Zhao Bai was not optimistic about what came next. These detectives were full of enthusiasm when investigating cases, yet they lost all composure when they found themselves at a murder scene. After all, no one could calmly deduce anything when they might become the next victim.
They were all half-baked detectives.
A real detective would always feel utterly thrilled in a situation like this, along with the satisfaction of having eaten a full meal.
"Who's next?"
Doug took a few steps back, unable to see through this fanatical high school detective.
Why did he feel a little inferior?
Ever since the secret had been exposed, an oppressive, suffocating atmosphere had hung over the scene. The detectives' thoughts had slowed, as though their gears had frozen under some irresistible force, leaving them unable to think seriously anymore.
Everyone was wondering who the next victim would be.
It won't be me, will it?
Under such pressure, no one could think seriously. Seeing that this could not continue, Zhao Bai stood and gave an inspiring speech.
"Everyone here is a detective. I believe each and every one of you has the desire to speak eloquently at a crime scene. But not now. We are the victims, and we must possess extraordinary resistance to pressure. Everyone selected must do their best to calm down and reveal as much information as possible. The more we say, the more we can grasp, and the more hope our remaining colleagues will have of surviving."
It had no effect at all.
Some simply shot themselves without hesitation. There was more than one. Five gunshots rang out, and five bodies crashed to the ground. Blood flowed from their foreheads, while white brain matter foamed. They could not have been more dead.
Doug felt a little sick.
So his resistance