"I'm here to visit," Jiang Hai greeted the guard politely.
"You're here to visit? Who are you looking for?" The guard approached, frowning in puzzlement. Even from a distance, Jiang Hai could detect the pungent mix of bad breath and disinfectant—a distinctly hospital-like smell. But then, this was a hospital, wasn't it?
"I'm looking for Bruce David," Jiang Hai replied, suppressing a hint of displeasure.
"Oh, you mean that cannibalistic psychopath? Go over there. Let me warn you—he's not to be trifled with." The guard chuckled as he spoke. Even here, the legend of Bruce David's insanity had spread; the thought sent a chill down Jiang Hai's spine.
Nodding in acknowledgment, Jiang Hai walked into the castle-like structure. The guard turned away, a sinister grin revealing gaping teeth before he resumed his patrol.
Inside, Jiang Hai immediately realized this "hospital" was nothing like the sanitized, welcoming mental hospitals depicted on television. This was a prison—cold, sterile, and heavily fortified. Concrete walls, uniformed guards patrolling the corridors, and doctors and nurses moving efficiently with their equipment created an oppressive atmosphere.
Each room was secured with thick steel bars on the windows. Sunlight filtered through the bulletproof glass—glass as strong as the windshield on his shield. Jiang Hai understood the reasoning: in both China and the U.S., wealthy criminals often feign mental illness to escape justice. For them, prisons like this were the final stop. Survival here meant something far worse than death.
The defenses were extreme. Jiang Hai estimated he probably couldn't even break the glass, let alone the steel bars.
As he walked further in, he noticed the staff's stares—curious, indifferent, even a hint of surprise. He couldn't tell why. Perhaps they hadn't seen a "normal" person in some time. Shaking off the thought, Jiang Hai focused on his mission: find Bruce David and leave.
He reached the reception desk and gently tapped the table. A young woman in a white coat looked up with wary curiosity.
Jiang Hai couldn't help but notice her—blonde, long wavy hair, delicate features lightly adorned with makeup. She looked young, like a flower waking from a spring nap. Alluring, yes, but he had no intention of flirting. Her work with mentally ill patients made her unpredictable.
"Hello, how can I help you?" she asked politely.
"I'm here to see Bruce David. Here's my pass," Jiang Hai said, handing it over. After checking, she nodded and glanced toward the corridor.
"Paul, take this gentleman to Bruce David's ward." A fat white guard named Paul appeared, said nothing, and motioned for Jiang Hai to follow.
The guard opened an electromagnetic door and led Jiang Hai into a corridor. At the end, an elevator took them to the third floor. The floor was stark. Guards lined the corridor, branching passages extending in all directions—hospital layout, but with much tighter security.
Jiang Hai noted the strange expressions on the guards' faces: curiosity, indifference… and surprise. Why surprise? He couldn't figure it out. Perhaps they were unaccustomed to seeing someone like him. He focused on the task at hand.
Finally, they reached the innermost room. "This is it," Paul said blankly, producing a key. The nameplate read Bruce David. Jiang Hai had found him.
"Ask whatever you need to quickly," Paul said, opening the door and gesturing him in. Jiang Hai smiled slightly and stepped inside—but immediately, his nose twitched.
Blood.
On the bed lay a person, seemingly in his twenties, bound in an X-shape, a bloody cloth stuffed in his mouth. His abdomen was cut open; intestines and organs spilled across the sheets. Horrifically, the man wore a guard's uniform.
Behind him, Jiang Hai felt a sudden whoosh of air. The fat guard lunged at him. Without hesitation, Jiang Hai spun and kicked. Eight times stronger than a normal human, his strike sent the guard crashing into the corridor window. The bulletproof glass spider-webbed but held.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!"
Guards in the corridor were already in a frenzy—staggering, slurring, lunging. Jiang Hai assessed the situation. Even with his enhanced strength, the numbers were overwhelming. Running was instinctive.
He ripped the key fob from the fat guard, slipped into the room, and shut the door. Pain seared his palm—a needle hidden inside the doorknob. "What rotten luck," he cursed under his breath.
The guards pounded on the door with hands and stun batons. Admittedly, the door was sturdy; they rammed it repeatedly, causing blood to splatter, yet it held. Jiang Hai's mind raced. He had felt only mild dizziness—the needle contained a potent sedative and paralytic mixture designed to immobilize instantly. For him, resisting it was remarkable.
Suppressing his dizziness, Jiang Hai lifted a heavy wardrobe to barricade the door. Even if the guards broke through, he would be ready.
But then the sedative intensified. His legs buckled, his vision blurred, and he fell hard to the floor. The world faded, and Jiang Hai drifted into a deep, forced sleep…