Lin Bei was sold by his best brother for a unit price of 30,000 US dollars.
Twelve people, 360,000, Liu Yang's bargaining voice outside the carriage was exactly the same as that of haggling in a market. Six years of brothers, 10,000 meals, and countless "It's okay, brother, I'm here"——
Deal.
But this is not the end. Several off-road vehicles stopped them halfway. Gold glasses, mercenaries, fully equipped with rifles. Three times the premium, $1 million in cash, repurchased on the spot. The last scene Lin Bei saw was that the needle was inserted into the neck, the liquid was pushing into the blood vessels, and the field of vision collapsed from the four corners to the center.
Wake up. Island. White lab.
There is a monitoring ring on his wrist that cannot be taken off, number 142. Hundreds of living people were imprisoned in glass walls, their blood was drawn every day, and five people were taken away every five days. The person who was taken away never came back - until the fifteenth day, a black man was taken back: so thin that he was out of shape, his pupils were dilated, and he could only draw a pattern repeatedly - a circle and a line through it.
That's the surgical path. Put a chip into the brain of a living person.
It's Lin Bei's turn. On the operating table, he saw the thing coming down: the size of a broad bean, with three metal tentacles, and blue light beating at the end. Then consciousness sank to the bottom.
When he woke up again, he was surrounded by corpses. Those lying on the rocks, lying sideways, and half submerged in the sea were all wearing the same blue jumpsuit as him. Failure. He shouldn't be alive -
Then a voice sounded in my head.
"Stand up. Go to the right. Coconut tree. Stay silent and survive."
That voice is called 142. Same as the number on his wrist.
It came to life the moment he was wheeled into the operating room.
