While “Rosen” was speechless, Ning Zhuo suddenly laughed.
“Just kidding.” He tugged at a curl of hair by his earlobe, “One last question. If your side cancels the order, do we need to refund the deposit?”
“Rosen” looked at him as if he were a lunatic, gave a shuddering “hmm,” and the ending sound dragged out.
Ning Zhuo nodded and, just as when he arrived, disappeared lightly and swiftly beyond the door, like a ghost.
“Rosen” held his breath for a dozen seconds to ensure he wouldn’t return.
After confirming he was safe, he exhaled a long breath, took out a liquid gold eagle-shaped shield badge from his suit pocket, cherished it with a few strokes of his fingers, and turned the volume of the Justice Show back to normal.
Unlike before, a relaxed smile appeared on his lips.
At this moment, Rosen wasn’t the only one watching the live broadcast of the Justice Show.
As an established crime investigation show, Justice Show’s main feature was the live execution of death row inmates.
It was a justice carnival for the entire Silver Hammer City.
Countless screens large and small showed the face of the criminal.
The gazes on the criminal varied.
Hateful and angry.
Blindly adoring.
Sighing and lamenting.
…And those filled with pity and compassion.
In a villa in the Atber district, Mrs. Charlemagne, who was nearly forty but still well-maintained, looked at the handsome young r*pist and murderer on the screen with eyes full of distress.
For the eighteenth time, she asked her butler, “Is everything arranged?”
For the eighteenth time, the butler patiently replied, “Everything is fine.”
Mrs. Charlemagne complained, “Sigh, using our own people would be much better, why insist on hiring outsiders?”
“The sir is a White Shield inspector, there are too many eyes on him,” the butler explained softly. “Rest assured, the one handling the transport is a mercenary. His record has been checked; he’s clean, experienced, efficient, and most importantly, has no connection to us.”
The lady asked with concern, “Is he a good driver?”
The butler smiled.
Only an overindulgent mother would worry about such trivial matters.
Wisely, he didn’t dwell on the details with her any longer: “The warm water and calming medicine are ready in the second-floor bedroom.”
The lady stared at the big screen and said, “No, I need to see him safe before I can sleep.”
“This is already the second time, what are you worried about?” The butler comforted, “The young master won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest, you can’t stay up all night.”
The lady’s beautiful face was filled with worry, and her mind was tangled with various concerns.
Just as she stood up, she remembered something: “Has the sir arrived at the scene?”
The butler glanced at the screen and smiled, “Look, what a coincidence.”
The lady turned to see her husband on the screen.
She couldn’t help but smile gently, feeling much more at ease, and walked up to the second floor.
…
On the screen, Mr. Charlemagne, wearing a single-ear headset and with a serious expression, sat outside the injection room. As a representative of the White Shield enforcement team, he wore the liquid gold eagle-headed badge on his chest.
He had been invited to observe the execution.
Mr. Charlemagne’s face was calm and somber as he looked at the criminal, Raskin, in the execution room through a layer of one-way glass.
In his headset came the voice of the Justice Show’s star host.
After being translated by the universal translator, the host’s angry and sorrowful emotions were also transmitted to every corner of Silver Hammer City.
“Raskin Devin is a fan of the former infamous disfiguring killer, ‘Dead Leaf Turtle’ Basil!”
“According to his own confession, whether it was using homemade chemicals to cause severe facial damage to victims or choosing girls from civilian areas as targets, he learned it all from Basil.”
“This scum didn’t just enjoy the moment of disfigurement!”
“He would stalk the victims for a long time, watching them fall into depression, pain, and madness because of their disfigurement.”
“These girls from this income class couldn’t afford any reconstructive surgery.”
“One victim, to restore her former beauty, went to work as a faceless s*x doll on ‘Return Willow’ Street.”
“What did Mr. Raskin do? He ordered her service! Making her unknowingly kneel and suck his filthy—”
The following content, due to violating broadcast regulations, was bleeped out on public display screens.
Hearing this, Mr. Charlemagne raised an eyebrow.
This clearly exposed the victim’s privacy.
Of course, the matter was tragic, disgusting, and shocking enough to make excellent news material.
He believed that the loyal viewers of “The Justice Show” would dig out all the information about this victim within an hour.
However, Mr. Charlemagne didn’t have the time to care about these minor details.
If someone with a peculiar taste and goodwill patronized her business, it would be a good thing for this poor girl, wouldn’t it?
At the same moment, the background music perfectly intensified with sorrow and anger, and the channel in his headset switched.
Someone called him: “Mr. Charlemagne, hello, can you hear me?”
Mr. Charlemagne coughed to indicate he could.
It was the program planner of “The Justice Show” on the other side.
He was invited this time for a special performance task.
The planner needed to check on the upcoming process with him again.
The planner spoke clearly and quickly:
“Your seat is arranged in the front row, closest to the control panel.”
“After the execution starts, you need to stand up, rush to the control panel, push away the officer in charge of the execution, and press the injection button yourself.”
“The reason for your action is that ‘the criminal brutally killed a police officer during his arrest, and as an inspector, you see all officers as your children, so you have a responsibility to do something for the deceased child.'”
“You can show a bit of anger when you do this. If you find it hard to act, just do it with a blank face.”
“Everyone present knows the process, no one will stop you.”
“The live broadcast will perfectly record your actions, and we will actively guide public opinion towards ‘justice executed.'”
“Rest assured.”
“Is there anything unclear?”
Mr. Charlemagne shook his head and opened his memo file.
The first entry was the information of the officer who died in the line of duty.
A young man in his twenties, who, during a public holiday, was shopping with his newly pregnant wife, accidentally spotted Raskin Devin stalking a new target.
He followed him all the way and was discovered by Raskin.
Raskin strangled him to death with a belt in a public toilet.
He carefully reviewed the young officer’s name twice, to avoid messing up his lines and forgetting the name of his “child.”
After checking the process, Mr. Charlemagne’s headset switched back to the live broadcast of “The Justice Show.”
The host’s voice rose and fell:
“Two years ago, the disfiguring killer Basil was executed in the same execution room.”
“The truth is, justice may be delayed, but it always exists!”
Amidst the resounding declaration of justice, Mr. Charlemagne’s gaze returned to the execution room.
Raskin Devin sat there, slightly pouting his lips, staring blankly at the ceiling, with an expression that seemed quite innocent.
Mr. Charlemagne furrowed his brows, filled with melancholy.
—No one knew, whether it was Basil or Raskin; they were all his biological son, Jin Charlemagne.
Sending the same person to the injection table twice with his own hands, Mr. Charlemagne himself found it absurd.
But after all, that was his son.
At 17, covered in blood, he had come home crying, saying he accidentally killed a female classmate.
The girl had seduced him voluntarily, and as a 17-year-old, he didn’t want to play by the rules and wanted to try something exciting.
How could he know that the choking play would kill her?
Mr. Charlemagne had personally sent his son for a bio-face surgery, giving him a brand new face and a perfect identity.
Basil was a young and wealthy underground rock singer.
But his precious son messed up this new identity too.
R*pe, disfigurement, causing panic throughout Silver Hammer City.
Everyone wanted him dead.
The day “Basil” was captured, Mr. Charlemagne had to use his influence again, making a slight tweak during the death penalty stage and pulling his son back from the edge of hell.
He then had a new identity: Raskin Devin, an art student with a promising future.
Then, he behaved for a year, unable to resist the temptation, he repeated his mistakes and ended up in the death chamber again.
But, even after changing faces twice, Mr. Charlemagne could still see the shadow of his once-adoring son in his eyes.
How could he bear to let him die?
Through the layers of “goose formation” invisible cameras, the on-site director keenly captured the complex emotions in Charlemagne’s eyes.
She exhaled the cigarette she had been smoking for years and calmly ordered, “Zoom in on Mr. Charlemagne’s face, zoom in… zoom in, give a close-up.”
Thus, this face, stern and thoughtful, filled with “justice will prevail,” appeared on the screens of millions of viewers watching “The Justice Show.”
At the same time, Ning Zhuo straddled his motorcycle, just like countless others, looking up at Mr. Charlemagne’s heroic and righteous face on the public screens in the square.
He sneered.
Before leaving the “Dangtu” bar after receiving the task, Ning Zhuo had specially looked for the alloy-jawed man.
As expected, that guy had already fled without a trace.
But after leaving the bar, Ning Zhuo did not rush to the task location.
Seeing that it was now impossible to reach the task location on time, Ning Zhuo still had no intention of starting his bike.
Ning Zhuo’s ride was an intercontinental cruising motorcycle with most of its machine parts exposed, having a cool metallic feel and perfect waistlines, like an elegant thug in a suit, quietly lurking with Ning Zhuo in the neon shadows.
The skyline, smeared by colorful light pollution, resembled an oil painting with blurred edges.
Ning Zhuo wore a half-helmet, and the color-changing one-way glass on the helmet prevented passersby from seeing his face clearly.
But he could see his own reflection in the polished motorcycle rearview mirror.
When Ning Zhuo didn’t smile, his face was pale and beautiful in a dangerously sharp way.
That sharpness was a killing knife.
Even if the blood had been wiped away, the mark of it could not be erased; just being there made one’s neck feel cold.
In his pale cheeks and green eyes, there always seemed to be a lingering shadow of blood.
Facing the air before him, Ning Zhuo murmured as if explaining something to someone.
“Yes, it’s that person’s son.”
“I know he doesn’t look much like him. But it’s him.”
“Sorry, I know, I took a bit too long… Sorry.”
If someone who knew Ning Zhuo saw him apologizing so meekly, they would probably gouge out their own eyes and replace them with prosthetic ones.
After all, in their opinion, Ning Zhuo was someone who could bite back at a wolf without losing out.
But this wasn’t his territory, and very few people could recognize Ning Zhuo’s bike.
Ordinary people passing by would only think he looked like a lunatic talking to himself.
Finally, the highly anticipated moment arrived.
“The Justice Show” jumped into a long segment of “White Shield Warning,” reminding viewers not to reproduce the footage without authorization and politely asking citizens under 18 to stop watching.
On the bullet screen, frantic and vicious curses and limitless praise battled each other.
Ning Zhuo stopped his muttering to no one and looked up at the big screen.
…
In the execution chamber, the “Disfiguring Killer,” Raskin Devin, was dressed in a straitjacket, leisurely… eating candy.
This was his “last wish” before execution:
He wished to have a piece of strawberry-flavored bubble gum before “death.”
The sweet, soft candy was chewed with clicking sounds, and he blew pink, transparent bubbles.
Pop.
Pop.
Raskin Devin, or “Dry Leaf Turtle” Basil, or Mr. Charlemagne’s biological son, Jin Charlemagne, was quite familiar with the process, having already undergone “execution” once.
One dose of barbiturate and one dose of potassium chloride would be injected into him alternately by a machine.
The barbiturate used to sedate and lull him to sleep was real.
As for the lethal potassium chloride, it had long been replaced with glucose.
He only needed to sleep peacefully, and the next day he would wake up to have his gentle mother, exquisite meals, and a soft bed again.
The prison’s standard liquid food was really disgusting.
Though he had his own private meals thanks to his father, just watching the prisoners eat that pig-like liquid food made him lose his appetite.
He thought, next time he should get a more handsome face.
When he had the face of “Basil” changed to “Raskin” during the last surgery, he had already set his eyes on a nice face model.
A standard innocent-looking European sweet face, beautiful and stupid, more likable, and easier to deceive those girls into letting their guard down.
Spitting out the bubble gum, Raskin lay on the execution table.
A psychologist began to talk to him, confirming his emotions were quite calm, then made a gesture to the outside.
The executioner deliberately delayed for a few seconds before pressing the button.
Sure enough, he was pushed aside by Mr. Charlemagne, who came rushing from behind.
Mr. Charlemagne pressed the injection button hard and announced clearly to the “goose formation” invisible camera before him, “This is for my child—More Channing.”
The connection was perfect, the buildup was in place, and the name was pronounced correctly.
Everything was just right.
The pale liquid slowly entered Raskin’s veins.
Raskin, having already experienced it once, didn’t even find the novelty of the execution this time.
His wrists were bound by the straps, with only his index finger barely able to move, tapping the steel execution table out of boredom, calculating when the drug “should” take effect.
Soon, Raskin’s expression changed.
The reason was that his neck muscles suddenly stiffened, making him very uncomfortable.
Raskin tried to twist his neck, but the straitjacket greatly restricted his movements.
A few seconds later, the situation worsened.
Fine white foam began to bubble from the corners of Raskin’s mouth, making him look like a dying fish.
“Pain—pain!!”
His white teeth clenched, spilling out agonized moans, his head twitching uncontrollably, his neck instinctively arching back, but he was tied too tightly, his neck bones making cracking sounds against the execution table.
A doctor, noticing something wrong, burst into the execution room and stuttered, asking him how he felt.
Every extra word Raskin spoke intensified the convulsions and distortions of his face: “My stomach hurts, mom!”
He sensed something.
And this premonition scared him so much that he was crying and snotting.
His body was locked in the straitjacket, muscles twitching as if dancing, his body banging against the steel execution table; the sound was dull and miserable, like he was knocking his head to atone.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
His handsome face contorted with unbearable pain and severe suffocation, only able to squeeze out distorted cries from his numb throat: “Dad… mom… mom!!”
Soon, his blue eyes rolled upward, gradually losing their luster.
When he died, his vital signs disappeared, and the bioengineered, modified face uncontrollably dissolved back to its original form.
The beautiful face of “Raskin” melted away like scorched plastic, revealing “Basil’s” face.
Before the onlookers could be surprised, “Basil’s” face also began to slowly dissolve.
Since earlier, Mr. Charlemagne, who had personally pressed the injection button, had been standing outside the execution chamber, petrified like a clay statue.
At this moment, he woke up as if from a dream, shouting angrily, “Turn it off—turn off the live broadcast!!”
Before the most irreversible thing happened, “The Justice Show” shut down, leaving only a colorful screen displaying “Line Maintenance.”
…
There were quite a few viewers who couldn’t afford to pay for TV and came to the square to watch the free live broadcast of “The Justice Show.”
When “Raskin” struggled and screamed, the surrounding streets seemed to have been paused.
It wasn’t until he rolled his eyes back, and several seconds later, the sound of discussions erupted like thunder.
At this moment, Ning Zhuo received a call.
He chose to “mute the environment” and answered.
The voice on the other end was quite familiar.
“Mr. ‘Rosen’,” Ning Zhuo’s voice was quite cheerful, “What’s up? I’m waiting at a red light.”
Mr. “Rosen” seemed to be in a bad situation.
In the midst of urgent running, his voice carried a tinge of anxious sobbing: “Don’t go to ‘Eight Hundred Miles,’ the mission is canceled!”
Ning Zhuo turned to look at the entrance of the “Dangtu” bar.
Just now, the arrogant Mr. “Rosen” was almost rolling out of the bar door and then crawling into a black hovercar.
Ning Zhuo made a sound of acknowledgment, straightened his neck, and moved around a bit: “If we cancel the order at the last minute, do we need to refund the deposit?”
The voice on the other end sounded like a chicken with its neck squeezed, yelling: “No refund! … No refund! The mission is canceled!”
The call ended.
Ning Zhuo called the “Haina” base.
“I’m coming back now,” Ning Zhuo said, “Everyone who’s still out should return to the base. Something’s happening outside, and the entire city will be under lockdown in at most an hour.”
This time, it wasn’t a woman answering the call but another young male voice.
The person on the other end was obviously not well informed, hadn’t been watching “The Justice Show,” and asked in confusion, “Lockdown? What’s happening? What’s being locked down?”
Ning Zhuo started the motorcycle, glanced at the big screen, and spoke lightly as if telling a joke, “Who knows. Maybe they’re locking down for me.”
______
Author’s Note:
Silver Hammer Daily, a traditional newspaper format, is presented to readers in a floating form, with the headline and corresponding video shifting positions based on total views per minute.
Your headlines, in your control!
[Today’s Headline] “The Justice Show” strikes again! The disfiguring killer Raskin will be officially executed today! Live broadcast on Channel 3, see you there, loyal viewers!
[Second Page Headline] Should “The Justice Show” exist? Tune in to Channel 4 for in-depth analysis by invited experts—
[Third Page Headline] For the looks, a deep dive into Mr. Charlemagne, the most handsome and youngest inspector in “White Shield” history!
…
[nth Page Advertisement] Missing person notice: My daughter went missing five years ago at her high school graduation party, wearing a red dress, height 172cm, weight…
Daughter, I’ll be here every month, waiting for you to come home.
