Who would have thought that a quality engineer from a large new energy factory would end up as a fake police officer? Han's life script is more surreal than a television drama—during the day, he measures product precision in the laboratory with a caliper, but at night he changes into a police uniform to "enforce the law" and make money on the streets. This man, who wears a lab coat like a costume, originally held a "golden bowl" with a monthly salary of over ten thousand, but was dragged into the abyss by the bloody K-lines of the futures market.

The numbers bouncing in his futures account initially felt as thrilling as a cyber casino. He and his friends poured their salaries into rebar futures; the fluctuating market charts reflected on his phone screen made his pupils tremble. "If we close positions tonight, we can break even," this self-hypnosis lasted for 237 days until debt collection messages filled his inbox. The 260,000 borrowed from colleagues and the 420,000 rolled over from high-interest loans transformed into thorny vines at midnight, choking him until he couldn't breathe.

On a rainy night in autumn 2023, as he flipped through the Criminal Law for the ninth time, his gaze suddenly fixed on the chapter for "fraud and deception." The next morning, police equipment ordered from an online store was on its way, while in the company OA system, he had just submitted this year's quality control plan. This absurd sense of division peaked two months later: while reading fictional "public security regulations" to a "captured" fallen woman, the police badge on his chest was actually a commemorative badge from a quality summit.

Ironically, this former precision instrument controller applied the rigor of an engineer to criminal planning. He specifically chose to act on rainy days, as the rain could blur the details of the fake police uniform; when transferring money, he required the other party to use a specific bank's app because that bank's nighttime transfer limit matched his "fine" amount perfectly. By the time the seventh victim sensed something was wrong, he had already formatted the phone used in the crime 23 times—exactly the same number of times he had handled defective products in the lab.

When this absurd drama, lasting 87 days, came to an end, the police found two completely different notebooks by his bedside: next to a neatly organized quality inspection log, there were slanted records of every "operation" and its "results." This engineer, addicted to financial leverage, ultimately turned his life into a futures contract with unlimited risk exposure, but this time, what crashed was all of his conscience and future.