Inside Interrogation Room No. 1 of the Operations Security Department, the two interrogating officers and the suspect were all in position.
Pang Yik-hang, who wore a Bauhinia on his shoulder, leaned against his chair with his arms folded across his chest, his expression indifferent.
Beside him, Guan Zu, who was assisting with the interrogation, propped his cheek on his left hand while constantly twirling a Bead Pen reserved for interrogations in his right.
The two interrogating officers had different personalities: Chun was cold, while Ah Zu was warm.
But there was no question that both devoted themselves wholeheartedly to their work and responsibilities.
Yet at this very moment, both interrogating officers were acting as though they could not care less.
Their purpose was to increase the psychological pressure on Hung Jipang and make the interrogation that followed easier.
This was precisely why Pang Yik-hang and Guan Zu had been assigned to conduct the interrogation.
They were laying their cards on the table, making one fact clear to Hung Jipang.
The Police Force's National Security Department had never taken a terrorist like him seriously.
Of course, this was merely the attitude they wanted Hung Jipang to perceive.
In reality, everyone from Zhou Quan, the National Security DCP, down to the National Security Department's management took Hung Jipang's case very seriously.
Otherwise, they would not have been stationed in the adjoining Observation Room.
"Hothead, talk!"
Slowly straightening up, Pang Yik-hang interlaced his fingers on the table and looked Hung Jipang up and down with an indifferent gaze.
"About what?"
With his hands and feet shackled to the fixed interrogation chair, Hung Jipang could only maintain a stiff, upright posture.
"What do you want to know, sir? You have to ask first!"
His voice was hoarse, and defiance covered his face.
"Hothead, take