Arnold crawled out of the transom and fell awkwardly to the ground, splattering himself with mud.
After crawling through the ventilation ducts for so long, his bald head was covered in dust and cobwebs, and the skin on his elbows and knees had been scraped raw.
Blood seeped through his shirt, staining his jacket red.
"Useless Arnold! Wipe the mud off my face!"
The wooden puppet in his arms opened and closed his mouth, angrily waving his short limbs.
"Sorry, Scarface!" Arnold carefully wiped away the mud and cradled Scarface in his arms.
Then he noticed the vintage car parked in the corner. Looking left and right, he made sure no one had spotted him before running over in a crouch.
"Worthless Arnold, don't tell me you're planning to escape in that car. That's a terrible idea. I think I smell something.
"That car reeks of malice. Something bad might happen if we get in!"
"Then what... what should we do? Maybe we should call the police. Go back to Blackgate Penitentiary. They... they won't come looking for me then!"
At a loss, Arnold huddled beneath the car, talking to himself in a trembling voice. This poor man with a split personality had attached his vicious personality to this wooden toy and communicated with him through ventriloquism.
Arnold had never been the boss. Scarface was.
"Stupid Arnold, are you going to abandon me? Don't forget who made you what you are today."
Suddenly, a dark hand burst through the window. Amid the flying shards of glass, it seized the sparse hair that remained at Arnold's temples.
"Since you're here, why not come in and sit down?"
Qin Wei's demonic whisper sounded in the darkness. Without giving Arnold a chance to refuse, the hand yanked him into the car.
"An enemy!