Madness ecstasy

John Dou suddenly released his five fingers, causing Richard, who was still struggling to resist, to poke the tip of his pen into the notebook.

Richard shook his numb right hand and didn't look directly at John Dou:

"Got it. I'll write the report myself."

He flipped through his notebook and found the last observation record, preparing to fill it in the report:

[Subject (John Dou/Sinner 247), after recreating the crime scene ritual, completed observational procedures: Subject again observed the humanoid entity hovering above the city, as detailed below.]

[The humanoid entity appears to be a female child, aged between twelve and seven years old; Caucasian descent, Nordic type. Based on distance and reference points, it is estimated to be approximately 14.3 meters tall, but retains normal human proportions. The entity is wearing long pajamas, the specific brand and style of which cannot be determined.]

[The subject's movements consist of hands raised sideways, fingers spread, and legs standing side by side in the shape of a cross. The subject's face is unrecognizable, and it is unclear whether they are making any sound.]

[Entity identity presumption: Maintain the original presumption result.]

[Results of this observation: No change in entity size, no change in entity appearance, no change in entity behavior, and no increase in entity number.]

As he walked, his pen clicked on the report. Looking up, John Dou was already dozens of meters away, his figure distorted by the scorching heat. His head, with its matted gray hair, stared intently at the concrete ahead, a prominent bump on the back of his neck.

Richard sighed and put a check mark next to the option "Is the target stable?" and a cross next to the option "Does the target abuse ritualistic behavior?"

I will post two more chapters today and tomorrow, ing, 12:10~

Chapter 13 Recycling

Richard stuffed the report into the inner pocket of his windbreaker and quickly caught up with John Dou, walking side by side with his partner. He pressed the Jingming point on the top of his nose desperately, recalling the contents of the intelligence:

"Mong Cai. Why here? There are so many places to go, why hide here? It's not a big city."

"I've never done field work before, and I've only been in the business a year—how can I carry a package so far?"

"."

John Dou didn't answer, but simply lit another cigarette: still using the butt from the cigarette he had just smoked. It wasn't so much that he was addicted to smoking, but rather that this slovenly middle-aged man wanted to fill his lungs with tar.

Richard rubbed his eyes, which had recovered some of their fatigue:

"The form only said the package should be recycled, but did not require [the customer] to do anything specific with it."

"What do you think? What exactly do we want to do? Living? Dead? After the package is collected, should it be destroyed on site as usual? And the intelligence report doesn't even say what the package looks like."

Before he could take two puffs, John Dou suddenly pressed the still-sparkling cigarette butt into his palm, crushing the remaining tobacco into pieces and making a hissing sound. Then he opened his pocket and threw the cigarette butt into it:

"You think too much and have too many questions. Talk to [the client] first: Don't clean up Corey's mess and end up with the shit on us; if things go wrong, just pull out. If you're not careful, my name will become a reality."

"I worry every day about how to do my job well, but how will I spend my salary if I die?"

In the English context, John Dou is not much different from Zhang San Li Si or Jane Doe - unclaimed male corpses in the morgue are often given this name.

This was not his real name, but John Dou had become accustomed to this unlucky name; he even liked it better than his original name.

-

"I know, I understand the reason. But—ah."

Richard wasn't actually asking his partner questions - he was just thinking a little "out loud": talking out loud about what was going on in his mind was his way of relieving anxiety.

After a moment's thought, he came up with a possible reason why the target was lurking in Mong Cai:

"I seem to understand a little bit."

"Mong Cai, for example, is a small city even in Southeast Asia, but it sits right on the edge of the southern Eurasian pipeline network; this way, the city's residents can use two logistics networks."

"That means the workload will double if we have to screen the items. Where would we get so many people in Mong Cai? Is this how [the customer] wants to ship the package?"

Furthermore, Mong Cai City had only just established a branch and service point for the Special Package Handling Department—even the list of personnel to be deployed was still being finalized. Aside from a few informants, there was no secure channel covering the entire city.

"Southern Logistics Network, Southern Logistics Network—the routes reach as far as Australia and New Zealand. So the goal is to deliver the packages directly to Australia?"

Richard scratched his head: This seems to be the only explanation. Apart from this, there is nothing else that is unusual.

John Dou suddenly stopped and turned around. He raised his head slightly, stared at Richard's chest pocket, and then patted his partner's shoulder vigorously:

"Don't even think about it. Leave it to the people in the analysis department. If there's a chance, try to catch him alive. This order is very treacherous, and we can't just turn a blind eye."

"Be careful. Remember what we saw last night? If anything happens, we should retreat."

He squeezed the empty cigarette box and took another pack from his pocket:

“Let’s go, let’s collect [customers] and packages.”

-

Liujin Garden, along with Tianhu Community and Huayue New Village, formed a residential complex that housed workers and their families from several nearby tape factories. With the tape factories' declining profitability in recent years, Liujin Garden is no longer as crowded as it once was; a few mangy dogs wandered the community square.

Under the scorching sun, a creaking garbage truck with peeling green paint pulled into the gate of the Liujin residential complex, casting a shadow that completely obscured the guard booth. It wasn't regular garbage collection time, but the security guard, his face covered with newspaper and his shirt lifted to his chest, fanned by an electric fan, showed no interest in looking up.

The garbage truck drove past the garbage station that had just collected a wave of garbage in the morning and had not yet had time to add much new goods; it bypassed the flower beds that were not watered and were full of dead branches and the greenhouses full of bicycles, and turned into the back door of the Gilded Garden.

The grayish-green garbage truck rolled across the road, completely blocking the rusty iron sliding door at the back door of Gilded Garden. Now, if someone didn't want to go out through the main door, they could only choose the surrounding four-meter-high brick walls with sharp glass fragments sealed on top with cement.

Richard, sitting in the passenger seat of the garbage truck, flipped open the manila folder: The [client's] name and most of their information had been sealed off with a printed black stripe, leaving only a one-inch ID photo, the types of training they had received upon joining the company, and some notes from the pre-employment physical examination report.

He looked through it, running his fingers over every documented piece of training the [Client] had and any skills he might have - nothing special, honestly; just a run-of-the-mill support.

But this also casts even more doubt on this expedited order.

"[The client] is a bit too ordinary, it's really abnormal. How can it be so easy to be discovered and located?"

John Dou got out of the car first and slammed the door; he stuffed several enlarged A4 papers with photos of [Client] printed on them into his pocket.

"Don't even think about it. The tip says [the client] is here; get ready for the recovery."

Smoke billowed from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, covering John Dou's face like the hood of a helmet; only now, no passersby cast disgusted glances at him:

"The information was approved by the Analysis Department. If they make a mistake in arresting someone, it's none of our business. The department will try to shift the blame. It would be even better if we could just get away with it. It would give us some time to delay the arrest."

Richard glanced at him and shook his head:

"I don't want to clean up afterward—in an urban area like this, if we make a mistake, it's hard to deal with the bodies. And the support team just walked away, leaving us field officers to do it ourselves."

"Don't forget, the [client] we captured this time is just a support. If the support team blocks us, I don't know how many reports we'll have to write."

Richard is a quick learner and he always likes to use what others say as a weapon; especially when complaining.

"Okay, why are you complaining so much?" John Dou patted Richard's shoulder through the car window. "To be safe, use my ecstasy: if [the client] plans to break in through the front or back door, remember to delay her."

Richard shrugged and rubbed his bloodshot eyes with the back of his hand. If he cried a few more times in such a short period of time, he might really go blind.

"So polite today? Go ahead. I've already taken care of the observation report. Take this with you. If things don't work out, we'll kill him and investigate later. It's safer."

He fitted the silencer on the CZ-75 in its holster and handed it to John Dou, then lifted up his trousers and patted the bulge in his ankle nylon socks where Richard's spare gun was.

"When the body is found, throw it directly into this garbage truck. If you catch it alive or if there's any change, rendezvous at the safe house. I'll wait for you for two hours. If anything happens, remember to call my pager."

John Dou waved his hand without turning his head:

"I understand, old lady."

-

Chapter 14 Ink Stains

John Dou walked upstairs: it was already afternoon, and the smell of food lingered in the air; most residents in the community turned on the fans for their lunch break, and apart from the humming of machinery, it was very quiet.

There was an old woman wearing a white floral shirt, washing dishes at the sink in the hallway, mumbling in Vietnamese. Two steps behind her was a row of public concrete stoves. For the tall John Dou, he had to turn sideways to squeeze through the crowded corridor.

The sound of muffled conversations, accompanied by varying string music and bursts of laughter - in the farthest room, there were children watching cartoons.

This is a small hotel in a residential building, with only one floor and a dozen rooms. The price is low, and there is not even a peephole on the door. But again, there is no need for any strict identity registration or proof.

The client is here, staying in room 323. According to the intelligence, she's unarmed: at least not with firearms. Losing her employment status with the Asia-Europe Post, acquiring these items in Jiaozhi Autonomous Prefecture wouldn't be easy.

-

John Dou did not go any further. The room closest to the staircase was wide open, seemingly used as a hotel reception desk; behind the mottled desk sat an old man in a vest, rolling his eyes, snoring like a broken tractor, his neck half covered in saliva.

John Dou strode in. The air in the reception room was a mixture of the stench of plant gum and human sweat. He picked up the open register on the table and said:

There was a large light blue stain on the register, covering up the name and room number of the person who checked in today. This was a perfect damage that hadn't completely dried yet, coming from the empty ink bottle beside the table. The stain had crawled along the table leg and onto the unpaved cement floor.

It seems someone accidentally knocked over the ink bottle.

John Dou flipped forward in the register and saw the alias of the client. She had checked in yesterday and booked a room for three days. The room number was exactly 323, as the intelligence had said.

He picked up the register, held it to his face and smelled it—the smell of ink was fresh and strong. John Dou tore off the ink-damaged registration form and held it against the light bulb hanging from the ceiling; through the light, he could barely make out some words, but the name and room number were still unclear and blurred.

However, the number of lines with handwriting still showed that there were several new check-ins today. John Dou opened the registration form from a few days ago and compared them - the number of new guests checking in today was twice that of usual days.

Now, John Dou could confirm that the ink spill wasn't an accident. The client had indeed checked into the hotel and had destroyed their check-in information.

A classic mistake by the Analysis Department—the intelligence was correct, but not entirely: [The client] had rented at least two rooms, perhaps even more, under an alias. One was used for observation and rest, while the others were a maze of disguises.

For a temporary stay of two or three days, it is a pretty good protection measure.

-

When I came out, my wife was still washing dishes. She half turned her head and glanced at the strange foreigner.

John Dou stood on tiptoe, his hairy fingers gripping the edge of the narrow air vent in the hallway. He pushed his legs against the wall, his leather shoes adding another layer of stains to the already dirty wall - and just like that, he climbed to the top of the hallway and hid himself in the tangled network of pipes.

The old woman raised her head and stared blankly at John Dou, who was clinging to the iron pipe like a spider. Her wrinkled hands were still soaked in water, scrubbing the iron chopsticks.

John Dou pulled a fifty-yuan note, a replica police badge, and an A4 sheet of paper with the client's portrait from his windbreaker pocket with one hand, and waved them toward his wife. His palms were large, his arms long, and even while suspended in mid-air, he could still practically shove the items into her face.

The metallic clink of chopsticks slowed, then stopped. With a snap, my wife raised her wet hand, snatched the banknote, and stuffed it into her apron pocket. Her drooping eyelids narrowed, a gleam of light gleaming in them.

She stared at the blurry ink-coated photo on the A4 paper, her cheeks twitching thoughtfully like a Shar Pei. Then the wife raised a foam-covered finger and pointed at the door marked [325]: not the one the intelligence said.

John Dou swam through the pipes like a big gecko and crawled to the direction the old man pointed; the hem of his windbreaker rubbed against the rust on the pipes and scraped off small dark red fallen leaves.

He pulled Richard's service pistol from its holster, pointed the muzzle at the door, and confirmed with his wife.

Seeing the black pistol suddenly appear in John Dou's hand, Po Tai grabbed the banknote from her pocket and confirmed its authenticity in the sunlight outside the corridor - she looked at it back and forth several times before turning around and nodding reluctantly.

John Dou raised his hand and bent down, knocking on the iron door from top to bottom, making a "dong dong" sound.

squeak-

After a while, the iron door opened a crack, but there was no sound of questioning. John Dou climbed just above the door, his feet stuck on the wall, and the pistol in his palm.

boom.

Not far away, the door of the reception room where the drooling old man was still sleeping was closed; my wife also disappeared without a trace.

Tap, pounce.

There was a muffled thud on the ground. No one looked out to inquire: instead, something was thrown out from the crack in the door and slammed against the wall.

John Dou was high above and could see everything clearly.

It was a round thing, a cylindrical paper core left over from used toilet paper, wrapped in two circles of electrical tape: the hollow middle part was stuffed full, sealed with hard plastic at the front and back; at one end was a fuse wrapped in a cotton ball, burning brightly.

Hiss--hiss!

Thick smoke billowed out of the cylinder like a spirit from an oil lamp, billowing in all directions. This was certainly not the ghosts left behind by the use of all the toilet paper, but rather a homemade smoke bomb assembled with various paste-like fillings and smoke powder.

The smell of chili, mustard, and pepper exploded; it stung the eyes and left a spicy taste on the tip of the tongue. The corridor was suddenly filled with a dark smoke of yellow, red, and green, sticky and occupying the entire corridor.

-

BANG! The iron door was driven open, crashing against the wall along its axis, knocking off a small piece of white paint that turned gray.

Puff—the bullet from John Dou's pistol followed the sound of the door being rushed open and shot into the swirling and expanding smoke. He didn't hit the target he wanted, only the dull sound of metal hitting concrete.

A hole was torn in the cloud of smoke: a slender figure rushed out, accompanied by a symphony of pots and pans crashing and falling along the way.

John Dou covered his face with his windbreaker and landed heavily on the ground. The wind he brought swept away a circle of smoke, but it hit the wall and was wrapped back again. He didn't open his eyes, holding his breath fiercely. He just ran in the direction of the sound, his hard heels making a clicking sound.

Chapter 15 Hunting

John Dou followed behind the [client], his leather heels hitting the ground rapidly again and again.

The client wore a hooded sweatshirt and a shoulder bag slung across her shoulders. She tore off a mask attached to a mineral water bottle and tossed it behind her. The bottle contained a handful of black, gurgling particles; it looked like activated charcoal.

She was more flexible than John Dou had imagined, and she had also learned how to use cover in a narrow environment to avoid possible bullets. John Dou never found a suitable shooting angle.

[She's really good at handicrafts.]

John Dou could already imagine the excellent results that [the client] would achieve during the on-the-job training: she was better than he had imagined, and the previous rounds of offense and defense had made John Dou realize this.

As she ran, she took off her backpack and threw it towards the sky outside the aisle. The shoulder bag, whose contents were unknown, drew an arc and fell into the square of the community.