Even at the moment of death, Haver couldn't understand: how did he die?

In his calculations, the worst-case scenario was Dean remaining unfazed by the threat and returning directly to cause him trouble. But he had already placed informants here at the precinct. If Dean returned, or mobilized patrol officers to this office, he would be notified immediately. Besides, Dean wouldn't know if Haver was still at the precinct or had already left with Daisy. This would take time for Dean to ascertain, and time was precisely what Dean lacked.

Even in the absolute worst-case scenario, where Dean managed to corner him in the office, rescue his colleague Daisy, and point a gun at him, Dean would still want to know the location of the printing plates, wouldn't he?

With all these factors considered, Haver had felt utterly secure. He held all the trump cards; how could he possibly lose? Haver had calculated every step. Yet, he hadn't anticipated that Dean wouldn't give him a chance to speak, resorting to lethal force immediately, brutally bashing him until he bled from all seven orifices, dying with his eyes wide open...

Seeing Haver convulse a couple of times like a dead dog before falling still, Dean finally let go of the man's hair.

"Threaten me?" he sneered coldly, wiping his hands with disgust.

Haver's grasp of human nature was indeed impressive. But he forgot that there's a type of person in this world called a brute! To hell with your plans and schemes! To hell with your brilliant con artistry! As long as I kill fast enough, I won't be fooled. As for that bullshit printing plate? What the hell does it have to do with me? A ton of counterfeit money—that's a massive amount. Even if those FBI agents are completely useless, tracking the raw materials would make cracking the case a piece of cake for them. Since I'd gain experience either way, I'm not about to tolerate any slight.

"The old saying is right," Dean mused. "'When a scholar meets a soldier, reasoning is useless.' So satisfying!"

Dean exhaled a breath heavy with the metallic scent of blood from his chest. He turned to look at Daisy, who was bound spread-eagled, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Daisy, you seem even more charming in this position."

After her initial surprise at being rescued, Daisy was desperately trying to press her long, nude-stocking-clad legs together.

Upon hearing his words, her beautiful eyes glared at him. "MMMPH! NGHHH! GRRRR!"

That damn Dean! He's not hurrying to untie me but is making sarcastic remarks instead! This humiliating, stinky predicament... If anyone from the precinct saw me like this, how could I ever show my face again?!

If it weren't for the clear adhesive tape acting as a filter, her current speech would undoubtedly have an extremely high F-bomb content, Dean mused.

He shrugged. "Don't get too worked up. No one will come in here for now. I'll untie you right away."

As he got closer, Dean's keen nose detected a faint smell of urine.

While untying Daisy, he couldn't help but comment, "Honestly, Daisy, you seem a bit 'heated.' You should eat more vegetables. Also, did you bring a spare pair of pantyhose? This smell is quite strong."

"MMMPH! NGHHH! GRRRR!!!"

Daisy's face flushed crimson with shame and fury. Her nostrils flared, and she looked even more enraged than when she had faced Haver. Her muffled roars even managed to push the gag in her mouth out by a third.

She swore that if Dean kept his damn blabbering up, as soon as she was free, she would grab her gun and blast his infuriating little mouth to smithereens!

Seeing this, Dean wisely shut his mouth.

He was afraid that after Daisy was rescued, she might shoot him in the back to silence him and keep today's events from getting out...

Her limbs and mouth were swollen and bore ugly marks from her violent struggles. Her skin was even broken in some places.

This sweet-looking girl is surprisingly fiery deep down, Dean thought.

"You need some ice for those," Dean kindly suggested.

Daisy shot him a fierce glare, ripped off her ruined stockings, and strode to her cubicle. When she emerged, she reeked of strong perfume.

She pushed past Dean, who had offered to check her injuries, and marched straight to Haver's corpse, its eyes still wide open. Raising her hand, she delivered several hard slaps. "FUCK you, you damn pervert! Get the hell up, you bastard!"

Blood splattered with each slap.

Still not satisfied, Daisy lifted her foot and delivered several powerful kicks to Haver's groin, her face contorted with a rage that looked like she wanted to crush his testicles.

The sight made Dean instinctively flinch, subconsciously protecting his own assets, terrified Daisy might come for his 'boys' next.

He had initially wanted to remind Daisy that her actions would be hard to explain later. But for the sake of harmony among colleagues, he wisely decided to let her vent her anger first, lest he draw her fire.

After a long moment, Daisy finally slumped into a chair, gasping for breath. She beckoned to Dean. "I need a cigarette. And why did you drop from the ceiling like a ghost?"

"Because I was worried Haver had informants in the precinct. Besides," Dean added with a grin, "don't you think it's romantic to descend from the heavens, defeat the villain, and save the damsel in distress?"

"Romantic, my ass!" Daisy retorted. "Have you ever seen a movie where the heroine is tased by the bad guy until she wets herself before being rescued?"

Dean paused. "...Okay, you have a point."

Come to think of it, this whole mess is my fault, and Daisy was just an innocent victim caught in the crossfire, he thought with a pang of guilt. He quickly pulled out a cigarette, placed it between Daisy's lips, and lit it for her.

Daisy took a deep drag.

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