"Why did you attack me, Sergio..."

"You scoundrel!"

"Why me?"

Pain makes one sober.

Memories resurface.

...

...

After Stanford left the meeting room, Sergio was in high spirits. He ran into the bathroom and smoked half a pack of cigarettes. At this point, he should release some pressure. After all, some of his own people were among the dead. He had to put on a show of being dejected.

As he returned to his seat, everyone around the long table became serious. Although most of the operatives in Eoubs were scheming against each other, his methods were simply too ruthless... Nobody wanted to get involved in such trouble.

He opened his phone and saw the photos sent by his subordinates. He then burst into a fit of coughing, each cough sounding as if his bones were being torn apart—the photos showed several dismembered corpses. He replied with satisfaction, "Awesome," and then dialed another number, signaling to the person on the other end that it was time to get started.

Sergio certainly arranged for a lot of people to go and kill Stanford, grind his bones to dust, and then send a video to make sure that all the shit is dead.

"well……"

"All I can say is that if showing off is an art, then I am the most artistic good man in the world. Do you even know what the aesthetic appeal of art is?"

"I don't care about pouring my heart and soul into completing the work, and I also have to make some necessary sacrifices during the creation process. Oh my god, I'm about to cry."

He sniffled, his face full of heartache, and he even raised his hand to cover his eyes, a few tears actually falling.

Really? You devil can cry?

Everyone else was stunned, and just as they were about to say something...

"Oh, I was just kidding."

"What did you all think of my performance just now? To be honest, I used to dream of becoming an actor, but then I realized that job isn't cool at all."

"It's so fucking awesome to only hurt people. The scene of those people dying tragically in front of me is like a fucking beautiful movie."

"The more people die, the higher you can reach."

His expression turned serious, and he began to spout grand principles that had nothing to do with the content of the meeting.

"Those people deserved to die so that I could achieve my position."

After Sergio finished speaking, he closed his eyes and pondered it carefully. He believed that this was his life motto, the kind that must be engraved on his tombstone after he died.

The other operatives waiting for the results weren't idiots either. They immediately understood what he meant and witnessed the bastard's wickedness. They all said they wouldn't have any doubts about C01's promotion; that position rightfully belonged to him.

Footsteps suddenly came from outside the corridor.

Sergio hunched his neck back and immediately returned to normal, straightening his back ramrod straight.

"Damn... they came really fast."

He quickly retrieved the photo and doodle, sprayed his hands with perfume, and then borrowed a piece of paper and a marker from a colleague, pretending to be diligently working on data.

The evaluator quickly entered the conference room. He looked around and found that the person in the main seat was gone.

"Didn't Mr. Stanford come?"

Even he, the evaluator who announced the final list, was somewhat puzzled at this moment. Based on past data, the operative with exceptional abilities and mental fortitude would not have missed such an opportunity.

It was made clear before departure that those who were absent would be considered to have voluntarily forfeited, and these wolves and tigers shouldn't be so kind.

"Sigh, my brother-in-law..."

"His wife is sick, it's cancer. Yes, they've been keeping it a secret because they didn't want to burden the older generation. After all, he already has a son, and he was hoping for a daughter next year, which would make his life even more complete. So right now—"

"Hmm... He went to the hospital to accompany his wife for a medical check-up."

Sergio thought for a few seconds and decided that the explanation made perfect sense, so he believed it.

Fifteen minutes later.

When Stanford sped home, his three-year-old son, his younger brother, his parents who had just returned from a hospital check-up, and his wife were all hanging from the ceiling as if on trial.

The steel bars of the railing pierced through their bodies, which were covered in blood. Some of them had their limbs cut off and nailed to chairs, looking both gruesome and eerily quiet.

He looked at the bloody scene ahead, his face exposed to the light, looking utterly disheveled.

He cried; he completely broke down.

Stanford could tell that the group didn't act directly; they probably didn't even use firearms. The bodies were covered in knife wounds and stab wounds, suggesting they were stabbed to death repeatedly with sharp weapons.

Like Sergio, he was forced into joining Eoubs.

As infected individuals who are considered taboo, these people are already defined as dangerous characters. In order to avoid being dragged into experiments every day, he can only join as an operative.

He knew that some would use this as an excuse to engage in tacit infighting, and that their opponents would eventually beg for mercy. The Eoubs's torture racks had been hanging over their heads for centuries, containing a vast and unparalleled database of tortures, with countless bizarre and ancient methods. The corpses, despair, rotting flesh, and shattered dignity created in that darkness could be piled up to form an incredibly foul ocean.

He might be nailed to it like his family, and then crushed piece by piece. He would wail, cry, and beg for mercy, sincerely admit his mistakes, or laugh at them.

My dear reader, there's more to this chapter! Please click the next page to continue reading—even more exciting content awaits!