But just one second later, he suddenly twisted his head a full 180 degrees with an extremely swift motion, turning to look at Logan Carter in a terrifying posture that would have snapped a normal person’s neck: “By the way…”

When Scram said these two words, his tone was as if he had “suddenly thought of something, so turned around to ask in passing”; but in reality, the reason he made this abrupt move was to see, at this very instant… this “moment that should have already relaxed,” what kind of expression was on the other’s face.

However, Logan Carter’s expression hadn’t changed since the very first second he saw the other, and it was the same now.

On his face, there was only calm.

Never mind turning your head 180 degrees—even if you suddenly twisted your own head off in front of him, he wouldn’t even blink.

“Is there anything else?” Logan Carter looked at the other coldly and asked, “Lieutenant.”

“Heh… just call me Mark.” Scram smiled, slowly turning his body as well. “I just wanted to ask, regarding this incident, if I have any further questions… could I ask you to assist me with the investigation?”

“Sure, I just happen to be someone who can’t sit still…” Logan Carter replied, “But…” As he spoke, he also stood up and headed straight for the door. “I think it’s better if our relationship stays strictly professional…” He paused here, still using the previous form of address, “…Lieutenant.”

With that, he opened the door and left on his own, adding one more sentence before leaving the other’s line of sight: “I’ll go report to the director myself, since this isn’t an interrogation, just a simple questioning… right?”

Chapter Four Professor Foster

November 22, morning.

Ethan Logan’s life at the Internet Addiction Center had now officially begun.

His roommate woke up at exactly six o’clock, right on time thanks to his biological clock, with no intention of sleeping in. As soon as he woke up, he got up and immediately came to Ethan Logan’s bedside to “wake him up.”

Although Ethan Logan was already awake, he still pretended to be sleepy, yawning and getting up lazily.

Then, as they dressed and washed up, the two started chatting.

Ethan Logan’s roommate was named William Grant; yes, a name as generic as John Smith, and even in the twenty-third century, people still used it—it remained one of the most common names.

William Grant was seventeen, a second-year high school student, and rather thin and weak. Because he loved playing games and his grades were poor, his parents picked an auspicious day to “trick” him into this center for “correction”; as for school, he was of course temporarily suspended, and could only return after he’d been “reformed.”

Most of this basic information wasn’t actually mentioned by William Grant in their conversation, but that didn’t matter, because Ethan Logan had already read his file—so even if William Grant said nothing, Ethan Logan knew all about him.

Rather than talking about himself, William Grant spent more time telling Ethan Logan about things to watch out for in the center: for example, don’t resist the dorm supervisor, don’t talk back, just do whatever the supervisor tells you; don’t do anything attention-grabbing, don’t break any rules, don’t show any strong emotions, and so on.

The person in charge here was named James Foster, a local born and raised, born in June 2162.

Before he turned forty, his resume was nothing special: graduated from a public school, became a resident physician at a local specialty hospital, then spent about twenty years working his way up to department head… In Ethan Logan’s words, a typical mediocre person.

Logically, with his academic level and social status, if he stuck it out for another twenty years, he should have been able to retire as a deputy director or even director of the hospital.

However, he was clearly not content with that.

At the beginning of 2206, Professor Foster suddenly resigned from his hospital. No one knows where he got the funding, but he founded this Sunshine Youth Behavioral Correction Center.

In the following two to three years, he quickly became a local celebrity; and Professor Foster’s center was booming.

To be fair, his so-called “academic theories” were, to put it bluntly, neither sophisticated nor even very smart, but as a service for the intellectually challenged at the bottom of the IQ chain, this kind of thing was more than enough.

James Foster’s “treatment and correction” could be simply summed up as—religious-style brainwashing combined with animal-training methods.

First, he defined “Internet addiction”—a term with no recognized medical definition—as a disease; then he used electrotherapy to force all the young people sent to his center to admit they had Internet addiction; next, still using electrotherapy as a threat, he forced the “patients” to obey his rules and accept his views…

This whole thing was pretty much the same as the Crusades back in the day: “I’ve decided my god is the only one, if you believe in anything else you deserve to die, so I’m here in the name of justice to wipe you out”—that kind of thing.

He didn’t believe in it himself, but you had to accept it, because if you didn’t, he couldn’t operate.

So how did he operate? With electricity, of course.