Raise Your Bastard? Nah, Reborn to Return Your Future Jailbird! - Chapter 60: Chapter 60
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I started a livestream right outside the downtown police station.
With thousands of viewers watching, I grabbed a brick and went to town on thirty-eight bike-share cycles parked along the street.
While viewers flooded the chat with "INSANE!" and "Psycho!" I grinned at the cops rushing out of the station and threw my hands up.
"Officers, please arrest me already. I'm dying to get locked up."
In my past life, I was the perfect fall guy for my roommate and boyfriend.
They pulled off a fraud and theft scheme that rocked the entire campus, but used my digital signature and fingerprints to pin it all on me.
Ten years behind bars while my parents died broken-hearted.
I thought getting out meant freedom, but they had me "accidentally" killed in prison the day before my release.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they were about to spring their trap.
If they could fake evidence of me being there, then I'd create an alibi the whole world couldn't deny.
I stood outside the downtown police station, my phone livestream going strong for ten minutes now.
Comments were flying across the screen—"This chick's nuts," "Someone call the cops," "She's seriously disturbed."
I picked up a brick from the sidewalk and aimed at that neat row of bike-share cycles.
First hit—seat caved in.
Second hit—wheel bent out of shape.
Third hit—whole bike went down.
I kept going, one after another, each swing brutal and precise.
The chat went absolutely wild.
Some were trying to doxx me, others threatening to screenshot everything for the police.
Police?
Perfect.
That's exactly what I wanted.
By the fifth bike, sirens were wailing.
I tossed the brick and flipped off the camera:
"Remember this moment—June 23rd, 2025, 8 PM sharp. Mira Channing commits a crime right here."
Three officers charged over, the lead one trying to grab my phone.
I threw my hands up cooperatively, shouting: "I did it! Arrest me! I'm gonna keep smashing stuff!"
The young cop frowned: "What's wrong with you? Bad breakup or something?"
"Screw you!" I broke free and rushed toward the patrol car. "Lock me up already! I want to do time!"
They exchanged confused looks—probably never seen such an eager "criminal."
In the interrogation room, I was still obnoxious as hell.
Admitted to destruction of property, refused to pay damages, demanded to be detained.
"Do you understand what detention means?" The middle-aged officer tried reasoning with me.
I recited the Public Security Administration Punishments Law: "Intentional destruction of public or private property results in five to ten days detention, with possible fines up to five hundred dollars..."
He was stunned.
I continued: "For serious cases, ten to fifteen days detention with fines up to one thousand dollars. I trashed five bikes worth over two grand—that's serious, right?"
"You study law?"
"Yep, so I know exactly what I'm doing."
When my parents called after seeing the livestream, I hung up and shrugged at the officer: "They can't control me either."
The cop had no choice but to follow procedure and send me to the holding cell.
I slumped against the wall and closed my eyes.
Right now in my past life, Damon Cross and Skye Rivers were in the campus computer lab making their final money transfer.
Using my student ID to swipe in, my fingerprints to unlock computers, my pre-recorded voice for transaction verification.
Every piece of evidence pointed to me being there.
But now? I'm in a police holding cell.
Who could challenge an alibi backed by law enforcement?
Thinking back to my trial, when the judge asked "Where were you when the crime occurred?" and my pathetically weak answer, I almost laughed.
This time, my answer would be simple—
"In jail."
With thousands of viewers watching, I grabbed a brick and went to town on thirty-eight bike-share cycles parked along the street.
While viewers flooded the chat with "INSANE!" and "Psycho!" I grinned at the cops rushing out of the station and threw my hands up.
"Officers, please arrest me already. I'm dying to get locked up."
In my past life, I was the perfect fall guy for my roommate and boyfriend.
They pulled off a fraud and theft scheme that rocked the entire campus, but used my digital signature and fingerprints to pin it all on me.
Ten years behind bars while my parents died broken-hearted.
I thought getting out meant freedom, but they had me "accidentally" killed in prison the day before my release.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they were about to spring their trap.
If they could fake evidence of me being there, then I'd create an alibi the whole world couldn't deny.
I stood outside the downtown police station, my phone livestream going strong for ten minutes now.
Comments were flying across the screen—"This chick's nuts," "Someone call the cops," "She's seriously disturbed."
I picked up a brick from the sidewalk and aimed at that neat row of bike-share cycles.
First hit—seat caved in.
Second hit—wheel bent out of shape.
Third hit—whole bike went down.
I kept going, one after another, each swing brutal and precise.
The chat went absolutely wild.
Some were trying to doxx me, others threatening to screenshot everything for the police.
Police?
Perfect.
That's exactly what I wanted.
By the fifth bike, sirens were wailing.
I tossed the brick and flipped off the camera:
"Remember this moment—June 23rd, 2025, 8 PM sharp. Mira Channing commits a crime right here."
Three officers charged over, the lead one trying to grab my phone.
I threw my hands up cooperatively, shouting: "I did it! Arrest me! I'm gonna keep smashing stuff!"
The young cop frowned: "What's wrong with you? Bad breakup or something?"
"Screw you!" I broke free and rushed toward the patrol car. "Lock me up already! I want to do time!"
They exchanged confused looks—probably never seen such an eager "criminal."
In the interrogation room, I was still obnoxious as hell.
Admitted to destruction of property, refused to pay damages, demanded to be detained.
"Do you understand what detention means?" The middle-aged officer tried reasoning with me.
I recited the Public Security Administration Punishments Law: "Intentional destruction of public or private property results in five to ten days detention, with possible fines up to five hundred dollars..."
He was stunned.
I continued: "For serious cases, ten to fifteen days detention with fines up to one thousand dollars. I trashed five bikes worth over two grand—that's serious, right?"
"You study law?"
"Yep, so I know exactly what I'm doing."
When my parents called after seeing the livestream, I hung up and shrugged at the officer: "They can't control me either."
The cop had no choice but to follow procedure and send me to the holding cell.
I slumped against the wall and closed my eyes.
Right now in my past life, Damon Cross and Skye Rivers were in the campus computer lab making their final money transfer.
Using my student ID to swipe in, my fingerprints to unlock computers, my pre-recorded voice for transaction verification.
Every piece of evidence pointed to me being there.
But now? I'm in a police holding cell.
Who could challenge an alibi backed by law enforcement?
Thinking back to my trial, when the judge asked "Where were you when the crime occurred?" and my pathetically weak answer, I almost laughed.
This time, my answer would be simple—
"In jail."
End of Raise Your Bastard? Nah, Reborn to Return Your Future Jailbird! Chapter 60. Continue reading Chapter 61 or return to Raise Your Bastard? Nah, Reborn to Return Your Future Jailbird! book page.