The Sandwich Secretary actually looked pretty good.
Not to say he was handso, but at the very least, his eyes were bright, his skin clean, and his short hair was neatly combed. Bohemia could see it clearly because that face was now leaning close to her desk. She was unable to say sothing, finding it hard to put into words.
"Uh... I didn't know last ti that you don't like xican food," he glanced at Bohemia and imdiately lowered his head, stuttering, "Coincidentally, a friend of mine recomnded a Japanese restaurant in the city. It's very popular, and I've finally managed to secure a reservation... So, um, if you don't have plans this Saturday evening, why don't we go there together?"
Bohemia blinked her eyes.
This was a completely new territory for her.
What did this guy an? Poison in the food? No, he just ntioned making a reservation... Did they have to reserve a spot for an underground fight? But underground fights had no food. Did the 'Red Raw Ingredients Restaurant' refer to blood? Why go in the evening, and what was the conspiracy?
Coincidentally, just as Bohemia was staring blankly at the Sandwich Secretary, a myriad of thoughts running through her mind, the Pocket Dinsion host spoke up right on cue: "It's ti to announce the third-phase objectives."
The Sandwich Secretary remained in the sa position, switching to standby mode, ignoring the sound of the Pocket Dinsion host echoing in the room.
"The objectives for the third phase are to effectively use your special abilities to pacify the inmates and, secondly, to survive until the fourth phase."
The fact that 'survive' had to be treated as an objective indicated that she might be in so life-threatening situations next. Considering she was about to inspect the prison cells, she should probably be extra cautious.
"I have so wisdom about surviving," the Descartes Spirit, in his philosophical manner, offered, "You can ask quickly."
Bohemia ignored it, gritted her teeth, and nodded firmly at the Sandwich Secretary, "I agree!"
With the determination to eat dinner, she agreed without letting Sandwich Secretary notice anything amiss. His face brightened instantly, a mix of joy and nervousness in his words, "So... Then we should get going."
"Ask quickly, this is a matter of life and death."
"Just a mont," Bohemia waved her hand at Sandwich Secretary and carefully picked up a brown paper envelope, then approached the corner safe. "I'll secure this docunt before we go."
"My survival tips!"
The combination for the safe was written on the back of Sandy Winters' parents' photograph, a discovery Bohemia had made right from the start. Seeing that she was about to open the safe, the Sandwich Secretary tactfully cleared his throat and pretended to look at the certificates on the wall, turning his back. Bohemia paid no heed to the Descartes Spirit's calls and glanced at the secretary to confirm he didn't have a chance to sneak a peek. Then, she entered the four-digit code one by one. After the final beep, the safe door clicked open, revealing several files and a small bag.
"Survival tips—"
"Cut the crap," Bohemia whispered as she pretended to inspect the docunts. "If you don't tell right now, I'll make at stuffing out of you."
"I'm not that naive," the Descartes Spirit replied with utmost seriousness. "No matter the situation, if you want to survive, you must rember that the key is to avoid dying."
Ignoring him, Bohemia casually looked at the items in her hands. Inside the safe, there were Sandy Winters' passport, a few bank statents, a phonebook filled with contact nas in abbreviation, and a blank piece of paper. On this paper, there were segnts of curved lines with arrows, forming a circle, with black dots between each segnt. Its aning was unclear. Besides these, there was a small bag with a seal, car keys, and various odds and ends, and nothing appeared to be particularly unusual.
While the Sandwich Secretary had yet to turn around, she stuffed the Descartes Spirit into the safe. Despite its loud protests, Bohemia used her Higher Consciousness to keep it firmly in place and then slamd the safe door shut.
As soon as the safe door closed, the gap beca blurry. Descartes seed less restricted by spatial rules, and its colors swirled out from the safe, asking her, "Why do you have no sense of proportion?"
"Don't follow ; I don't want to see you," Bohemia said irritably in a hushed voice. "Don't force to hand you over to Puppeteer... Sir."
"Really? Great—"
Before it could finish its sentence, Bohemia used her Higher Consciousness to press it back to the ground. She then reopened the safe and stuffed the Descartes Spirit back inside. At this mont, both she and Descartes were trapped in the ga's Pocket Dinsion and she didn't need to keep her Higher Consciousness on it continuously. She withdrew her Higher Consciousness, stood up, and saw the Sandwich Secretary still completely absorbed in examining the certificates on the wall. She called out, "Let's go."
As they descended the stairs to the first floor and passed the entrance to the conference room, she glanced at the half-open door. The key had long been removed, leaving an empty room with rows of tables and chairs.
Bohemia took another look at the conference room, her thoughts churning, but she couldn't quite figure out what she wanted to ask.
From the Sandwich Secretary's words and hints, it was clear that Sandy Winters had significant authority when it ca to managing the prisoners. She was a dedicated follower of the roaming managent thod, often patrolling the interior of the prison, the activity areas, or special accommodation areas. Almost every inmate knew her and respected her, considering her role as a young and pretty lady; it seed like a miracle that this scenario could play out in the ga.
"Hey," As they stopped in front of a thick iron door in the corridor, Bohemia suddenly rembered a detail that seed at odds with Sandwich Secretary's description. "Wenda, the one in overalls, tried to dissuade from coming in this afternoon. He was concerned that, as a young woman, the inmates might say so unpleasant things when they saw ."
"Ah," the Sandwich Secretary didn't seem to care at all. He swiped a card, and the iron door slowly creaked open. "You did hire him recently, right? Maybe he doesn't have much confidence in your abilities."
So, she had hired him herself... Bohemia thought about the few black hairs clipped inside his pocket. If he wasn't a serial killer, what was the story with those hairs?
The prison guards seed to quite like the young, beautiful, and capable warden. They greeted her constantly as they made their way, and one particularly burly guard with a long, concave face eagerly used his key to open the second door, leading her and Sandwich Secretary into the cell block.
"It makes no sense," the guard with a face shaped like a crescent moon said in a deep voice, complaining, "Miss Winters, as you know, their riots and brawls are usually issues between inmates. I don't know what got into them today... You've got to believe , Mr. Cottros just did the sa as usual, raising his voice to tell them to back off a bit, just like always... But it started with a few of those old folks, and one by one, they all got so agitated, shouting and shaking the railing, I couldn't even hear what the guy next to was saying..."
He was one of the guards on duty during the afternoon's riot and described the situation to Bohemia in detail: "When we found soone lying on the ground in a pool of blood, I thought this was it. We were pouring gasoline on the fire, and things were going to get out of control... But what I didn't expect was that, after discovering the dead person, they quickly backed off. They hardly caused us any trouble and just went back to their cells. By the way, have they figured out the cause of Hersin's death?"
Bohemia wore a serious expression. "Not yet; we're still waiting for the results."
"I heard sothing happened to the infirmary doctor?" The guard showed an oddly curious look considering his physique, but he didn't press further once he was dismissed. A few people stopped in front of a cell. The moon-faced guard tapped the iron railing with his baton and shouted inside, "Snake-Skin, Miss Winters is here!"
Comforting the inmates didn't an she had to have one-on-one conversations with each of them. The leaders of the riot were the most important. Controlling these key individuals was equivalent to controlling the various factions in the prison. Capturing the key factors that could influence the situation, whether inside or outside the prison, was an effective strategy.
The current leader of this group certainly looked the part. He was probably in his forties, and his prison uniform bulged around the shoulders and arms from well-defined muscles. His face had deep wrinkles, and he looked somber. One of his eyelids drooped because of a scar, and it wouldn't open fully. As he approached the railing, even the Sandwich Secretary involuntarily shrank back a step.
"Miss Winters," he said in a low, gravelly voice, "You're a bit late."
What's the rush, were you going sowhere else?
Bohemia knew she couldn't say that phrase, so she coughed and said, "I had to handle an urgent matter just now. This afternoon..."
Snake-Skin nodded almost imperceptibly. "No worries; Hersin wasn't one of our guys anyway. Don't fret about any lingering discontent leading to more trouble. I'll keep an eye on things." He raised the eyelid that could fully open, looking at the guards and the secretary. "But you should be careful as well. You might not be so lucky next ti."
As he said this, he turned his gaze back to Bohemia. The two stood face to face, like a duck standing before a small hill.
"In and out, make sure you look after our side of the brothers."
Although she didn't quite grasp his aning, Bohemia felt her diplomatic skills were truly remarkable. She didn't even complete a sentence, and this leader-like figure complied obediently. It was truly—hmm?
Her gaze fixated on sothing.
The guards and the secretary were standing behind her, with only a railing between her and Snake-Skin. At this mont, one of Snake-Skin's hands rested on the railing, and her shadow cast over his hand. His thumb and forefinger hung down in a circle, directly facing her, motionless.
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