The Warden
The page immediately filled with listings of memory cards for sale. Ying Zhu scrolled through them one by one.
Most explicit memories were from alpha perspectives. Omegas were generally more reserved and rarely sold such private experiences. Beta perspectives existed too.
But dual-omega content was extremely rare—if any appeared, it would’ve been sold out instantly.
After searching for a long time without results, Ying Zhu changed tactics. Instead of waiting, he decided to act.
He posted a high-priced request for dual-omega explicit memories. If anyone had one, they would likely come to him.
After submitting the request, he shut the laptop.
The scent of cassia flowers drifted in through the window—but the fragrance in the room was even stronger. It was his pheromone.
His heat was approaching.
….
Stepping through the Gothic archway, he passed along a dim, winding corridor into the main hall.
The main hall of Usher Prison had been converted from an old church. The long, narrow windows were set high above the floor, giving the place a solemn, heavy atmosphere that could not dispel its gloom.
Several prisoners in shackles were held together in the center of the hall, guarded by officers in gray uniforms holding guns.
They stood upright, and when Ying Zhu entered, they called out in unison, “Sir!”
One tall administrator with neatly combed hair stepped forward and reported, “Two prisoners have escaped, numbers 3348 and 3349.”
“Were they brought in together? What were their crimes?”
“Home invasion, murder.”
He then pointed at the prisoners and handed Ying Zhu a file. “These prisoners were closely associated with the escapees.”
Ying Zhu flipped through the files, then looked up and swept his gaze across them, stopping on one man’s chest. His prison uniform bore the number 6438.
He tossed the file back to the administrator and walked up to him, one hand in his pocket. “You seem quite familiar with them.”
6438 was a handsome alpha, looking at Ying Zhu with a careless, disdainful expression.
He still remembered the day he entered prison, stepping off the transport vehicle and seeing Ying Zhu for the first time. That beautiful yet arrogant omega had looked at them like a god looking down on filthy ants.
Alphas are naturally driven to dominate omegas. None could tolerate such arrogance from one.
6438 smirked. “What do you want to know? Spend the night in my cell, and I’ll tell you.”
Ying Zhu reached behind his waist. His suit jacket bulged slightly—he pulled out a small, exquisite silver pistol. It looked elegant, almost like a collectible, if not for the cold gleam of its muzzle.
He aimed at 6438’s left knee and fired without hesitation.
With a thud, 6438 collapsed, screaming as he clutched his bleeding knee. The other prisoners stared in shock.
The administrators remained expressionless, clearly used to it.
Amid the screams, Ying Zhu asked calmly, “Do you know who they would go to after escaping?”
“I don’t know!” 6438 gritted out.
Ying Zhu raised the gun again and shot his right knee. 6438 convulsed violently, his scream echoing through the hall.
Ying Zhu repeated the question.
With both legs ruined, 6438 broke immediately. “Cen Xie! Cen Xie! They used to work under him… no, they wouldn’t dare go to him directly, but maybe his subordinates… old contacts…”
Ying Zhu looked at him for a few seconds, confirmed he wasn’t lying, then raised his gun and shot him in the heart.
6438 didn’t die instantly. He lay there clutching his chest, staring at Ying Zhu in disbelief.
Ying Zhu turned to leave, but after a few steps, another prisoner shouted, “Why kill him?”
Ying Zhu stopped, turned expressionlessly to the alpha who spoke. “His injuries are too severe. I don’t want to waste medical resources on him.”
The prisoner numbered 6777 pressed, “Does that justify killing him?”
Ying Zhu walked up to him. “6438 was convicted of torturing and killing several pregnant omegas. His death sentence was already set for tomorrow.”
He then glanced at the platinum watch on his wrist and waited.
A few seconds later, the wall clock struck—deep, heavy chimes echoing through the hall.
Midnight.
Ying Zhu raised his gun again and fired at 6438’s head.
6438 jerked once. Blood and brain matter burst out, and he fell still.
Ying Zhu looked at 6777. “Any objections to the warden carrying out the execution personally?”
He tilted his chin slightly, his gaze sharp and superior.
6777 pressed his lips together, face flushed, and said nothing.
Ying Zhu asked again, “Any objections?”
After a moment, 6777 said, “No.”
Ying Zhu tucked the gun back into his waistband, turned, and walked toward the exit. “Dispose of the body.”