CHAPTER 427: CHAPTER 263: PRISON BREAK_3

"Imagine this."

"He’d just secretly added a tiny bit into the dogs’ meat soup, and the entire kennel had become agitated."

"This one test tube, if used by a single person, could definitely last a very long time."

"So, to Barton, the price of ten thousand US dollars seemed much more economical than those Spirit products on the market."

The woman finally showed some interest because of Barton’s words.

She scanned Barton again, her gaze serious, then looked down at the electronic screen on the table displaying all his information. She tapped the tabletop twice before tentatively asking, "A new type of narcotic?"

Barton shook his head. "Spirit!"

The woman was speechless for a moment.

"’Spirit?’ she repeated."

"’Heh heh. Could this be some magical Secret Medicine from Mexico? And because you’re down on your luck, you’re planning to sell it to us?’"

She rose with an odd laugh, walked step by step toward Barton, and looked down at the man before her.

The market for Spirit products was indeed huge.

But few products could genuinely pass international inspections and circulate on the market. Moreover, one had to compete with established powers to get a slice of the pie. It wasn’t as if just any hormone product could break in and grab a share.

An intoxicating fragrance wafted from her.

Only then did Barton realize this woman was actually a full head taller than him.

He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her deep cleavage and lowered his head. "I know what I’m saying might sound outlandish, but you won’t understand how amazing this stuff is until you try it. It can dominate every other Spirit product currently on the market!"

"So, should I try it with you first, right now?"

The woman extended a finger, tilting Barton’s chin up.

Barton’s heart skipped a beat. He licked his lips. "Can we?"

"We can!" the woman smirked seductively.

The next moment, her long leg shot out, striking Barton hard in the abdomen. The blow incapacitated him instantly. She snatched the test tube from his grasp, flicked open the stopper with one hand, and poured half its contents—GLUG, GLUG—into Barton’s gaping mouth.

CLINK!

After swallowing all the reagent, Barton doubled over and slumped to the floor.

It took barely two or three breaths.

WHOOSH!

Hot air surged from Barton’s mouth and nose.

His cheeks turned crimson at a visible rate, large beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his previously loose pants were now sharply tented by the ’weapon’ he carried.

"’That potent?’ the woman remarked, an eyebrow raised."

This guy, who just scraped by in the prison’s dregs, didn’t seem to be lying.

Barton, however, felt as if his body was about to explode.

Blood coursed through his veins at a furious pace, far faster than normal, pooling relentlessly in the erectile tissue of his ’weapon,’ which desperately yearned for release!

He groggily raised his head, his gaze, now filled with raw desire, fixed on the woman before him.

"’Oh, that won’t do at all,’ the woman cooed."

Sensing Barton’s intent, she showed no mercy. As he tried to rise and lunge, she expertly used his momentum against him, sweeping his feet out from under him. He crashed to the ground, and she immediately pinned his legs.

CRACK! CRACK!

Barton’s lower legs bent at unnatural, outward angles; he was completely immobilized.

Yet, despite the excruciating pain, Barton, his blood boiling with animalistic urges, seemed oblivious to the agony. Driven by raw instinct, he began to crawl towards the woman’s silk-stockinged legs as if they were the gates to paradise.

The woman, seeing this, had no choice but to quickly exit the room.

「A moment later.」

Several women, reeking of cheap perfume, entered the ’special’ room...

「...」

Just as Barton’s two legs lay fractured and his third ’limb’ was on the verge of utter exhaustion, the iron door of Dean’s solitary confinement cell was struck.

Dean, who had been resting with his eyes closed, was jolted from his lethargy by the sound of knocking on the iron door.

That must be Barton, he thought, bringing the results from the drug test!

He quickly got up and moved aside.

CLACK.

The iron door creaked open.

But the face Dean saw wasn’t Barton’s. Instead, a tall, powerfully built, middle-aged man in a prison uniform stood before him.

Behind this man stood a prison guard.

The guard looked at Dean with a pitying expression and said, in a detached, official tone, "Buddy, congratulations. You’ve got company in solitary now."

With that said, as soon as the burly prisoner stepped into the cramped cell, the guard immediately slammed the iron door shut.

The solitary confinement cell was tiny, only about four or five square meters.

Besides a dilapidated bed, there was only a toilet situated at its head.

The moment the large, middle-aged prisoner entered, he seemed to take up half the space in the cell, exuding an oppressive, mountain-like presence.

He cracked his neck, revealing a scorpion tattoo, and looked down at the slender Dean with contempt. "So, you’re Dean?"

Dean instantly knew something was wrong.

He feigned a timid retreat.

But the cell was too small for that.

After just two steps back, his hands touched the cold wall.

"Tell me, are you Dean?" the powerfully built man pressed, backing Dean into a corner but not immediately attacking.

Prison life was crushingly dull,

the man thought. These guys would find a way to make a spectacle even out of finding a cockroach. Killing a scrawny punk like this? A decent way to pass the time.

But the large man didn’t notice that Dean’s hands pressed against the wall were a feint. Dean was actually reaching behind his back, his fingers closing around a small test tube filled with a flocculent substance, which he discreetly palmed. He continuously rubbed the tube against the fabric of his shirt with his thumb.

When Dean remained silent, the large man lost his patience for toying with him. He unbuckled his belt, wrapped it around his fists, and snapped it taut in the air with a menacing grin. "Hope you don’t crap your pants when it’s go time."

"You won’t get the chance to see it!" Dean retorted.

Timing it perfectly, Dean hurled the test tube—already undergoing a visible change—straight into the large man’s open mouth.

The test tube was small.

The large man swallowed it reflexively and then immediately tried to cough it up.

But Dean seized that instant to deliver a swift, precise kick to the groin.

AWOOOO!

A bloodcurdling howl echoed through the cramped solitary cell.

Outside the cell, the guard flinched, muttering under his breath, "Fucking sadists. They kill someone, they just *have* to torture them first. Always leave a disgusting mess!"

But the howling didn’t last long.

Just as the large man was struggling to his feet, internally vowing to tear apart the bastard who had nearly crippled him, an intense surge of heat and pressure erupted from deep within his abdomen...

The large man’s seemingly robust frame—flesh, bones, and all—offered no resistance. It was as if a grotesque flower of gore had blossomed within the cell, splattering blood and viscera evenly across one entire wall...

Drenched in the reeking, bloody spray, Dean huddled in a corner, silently thanking his lucky stars it was only a chemical concoction designed to mimic a plastic explosive.

Had it been actual C4, the situation would have been dire. Even a thumb-sized amount, despite the large man’s body absorbing the initial blast, would have certainly killed Dean from the percussive force of the explosion in such a confined space.

Enduring the overwhelming stench, Dean flicked aside a piece of what looked disturbingly like ’original-flavor’ intestine that had landed on his head.

He then pulled out another small test tube and scrambled towards the iron door.

The next moment, the small observation window on the iron door slid open, revealing the guard’s swearing face. "FUCK! You bastard, you kill someone and make it look like a goddamn bomb went off—"

The guard’s words died in his throat.

The scene inside the cell, a veritable inferno of gore, stunned him into terrified silence.

Oh God! he thought, his mind reeling. What in the hell happened in there?

Dean seized his chance. With one hand, he grabbed the front of the guard’s uniform through the window slot; with the other, he thrust the test tube towards the guard’s face. "This is an explosive! Open this door right now if you don’t want to be blown to bits!"

He didn’t know if something had gone wrong with Barton, or if the narcotics cops who framed him were applying more pressure. But the moment that thug appeared, Dean knew he had no choice but to break out. He had zero experience with prison escapes, so his plan was brutally simple: get a gun, release other prisoners to cause a diversion, and then fight his way out!