose to shoot directly. He gambled that the bullet would still have enough impact after passing through the forensic doctor's waist tissue, but the caliber of the gun was originally small and it was equipped with a silencer; his hope was somewhat slim.

Having said that: if the caliber of his gun was not small, Richard would not dare to adopt such an improper shooting posture.

The other party had no observable physiological signs of ecstasy - perhaps he was not a seriously ill patient who could withstand bullets at close range.

But, not to mention killing, what if the ability to stop the enemy is insufficient? What kind of actions will the enraged opponent take?

He was not equipped with a rifle like the commando team: it turned out that the firepower of an automatic rifle might not be enough.

Richard didn't want to die yet - in fact, it was the first time he realized how much he didn't want to leave this world.

Try to understand. Before you control or manipulate someone, understand them first. Seek common ground, common interests, common ground—transformation! If you are on the same side as them, they won't hurt you.

If everything Richard saw was recorded on a videotape, this part would seem to have been cut out:

The boy in the yellow raincoat who was a little far away in the previous frame is now standing in front of Richard, with the hair on his face almost sticking together.

"What are you thinking?"

The boy in the yellow raincoat came closer—but in an instant, he fixed his gaze on the forensic doctor, whose mask was constantly shaking:

"Why is he the one doing all the talking? Why aren't you saying anything? Did he kidnap you? Are you a hostage?"

The morgue was originally air-conditioned, but now, was the temperature set too low and the airflow too strong?

Richard felt himself starting to tremble—trembling with sweat all over his back.

He rolled his eyes slightly downwards, and they met the eyes of the coroner. Richard didn't know what the forensic doctor, whom he had held hostage in the corridor, was thinking; but he saw doubt in his eyes - and a hint of absurdity. Everything that was happening now was too ridiculous, to the point that

Suddenly, Richard's eyes widened: it was as if a light bulb was lit in his mind, and wonderful inspiration flowed through every groove of his cerebral cortex.

He put his hand holding the gun around the coroner's shoulder, pointed the gun upwards, and slowly raised it, holding it high as if for demonstration -

He saw it: his gaze followed the pistol from under the hood of the yellow raincoat.

Richard opened his mouth and said something he never thought he would say:

"I want to put a bullet in your head and see if you die. I'm just curious about this, and I've been thinking about it for a long time: Do you think this gun can kill you?"

"what?!"

This time, the boy in the yellow raincoat's eyes widened—it seemed as if he had never expected to encounter such a conversation:

"Oh. Oh! Try it, try it! What are you waiting for? Come on."

He raised his hands, groped and rubbed his face:

"Where should I hit? I heard the area between my eyebrows is actually quite hard. How about my temples?"

Richard's hand holding the gun was shaking, and his teeth were chattering. He carefully transferred the gun from his left hand to his right hand, trying hard to calm the tremors:

"Mouth, eyes, temples; it's all fine. Whichever you prefer?"

This may be the only chance.

Richard regretted deeply—why had he not chosen a larger caliber pistol? Why hadn't he chosen more lethal ammunition? Could this gun be loaded with armor-piercing rounds? But regretting the past wouldn't help him in the present or the future.

"Can't you think of it? The eyes! I heard that hitting the eyes hurts the most; and I want to see it."

The boy in the yellow raincoat raised his eyebrows comically and opened his eyes as wide as possible: To be honest, these were the cleanest and clearest eyes Richard had ever seen.

This is not a figure of speech or a metaphor, nor does it represent a look or anything else vague.