CHAPTER 487: CHAPTER 291 ANNIHILATION, UPGRADE_1

Dean blinked at the pig-masked man who wanted to draw his blood, revealing a creepy smile, and casually shook his leg, kicking the shackles off his feet.

This guy, he was faking it all along!

The pig-masked man with the syringe thought he had misseen. Stunned for a few seconds, he lifted his head and shouted at his companion, "Fuck, restrain this guy, he... urk—"

He didn’t finish his sentence. An overwhelming force surged from the arm he had grabbed.

BANG!

Accompanied by a feeling of soaring through the clouds, the pig-masked man with the syringe, clutching his stomach, slammed hard into the iron bars, the impact echoing with a loud clang that startled the entire prison compound.

CRACK!

Dean sent the enemy before him flying with a single strike. He twisted his neck, producing a creepy bone-grating sound, then turned to the other masked man, who was so stunned he could only instinctively press the electric shock remote. "The electric shock actually felt pretty good. It reminded me of my long-lost childhood. How would you like me to thank you?"

"Go to hell!"

Seeing that this piglet was just standing there talking nonsense, the masked man finally snapped back to reality. He pulled an electric baton from his waist and jabbed it toward Dean.

To Dean, his movements were as slow as an old man’s.

With a swift grasp, Dean caught the middle of the electric baton. He twisted it forcefully, and using the masked man’s own hand, rammed the baton back into its owner.

BZZZT!

Sparks flew.

The pig-masked man with the electric baton barely had time to scream before his body convulsed, arching like a bow on the ground, twitching, unable to resist.

He’d taken down two men.

Dean, twirling the electric baton in his hand and still feeling unsatisfied, stepped out of the cell. He stood under a surveillance camera, flipped it off, then leaped over a meter into the air as if dunking a basketball, and smashed the baton down hard on the device.

CRACK!

The surveillance in this area was smashed to smithereens.

Dean landed. Seeing the baton in his hand was bent, he didn’t bother wasting any more time. He casually tossed it, knocking another, more distant camera askew, and then walked back into the iron cell.

He hadn’t been too rough on them just now. After the delay, the two pig-masked men had somewhat recovered.

"Tell me, how many of you are there in total here?"

"Go to hell!"

The pig-masked man who’d been shocked with the baton crawled up from the ground, not yet realizing the severity of the situation. He adopted a boxing stance and threw a punch at Dean.

Dean sneered and threw a punch of his own.

Their fists collided. The attacking pig-masked man’s seemingly solid fist twisted and deformed. He screamed as he was hurled back even faster to where he’d stood.

"Boxing, huh?"

Dean took a large stride forward and delivered an execution-style whip kick, viciously striking the man’s head.

The impact was immense. The pig-masked man’s head deformed as it slammed against the concrete wall behind him with a sickening THUD that shook the entire cell. He then rebounded, falling at Dean’s feet.

There was no gory mess of a split-open skull.

The pig-masked man’s body twitched twice before a well-mixed concoction of red and white began to flow from his mouth and nose, trickling across the floor towards his companion, who was still clutching his stomach and groaning.

With one man kicked to death, much of the frustration in Dean’s heart dissipated.

He crouched down and searched the dead man’s body.

Unfortunately, it seemed they were wary of prisoners like Dean. The man had no guns, not even a knife—only a half-used box of off-brand condoms and lubricant.

Shit, this dead degenerate... he wasn’t into guys too, was he?

Dean flicked his hands disdainfully, then turned to the remaining pig-masked man, a friendly smile on his face. "Buddy, your companion was in a hurry and took a shortcut in life. You don’t want to follow his example, do you?"

Seeing his companion’s blood spilled all over the floor, the pig-masked man clutching his stomach frantically shook his head.

"Good. Now tell me, how many people are left here?"

"Eleven..."

"Tell me about your duties."

The pig-masked man glanced at the scattered camera parts in the hallway, took a ragged breath, and complied, "Apart from the doctors, nurses, and cooks, the rest of us don’t have fixed tasks. We mainly follow the supervisor’s arrangements."

"You mean all your people are here?"

Dean’s ears twitched as he slowly stood up.

"Yes."

The masked man nodded. "We are the terminal. All that’s left is to wait for the supervisor’s instructions. If a customer is matched, a delivery person will come, and at that time, the ’piglet’ from the corresponding cell will be taken to the doctor for sampling. This ensures the ’goods’ are fresh."

Dean had wanted to learn more, but unfortunately, time was running out.

He nodded to the masked man. "Although I know you’re stalling, I still appreciate your cooperation. As a thank you, how about I show you a magic trick?"

What? What kind of magic trick? Lying on the ground, the pig-masked man could already sense the urgent footsteps approaching from the entrance.

They were his colleagues, alerted by the compromised surveillance, now rushing over.

There’s only one entrance and exit! This guy is doomed!

But a sense of deep foreboding washed over the pig-masked man.

He stared blankly at Dean, his eyes showing no trace of joy at his colleagues’ imminent arrival to trap Dean.

Dean stood up. Under the man’s gaze, he flipped his palm. As if conjuring something from thin air, a pitch-black handgun, still smelling of gun oil, appeared in his broad hand.

The pig-masked man recognized the model of the handgun.

A Glock 17! He had one too.