CHAPTER 422: CHAPTER 261 COOPERATION_2

But Dean soon abandoned that idea.

If he had his real body, he was confident that with a gun in hand, he could fight his way out. Not now, though.

There were an unknown number of prison guards here. On the cranes around the perimeter, heavy machine guns glinted in the sun. Adding to his predicament were the unfamiliar terrain and iron fences everywhere.

Trying to take a gun would most likely be a dead end.

Since that was the case, Dean took a deep breath and said calmly, "I’m sorry, I’m just a pauper, but I have value!"

The prison guard raised his eyebrows slightly. "Speak!"

He was very good at squeezing every last drop of value out of prisoners, especially unlucky ones who were as good as dead and had no connections.

"I need to know your name!" Dean said unapologetically. "Also, I don’t want to stand here being stared at like an animal. If possible, I’d like us to go somewhere quiet. Then, I could use a cigarette to clear my head. I promise, you won’t be disappointed in the end!"

The prison guard didn’t mind Dean’s tone and shrugged. "Fine, you can call me Bado. Just don’t lie to me, or else I’ll send you to Labou’s room. That guy’s brother is covered in cauliflower-like growths you definitely wouldn’t like."

With that, Bado waved to a colleague, signaling him to take over, then led Dean to the prison’s public dining hall.

It wasn’t mealtime. Apart from some clean tables and chairs, the dining hall was empty.

Bado tossed an unknown brand of cigarette in front of Dean, then pulled out a box of matches and pushed it over. "Buddy, you have one cigarette’s worth of time to show your value."

Dean calmly took a cigarette and lit it with practiced ease. However, when he took a deep, habitual drag, he choked and started coughing. His composed demeanor instantly became a joke.

Damn it!

The original owner of this body didn’t smoke at all!

What a good habit that was!

But his body’s adverse reaction made Dean’s attempt at psychological manipulation a joke from the very start.

Seeing this, Bado sneered, "Wow, your pathetic display reminds me of when I was ten, trying to smoke my old man’s cigarettes to look grown-up in front of my pals."

Dean wordlessly threw the cigarette away. Without changing his expression, he tapped the table and said, "I just wanted to try something different. My recent experiences taught me that timidity will only make my already terrible life worse."

"I don’t want to hear your life story!"

Bado stood up and twisted his neck, the bones crackling. The scorpion tattoo on his nape seemed to writhe and flick its stinger, like a venomous creature poised to strike. "So, Mr. Dean, what exactly is this so-called value of yours?"

Feeling like a lamb to the slaughter was truly unpleasant.

Dean suppressed the anger in his heart and sighed. "Actually, on the surface, I’m a low-rent detective, but secretly, I’m also a Pharmacist."

"Pharmacist?"

Bado, who had intended to pressure him, was intrigued. "Wow, that’s an uncommon profession. Can you mix drugs?"

In Mexico, drugs were as common as weeds by the roadside. Turning those raw materials into sellable US dollars required the skill of drug mixers. The same ingredients, processed by mixers of different skill levels, could result in finished products varying in price by severalfold. So if this prisoner really knew how to mix drugs, he indeed had value.

Although Bado didn’t deal in flour, he could sell people. Experienced drug mixers were always in high demand in Mexico.

However, Dean shook his head. "I don’t know how to do that stuff!"

Bado’s face darkened. "Are you playing me? You can’t make illicit drugs? Are you going to tell me you mix legitimate medicines? That damn stuff is worthless!"

Seeing Bado about to explode again, Dean slowly pulled out a match. He said nonchalantly, "I may not make those kinds of drugs, but I am a software-hardening engineer!"

"Software-hardening engineer?"

Bado listened to the unfamiliar term, a flicker of confusion in his menacing gaze.

He said he was a Pharmacist, so why is he talking about engineers now?

No, wait!

He suddenly had an idea. "You mean, for men’s ’software’ problems? Hardening *that*?"

Dean glanced at Bado’s crotch, then smirked and nodded. "Yes. It’s very effective, and the raw materials are cheap. The only difficulty is that the process is demanding, and it’s quite harmful to the body."

He planned to use the formula he’d gotten from Little Mike to trade for his freedom. Dean actually knew some basic drug-making. But this was Mexico. A decent drug mixer would more likely be controlled by the cartels as a mere production tool, rather than being allowed to operate freely. So, Dean’s first choice was to use this other formula. It promised good profits, but its complexity made it difficult to replicate easily, and it wouldn’t attract hostility from competitors in Mexico.

Hearing Dean’s affirmative reply, Bado’s expression flickered with uncertainty. If this guy was telling the truth, a fortune was practically guaranteed.

As the saying goes, a man can’t always choose his circumstances in middle age. Though a man is a youth at heart until death, his original aspirations unchanging with age, the harsh reality of bodily decline cannot be reversed by sheer willpower or a steadfast spirit. A drug that could ’harden the software’ was the key to chasing their youthful dreams. The market for this stuff was no smaller than that for illicit drugs. What’s more, it was legal and regulated. If it genuinely worked, it could instantly create an enormous fortune!

But could this be possible?

In his heart, Bado had already decided: No.

Impossible!

Anyone with such a formula couldn’t possibly be penniless. Nor would they be thrown into this garbage-dump prison by narcotics officers, to be silenced without putting up a fight.

So this guy was stalling for time!

Damn bastard, how dare he make a fool of me!

Bado cursed inwardly, fists clenching, his gaze turning fierce. He was ready to show this frail man the consequences of angering him.

But Dean’s next words stopped him. "You think I’m lying? Are you ready to miss your only chance to change your life?"

Before Bado could respond, Dean shook his head in disappointment and continued:

"Actually, before all this happened, I was terrified to bring this thing out. Because I know my own capabilities. Once I had wealth I couldn’t control, after causing some disturbance, my corpse would most likely end up in some stinking ditch. So I had a vault full of treasure, yet I dared not touch a dime. But now I have no choice.

"Nor do you, Bado! You might seem to swagger through this prison, but in reality, you live an oppressed life. You don’t dare offend those well-connected drug lord prisoners, nor do you dare casually bully gang members. They have money and guns; they can live comfortably even in prison. Then there are you guards. You watch over them, but you can only look on as they eat well and enjoy themselves.

"In comparison, you are the ones truly imprisoned! But things are different now! You’ve met me, Bado! I am now offering you the key to the vault!

"Are you going to gamble, to change this life where you can see your end from the beginning? Or, for a moment’s satisfaction, will you pull out that baton at your waist and personally destroy this fork in the road, this path that could change your destiny?"

When language becomes a weapon, Dean, with his mastery of micro-expressions and psychological analysis, was like a player in this battle holding a cheat code.

Every word from Dean was a calculated guide for Bado: Look, pal, I can change your destiny. If you get angry and don’t even try, you’re throwing away your only chance to turn your life around.

No matter how Bado chose—yes or no—he had already fallen for the psychological suggestion woven into Dean’s words: I am the key to the vault!

But Dean believed the inherently greedy Barton would not refuse this gamble. Because compared to the potential winnings, the stake was laughably small.

Predictably, after hearing Dean’s speech, Bado clenched his fists. He eyed Dean for a long time, then exhaled heavily and said solemnly, "I’ll take the bet. If I lose, you’ll learn what true cruelty is!"

"Congratulations on finding a shortcut in life, Barton. It’s a pleasure working with you!" Dean chuckled softly, extending his still-handcuffed hand.

"A pleasure!" Barton hesitantly shook Dean’s hand, adding, "Your confidence makes me feel I’ve made the right choice. So, what do you need my help with?"

That’s exactly what he was waiting for!

Dean knew he was temporarily safe.

This damn mission, seemingly simple, was actually fraught with danger at every step!