Fujimoto Ayara turned to look at the other people. Not bad, some of them were lucky. Apart from looking a little confused, they didn't have many injuries. They were probably just badly shocked by the electric shock.

"It's okay, you'll get out of here alive."

The other person didn't speak, and the surroundings were silent, devoid of any hope.

This is obviously a lie, the subtext of which is that I can't help it either.

He then checked the electronic screen, which was full of monitoring data, seemingly converging on a data center.

He stood there for a few seconds, then skillfully typed a self-destruct command on the keyboard. Back when he worked in clerical positions at Eoubs, he enjoyed doing things that would get him cursed to death: "Do you remember that operative's name? He can control mutated creatures?"

“I can’t remember exactly, but there was definitely a control center,” the survivor said, laughing nervously. “It was like a monster empire, and there were people thinking about how to rule it every day.”

A man got out of bed, walked over to look at the screen in front of him, and after a moment of disorientation, said, "My name is Quillin."

“If you want to commit suicide, I have a knife at my waist. It’s very sharp, and it will be quick to slit your throat,” Fujimoto Ayara said without looking up.

“I recognize you. You are an operative from Yingzhou Prefecture, D05, and you have four forbidden items in your body.”

He finally stopped what he was doing, tilted his chin up, stared at Quillin, and then gave a smile that meant very little—you'd better get to the point now.

“We were the first control team sent to Jerusalem. There were three of us in total. The operative D02 was originally our leader, named Weeks. There was also a female researcher... but she is dead. We were murdered. Weeks went insane because of that bastard.”

Fujimoto Ayara sighed. He spoke at length, but there was very little useful information in it. Everyone knew that the control mission of 346 was the most dangerous, otherwise Eoubs would not have made an unprecedented joint operation.

As for double-crossing? Who wouldn't want to do that?

"Really...you have to believe me, I'm definitely not stupid from the electric shock." Quillin was a little at a loss. This poor thing had been unconscious on that bed for almost two months, the process was intermittent, and now that he had suddenly woken up, he didn't have much sense of time: "It's...excuse me, can you tell me what day it is?"

The person on the bed chimed in, saying, "You... can't help. This place is specifically designed to torture people for the audience to watch... He really has an imagination. I dare say that what he does here would satisfy those perverts outside to no end."

Someone gasped in extreme pain. Who knows if mental retardation is contagious? He circled the hall again. The room was full of miserable experimental subjects, meticulously crafted in every way. It seemed that bastard Weeks had put a lot of thought into it, and he certainly had a knack for torturing people.

Then, that tragic figure stood amidst this disaster, looking at the equally miserable and absurd experimental subjects, and uttered the name of the perpetrator.

"Bamke...do you know this person?"

Quill silently stepped forward and took out the USB drive, which had been cleared of data. It was stained with blood, and his hands were also covered in blood. It seemed that the interface of the device was not ideal and was probably rusted beyond belief.

“We were all harmed by him, please take me away… I want to see Weeks, I want revenge…”

Great, this makes things much more interesting.

Fujimoto Ayara suddenly found this idiot much more pleasing to the eye. That's right, infighting was his favorite thing to do.

21:02.

Church of the Holy Sepulchre, East Israel.

The entire hall was a mess, but because most of the materials were fixed templates, there wasn't much dust. It had a desolate feel after a battlefield, as if it were the result of careful design.

Gas pipes protruded from the wall like skeletons, typical of illegal structures in the new city. Bamke lay in a pool of blood, looking at the scene, feeling somewhat dazed.

He felt as if he had returned to a time when he had just entered Jerusalem, but the memories of that time had been torn to pieces by the constant cycle of reincarnation, leaving only chaos. He was like an amnesiac who did not know where he was or who he was. All he could feel was anger, a desire to tear everyone apart and kill them.

That kind of anger is deadly; it congeals the blood, making one feel as if covered in resin, and making one's already rigid thinking even more terrifying.

He crawled out of the blood, pushed aside the people behind him, and staggered a step toward the podium, where someone grabbed him again.

Bamke then noticed that Joey was also there. The little smoker had come back to life again. It seemed that this was another boring cycle, so the person who was supposed to die had reappeared.

The child said, "Don't go! Father Andrew will come—"

He stopped, unsure what to say next.

Bamke spoke for Joey in a hoarse, broken voice: "He will kill me, I understand."

At the very front of the hall, the monster wielding a gun and sword smiled at them and said, "Go on, I love slicing open the necks of blasphemers."

The priest was tall and well-proportioned, clearly well-built and exercised. He rose from the wreckage of countless waves of attacks, flames and smoke parting around him, still wearing a beige robe, the kind popular in Jerusalem this year.

He had previously been bathed in bullets like a ruler, and then the living sculptures rushed forward, blocking his way like loyal dogs. Andrew Lie stared intently at them and laughed unrestrainedly.

Bamke shook off Joey's hand and walked over.

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