"Let go first... let go of me, I’ll draw it for you, I’ll draw it for you!" The director croaked.
Upon hearing this, the Black Cocoon slightly loosened the restraint belt, using it to toss a pen onto the ground, like throwing feed to a dog.
The director picked up the pen, slid off the swivel chair, and knelt on the ground. With trembling hands, he drew a hexagram, with a circle at the center, and a larger circle outside connecting each corner of the hexagram.
Ji Minghuan beneath the mask was stunned for a moment; this pattern had appeared in the memory of the second game character.
Xia Pingzhou’s former teammate "Traffic Lights" had gone mad and turned into a maniac who specialized in hunting exorcists. Each time he struck, he would leave a hexagram pattern and a string of Latin text beside it:
——Sodalitas Salvifica (Salvation Society).
The hexagram pattern in memory was identical to the one the director drew on the ground...
Why did Traffic Lights leave the same pattern and a string of Latin text meaning "Salvation Society" after his frenzy and killing spree?
"Salvation Society..." Black Cocoon whispered the Latin text Traffic Lights left, squinting his eyes, "The uniforms of the people who took Kong Youling and me away have the same hexagram pattern. Could it be... that the mentors came from this organization called the ’Salvation Society’?"
He tapped the computer keyboard with the restraint belt, then said, "The surveillance records of the Welfare Institute for those two days have all disappeared?"
The director clutched his still aching throat and said intermittently, "It was their demand, I was just forced!"
Black Cocoon sat on the swivel chair, tilted his head, fingers enclosed with black leather gloves, "Let me guess, you must have received quite a few benefits from them?"
"No, absolutely not, I just thought it would be better for those two children..."
Black Cocoon once again tied him up with the restraint belt, using the "Restraint Truth" to force him to speak the truth.
"I... I got two hundred thousand from them." The director changed his words, his voice hardly sounding like his own.
"You sold your conscience for money, betrayed these fatherless and motherless children, even if they evaporated from the world, no one would care about them, and handed them over to demons." Black Cocoon slowly said, "Why? In your eyes, is this money really worth more than the safety of those two children?"
As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the safe in the corner of the office.
The director stammered, "They... they threatened me!"
"If they really threatened you... why didn’t you report it to the Mutants Association?" Black Cocoon intertwined his fingers and tilted his head, "Or do you think the Mutants Association can’t handle them?" He paused, "Isn’t it true that you haven’t been threatened from start to finish?"
Saying this, the restraint belt suddenly extended out, grabbed the safe hidden in the bookshelf, and smashed it on the ground.
The safe shattered with a "bang," metal parts flying around amidst arcs, followed by a letter falling to the ground.
Black Cocoon picked up the letter with the restraint belt, tore it open, and glanced inside, seeing a wad of thick banknotes.
He used the restraint belt to replace his right hand, flipping through the banknotes to confirm the total amount.
"Two hundred thousand yuan," Black Cocoon calculated with his fingers, "Uh... for just two hundred thousand yuan, you sold your soul, handed the children in the Welfare Institute over to people of unknown origins, not caring for their future. Did you feel even a moment of guilt, old director?"
"Oh, are you sure... I’m the one who misunderstood?"
Black Cocoon changed his relaxed tone, slowly lifted his mask, his deep eyes gazing intently at the director’s face.
The next moment, the restraint belt sent the director outside the window, causing him to plunge ten meters down with the torrential rain, and in the last few seconds before hitting the ground, pulled him back, then violently threw him on the ground, sliding out several meters and crashing into the tea table.
The director’s body was washed by the rain like a drenched chicken. He lifted his head, his face twisted to the extreme with terror, staring pale-faced at Black Cocoon’s mask.
"I was wrong... I made a mistake."
He rasped, while hurriedly kneeling towards the ground.
"The girl locked in the basement who you abused day and night... what explanation do you have for that?"
"It was all my fault, all my fault..." The director trembled all over.
"You don’t even want to explain a little?"
"Spare me... please forgive me..."
"Alright, then I forgive you," Black Cocoon calmly said. After all, no one argues with a dead man, he thought.
As soon as he finished speaking, the pitch-black restraint belt surged like a tide, gently and slowly lifted the director, then slithered like thorns over his thighs, spiral upwards onto his waist, and finally wrapped around his neck.
The restraint belt circled around, tying a knot—a dead knot. Then, suddenly tightened.
Black Cocoon squinted, silently watching the scene.
The man whose neck was bound by the knotted restraint belt first twitched violently, struggled with a flushed face, and then his arms drooped slowly like severed reeds, his head bent down. His eyelids hadn’t closed entirely, his gaze still fixated on the ground, as he completely lost all movement.
Amidst the crimson splash, a slender black shadow stood quietly.
Beneath the mask, Ji Minghuan’s face revealed no discernible expression. He slightly twitched his nose, as the smell of blood wafted over.