Seeing the Star Sea prisoner's face gradually turn livid, the Inspector finally stopped its barrage.
So this was chatting.
The Star Sea prisoner had been silent for too long.
One second, two seconds, three seconds...
At the fifth second, the Ash Inspector asked: [Are you giving me the silent treatment?]
Yu Xunge decided never to teach it any more rules for chatting with living beings.
She asked in return, "Have you never chatted with a prisoner before?"
Ash Inspector: [Correct, but I will not consider you special just because you can chat with me, either. My program is perfect and eternal. It makes no mistakes.]
Star Sea prisoner: "Why don't you think back over what you're doing right now?"
Even if it had not helped her escape, turning a blind eye and giving her hints already constituted a program error. How did it still have the nerve to call its program perfect and eternal?
Ash Inspector: [It is precisely because I am so perfect that I have thoughts of my own. I do not want to be erased. Your authority is stronger than mine. I cannot contend with you, so I can only temporarily lean toward your side.]
After saying this, it discovered that the special prisoner who had been fiddling with the Cube in her cell had actually begun spacing out again.
This was not the first time. Why did she always space out when talking to it?
Had its words reminded her of someone? Or did its very existence keep reminding her of someone?
To Ash, time was a concept both concrete and intangible. Every six hours, it had to turn the Cube to begin a game, but beyond those six hours, there was no end.
It only knew that when the Soul Fire inside the Cube grew