Special Forces: At the beginning, An Ran pulled him to get his certificate.

Chapter 1533 The War Song Arrives

The footsteps outside grew louder and louder, hurried and chaotic, like a group of people running through a metal corridor. Before Chen Jun could turn around, the door was flung open.

He Chenguang was the first to rush in.

He held a gun in a tactical stance, the muzzle rapidly scanning every corner of the laboratory—then it froze.

Wang Yanbing followed behind him and almost bumped into his back.

"What's wrong? You—"

His voice was stuck in his throat.

Song Kaifei and Xu Tianlong rushed in one after another, followed by one assault team member after another. A dozen people crowded at the doorway, but not one of them took another step forward. They were all staring in the same direction.

In the center of the laboratory, on that metal chair.

The doctor remained in that position. His limbs were twisted at an ergonomically unnatural angle, like a plastic doll carelessly broken and then put back together by a mischievous child. Blood seeped from the wounds on his wrists and ankles, pooling on the ground and slowly spreading outwards. His head was tilted to one side, his jaw dislocated, and mixed-blood saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were half-open, and his pupils occasionally moved, proving that he was still alive.

But at this moment, there is little difference between being alive and being dead.

He Chenguang's Adam's apple bobbed.

His gaze shifted from the doctor to Chen Jun.

Chen Jun was standing in front of an operating table in the corner, slowly wiping the bloodstains from his hands with a white laboratory wipe. His movements were calm, even elegant, like someone wiping their mouth after finishing a meal.

The cloth was quickly stained red.

He put the cloth down, looked up, and saw a crowd of people gathered at the doorway. He frowned slightly.

What are you all standing there for?

No one answered.

Wang Yanbing finally snapped out of his shock. He stared at the doctor's disfigured body, then at Chen Jun, his lips trembled a few times before he managed to squeeze out a few words through gritted teeth:

"Holy crap... this... is this something a human could do?"

His voice was very low, as if he was afraid of disturbing something.

He Chenguang didn't speak. He slowly lowered the muzzle of his gun, his gaze lingering on Chen Jun's face for a long time. That face was very calm, so calm that it was almost too normal. There was no excitement, no guilt, no dazedness after losing control—it was as if he had just done something as ordinary as eating and drinking.

But He Chenguang has known Chen Jun for a long time.

He knew what kind of person Chen Jun was. Low-key, honest, even a bit reserved. He avoided violence if possible, and preferred reasoning with people. Back at the base, when new recruits acted recklessly and talked back to him, he would just smile and at most make them run a few laps as punishment. Some said he was soft, others said he had no temper.

But He Chenguang knew the other side.

That year, during a counter-terrorism operation, Chen Jun infiltrated a terrorist hideout alone, dismantling the entire command structure. After returning, he spent three days in the hospital. The doctor said he had seventeen wounds, two of which, if any deeper, would have been fatal. When asked if he was in pain, he shook his head and said he'd forgotten.

That wasn't a feigned "forgetting." He truly forgot. Because at that moment, something more important than pain occupied his entire attention.

He Chenguang turned his attention back to the doctor.

The doctor's eyes were still moving. Those eyes, once filled with arrogance and madness, were now nothing but empty, mechanical physiological responses. His body lay scattered on the metal chair like a disassembled model, displaying the limits of human skeletal structure in the most blatant way.

"That beast..."

He Chenguang heard himself speak, his voice a little hoarse:

"They experiment on living people like pigs and dogs."

Wang Yanbing was taken aback and followed He Chenguang's gaze. This time, he no longer looked only at the twisted limbs, but at the entire laboratory—the glass cabinets, the specimens preserved in formalin, and the bodies that had been dissected halfway and were frozen in time.

His expression changed.

"These...are all people?"

No one answered him. The answer was written on the labels of every glass cabinet, on the stark white workbench, and in every restraint mark on the metal chair.

Chen Jun finally spoke.

His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself:

"During World War II, there was a group of people who did the same thing. They experimented on living people without anesthesia or sterilization, and they didn't care whether the people lived or died. They froze to death, burned to death, died of thirst, or died in excruciating pain—that's what they called 'scientific research'."

He paused.

"Those people lost in the end. But their skills remained. Their ideas remained. There have always been people who do this kind of thing."

He looked up at the silent soldiers at the doorway.

"I lost control today."

He spoke calmly, as if admitting a trivial mistake.

"But I have no regrets."

No one speaks.

Silence spread through the laboratory, like an invisible fog, seeping into every corner. The corpses in the glass cases watched all this silently, with eyes that would never close.

Finally, He Chenguang made a move.

He put the gun down completely, walked over to Chen Jun, and patted him hard on the shoulder. He didn't say anything. He just patted him.

Wang Yanbing swallowed, looked away, and tried to make his voice sound normal:

"Um... Boss is still the same as before... a pervert."

His tone no longer carried fear, but rather a complex, indescribable meaning.

Just then, footsteps sounded outside the door again.

This time, the footsteps were not hurried, but rather steady, rhythmic and deliberate. He Chenguang stepped aside, and a person walked in from the doorway.

War song.

He glanced around the lab, his gaze lingering on the professor for less than a second before shifting away. Then he saw Chen Jun.

He walked over and stood in front of Chen Jun.

stand at attention.

salute.

"The military sent me."

His voice was deep and powerful.

Chen Jun raised his hand, ready to return the greeting. But Zhan Ge had already lowered his hand, opened his arms, and hugged him tightly.

It was a real man's embrace. Forceful, solid, with a long-lost warmth and strength. Their chests collided, producing a dull thud. Chen Jun coughed softly, the pressure making him gasp.

Zhan Ge released him and punched him squarely in the chest.

"Chen Jun, I knew you weren't going to stay quiet. You've caused trouble overseas, haven't you?"

He grinned, a smile that held the joy of a long-awaited reunion and a tacit understanding that only those who have experienced life and death can comprehend.

Chen Jun coughed twice, clutching his chest, a smile appearing on his face:

"Hey Zhan Ge, are you trying to kill me by hitting me like that?"

Zhan Ge's smile faded for a moment, and his brows furrowed slightly.

"Are you injured?"

Chen Jun waved his hand dismissively:

"I fought a tough battle with a few freakish cyborgs, so I'm a bit injured. Internal injuries, but I'll recover after a period of rest."

He paused, looking at Zhan Ge's furrowed brows, and added:

"Don't forget, I'm a doctor."

Zhan Ge paused for a moment, then his brows relaxed, and he nodded vigorously:

"Right, I almost forgot. You even managed to overcome late-stage cancer, I'm truly impressed."

His smile returned, he glanced around, took a step closer, lowered his voice, and his expression became somewhat subtle:

“That…Chen Jun.”

"Ok?"

The battle song was lowered even further, almost a whisper:

"Can hemorrhoids be cured?"

He paused, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation:

"It's an occupational hazard. I've been sitting for too long."

Chen Jun looked at him and remained silent for two seconds.

Then he laughed.