Identity revealed and everyone captured

The icy liquid, like steel needles, pierced Karl Miller's face and neck, violently pulling him back from the boundless darkness and chaotic nightmare.

He gasped sharply, his body convulsing violently like a fish out of water. His vision blurred with water, and the glaring incandescent light made him instinctively close his eyes, only to struggle to open them again.

The gaze slowly focused.

He found himself with his hands tied behind his back, sitting against a cold, rough concrete pillar. Beneath him lay a dirty concrete floor, stained with a mixture of oil and an unidentified liquid. The air was thick with the smells of rust, engine oil, and years of dust, and... a faint, almost imperceptible odor of rotting wood and mold. This was clearly not an ambulance, nor a hospital; it resembled more of an abandoned... warehouse? Or workshop?

My head was throbbing, my throat was burning, and my mouth was filled with the bitter taste of rust and the strange smell of some kind of medicine. Aches and pains, from being bound, and dull ache from the rough treatment radiated from my body. My memories flashed like a jumbled slideshow, a chaotic jumble of images: the bloodshed in the interrogation room, the jolting of the ambulance, the cold gaze of the fake medical staff, the iron hand gripping my throat, the blue light of the stun gun, the intruder in black, and finally, the cold needle piercing my vein...

He struggled violently to stand up, but his wrists and ankles were tightly bound by tough plastic straps that dug into his flesh, rendering him immobile. He twisted his neck to look around.

Tony Rodriguez lay not far from him, his hands and feet also bound behind his back, curled up in an extremely awkward position. Tony's face was deathly pale, his eyes were closed, his lips were bloodless, and the bandage around his neck was mostly soaked with dark red blood, congealed and blackened. His chest barely rose and fell, with only occasional extremely weak, long-interval gasps proving that he had not completely stopped breathing. But it seemed that he was only a hair's breadth away from death.

Karl's heart sank. Tony...

He forced himself to look away and survey his surroundings.

This is the interior of a very spacious abandoned factory. The high ceilings and rusty steel frame structure cast menacing shadows under the dim lights. Most of the huge, dusty, cobweb-covered windows are broken, and the outside is shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to see their exact location. A few emergency lights, seemingly connected from somewhere, hang from the high steel beams, emitting a pale light that illuminates a relatively clean open space in the center of the factory, as well as the silent figures standing at the edge of the space.

Four men, all dressed in dark, casual clothing that allowed for easy movement, wore black masks that only revealed their eyes, noses, and mouths. Their posture was casual, even relaxed, but that relaxation carried an air of seasoned experience and complete control over their prey. Two of them toyed with tactical knives, the blades occasionally flashing coldly in the lamplight. The other two stood with their arms crossed, their gazes calmly fixed on the disheveled Karl and the dying Tony on the ground.

There was no conversation, no movement; they simply stood there silently, like four lifeless statues, yet they exuded a dangerous aura that was colder and more deadly than the two fake medical staff from before.

Karl recognized one of the figures—the man in black who had last broken into the ambulance, pointed a gun at the fake Medic A, and then injected himself with anesthesia! The face paint had been washed off, but Karl would never mistake those eyes. Calm, indifferent, like two bottomless, icy pools; looking at him was like looking at an object, or... a piece of livestock waiting to be slaughtered.

They're Lin Feng's men! Absolutely! And they're even more core, more professional, and more ruthless operatives than the fake medical staff! They hijacked the ambulance, subdued the fake medical staff, and then brought him and Tony here.

Why? What are they planning to do? Silence them? Force a confession? Or...?

Countless questions and fears churned within Karl. He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his parched throat, then, in a hoarse, trembling voice, he questioned the four silent men:

"You... are Lin Feng's people?"

His voice echoed in the empty factory, sounding somewhat hollow.

No one answered. The four men didn't even flinch, as if they hadn't heard a thing.

"What exactly do you want?!" Karl raised his voice, though it wasn't very loud due to weakness and fear. "Do you know we're federal agents of the IRS?! If anything happens to the two of us, the IRS will absolutely not let it go! Your boss, Lin Feng, won't get away with it either! He'll pay with his life!"

He tried to intimidate the other party with his status and the law, even though he knew that such intimidation was ineffective given that the other party had already gone this far.

Still, no one answered. Only from the upper floors of the factory, the night wind howled through the cracks in the broken windows, sounding like a mournful cry.

Karl felt a chill of despair creep up his spine. They didn't bother communicating with him at all. Their silence was more terrifying than any threat or insult. It meant they were fully aware of what they were doing and the consequences, but they didn't care. Or rather, they were confident they could handle any consequences.

He struggled to sit up, but the straps tightened, causing a sharp pain. He gasped for breath, his gaze sweeping over Tony's pale face again, a surge of intense guilt and anger welling up inside him. It was him, he had condoned Tony's violence, he had turned off the surveillance (though not by his own hand), he had pushed the situation into an irreversible abyss! If Tony died...

No, he can't die! He has to do something!

"Listen!" Karl's voice held a hint of pleading, though he tried his best to remain tough. "Tony needs to be taken to the hospital immediately! He's dying! What do you want? Money? Intelligence? We can talk! Just get him to the hospital, and we'll discuss anything! You kidnapped us here to negotiate, didn't you?!"

He stared intently at the leader of the men in black (the intruder), hoping to see a flicker of emotion in his eyes, a signal that negotiation was possible.

The man in black finally shifted his gaze, moving slowly from Karl's face to the dying Tony beside him. He looked at him for a few seconds, his eyes still devoid of warmth, before slowly returning to Karl's face.

He finally spoke, his voice processed by a voice changer, carrying a metallic, inhuman quality:

"No rush."

Only two words: cold, brief, and devoid of any emotion.

"Not in a hurry? Tony's about to die! This is not in a hurry?!" Karl almost burst into a tirade, but his remaining rationality and the man in black's terrifyingly calm gaze forced him to swallow all his curses and roars. He realized that the other party's "not in a hurry" might mean... they didn't care about Tony's life or death at all. Or perhaps, Tony's life or death was part of their plan all along?

A deeper chill enveloped him.

Just then, Tony, who was lying on the ground, suddenly convulsed violently! A very weak "hoarse" sound, like air leaking from a broken bellows, came from his throat. Immediately afterward, he opened his eyes abruptly!

His eyes, bloodshot and with pupils dilated from blood loss and near death, rolled around blankly and painfully, as if adjusting to the light and searching for focus. Finally, his gaze settled on Karl's face, which was so close to his, and he seemed to recognize him.

"Karl..." Tony's lips moved, emitting an almost inaudible gasp, and blood trickled down the corner of his mouth again. His eyes were filled with extreme pain, fear, and a clear premonition of death.

"Tony! Hang in there! You'll be alright!" Karl shouted, even though he himself didn't believe it.

Tony seemed to want to say something, but only more blood and froth welled up in his throat. He moved his gaze with difficulty and saw the four silent men in black not far away. A final, intense light, a mixture of rage, hatred, and despair, flashed in his eyes. He struggled violently, and although his body was extremely weak, that ferocity and brutality seemed to be the last fuel of his life.

"Fuck... fuck your mother! You bastards! You dare touch me?! I'll kill you all! Kill you all!!" Tony roared with his last ounce of strength, his voice hoarse and broken, but the venom and madness in it were still clearly discernible in the empty factory. Like a fish out of water, he writhed and thrashed on the ground in vain, trying to break free of his restraints, or at least to ram his head against the men in black.

However, his struggles only hastened his death. The wound on his neck, which had already congealed, burst open again, and fresh, dark red blood soaked through the bandages, gushing out. The color drained from his face at a visible speed, and his roars quickly weakened, turning into painful groans and gasps.

Karl watched with eyes wide with rage, but was powerless to do anything about it.

The four men in black remained completely unresponsive to Tony's frantic, dying struggles. They simply watched silently, as if observing an experiment that had nothing to do with them, or a clumsy performance.

The leader of the intruders, dressed in black, even tilted his head slightly, seemingly assessing how long Tony could hold out, or perhaps waiting for an opportune moment.

A few seconds later, Tony's struggles ceased completely. He collapsed to the ground, his chest rising and falling only faintly, his eyes becoming unfocused, and he uttered unconscious hoarse sounds; the flame of his life was rapidly dying out.

The intruder in black seemed to think the time was right. He gave a very slight nod to one of his henchmen holding a dagger.

The henchman immediately understood. He stepped forward, walked to Tony's side, and crouched down. The tactical knife in his hand flashed coldly in the light. He didn't look into Tony's dying eyes, filled with resentment and fear, but steadily used the tip of the knife to pry open the blood-soaked, loose bandage on Tony's neck, revealing the gruesome, everted wound where handcuff chains still bulged.

Then, he reached out with his other hand and pinched the blood-stained, cold, hard metal protrusion between two fingers. He paused, as if sensing something, or perhaps making a final confirmation.

Then, he suddenly exerted force with his wrist and pulled upwards!

A soft "pop" sound—the sound of flesh separating from a foreign object—is chilling.

The sharp protrusions of the handcuff chain, stained with Tony's blood and possibly still warm from his body, were cleanly and efficiently pulled out, bringing with it a few strands of sticky blood and pieces of shredded tissue.

Tony's body convulsed violently the moment the metal was pulled out, letting out a very short, muffled groan like a sigh before collapsing completely, his chest no longer rising and falling.

His eyes remained wide open, staring at the rusted dome of the factory, his pupils dilated and devoid of any light. His face was frozen with the last of his pain, rage, and a trace of incredulous bewilderment. Blood, from the wound on the side of his neck where the plug had been removed, flowed more slowly but steadily, meandering into a small pool on the dirty ground.

He died.

Right before Karl's eyes, under the watchful eyes of four men in black, he died in this unknown, abandoned factory in an extremely painful, humiliating, and utterly worthless manner.

Karl stared blankly at Tony's lifeless body, his mind a complete blank. Anger, fear, grief, despair, and a huge, unreal sense of absurdity overwhelmed him like a tsunami. He opened his mouth, wanting to shout, to cry, to curse, but something seemed to be blocking his throat, and no sound came out. Only tears, uncontrollably, welled up in his eyes, mixing with the dirty water on his face, and streamed down his cheeks.

The intruder in black glanced at Tony's corpse, his face remaining expressionless. He nodded to his henchman who had pulled out the metal. The henchman casually wiped the blood from the dagger and his hands with a cloth, then carefully placed the bloodstained handcuff chain into a transparent evidence bag, sealed it, and put it away.

Then, the intruder in black turned his gaze back to Karl.

That gaze, calm and cold, like the operating light on an operating table, illuminated Karl from the inside out, leaving him with nowhere to hide, and also brought him back to a slightly clearer state from the extreme emotional shock.

He knew Tony was dead. Next, it was his turn.

But he didn't understand. Why? If it was just to silence him, why not do it in the ambulance? Why go through all the trouble of bringing them here? Why make him watch Tony die? Was it to torture him? Or... what did they want from him?

The intruder, a man in black, seemed to see through Karl's doubts. He slowly walked up to Karl and crouched down. The two were so close that Karl could even smell the faint scent emanating from him, a mixture of gunpowder, sweat, and a cold, rusty aura.

The man in black didn't speak, but simply reached out, grabbed Karl's chin, and forced him to raise his head and meet his gaze.

Their eyes met.

In Karl's utterly calm eyes, there was no trace of human emotion. Only a deep, unfathomable focus, a pure concentration dedicated to carrying out a mission.

Then, the man in black released his grip. He stood up and made a few simple, clear gestures to his three other subordinates.

One of them immediately went to the corner of the factory, where some rusty iron barrels and planks were piled up. He kicked aside the clutter, revealing a large, heavy, black waterproof canvas bag that had been prepared beforehand, and... a few other items neatly arranged next to it.

Karl's gaze was involuntarily drawn to it.

When he saw those things clearly, his blood froze instantly!

That wasn't a weapon, nor was it a standard form of torture device.

They were several seemingly ordinary, even somewhat rudimentary, items that, when put together, could evoke a fear that sent shivers down one's spine!

A threaded steel bar, about 1.5 meters long, wrapped with rough iron wire and with sharp barbs ground to the top.

A large horseshoe, rusty but with its edges sharpened to an exceptionally sharp point.

A thick, old mop handle covered in hard splinters.

And... from a dirty canvas bag, several oddly shaped metal clips peeked out, stained with suspicious dark red dirt.

None of these items are professional torture instruments. They look more like "tools" that were casually picked up from a corner of this abandoned factory and then roughly processed. But that's precisely what makes them even more terrifying! Because they are full of uncertainty, full of the cruel imagination that the abuser can improvise!

Karl's gaze was fixed on the barbed steel bar, as if he could already feel the pain of it piercing his flesh and churning his internal organs—a pain far exceeding that of a normal whipping or electric shock. He then looked at the sharp-edged horseshoe, imagining it cutting through skin and even shattering bones... His whole body trembled uncontrollably, and his stomach churned violently.

No! No! He didn't want to! He didn't want to die as painfully as Tony! He didn't want to be tortured by these dirty, rough, malicious tools!

"No... no..." Karl finally found his voice, hoarse and weak, filled with desperate pleading, "Please... no... what do you want to know? I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything! Don't use those... please..."

He was incoherent, tears and snot streaming down his face. The bit of bravado he had shown when facing the fake medical staff had vanished in the face of Tony's death and these "tools." All he wanted now was to live, no matter the cost.

The intruder, the man in black, and his three henchmen remained unresponsive to his pleas. They simply watched him silently, their eyes showing neither sadistic pleasure nor pity, only a cold indifference, as if preparing to carry out the next step.

Two of them stepped forward, one on each side, and roughly dragged Karl, who was slumped on the ground and on the verge of collapse, to the open space in the center of the factory that was illuminated by lights.

Karl struggled, begged, and cried in vain, but to no avail. He was dragged to the center of the open space and forced to kneel on the ground. The cold, dirty cement floor pressed against his knees.

The intruder, a man in black, walked to the pile of "tools." Without even glancing at the horrifying objects, he bent down and picked up a threaded steel bar wrapped with rough wire and sharp barbs from the canvas bag. He weighed it in his hand, seemingly assessing its balance and feel.

Then, carrying the steel bar that gleamed coldly under the light, its barbs menacing, he walked steadily to Karl was kneeling on the ground, trembling, his face streaked with tears of despair.

He stopped, looked down, and stared at Karl.

Karl looked up, his eyes blurred with tears, at the approaching steel bar that exuded an aura of death and pain, and a hoarse, incoherent plea came from his throat.

The intruder, a man in black, made no words or unnecessary movements. He simply and slowly pressed the sharp, barbed tip of the threaded steel bar against Karl's left collarbone, near his shoulder.

The cold, metallic touch sent Karl froze, his fear reaching its peak.

Then, the man in black steadily exerted force with his wrist, pushing forward slowly and steadily.

"Ugh--!!!!"

A piercing scream, a mixture of extreme pain and terror, shattered the deathly silence of the abandoned factory, echoing through the vast, rusty steel jungle for a long time.

The executioner's face remained expressionless, only his calm eyes reflecting the victim's distorted face and the cold iron bar slowly sinking into flesh.