At the sound of his words, the faces of the surrounding agents immediately broke into expressions of scorn. This was 1984, and even in the so-called democratic and free United States, the FBI held unchecked power. Back in 1974, President Nixon had resigned due to the Watergate scandal, an event linked in no small part to several high-ranking officials within the FBI turning rogue—even the President had been forced out. Since then, the FBI’s influence had ballooned, reaching a pinnacle of supreme authority. And yet, Fang Senyan dared to ask for a lawyer in front of them? To assert his human rights?

The bulbous-nosed agent who had been arguing with Fang Senyan’s jaws clenched, and with a crisp snap, he struck Fang Senyan across the face with the barrel of his gun. His smile was anything but genuine.

“Kid, I don’t like you one bit. If you keep running your mouth, I’ll toss you in with Sam—maybe this queer will take a keen interest in your backside. Now, get down, right now!”

A flash of cold light sparked in Fang Senyan’s eyes, but on his face, he adopted an expression of weary resignation, shaking his head and offering a wry smile as he slowly crouched down. Yet, his entire body seemed to tremble with manufactured fear, drawing faint sneers from the observing FBI agents. Then, Fang Senyan’s left hand suddenly loosened, and the black briefcase containing the alloy-steel exoskeleton dropped toward the ground.

Despite the intimidating presence of the FBI, they all knew the "evidence" in Fang Senyan’s hand was critically important and must not be damaged. Any mishap would likely stall their promotions and raises for years. Their gazes inevitably followed the falling case. Fang Senyan’s thick, dark eyebrows knitted together like crossed blades. Maintaining the posture of raised hands, he suddenly ducked his head, using his forehead to slam violently into the chest of the bulbous-nosed agent standing before him!

This collision was utterly unexpected, resembling an unheralded secret technique from a Shaolin temple—the Iron Head Skill. But these FBI agents likely possessed only a limited understanding of China, ensuring they were completely unprepared for such a sudden, unconventional attack.

The human forehead bone is the densest and hardest part of the entire skeleton. Coupled with Fang Senyan’s strength, which was double that of an ordinary man, this strike sent the bulbous-nosed agent reeling with a muffled groan. His face instantly turned ashen, his eyes bulging as if about to pop. Stomach bile, blood, and undigested food churned in his throat, finally erupting in a violent retch!

The air was immediately tainted with a sour, foul stench. Fang Senyan’s back was drenched by the vomit, but he had succeeded in plastering himself against the agent, effectively neutralizing the surrounding FBI men who dared not fire, lest they hit their own colleague. Fang Senyan hooked his foot around the briefcase on the ground, skillfully retrieving it in his left hand, then bent his knees, unleashed a burst of power, and charged headfirst toward the transparent display window!

With a deafening crash, the greasy display window shattered into a thousand pieces. After bursting through, Fang Senyan kept his center of gravity extremely low, landing on his shoulder blades and rolling instantly onto the sidewalk. The sound of breaking glass drowned out the muffled pops of the suppressed gunfire. However, after running a few paces, Fang Senyan’s gait became unsteady, and dark, alarming patches began to bloom on his deep-colored trench coat where blood seeped from his back.

"You have been attacked by a Federal Bureau of Investigation Agent (Elite), sustaining a loss of 19 (44-25) Health Points."

"You have been attacked by a Federal Bureau of Investigation Agent (Elite), sustaining a loss of 21 (46-25) Health Points."

"You have been attacked by a Federal Bureau of Investigation Agent (Elite), sustaining a loss of 17 (42-25) Health Points."

"You have entered a Bleeding state of 7 points/5 seconds. This effect will last for 30 seconds."

The firepower of FBI handguns was far superior to that of the Los Angeles police. Facing individuals deemed threats to national security, they were typically equipped with Glock 17 9mm pistols, often utilizing three-round burst mode. Reading the series of notifications flashing from the Nightmare Imprint, Fang Senyan felt the anxious agitation of a trapped beast.

Fang Senyan’s Agility rating was not high, meaning that even though he strained every muscle to run, the pursuers behind him held a relentless grip. A searing pain began to radiate from his back as the strong muscle tissue contracted, attempting to expel the projectiles lodged within. Fortunately, it was the peak of the lunch hour. As Fang Senyan sprinted down the sidewalk, he was jostled by startled pedestrians thrown off balance. The FBI agents in fierce pursuit a dozen meters behind him, no matter how arrogant, absolutely could not open fire in this environment. Any accidental civilian casualty would render their actions functionally indistinguishable from those of terrorists.

Spotting the pedestrian overpass ahead, a cold smile touched the corner of Fang Senyan’s mouth, and he rapidly increased his pace, scrambling up the bridge in just a few bounds. He slammed his hand onto the railing beside him and, with practiced agility, launched himself toward an oncoming semi-truck on the opposite side! This maneuver appeared incredibly risky; a missed jump would result in him being crushed instantly by the succession of vehicles below. But for Fang Senyan, whose physical condition had been artificially enhanced, the leap was executed without alarm or incident, landing him easily in the back of the truck bed.

Below was the express lane, meaning even if the truck driver noticed the anomaly, immediate stopping was impossible. Furthermore, the rear of the truck was piled high with paper; Fang Senyan’s landing created almost no sound, and the vehicle continued its swift journey forward. Just then, a dark shadow flashed, followed by a heavy thud. It was the bulbous-nosed agent, relentlessly pursuing Fang Senyan. He had reached the overpass, timed his leap just as the truck crossed the bridge, and landed on the far railing, successfully jumping into the truck bed and catching up!

Fang Senyan’s sharp eyebrows arched upwards, his lips curling into a cruel, cold smirk. He had dared to engage the Terminator T-750 in direct combat; a mere FBI elite agent was beneath his notice. The two men were now only two or three meters apart. Just as the bulbous-nosed agent was about to raise his gun to aim, Fang Senyan leaned in, shouldered low, and charged forward.

On solid ground, this move would have been an idiotic mistake. If the bulbous-nosed agent took the impact, he could easily roll back, create distance, and start firing accurately! But here, on a high-speed lane, if Fang Senyan hit him squarely, the agent would certainly be thrown from the moving vehicle. On a highway, suffering broken limbs would be the best possible outcome.

Forced by the circumstances, the FBI agent abandoned the idea of precise shooting. He sidestepped, successfully dodging the incoming attack while attempting to use the momentum to strike back. However, since entering this world, Fang Senyan’s mind was clearer than ever before, anticipating the agent’s reaction. His shoulder charge, though appearing ferocious, deliberately held back, using only three-tenths of his strength. As soon as the bulbous-nosed agent moved to evade, Fang Senyan flowed after him like a shadow, his hands held seemingly casually at his sides.

The distance between them narrowed to mere breaths. The bulbous-nosed agent, trained in FBI close-quarters combat, knew that attempting to aim and shoot now would only result in having his wrist grabbed and being beaten down. Without hesitation, he thumbed off the safety, gripped the barrel of his weapon, and swung the heavy steel grip of his sidearm down toward the despicable criminal’s head! A venomous glint appeared in the agent’s eyes. Their Glock 17s were custom models, holding thirty-one rounds in the magazine; this heavy downward swing possessed a striking force legendary even among crude weapons!

Fang Senyan, however, thrust his head up, meeting the impact head-on with brute force! A dull thunk echoed as a long gash opened on his forehead, but it was only a gash! The bulbous-nosed agent cried out in pain; the massive rebound force had torn his gun hand’s web, and warm blood immediately streamed down. He lost his grip on the service weapon, which skittered across the highway surface, spitting a shower of sparks.

Simultaneously, Fang Senyan inhaled deeply, his clenched fists suddenly driving out in powerful strikes aimed at the enemy’s soft abdomen. These punches concentrated the entirety of Fang Senyan’s power; at the deepest point of impact, his fists registered the hardness of the enemy’s spine. The damage inflicted upon the internal organs was unimaginable!

Struck by such a violent assault, the FBI agent’s eyes snapped wide in agony, his complexion shifting from pale to iron-gray. Yet, even as the world swam before him, he knew this was a moment of life or death; he could not falter. Gritting his teeth, he drove his knee upward into Fang Senyan’s lower abdomen and swung a fist toward the opponent’s cheek.

Facing the counter-attack, Fang Senyan neither dodged nor blocked, enduring the punch and the knee strike head-on. A massive bruise bloomed on his cheekbone, and a wild redness flooded his eyes. He exerted a sudden burst of energy, sweeping out with a heavy elbow! It connected squarely with the face of the burly opponent.

Clearly, the FBI agent’s resilience could not compare to Fang Senyan’s. Already operating on fumes, the agent let out a piercing shriek after taking the ferocious blow, staggering backward until his back slammed hard against the truck bed wall. He covered his face with his hand, tears and snot streaming down, blood gushing cheerfully between his fingers.

Fang Senyan gave a cold laugh, straightened his posture, and glanced behind him. The other five FBI agents, who had been shaken off, had commandeered a sedan and were now furiously flooring the gas pedal, desperately closing the gap. Meanwhile, the truck had veered into the slow lane, reducing speed—perhaps they had noticed the disturbance in the cargo bay, or perhaps they were nearing their destination. Barring unforeseen circumstances, they would be caught again within minutes!

............... There’s more at 11 PM tonight, don’t miss it! Haha! (To be continued, please visit for the latest chapters:.)