Chapter 297

The sudden riot in the Death Security Bureau left Qian Huan feeling endless emotion in his heart:

Most of the prison guards were weak and useless, and the Zone Chiefs all paid lip service while harboring ulterior motives.

The bodyguards sent by Guangming Group were unreasonable, and their dead-set-on-money attitude was difficult for him to control.

Usually Qian Huan could tolerate it, but today, when everyone was compared, the essential difference of each person seemed infinitely magnified, and Qian Huan finally understood clearly: in this Second Prison, who exactly was someone he could truly trust and rely on... his own people!

Qian Huan was now more and more satisfied with Feng Mu the more he looked at him; this might be what they mean by seeing people's hearts in times of crisis.

If Feng Mu's 【Blood Bar Ghost Eye】 evolved a bit more, perhaps he could see that Qian Huan's intimacy index with others above his head was plummeting in a straight line, while only the intimacy with himself was surging in reverse.

Dense gunfire now came from the prison corridor; Qian Huan looked up at the large screen and saw several prisoners, like beasts who had lost their intelligence, shrieking hysterically as they charged forward, only to be unsurprisingly torn into pieces by dense firepower.

Rotten flesh and blood rain mixed together, mercilessly trampled underfoot by boots advancing in formation.

Some prisoners roared angrily at the surveillance cameras, swinging boneless prison guards in their hands, but the speakers in the monitoring room had already shattered into a puddle of debris.

The screech of the "Screaming Chicken" could no longer be transmitted, nor could the prisoners' grief-stricken mouths full of filthy words be heard.

Some death row inmates who prided themselves on their martial prowess bared their teeth and shrieked, delivering a horizontal kick that instantly caved in the chests of several prison guards on the ground, like footballs kicked flat by Da Li, flying through the air one after another, spinning violently in midair.

The man himself leaped into the air, gripping an electric baton in one hand, tapping the tip against the ground; his whole body hovered without touching the ground, strangely curled up and hidden behind the prison guards flying forward.

Boom boom boom boom boom, clatter clatter clatter clatter clatter—

Fresh blood and minced flesh splattered everywhere; in the torrential rain of blood, the death row inmate suddenly spread his body and fought his way out of the exploding corpses; still in midair, the electric baton in his hand shot out, striking like a poison dragon at the chest of the front-line armed prison guard.

With a crack, the bulletproof vest on the prison guard's chest caved and cracked under the baton's impact, like fragile porcelain struck by a heavy hammer; several ribs broke instantly, and he spat fresh blood from his mouth.

The prisoner let out an excited shriek; the baton swept horizontally, and four prison guards standing in a row were all struck at the waist, their bodies slamming heavily into the side wall together, exposing the black muzzles behind them.

The prisoner's pupils contracted violently; just as his feet landed and were about to push off, the interwoven metal rain of bullets poured down like a waterfall; in the time of a breath, he was turned into a sieve.

The prison guards lying on the ground coughed up several mouthfuls of blood, then quickly climbed back up, their arms pressed tightly together as they reformed their ranks, merely retreating from the first row to the second row.

The footsteps "thud thud thud" echoed like the drumbeat of death; the human wall formed by the prison guards advanced slowly but steadily toward the flesh-and-blood living creatures trapped in the middle.

The scene was like square pieces of steamed bun, layer upon layer squeezing the meat patty in the middle, with increasingly thick sauce seeping out onto the ground.

Li Bashan stood among the human wall; he was in the third row, unlike the other prison guards who stood four to a row, he was a wall by himself.

He wore heavy explosion-proof heavy armor and held no firearms in his hands, but instead gripped a huge riot shield in each hand.

Holding the shields horizontally, they became like two door panels spanning the center of the corridor, almost completely sealing off the passage.

Occasionally, a fearless prisoner would use various means to break through the metal storm of the first two rows and fortunately rush to his face, but before he could even rejoice, he would be slapped to the ground by one of his shields, as easily as swatting a fly, with bones all over his body crushed to pieces.

This was the result of Li Bashan deliberately holding back seventy percent of his strength; otherwise, those "flies" would not have been able to keep even a bit of shape, and would long ago have been blown into vaporized blood mist.

After this happened several times, the friendly human wall behind Li Bashan, intentionally or unintentionally, slowed their steps slightly, widening the gap between them and him.

The originally neat human wall formation kept a distance of five meters between rows, advancing forward in unison.

Only behind the third row human wall, a ten-meter-long gap suddenly appeared.

But this no longer mattered, because when the wet red carpet began to spread and climb up more prisoners' insteps like a living thing, they suddenly collapsed as if collectively.

Fear turned them collectively into "Screaming Chickens" shrieking, fleeing chaotically without regard for anything, and then, like dropping dumplings, they scrambled one after another to jump into the filthy water prisons on the side of the corridor.

This made the squeezing speed of the human wall slow slightly, because the formation needed to, when passing each water prison, thrust the gun muzzles through the iron bars and wash the filthy accumulated water into a uniform color.

Wang Cong followed in the last few rows; throughout, he never got a chance to fire his gun. He greedily breathed in the bloody smell in the air, watching the blood color overflowing from the churning water prisons ahead, and felt indescribable pain in his heart.

How he wished to save these "family members" who had made mistakes, both for Feng Mu and for himself.

They already knew they were wrong, and had already obediently jumped back into the water prisons; why could they not be spared? Prison Warden, you are really too... wasteful of food.

Wang Cong walked across the muddy red carpet with a grief-stricken face; no one noticed that white ash was falling from the seams of his trouser legs into the blood mire.

With each step he took and lifted, ash kept falling and being drawn back; the size of his trouser legs seemed to be widening imperceptibly.

……..

Qian Huan looked at the monitoring screen stained red with blood; the ferocity on his face subsided somewhat. He looked at Feng Mu, who had voluntarily applied to help him with his work and share his burdens, and said in a deep voice:

"A death row inmate who is going to die does not need you to go in and take a look; I have more important matters to entrust to you."

"I want you to investigate clearly the cause of the riot and breakout of the prisoners in the Death Security Bureau; relying on themselves, they absolutely could not escape from the water prisons."

"Someone must have helped them; it was he who killed so many colleagues. I want to use his life to sacrifice to and comfort them."

Qian Huan spoke loudly, as if speaking to Feng Mu, as if speaking to everyone in the room, and even more as if speaking to... Zhao Xing on the ground.

His words carried not a shred of concealment, and his eyes revealed an extremely sinister chill, tightly locking onto Zhao Xing.

The latter was no longer kneeling on the ground wailing, but stood up, staring with blood-red eyes at the large screen in front of him, the muscles of his face twitching.

Only, it was unknown if anyone in the room noticed that at the position where he had just knelt, the badge symbolizing the Zone Chief was completely gone.

At this moment, that badge was tightly gripped in his palm; his five fingers clenched it tightly until his knuckles bulged with veins, the edge of the badge sank deep into his flesh, leaving a deep bloodstain.

That bloodstain was like a newly formed palm line, just connecting the career line and the life line, extending the career line out from the palm, but splitting the life line in two...

End of Chapter