I bought a prison in the United States.

Harmon led Boone through the corridor and stopped at the door of the storeroom.

The door was open, and you could see inside from the hallway.

Three old desks were pushed together, their surfaces covered with circuit diagrams, various circuit boards, and densely packed electronic components.

A white board leans against the wall, displaying a complex system architecture diagram.

The connections and data flow from the camera to the controller to the recorder are clearly marked.

Several disassembled video recorders were piled up in the corner, and there were also several pieces of cut wires on the floor.

Although it looks messy, you can vaguely see traces of categorization.

Craig sat at the innermost table, holding a vernier caliper, intently measuring the thickness of a circuit board.

Omar stood in front of the whiteboard, holding a pen, marking something on the architecture diagram while muttering to himself.

Morris wasn't there; he went to the factory with Montes, supposedly to install a simple fault alarm on the equipment there.

Boone went in and stood silently behind Craig, watching him work.

Craig sensed movement behind him, but instead of turning around, he first accurately wrote down the readings on the calipers in his notebook, then checked the drawings again before turning around.

"Who are you?"

Craig asked, somewhat puzzled.

"I'm from the state corrections department."

Boone didn't state his position; he simply pulled out his badge from his pocket and flashed it.

"Is this the surveillance system your prison designed itself, as mentioned in the newspapers?"

Craig recognized the name and title on the identification and stood up.

His movements lacked the usual restraint or obsequiousness of prisoners facing officials; he naturally entered a state of explanation.

Craig pointed to a camera module on the table and said:

"This is our prototype, which is currently still in the debugging stage."

"The image sensor module uses a back-illuminated CMOS that we assembled ourselves, and its imaging performance in low-light environments is even better than that of other sensors on the market."

"The signal transmission uses an Ethernet architecture. You may not understand the principle, but simply put, it uses a main trunk line to connect all the cameras."

"Its biggest advantage is that the total cable length can be reduced to less than 2,000 feet, saving more than half the cable compared to star cabling."

"The control system uses dynamic trigger recording. Recording only starts when there is any movement on the screen and automatically stops when the screen is still."

"In this way, the consumption of magnetic tapes can be greatly reduced, and storage costs can be reduced by at least 40%."

Boone listened attentively, showing no sign of embarrassment at being stumped by the technical terms.

Although he was not a technical expert, he had served as deputy director for many years and had seen at least eighty or a hundred prison security systems.

He had a general understanding of how those systems worked. Many prisons used Honeywell's pre-built cameras, which employed star-shaped wiring and recorded data 24/7.

As a result, the tapes in the monitoring room were piled up like mountains, and the images on the TV wall were often covered with static.

But this was the first time he had ever seen a county prison develop its own security system, because that would require a significant investment.

The 50 yuan that Lingo applied for for prison upgrades is probably not enough compared to the cost of this system.

Boone didn't know much about development, but he had never seen prisoners in jail speak to him fluently using technical jargon before.

"Who came up with these technologies?" Boone asked.

Craig answered truthfully:

"It was the warden; he proposed the core technical solutions. We were just responsible for implementing them."

"Are you telling the truth?"

Boone was clearly surprised.

"I have no reason to lie."

Craig's gaze was frank, revealing a genuine admiration.

Boone frowned slightly, still somewhat incredulous.

How could a prison warden be proficient in these electronic engineering technologies?

"Director, I am also an engineer, and engineers speak only based on their technical skills."

Craig picked up a circuit board from the table and ran his fingertip along the lines on it:

"To be honest, the warden's practical skills may not be better than mine, but his insights into cutting-edge theories are superior to all of ours."

"He can often pinpoint the crux of many problems that we find difficult, as if... as if he already knew the answer."

After saying that, Craig put the circuit board back on the table, picked up the soldering iron again, and continued soldering a small circuit board.

……

Boone spent about ten minutes in the storage room, carefully examining each circuit board and inquiring about the functional parameters of each core component.

Craig gave clear answers to every question, some of which even included details that Boone hadn't asked about.

For example, the criteria for selecting the power rating of a resistor, or the anti-interference treatment scheme for a cable.

Although Boone didn't understand much of the technical content, his intuition told him that it wasn't something made up on the spot.

Ten minutes later, Boone came out of the storeroom and stood in the corridor.

The assistant followed behind, his notebook already filled with three pages of notes, seemingly savoring the details he had just written down.

"Where is the kitchen?"

Boone asked.

Hamon immediately responded, leading them through the corridor, around two corners, to the kitchen door.

The door was ajar, and a pungent smell of onions wafted out from the crack.

Pushing open the door, I saw Mrs. Martha standing in front of the cutting board, chopping onions. With each stroke of the knife, translucent onion rings were evenly scattered on the cutting board, like semi-transparent tree rings.

The pungent smell reddened her eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she repeatedly struck the knife in her hand.

Boone didn't disturb her, but went straight to the freezer against the wall and opened the door.

The items inside were neatly arranged.

Several rows of milk cartons were labeled with the latest production date, and the meat was packed in freezer bags, all within their shelf life after being stored.

The freezer compressor made a steady humming sound, without the abnormal noise of someone on the verge of breaking down, indicating that it was well maintained.

He nodded in satisfaction, closed the freezer door, and turned to look at Mrs. Martha.

"How long have you been working here?"

Mrs. Martha put down the cleaver and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron.

The spiciness of the onions made it hard for her to open her eyes for a moment, but she still fixed her gaze on Boone.

She didn't want to talk to this man who had inexplicably walked into the kitchen and started rummaging through things without saying a word.

But seeing that Deputy Warden Harmon, who was standing behind the man, gave her a wink, she still answered:

"It's been almost four years. I've been here since the old warden was here, and even after Mr. Chen took over, he still wouldn't let me leave."

What are your thoughts on this prison?

Boone's tone was very calm, as if it were just a casual chat.

"Are you a journalist too?"

Mrs. Martha raised an eyebrow, a slightly self-deprecating smile playing on her lips:

"I'm just a cook, does it matter what my opinion is?"

No, you've misunderstood.

Boone shook his head:

"I just wanted to ask you, do you feel stressed about this job?"

"Oh, so you haven't seen anything truly stressful."

Mrs. Martha picked up the cleaver again, the blade making a crisp sound as it struck the onion.

"For example, my child's report card and the household utility bills. The numbers grow faster than bread ferments. Luckily, I don't have high blood pressure."

"In contrast, the people in this prison who have made mistakes have their meals arranged according to the rules, and I don't need to manage their fighting and causing trouble."

"I'm the only cook in this prison. If they dare to be picky about me, the guards will make them eat dry bread for three days straight."

"Pressure? I don't have that kind of thing here."

Boone seemed thoughtful after hearing this, while Mrs. Martha seemed to have lost interest in talking to him and went back to chopping onions.

The pungent smell of onions grew stronger, and even his eyes started to itch, so he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

The prison area was the last stop on their tour.

Hamon followed beside him, his expression completely relaxed.

From the factory to the technical team, and then to the kitchen, there were no obvious mistakes or omissions anywhere.

Even if it's not perfect, it's at least excellent.

Although Boone's face remained expressionless, it wasn't difficult for Hamon to understand the psychology of those in power.

He knew very well that those in power cared about their reputation, and that something like a prison appearing in the newspapers could be a big deal or a small deal.

This place has been in the news before, but it was mostly criticism and condemnation, and the public opinion was always negative. The state corrections department never really took it seriously.

After all, no matter how much the media criticizes, they can't actually close the prisons; otherwise, where would they send the criminals?

The media doesn't gain any real benefit either; they prefer to focus on powerful members of parliament or police officers.

The reason why Deputy Director Boone had to make the trip in person this time was ultimately because the reporting suddenly changed its tune and began to praise privatization as a new direction.

Meanwhile, the government is looking for a case study to prove that outsourcing can alleviate financial pressure.

If Boone gives it a passing grade or higher, this privately owned prison, which is just starting to show promise, will receive more attention from the state government.

In fact, Lin Ge originally planned to formally invite the leaders of the Correctional Bureau to visit after the monitoring system was completed.

Although it's a bit early, it's a pleasant surprise that it's left Boone with a good initial impression.

Boone walked down the corridor of the cell block, the fluorescent tubes overhead emitting a steady white light, far brighter than the standard of a typical prison.

This will consume a lot of electricity.

He thought to himself that even the corridor lights in the federal prison didn't have such a high wattage.

Often, in order to save electricity, only half of the power is turned on, which is euphemistically called maintaining emergency redundancy.

But then I thought about it again, and it would actually be good to turn the lights on brighter.

It not only allows for a clear view of the prisoners' actions in the cells, preventing them from engaging in clandestine activities, but also ensures that the surveillance cameras capture clearer images.

As he walked, he paid special attention to the distribution of the cameras.

There is one camera in each of the left and right corners, and a wide-angle camera at the end of the corridor, making a total of eight cameras, which almost cover all blind spots.

Each camera is covered by a metal shield, and some key areas of the shield are wrapped with thin electric wires, clearly indicating that it has been vandal-proofed.