Chapter 47: You Deserve to Die More!

"Doctor Blake, what's wrong?" Sullivan asked, curious as he saw the man emerge from the Chen Lie Shi.

Because he could sense the man's mood was far from good.

"Nothing. I just think this illness came at a bad time."

The man's hoarse voice startled Sullivan: "True, you're the lead surgeon tomorrow. But if your condition isn't up to par, you can hand it over to me."

"Hmm." The man nodded.

Sullivan muttered to himself: Strange. This guy never lets go of any chance to operate. Why is he so agreeable today?

But excited by the upcoming psychological counseling, he didn't dwell on it—just picked up his tool kit and walked out of the operating room to the third room.

"Baby, I'm here!" Sullivan pushed open the door with a flippant tone and stepped inside.

Roger followed right behind. This book is originally published on TianTian Kan XiaoShuo—enjoy an excellent reading experience, ttks. tw, offering you error-free, properly ordered chapters.

Upon entering, he saw the familiar figure of a woman.

Zoe wore a white hospital gown, her hair disheveled, sitting on the floor surrounded by food and unknown liquids spilled everywhere.

Since her hands were chained to the bars, she could only move within an extremely confined space.

When she heard the noise and lifted her head, her eyes were filled with hatred.

"Shit! You fucking trash all deserve to burn in hell!"

"Hey, baby, didn't know you had bipolar disorder," Sullivan smiled, pulling out a scalpel. "But no matter. I've got plenty of time tonight to give you psychological counseling."

Zoe glared defiantly at him: "Come on then, if you've got guts, come closer—you three-second loser, I can tell you've been fucked in the ass!"

At these words, Sullivan's smirking mouth slowly sank: "Still got a sharp tongue, baby. But you can't anger me—you're the chosen prey."

"So in your eyes, she's just prey?" Roger suddenly interrupted.

Sullivan, surprised, blurted out without thinking: "What else? A homeless loser who only causes trouble for society, wasting our taxpayers' money every day. If not for prey or test subjects, what else could she be used for?"

The man sneered: "The money she earns in a month doesn't even cover the cost of me cleaning my shoes. I don't know what purpose such a person even has."

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" Zoe had no stronger words to retort—she just raised her middle finger.

"So this is how you all think? A regular person who works hard every day, laboring sixteen hours, scraping together a meager wage, still caring for a family—merely fit to be your test subject, supplying live organs?"

Roger pressed.

"Hey, Blake, what are you getting at?" Sullivan grew irritated by the man's questions, his face full of suspicion. "You're acting weird today. Are you sympathizing with her? Shit, did you burn out your brain today?"

"I haven't burned out my brain. In fact, I'm perfectly lucid."

Roger removed his mask and slowly put on his gloves.

"What are you doing? Are you planning to operate yourself?"

But the next moment, Roger's lips curled into a smile: "I just think you're the one who deserves to die more."

Then, a shocking scene unfolded before Zoe.

The man reached out with a powerful hand, clamping it tightly over Sullivan's mouth, then with his other hand, grabbed a fork and drove it violently into Sullivan's throat!

"Plosch!"

Warm blood splattered across the floor.

Zoe nearly screamed—but held it back, clapping her hand over her mouth.

Sullivan thrashed like a dead fish, eyes rolling, desperately struggling on the ground.

But the man remained cold, pinning him firmly to the floor, his grip as unyielding as shackles—like an experienced chef handling a dying carp.

Only when Sullivan gradually lost strength and collapsed did the man finally release his hands.

Zoe stared at him in terror: "Are you going to save me?"

"Why else would I do this?" Roger exhaled slowly, feeling the rage inside him ease slightly.

"No, no—you're not Blake." Zoe suddenly noticed something: "You look just like him, but he's never been this decisive, never this strong. Most importantly—if it were him, he'd never save me. He's the real culprit."

Roger hadn't expected Zoe to know Blake so well.

But out of caution, he had no intention of revealing his identity.

Yet Zoe suddenly widened her eyes: "Roger? Is that you?"

"Fuck, how did you figure it out?" Roger couldn't help swearing.

"It's you!" Zoe pointed at his neck: "You have a rare mole here."

Roger instinctively touched the spot—but felt nothing.

"Because of the height difference, I always see it when I talk to you. Plus your expressions and facial features—I recognized you."

Zoe seemed to relax a bit, smiling: "Wow, never thought the homeless guy I know was a cold-blooded killer. This is straight out of a movie—I'm falling for you."

"Don't say that now," Roger stared at Sullivan's lifeless body. "We need your cooperation for the next steps."

"Say it. I'll do anything—as long as I can take down this whole bunch of bastards!" Zoe's eyes burned with hatred.

"Simple. Stay quiet. Wait for the police to rescue you."

Roger said calmly: "I'll call the police and reporters soon. When they arrive, you must swear—without hesitation—that Blake killed Sullivan."

"No problem. I can do that." Zoe paused, then asked: "Is there anything else you need me to do?"

"No." Roger looked at the corpse on the floor. "Just stay with him for a while."

Zoe stared at Sullivan with a look of cruelty and satisfaction: "He's a demon. He deserves to die!"

Three minutes later.

Roger walked out of the room where Zoe was held.

Faint cries of a woman echoed from inside.

"Doctor Blake," the security guard said, smiling as he saw him. "Is Dr. Sullivan still conducting psychological counseling?"

"Hmm." Roger suddenly asked: "How long have you been here?"

The security guard paused, glancing at him strangely: "Doctor Blake, you should know—I've been here since Daisy House."

"Sorry, I got it wrong." Roger nodded with a smile, then suddenly looked ahead and exclaimed: "Ge Lifei Tai Tai."

The security guard's previously relaxed expression instantly turned serious as he turned to greet: "Good evening, Ge Lifei Tai Tai!"

Yet the next moment, he found himself facing empty air.

Just as he opened his mouth, a pair of strong hands clamped tightly over his nose and mouth, followed by a piercing pain from behind!

"Ugh..."

"Thud."

The security guard collapsed to the ground, a sharp surgical knife embedded in his back.

Roger exhaled in relief; all factors that could expose his identity had now been eliminated.

He removed his bloodstained gloves and placed them into a prepared plastic bag. Then he went to the fire escape and used a cleaner's broom to lock the door shut, preventing anyone else from entering.

Afterward, he returned to the elevator, intending to go back up to the fourth floor.