A few hundred meters away, the eight large characters on the roof of the police station—[Strict Enforcement, Standardized Management]—came into view; a solemn aura rushed towards us, vehicles couldn't directly enter the station, everyone had to park outside first.
Jack Hugh pushed Charles' wheelchair inside, the man's face was as pale as paper, his brows and eyes always appeared gentle; after questioning the front desk, the two were led to the detention room.
A small iron window let in a beam of light, the room wrapped in soft iron, except for the three walls, one side was an iron grille; even though it was blazing hot outside, the detention room remained very cool, no need for any air conditioning.
On the walls of the ten-square-meter room was an eight-character slogan: [Awaken Conscience, Reshape Soul.]
Probably anyone locked in here rarely took these words to heart.
