Command Room.
Otis sits on the couch, his legs hanging off the coffee table, his cigar in his hand.
The scarlet flame jumped between his fingers, and he did not smoke it, letting the cigar keep burning. He looked so gloomy that no one knew what he was really thinking.
Eugene stood by with trepidation, not daring to breathe.
Until the cigar burned all the way to Otis's fingers, he felt the burn, shook violently, and threw the butt on the floor.
Eugene hurriedly bent down, picked up the cigarette butt on the ground and inserted them into the ashtray.
The ashtray, long ago, was filled with cigarette butts.
On Otis's face, there is no expected panic, Otis instead took out another cigar, holding it to his lips, the lighter in his hand turned nimbly, lowered his head to light the cigar, and puffed hard.
Outside the window, the night is brightly lit.
Smoke, Otis's expression became more and more calm, and when he finished his cigarette, it was as if everything was back to normal.
"Eugene , how long have you been with me?" Otis asked suddenly.
Eugene's head tingled and he replied, "Mr. Robertson, three years and nine months."
"Oh, you do remember well." Otis laughed coldly, "What kind of a person do you think, I am?"
Eugene secretly broke into a cold sweat, not knowing how to answer.
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