Once inside the room, Chen Chuan scanned his surroundings. It was a large, sparsely furnished space. Where office desks should have been, there were now rows of steel-framed beds, each occupied by an unconscious person.
The walls, floor, and ceiling were all covered in strange, unsettling patterns. Four people were in the room. Seeing him burst in, their faces showed no fear, only an indescribable fanaticism.
One of them immediately turned his gun on a person lying on a bed. But before he could fire, a small stone struck him squarely on the wrist. With a SNAP, his wrist exploded, bone fragments piercing the skin. As his pistol clattered to the floor, he let out a piercing scream.
As he threw the stone, Chen Chuan was already moving forward. He gently pushed back the head of a man charging at him, then thrust a hand upward into the stomach of another. By the time he moved past them toward the last man still standing, the first two were sent flying.
