At that moment, a young man hurriedly ran out from around the corner. When he saw several police officers, he slowed his steps and looked at them with a hint of curiosity.

　　The Vault strode forward to meet him, putting some distance between herself and the others, and scolded, “Not in a hurry, are you? Why aren’t you running? Is the excitement really that interesting to watch?”

　　The young man she pointed at was stunned, not reacting for a moment. Seeing her walking with the police, he assumed she was an undercover officer on duty nearby, and instinctively started jogging as she instructed.

　　The Vault tapped her screen, put away her phone, moved closer, and naturally put her arm around the young man’s shoulders, using half her body to block Wallace Franklin’s line of sight, while forcefully steering the young man to turn to the side.

　　“Go to that alley entrance, it’s closer this way. Hurry up.”

　　Wallace Franklin called out, “Excuse me, sir—”

　　Before he could finish, a terrified scream rang out from not far away, seemingly coming from the building where the incident had been reported. The kind of shouting that comes from a crowd, even over a hundred meters away, still made one’s hair stand on end.

　　Several rookie players grew anxious, feeling that Wallace Franklin had been acting strangely for a while, and kept urging, “Captain, what are you doing? The key to a pursuit game is every second counts! There’s definitely something happening over there!”

　　In just those two exchanges, The Vault had already hurried off with the young man, and a taxi at the alley entrance honked to signal them. Seeing the two walking so close together, their relationship not seeming fake and their actions so natural, Wallace Franklin couldn’t help but wonder if he was just being paranoid.

　　At present, they only knew that the theme of this scenario was a pursuit, but they didn’t know what crime the fugitive had actually committed. According to the report, it was a case of hostage-taking and injury.

　　It couldn’t be such a coincidence to run into the fugitive right after being dispatched. Besides, it had already been over ten minutes since the game loaded; knowing the police had been dispatched, what player would still be lingering near the crime scene, waiting to catch a taxi?

　　Wallace Franklin laughed at his own sensitivity, withdrew his gaze, and said, “Let’s go!”

　　The Vault heard the footsteps running off into the distance, removed her hand from the young man’s shoulder, and, seeing his bewildered expression, asked in confusion, “What’s wrong? Aren’t you the one carpooling with me?”

　　“No.” The young man finally came to his senses and asked, “Aren’t you a police officer?”

　　“No!” The Vault was also surprised and said, “The person I was supposed to carpool with never showed up. I’ve been calling out ahead for a while—wasn’t it you?”

　　The young man laughed, “What? You’ve got the wrong person. I was wondering why you were acting so familiar with me.”

　　The Vault lit up her phone screen and pointed, saying, “Look, it’s this car, right? This license plate.”

　　“No, it’s really not me.” The young man waved his hand. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

　　The Vault looked embarrassed and said, “I’m really sorry about that.”

　　“It’s nothing, I happen to be going this way too. I’ll head off first.”

　　The Vault waved goodbye to the young man and quickly got into the taxi waiting ahead. She sat in the back seat and said with a smile, “I’m not going to the station anymore. Please head to Central Commercial Street first.”

　　The driver responded cheerfully, “Alright!”

　　The Vault put on her headphones and said, “I have a meeting at work, please drive a bit faster.”

　　·

　　By this time, the entrance to Tiffany Dawson’s home was already crowded with people. Because the narrow stairwell couldn’t hold everyone, some onlookers stood at the bottom of the stairs, craning their necks to look up.

　　As soon as the police arrived, the bustling crowd immediately made way for them to pass through.

　　Wallace Franklin squeezed through the middle and asked, “What’s going on here? Didn’t the report say it was a hostage situation with injuries? Why are you all standing here?”

　　The onlookers all started talking at once.

　　“You’re finally here, there’s about to be a murder inside!”

　　“The couple who live here fight all the time, but this time it’s especially bad. There’s been a constant racket.”

　　“Sister Sun from the first floor was worried and came up to check, but she got dragged in! Isn’t that kidnapping?”

　　“The person inside said they’d negotiate with you when the police arrived, but he’s really agitated, kept asking if you were here yet. Just now he said he’d already cut off Old Sun’s finger—what should we do now?”

　　“I told you, a man who beats his wife that badly can’t be a good person. This guy named Zhou is terrifying.”

　　While listening to the chaotic reports, Wallace Franklin pulled a young officer over and signaled for him to check the situation from the neighboring balcony. If the opportunity arose, he was to climb over and take control.

　　The young officer accepted the task and left eagerly.

　　“Report back at all times!” Wallace Franklin ordered. “Absolutely no unauthorized action!”

　　The other replied quietly over the radio, “Understood!”

　　Wallace Franklin made another gesture, signaling everyone to keep quiet, then moved close to the door and knocked.

　　“Hello, Mr. Zhou, I’m a detective from the criminal investigation unit. You wanted to see me, and I’m here. If you have any requests, you can state them now. We need to confirm the hostages’ safety, is that alright?”

　　There was no response from inside.

　　Wallace Franklin glanced back.

　　“It’s always like this,” said one of the concerned onlookers who had been there from the start. “Give him a little time.”

　　While they were talking, strange, intermittent sounds came from inside the apartment.

　　“Wait a moment.” Wallace Franklin thought he’d misheard, so he covered one ear and said, “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat it?”

　　The voice repeated: “Prepare a car for me.”

　　Wallace Franklin realized it was a voice from some software, frowned at the bizarre situation, but quickly replied, “Mr. Zhou, to be honest, even if we prepare a car for you, you won’t be able to escape. The city is full of surveillance—where could you possibly go? Why not come out and talk with us?”

　　The person inside replied, “Are you not being sincere?”

　　Wallace Franklin: “We are sincere, but we need to confirm the hostages’ safety first. Please don’t hurt them. Let the two hostages make a sound, and we’ll immediately arrange a vehicle.”

　　“No.”

　　Wallace Franklin: “Why not? Is it because the hostages have already been harmed?”

　　Wallace Franklin negotiated carefully, but due to the limitations of his tools, he couldn’t judge the other party’s emotions from their voice, making it hard to adjust his negotiation strategy. The crowd around them was too noisy, and the background chatter seriously disrupted the scene.

　　Wallace Franklin nodded at his team, signaling them to quickly clear the area.

　　The onlookers were forced to leave the cordoned-off area, their shuffling feet and low conversations causing a bit of commotion.

　　Suddenly, someone in the crowd quietly asked, “Are you sure the person inside is Mr. Zhou?”

　　Wallace Franklin turned and found the young man who had spoken.

　　Julian Grant, carrying a backpack, stood in the middle of the crowd, his expression calm and demeanor steady—clearly not a rookie player. But he had kept a low profile the whole time, never trying to stand out.

　　Julian Grant approached and whispered, “Everyone keeps calling him Mr. Zhou, but if he really is, why use a voice changer? In a domestic dispute, if someone is killed, the survivor isn’t necessarily the husband.”

　　Wallace Franklin had thought of this too, but hadn’t wanted to provoke the person inside by exposing them.

　　Julian Grant handed over the information he’d just received—emergency household data from the Public Security Bureau, summarizing the couple’s basic details.

　　Wallace Franklin quickly scanned it, handed it back to Julian Grant, and, through the door, tentatively asked, “Ms. Ning, is that you?”

　　After about ten seconds, a reply came from inside:

　　“You’re too noisy.”

　　“Meet my demands and you can see the hostages.”

　　Wallace Franklin patiently tried to persuade her: “Ms. Ning, please listen to me. I know you’ve faced a lot of prejudice and pressure in society. If this was an accident, you can have your friends or neighbors testify that you’ve suffered long-term abuse, both physically and mentally. We’ll also speak up for you, and you might be able to get a verdict of justifiable defense or excessive defense. You’re still young—you can start over. Please open the door now and let us send someone in to help, okay?”

　　The responses from inside were always intermittent and very forceful, making communication difficult, which gave Wallace Franklin a bad feeling.

　　This could be because Tiffany Dawson, after killing someone, was mentally traumatized and unable to respond calmly. Or, it could be that the perpetrator was just using negotiations to stall for time.

　　Wallace Franklin leaned toward the latter—after all, this was a fugitive scenario. But even if both sides knew the truth, with the perpetrator holding hostages and the police lacking enough information, he still couldn’t force a breakthrough. That would be a serious violation and out-of-character.

　　Wallace Franklin stepped back a few paces, making sure his voice couldn’t be heard inside, and signaled Julian Grant to come over. He quietly instructed, “Have them repeat exactly what they heard, very carefully. We need to confirm exactly who is in that apartment and what happened.”

　　Julian Grant followed the order.

　　The radio crackled with a reply from the officer from earlier.