Chapter 184 – Interrogation

10:15 AM. Song Cheng arrived once again at the containment zone housing high-risk prisoners.

A pure white, unadorned corridor stretched out before him. Harsh lighting poured down evenly from the ceiling. At regular intervals along both sides of the corridor, rings of dark red light were embedded into the walls, ceiling, and floor. Fully armed guards stood watch at the T-intersections at either end, while numerous sensors, surveillance devices, and sentry weapons lay concealed within the dense array of security modules overhead.

Along the corridor, every few meters stood a heavy blast door. Above some of these doors, green lights glowed, while above others, the lights blazed an eye-piercing crimson.

This was one of the Special Operations Bureau’s highest-level “prisons,” specifically designed to hold the most dangerous and escape-prone “humanoid prisoners.” Those who qualified for admission here were either criminals who had already caused catastrophic damage in the Borderland and were awaiting trial, or dangerous individuals with such immense potential threat that their release alone would warrant a joint manhunt by seven or eight factions.

Angel Cult members, of course, were perfectly suited for incarceration here.

Song Cheng came to a halt before a blast door at the end of the corridor. He glanced at the light above the door and the information displayed on the screen embedded in the adjacent wall, then nodded to the containment zone guard beside him. “How’s that guy doing?”

“Calm. No recorded activity. No self-harm or escape attempts,” the armored guard said in a muffled voice, his face hidden behind a heavy visor. “Aside from necessary eating, drinking, and bathroom use, the prisoner has just been sitting in that chair the entire time. Appears to be engaged in extended meditation.”

“Any readings from the mental monitoring and barrier systems?”

“All security systems operating normally. We can confirm the prisoner has been unable to communicate with any hidden entities or contact accomplices,” the armed guard continued. “We’ve detected what appears to be silent prayer on several occasions, but no supernatural forces were sensed. It should be nothing more than ordinary prayer.”

“Mm.” Song Cheng gave a slight nod, then asked, “And the other one?”

“Held separately in Zone B. Same situation as here—prisoner is quiet, silent, no erratic behavior, but also refuses to cooperate. Several routine interrogations and hypnosis sessions have failed to pry their mouths open. Honestly, the mental barriers on these ‘cultists’ are remarkably resilient.”

“That’s normal. After all, considering what they worship—sometimes it’s not that their mental barriers are resilient, it’s that these lunatics simply don’t have normal human minds anymore. But what needs to be interrogated still needs to be interrogated.” Song Cheng exhaled. “Open this door. I’m going to have another ‘chat’ with the guy inside.”

“Understood.” The armed guard nodded and stepped forward to operate the blast door’s locking mechanism. “Communication window is one hour. During this period, all security systems will be on high alert. Please be mindful of your safety, and please be careful to control your emotional fluctuations.”

Moments later, a gradually deepening hum emanated from within the heavy blast door, accompanied by the hissing of depressurizing mechanical systems. With a soft chime from the system, the silver-white alloy doors slowly parted to either side, revealing the “room” used to hold the prisoner.

A semi-transparent blue “light barrier” divided the cell into two sections. The “outer” section near the blast door was completely empty. Beyond the barrier stood minimal furnishings—a bed and a single chair. Every surface in the entire room—walls, ceiling, and floor included—was coated in a tough, slightly elastic material. On the ceiling, several extremely robust hemispherical devices were visible, occasionally emitting red light or a low hum, radiating cold warning.

A tall, thin, bald man in white prisoner garb sat motionless in the pale gray chair, his neck and both hands restrained by some kind of advanced binding apparatus. His face was expressionless as he stared at the bare wall opposite him.

The heavy blast door sealed shut behind him. Song Cheng walked up to the light barrier and pressed his hand against its surface. After a few breaths, the barrier vanished, and he strode directly toward the prisoner sitting in the chair—one of the two captured Angel Cult members.

The bald prisoner finally withdrew his gaze from the bare wall and looked up at Song Cheng. His eyes held neither sorrow nor joy—a calm so absolute it seemed as though he had transcended all worldly emotions and desires.

“You’re here again,” the Angel Cult member said flatly. “Poor soul, trapped in your cage.”

“In your eyes, I’m trapped in some kind of cage, is that right? You people treat the Real World as a cage—while your Lord is trapped in another one.” Song Cheng showed no reaction whatsoever to the provocation, his expression blank. “Take a look at yourself. Aren’t you trapped in a cage too?”

“I am indeed temporarily confined here, but I enjoy a freedom and peace far beyond your comprehension,” the cultist said with a faint smile. “As for my Lord, His ‘confinement’ is a far more exalted ‘suffering.’ He will break free from His bonds according to the covenant and descend upon this pitiable mortal world. When that day comes, the devout shall be blessed—and the dull-witted, like yourself, shall naturally receive suffering befitting their kind.”

Song Cheng remained unmoved. Only a flicker of curiosity passed through his eyes. “I’m suddenly a bit curious—you and your companion, which ‘Angel’ exactly do you follow? As far as I know, there are many Twilight Angels, and the Angel Cult is actually split into numerous factions. Some worship several at once, while others devote themselves exclusively to a single one. Which one do you believe in?”

“You’re beginning to show curiosity about my Lord. Under the guise of interrogation, you ask me about the Lord’s secrets. Then you’ll gradually reveal an interest in our faith, seeking further teachings from me. After that, you’ll act as though you’ve been moved, perhaps even begin voluntarily listening to those ‘voices.’ A few days later—or more cautiously, a dozen or so days later—you’ll present yourself as a ‘trainee’ who has been privately influenced by my Lord. Like one of us.”

The Angel Cult member spoke calmly, as though describing a sequence of events that, while not yet having occurred, had already become past tense in his “observation.” All the while, he gazed steadily into Song Cheng’s eyes.

Then he leaned slightly forward. “I will let my guard down around the seventh or eighth day, and in the process, I’ll reveal far too many secrets about my Lord and my brethren. And you will take those secrets to your superiors. Save yourself the effort—the smell of Rationality-Blocker is practically seeping from your pores.”

Song Cheng’s expression still didn’t change. He seemed to have absolutely no reaction to the cultist’s “exposure” of his tactics. He was silent for a few seconds, then a faint smile appeared on his face. “Not bad. Looks like you’ve got plenty of experience—but your companion’s experience is rather more ordinary.”

“Ah, so it’s the second approach. You’ve separated us specifically to make each of us doubt the other’s loyalty and devotion.” The Angel Cult member shook his head. “Your methods are simpler than I imagined.”

Song Cheng stared hard at this “Angel Cult member” who appeared to feel neither sorrow nor joy, as though he had shed every weakness of mortal existence. That smooth, bald head of his looked particularly glaring and irritating right now.

After a moment, Song Cheng let out a soft breath and sat down directly on the nearby bed.

“It’s fine. We have plenty of time. I’m admittedly no interrogation expert, but more specialized people will come to handle this. As for now… let’s just talk. Just a casual chat.”

…

An hour later, the cell’s blast door opened and Song Cheng walked out.

A fully armed guard approached from the side. “Did you get anything out of him?”

“Same damn thing as last time. His lips are sealed tighter than a submarine hatch. I’m starting to think that even if the actual apocalypse hit and the universe was about to explode, the last things left standing would be these Angel Cult bastards’ two flapping lips, standing there outlasting heaven and earth.” Song Cheng cursed without a shred of composure while fishing a cigarette from his pocket and sticking it in his mouth. “Plus, this one seems to have some kind of special ability—he can extrapolate the ‘trajectory of events’ following any single word I say or action I take. No wonder the previous interrogation specialists couldn’t get anywhere with him.”

“…A ‘Prophet’?”

“Hard to say. I’ve never heard of a ‘Prophet’ running off to join the Angel Cult, and if he were really a Prophet, how could we have caught him so easily? I think it’s more likely he’s been influenced by the ‘Angel’ behind him and gained some kind of clairvoyance-type ability… I really drew the short straw on this one.”

The armed guard listened in silence. Just as Song Cheng was about to flick his lighter, the guard reached out to stop him. “…Sir, smoking isn’t allowed here.”

Song Cheng froze for a moment, then awkwardly put the lighter and cigarette away.

And right at that moment, the phone in his pocket suddenly rang.

He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. The indignation on his face a second ago vanished instantly. He hurriedly answered the call while forcing a smile onto his face. “Oh, Bureau Chief? No, no, I just happen to be free. Go ahead, go ahead… Huh?”

Song Cheng’s expression suddenly turned peculiar. He listened for a few moments, then spoke hesitantly. “Tell him about this… Is that really appropriate? If we bring him in on this… He’s not exactly internal personnel, right?… Alright, if that’s your judgment, then I’ll give him a call.”

After hanging up, Song Cheng stared blankly at his phone screen, his mood seemingly complicated.

The armed guard beside him was peering over curiously through his visor.

Song Cheng waved him off, signaling him to stand by, then walked off to the side with his phone. After a brief moment of hesitation, he dialed a number.

A moment’s wait, and then a voice came through the receiver. “Hello? Captain Song?”

“Ahem, Yu Sheng.” Song Cheng cleared his throat twice. “I’ve got something to tell you—remember those two Angel Cult members you provided intel on before? The Special Operations Bureau caught them. Our Bureau Chief told me to ask if you’d be inter—”

Before he could finish, an eager voice cut in from the other end: “Yes!”

Song Cheng blinked. “Uh… alright then, I’ll send someone to pick—”

“Send someone to Floor 54-1/2 to get me. I’m already here.”

(End of Chapter)