There was no need for Ji Jue's suggestion at all.
At a moment like this, everyone understood: if they wanted to quell the unrest in the city as quickly as possible, dispel the looming shadow of the coming storm, and calm the people, there were only two options.
First, kill the Evil Transformation Cult. Second, kill the "Evil Transformation Cult."
Whichever option they chose, it had to be swift, ruthless, and steady—they had to snuff out the storm in the cradle before the situation could ferment. Likewise, whichever method they used, they needed an Evil Transformation Cult!
Now, the Evil Transformation Cult had arrived.
Delivered right before Ji Jue.
It was time to wrap up this farce. This was the final procedure.
—Go on, admit it. Is this the Evil Transformation Cult you asked for?
The same police station, the same interrogation room, beneath the same overhead camera and the watchful eyes of every faction, Ji Jue sat in the interrogator's seat with his legs crossed, savoring the free coffee and idly inhaling its aroma.
He did not say a word.
Everything was ready, yet he refused to begin the final performance.
In the deathly stillness, only the "confessor" behind the table grew increasingly fidgety and uneasy. He sat stiffly, and for some reason, even though he had long made up his mind and understood the outcome, he could not stop himself from sweating profusely.
The observers outside, too, gradually grew restless before their screens, their brows furrowing.
By now, if you wanted compensation, you got compensation. If you wanted respect, you got respect. Even when you fucking wanted an Evil Transformation Cult, everyone had racked their brains to scrape one together for you. Just nod, and this fucking matter would be over.
It should be done by now, brother,