I bought a prison in the United States.

On the withered grass of the prison exercise yard, a thin layer of white frost had formed. When prisoners stepped on it, it would make a crisp "squeak" sound and leave a clear footprint.

A thin layer of pale gray mist drifted in from the direction of the Arkansas River in the distance, dividing the oil refinery's iconic chimneys in two, their tops seemingly touching the edge of the clouds.

The heating in the technology research and development team's storage room was on full blast, keeping out the harsh cold outside.

Craig started doing the final wiring work at six in the morning.

The signal cables from the sixteen cameras, like black snakes, all converged on the main trunk line of the corridor cable tray.

The taps were arranged in a row according to Omar's design drawings. Each tap's shielding layer was carefully wrapped with two layers of copper foil tape and tightly sealed with heat shrink tubing blown with a heat gun, so that not a single exposed wire core could be seen.

Omar crouched behind a server rack more than a meter high, holding the probes of a multimeter in his hand, testing the continuity of each signal line one by one.

His fingers were red and stiff from the cold. He hadn't been wearing gloves when he went out to check the cameras, so he had to rub them every now and then.

Fortunately, every measured value fell steadily within the design range, with an error of no more than 0.5%.

Morris sat in the folding chair at the front of the central control unit, with three open component manuals in front of him.

Each page was covered with sticky notes, marked with different colored pens to record modification records and debugging experiences.

"Are you ready?"

He looked up toward the server rack, waiting for Omar to give the final confirmation signal.

"Wait a minute, there's one last grounding resistor."

Omar's voice came from behind the cabinet, accompanied by the soft click of a metal probe touching the grounding terminal.

Montes stood beside the workbench, a Phillips screwdriver in his hand, slowly screwing on the back cover of the last monitor.

He would stop after each screw, wiggle the nut with his fingertip to make sure it was tight, and then move on to the next one.

Since being released from solitary confinement, he has become ten times more meticulous in his work than before, so meticulous that even Craig thinks it's a bit excessive.

For example, when soldering circuit boards, a magnifying glass is used to check the fullness of each solder joint, and when wiring, a ruler is used to measure the length of each line segment to ensure neatness.

But no one said anything to him; even the most critical Maurice tacitly approved of this excessive behavior.

No one knows what method the warden used to make this guy, who used to be too lazy to even tie his shoelaces, become so obedient, as if he were a completely different person.

Hamon stood at the door of the storeroom, holding a cup of hot tea he had just taken from the kitchen.

He wasn't a technician; he couldn't understand those spiderweb-like circuit diagrams, nor could he distinguish between operational amplifiers and comparators.

But he could tell that these people were acting very differently today; they were all talking less, but their hands were moving faster.

After more than a month of development, from the chaos of dismantling old video recorders to the endless debates when drawing circuit diagrams, and now to the final step of integration testing.

Now that the time has finally come to verify the results, anyone would be nervous.

"The insulation resistance of all signal lines to ground is greater than 500 megohms, which meets the standard."

"There is no short circuit, and the grounding resistance is 0.8 ohms, which is less than the design requirement of 1 ohm."

Omar finally peeked out from behind the server rack, his face covered in dust.

"Then I'm ready to begin."

Morris took a deep breath, placed his hand on the red power switch on the central controller, and applied slight pressure with his fingertips.

Then he looked at Craig, as if seeking final permission.

Craig stood in front of the row of monitors, his hands in his prison uniform pockets, his eyes fixed on the six black screens.

He stared at it for about ten seconds, as if mentally rehearsing the boot-up process, and then slowly nodded.

Morris pressed the power switch.

"Buzz—"

The central controller's cooling fan starts, emitting a steady, low hum, and the airflow is evenly distributed.

The tapes of the three modified video recorders next to them started spinning at the same time, making a "click-clack" mechanical sound.

The magnetic head loading arm slowly descends, reading the tape label information at the beginning of the tape.

"Swish! Swish! Swish!"

The screens of the six monitors lit up one after another from left to right, like light bulbs that had been switched on.

Rows of grayish-white snowflakes jumped wildly for about two seconds before the image suddenly stabilized.

The concrete floor and iron gate of the corridor in Area A.

A stamping press in operation in the B-sector factory, and prisoners working with their heads down.

The frosty lawn in the C-area exercise yard and the distant watchtower.

A bed in the D-section of the prison and a prisoner reading a book while lying on the bed.

Mrs. Martha's silhouette as she walks past the kitchen doorway carrying a tray.

The prison gate slowly moved its iron gate, and Lin Ge's Ford sedan was in the parking lot.

Every monitor displayed a clear image with color reproduction far superior to similar products on the market.

Especially the monitor in the corridor of Area A, which can even clearly see the rivet on the iron gate at the end of the corridor.

The people in the storage room held their breath at the same time; the air seemed to freeze.

Craig strode to the monitor displaying the corridor of Area A, bent down, and stared intently at the shadow in the corner of the wall on the screen.

That area used to be a blind spot for surveillance cameras, but now you can clearly see the shadow of a rat running by.

Then he walked to the monitor showing the D section of the prison, where the lighting was the darkest, with the fluorescent lights in the corridor only half the brightness of those in section A.

However, the grayscale levels in the image remain distinct, and there is no blurring at the edges of the iron bars of the prison cell.

They could even make out the cover design of the book the prisoner was holding behind the fence.

"marvelous!"

Craig sat bolt upright, turned to look at Maurice, and said excitedly:

"The back-illuminated CMOS sensor performs even better in low-light conditions than we simulated on our test bench!"

"The bias circuit you designed completely suppressed the dark current noise, and the threshold control was just right!"

Morris sat in front of the central control unit, his hands on his knees, watching the smooth images on the screen, his heart filled with mixed emotions.

On the one hand, his technical solution was perfectly validated, and this sense of accomplishment flowed through his body like a warm current, making him want to smile.

On the other hand, he knew clearly that the ownership of this achievement did not belong to him, but to the prison and to the warden who always came up with forward-thinking ideas.

This perception is like a thorn, sticking in my heart and making me feel uncomfortable.

The only consolation is that he validated a completely new circuit design.

By using an operational amplifier to build a dynamic threshold comparator, and combining it with a back-illuminated photosensitive element, the noise problem under low light conditions can be solved.

Perhaps after he gets out, he can continue his research along this line of thought and create an even better design than he has now.

Then we won't have to take orders from anyone anymore.