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

Chapter 1532 Break

"you……"

The doctor's throat was pressed against the blade, and his voice seemed to be squeezed out from a narrow crack. His eyes were wide open, and the pupils behind his glasses contracted violently, like a mouse whose tail had been stepped on, finally realizing that the trap was not for catching mice, but for catching himself.

"You...you weren't under my hypnosis?"

His voice changed, losing its previous composure and gentleness, becoming sharp and panicked, like a string out of tune.

Chen Jun did not answer.

He simply maintained that posture, the blade pressed steadily against the Doctor's neck, unwavering. His wrist didn't tremble, his breathing didn't quicken, and even his eyes remained completely still—as if he weren't holding an enemy who had just tried to control his mind, but rather a piece of dead wood waiting to be dealt with.

The doctor's face began to turn pale.

He scanned his surroundings rapidly, his gaze sweeping over the sophisticated instruments, the gleaming surfaces, and everything that had once made him feel safe and powerful. He had designed the environment himself—the angle of the lights, the color of the walls, the humidity of the air, even the specific frequency resonance of his voice emanating from the speakers. Every detail had been meticulously calculated, weaving together an invisible web of hypnosis.

He has succeeded with this system countless times.

The intelligence officer's wife, after only one visit to the lab, proactively arranged to meet him at a hotel three days later. The general's deputy, initially hostile towards him, willingly handed him confidential documents nestled in a newspaper two months later. And then there were the hostages, prisoners, and uncooperative research subjects…

No one can escape.

nobody.

But Chen Jun...

"You're just stupid."

Chen Jun spoke, his voice indifferent, as if stating a trivial fact.

The doctor's breathing suddenly froze.

"madness?"

The two words were squeezed out of his throat with difficulty, as if pressed by a knife, or as if he was unwilling to accept it.

Then, he suddenly laughed.

First came a low, suppressed groan from his throat, like the whimper of a trapped beast. Then the laughter burst forth from his chest, growing louder and sharper, echoing against the cold walls of the laboratory, carrying a sense of impending collapse and near-madness.

"Stupid? Hahahaha..."

The doctor tilted his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing along the edge of the blade, and his laughter nearly tore his vocal cords apart.

"When you gaze into the abyss..."

He was breathing heavily, tears welling in his eyes, but the twisted smile remained on his lips.

"The abyss...is also gazing upon you!"

The voice just fell.

"drop--"

Deep inside the laboratory, the screen of a computer suddenly lit up.

A dark blue background with large white lettering. A countdown number appears in the center, like a slowly beating heart.

Chen Jun glanced at the original time setting in the lower right corner of the screen—but that number had already started to change.

The doctor tilted his head, in that extremely uncomfortable position where he felt the blade pressing down on him, glancing sideways at the numbers flashing on the screen. A hint of smugness reappeared in his smile, like a drowning man grabbing onto a piece of driftwood.

"Three minutes."

His voice was hoarse, yet carried a strange sense of satisfaction:

"Three minutes left, Chen Jun. You can't escape."

He paused, swallowed hard, and his Adam's apple bobbed laboriously at the edge of the blade.

"I... can be blown up. It's okay. I have backups. Consciousness upload, memory transfer, clone cultivation—technologies that you Yan people don't understand, I've already mastered. In another way, I'm still me."

His gaze slowly shifted from the screen back to Chen Jun's face, his eyes filled with hatred, fear, and a hint of almost manic defiance:

"But what about you? Your corpse will remain here. Fragments, remains, charred bones... all my test subjects. Ha ha..."

"You talk too much nonsense."

Chen Jun interrupted him.

His voice remained calm, without any trace of anger or panic. He withdrew the blade from the doctor's neck—not by sheathing it, but by shifting it at an angle, the tip pointing at the metal chair in the center of the laboratory.

"sit down."

The doctor was stunned.

He didn't resist. Whether it was the threat of the knife or something deeper, something he himself didn't want to admit—he suddenly realized that Chen Jun's tone was strikingly similar to his own just now. That unquestionable, that matter-of-fact quality.

He sat down.

The metal chair surface was icy cold, seeping into his skin through the thin lab coat. Chen Jun pulled his hand up, and with a click, his wrist was locked into the armrest's buckle. His other hand. His ankle. His waist and abdomen. In less than twenty seconds, he was completely and precisely secured to the chair, like a specimen about to be dissected.

"you……"

The doctor wanted to say something, but Chen Jun had already turned and left.

He walked toward the computer with the countdown timer.

The numbers on the screen are still changing.

The professor struggled to turn his head, craning his neck from the constraints of the chair, trying to make out Chen Jun's movements. He could only see Chen Jun's back—broad shoulders, a slightly lowered head, and his hands resting on the keyboard.

Then he heard a sound.

What was that sound?

It wasn't the tapping of single syllables, nor the hesitant, awkward "tap, tap, tap" of ordinary typing. It was a series of dense, smooth, almost continuous crisp sounds, like machine gun fire, like raindrops hitting a tin roof, like some kind of high-speed machine precisely meshing, transmitting, and propelling.

The doctor's pupils contracted again.

"You're... a hacker?"

His voice sounded like it was being squeezed out of his throat.

Chen Jun did not turn around.

On the screen, below the countdown numbers, lines of white characters scrolled rapidly. The doctor couldn't make out what they were—the speed was too fast, dozens of lines per second, like a waterfall cascading down. But he recognized several code structures; it was the self-destructing system firewall he had personally written, his proudly multi-layered nested encryption protocol, the death line he firmly believed no one could breach in an hour.

three minutes.

No, there are only two and a half minutes left.

But the countdown on the screen...

The numbers stopped.

01:47:23.

It just stayed there, at that number. No more decreases. No more fluctuations. Like a patient finally passing away, it quietly and permanently stopped.

The doctor opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

He stared at the frozen time on the screen, at the "self-destruct program terminated" message, and at Chen Jun's composed movement as he withdrew his hands from the keyboard. His brain felt like it had been filled with a bucket of ice water; all his crazy, excited, and frenzied thoughts froze in that instant.

He didn't want to fall into Chen Jun's hands.

This was the only clear thought he had at that moment.

It wasn't death. He had long since ceased to fear death, and had even anticipated it countless times. What he feared was something else—the very thing he had inflicted on countless people. He feared becoming a test subject, he feared losing control of his body and consciousness, he feared the despair of being dismantled, analyzed, and thoroughly seen through.

His teeth clenched tightly.

The third denture on the left side of the upper jaw. Made of precision ceramic, it is hollow inside and contains 0.3 milliliters of cyanide solution. It can be broken by a bite force of 15 kilograms, and the toxin will enter the bloodstream within three seconds, causing cardiac arrest that is irreversible.

He used all his strength—

Nothing happened.

His jaw was gripped tightly by a hand like an iron clamp, the thumb pressing on the left joint, the index and middle fingers hooking into the right. The pressure applied by that hand was so precise and so immense that his entire jaw felt as if it had been cast into a steel mold, unable to move an inch.

"Click".

That was the sound of a dislocated jaw joint.

Crisp, clean, and without any hesitation.

The doctor didn't even have time to feel the pain—it was too fast. Then Chen Jun's fist slammed down, hitting the false tooth that concealed the poison. Ceramic shards mixed with blood gushed from his open mouth, trickling down his jaw, neck, and the collar of his snow-white lab coat.

"You want to die?"

Chen Jun withdrew his hand and looked down at him.

"No way."

His tone was flat, like he was correcting a primary school student who had made a mistake on a simple arithmetic problem.

The doctor tried to speak, but his dislocated jaw couldn't close, and he could only utter muffled, broken syllables from his throat. He stared at Chen Jun, and for the first time, a look akin to fear appeared in his eyes—not fear of death, but fear of something deeper and more unfathomable.

Chen Jun did not look at him.

He bent down and took something out of the tactical backpack at his feet.

That was his military knife.

The blade gleamed coldly under the harsh white lights of the laboratory. The doctor recognized the knife; it was forged from high-carbon steel, single-edged, with a specially coated edge that was sharp enough to easily cut through the Kevlar fibers of a bulletproof vest.

He held the knife to his own neck. Now, the knife is being held towards him.

The blade sliced ​​through the air, precisely severing the tendons in his right wrist.

The doctor's body jerked violently, a suppressed, muffled scream escaping his throat. Blood seeped from the wound, drawing a glaring red line across his white skin. Then his left wrist. His left ankle. His right ankle.

Every cut is precise, swift, and without any unnecessary cuts.

Just like the countless times he had performed on those bio-modified subjects—the difference being that the subjects were anesthetized when he performed those operations. But at this moment, he himself was conscious.

"Chen Jun..."

The doctor was finally able to speak; his jaw was still dislocated, and his syllables were indistinct, but every word sounded as if it had been pulled from the depths of blood.

"You...you're too vicious..."

Chen Jun sheathed his sword.

He looked down at the doctor, slumped in the metal chair—the same man who, just five minutes ago, had mocked him, threatened him, and tried to turn him into a guinea pig. Blood was still flowing from his wrists and ankles, his limbs hanging limply at unnatural angles, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"poison?"

Chen Jun repeated the word, seemingly finding it somewhat novel.

He paused for a few seconds, then said:

"Oh, right."

He turned around and walked back towards the doctor, his steps steady and unhurried.

"I'm giving you one last gift."

The doctor's pupils contracted sharply. He wanted to back away, but his limbs were completely out of his control, and he could only watch helplessly as Chen Jun approached, getting closer and closer until he could see that there was not a trace of emotion in his eyes.

"Don't you like turning humans into robots?"

Chen Jun's voice was very soft, as if he were chatting about everyday things.

"Aren't you going to use me as a guinea pig?"

He reached out and pressed down on the doctor's right arm.

"just."

He paused.

"I'm a very vengeful person."

The doctor finally let out his first complete, clear scream, unaffected by dislocation or blood pressure.

That was the sound of bones breaking.

Crack, crack, the sound of bones breaking rang out continuously. Chen Jun was like the strongman who could break an apple into eight pieces with his bare hands, breaking the PhD student in half.