"Sofia, who are they?"
Dean coughed weakly twice, asking with confusion.
Sofia was the head nurse of this VIP ward.
"Detective Dean, these two are your colleagues. We've already confirmed their identities. If there are any problems, your colleagues, as well as we, will be here immediately!"
The head nurse gazed at Dean, her eyes soft and inviting, hoping Dean would catch her unspoken hint and offer some kind of response.
Due to her rich nursing experience, she was the first nurse to understand Dean's true nature. She was very eager to communicate with him about this.
However, Dean politely kept his distance from this woman, who was about the same age as his own mother.
He smiled and said, "Thank you, Sofia. Your thoughtfulness is as sweet as the bananas you gave me. I'll call you if I need anything. Could you close the door for us now?"
The head nurse left with a look of unfulfilled longing. At her age, she craved something more tangible, more fulfilling to fill the void—not hollow sweet talk, unless that 'silver tongue' referred to a verb rather than a noun...
The door closed, and the man of the pair stepped forward to introduce himself amiably, "Detective Dean, I'm sorry to disturb your rest. I am Agent Detrov from the Internal Affairs Department. I have some questions I'd like to ask you. Is that convenient?"
"Of course, no problem," Dean said, his gaze shifting to the woman beside Detrov. She was rather ordinary-looking but possessed a quite impressive demeanor. "And this lady, won't you introduce yourself?"
He felt a scrutinizing gaze from her.
The woman smiled without speaking.
Detrov stepped in to explain, "Her identity is somewhat special, and she won't be part of our conversation. If it's alright, I'd like to begin the questioning as soon as possible."
Detrov took out a recording pen, confirmed it was working properly, and began the inquiry. "Detective Dean, what did you see when you faced the attack in the XX community?"
"I don't know how to describe it; I was stunned at the time.
"Most people don't get the privilege of a gang of thugs suddenly pulling out weapons and opening fire on them.
"In fact, if it weren't for the special all-terrain vehicle my girlfriend gave me, you'd only be seeing my photo at a memorial service for fallen officers."
Dean didn't directly answer Detrov's question. Instead, he firmly categorized the group of 'little short legs' as thugs, not eleven or twelve-year-old children.
From this brief exchange, Detrov already sensed how difficult Dean would be to handle.
His brow furrowed slightly as he continued, "Do you enjoy target practice?"
"No, I prefer the puzzle-solving aspect of cases. I hate violence!" Dean said, a helpless expression on his face. "If it weren't for self-defense, I really wouldn't like using guns."
Detrov was momentarily speechless.
This was the 'Butcher' detective. In just over three months on the job, his kill record already exceeded twenty people, yet here he was, innocently claiming to dislike violence... Do I look like a fool?
Detrov knew Dean was telling bald-faced lies, and Dean knew he was lying too.
But within the confines of the rules, Detrov had no comeback.
He suppressed the irritation in his heart and looked directly into Dean's eyes. "Detective Dean, I expect you to answer my questions directly!"
Dean coughed a couple of times, feigning weakness, an innocent expression appearing on his handsome, masculine face. "But these are my sincere thoughts, Agent Detrov. Are you suggesting I say something else?"
Detrov's expression flickered. "Don't misunderstand. My reminder was purely a matter of duty. Third question, Detective Dean, how are you feeling right now?"
Dean sighed. "Feelings?
"A group with ulterior motives exploited those children, turning them into ruthless, unblinking killers. They destroyed not only the children's lives but also the families of countless innocent victims.
"I am furious at the utter depravity of those pulling the strings."
Sensing the emotional tremor in Dean's voice, a flicker of triumph lit Detrov's eyes. He quickly pressed on, "Then do you have any regrets about opening fire during the attack?"
Heh, you sly fox, I've caught you now!
This question was a clear trap.
If Dean said yes, well then, you clearly need psychological counseling!
If Dean said no, then you slaughtered all those 'little carrots' without a shred of remorse?
I'd have grounds to suspect you have an antisocial personality disorder. You need psychological counseling!
Either way, it was a pitfall.
It all depended on which way this young Detective Dean would jump.
It wasn't that Detrov personally held a grudge against Dean. He admitted he was indeed envious of Dean's achievement in becoming a detective at such a young age. But more importantly, it was his duty to identify and remove problematic officers. This was how he earned his merits. Their roles inherently made them adversaries.
Dean sensed Detrov's malice.
He smiled faintly and said without a moment's hesitation,
"Because my duty is to solve cases, uphold the justice of the law, ensure that the deceased do not die unjustly, and protect the safety of our citizens!
"Facing a group of inhumane, armed thugs!
"If I didn't even dare to fire my gun, then first, I would be failing the badge I wear. Second, I'd be betraying the taxpayers' trust. Third, I'd be letting down my mother who worked so hard to raise me, and my loving family. And fourth, I'd be dishonoring the memory of my father, who died in the line of duty!
"In that moment, I had no right to regret, nor will I ever regret having opened fire!"
Detrov sucked in a sharp breath.
Dedication, devotion to duty, filial piety, loyalty...