AWAKENING THE DAILY INTELLIGENCE SYSTEM

Chapter 781: 332 Black Torrent

“Hah, you think someone like you can fight me? What a joke!” Jack Thompson spat hatefully at Alicia Linder’s corpse, his face brimming with disdain. However, at that moment, it was as if a thought struck him, and his entire body froze as though under an immobilization spell. He muttered to himself, “Follow your heart… your heart… could it be…”

As the thought formed, Jack Thompson’s gaze slowly shifted back to Alicia Linder’s corpse. He hesitated for a moment, a conflicted expression flitting across his face. But soon, his desire to survive crushed all hesitation. Gritting his teeth against the pain coursing through his body, he struggled to stand, wobbling precariously on the perilous bed of needles. Then, he reached out with trembling hands and turned Alicia Linder’s body over.

At this point, Alicia Linder was not completely dead—her body quivered faintly. Her eyes had rolled back, leaving only the whites visible, and her mouth hung open in a grotesque “O.” Her breath, weak and rattling, was more exhale than inhale. The signs of her life were rapidly ebbing away.

Jack Thompson’s eyes locked ravenously on Alicia Linder’s abdomen, pierced through with syringes. His dry tongue darted out to lick his cracked lips instinctively, like a starving predator eyeing its prey. After a moment of visible internal struggle, he seemed to come to a conclusion. With trembling hands, he gripped one of the syringes embedded in her abdomen and, mustering all his strength, yanked it downward.

A muffled sound, a wet “squish,” rang out—like the sound of a ripened watermelon splitting under a blade. Alicia Linder’s stomach was brutally eviscerated. In an instant, blood sprayed across the scene, painting a grotesque tableau. Inside her opened abdomen, her organs still faintly writhed. Crimson entrails, a bright red stomach, and even her faintly beating heart were horrifyingly exposed to the cold brutality of this world.

In the livestream, the macabre image caused countless viewers to recoil in visceral discomfort. They felt an icy chill course through their bodies as if they themselves had been thrust into that hellish setting. Many gagged reflexively, their stomachs convulsing in protest.

“Oh my God, has this bastard lost his mind? What the hell is he doing? Why isn’t he looking for the key? Why is he doing something so utterly depraved?” one horrified viewer exclaimed in the livestream chat, their message laced with shock and dread.

“I don’t know what this monster is trying to achieve,” another viewer remarked gravely, “but I know this much: even the darkest hearts bleed red, though they’re soaked in relentless evil.”

“This is beyond ruthless! This guy is utterly heartless—he’s not even human anymore!” A viewer angrily condemned Jack Thompson’s actions, their words seething with revulsion.

“Disgusting. This psycho has literally ripped out her insides; he’s completely gone off the deep end!” another audience member gnashed, unable to stomach the grotesque imagery on screen.

In the livestream feed, Jack Thompson plunged his hands unhesitatingly into Alicia Linder’s abdominal cavity and lifted out a mass of viscera soaked in streaming crimson blood. Bit by bit, he fumbled through the slick innards as though searching for something critical. The desperation and madness glimmering in his eyes mirrored the stakes of finding whatever might grant him the slimmest chance to survive.

Finally, when his hand reached the upper section of the intestines near the stomach, Jack Thompson’s face lit up with sudden elation. Completely ignoring the blood coating his hands and the grotesque visuals surrounding him, he lowered his head and opened his mouth as if preparing to tear directly into the swollen gut.

As his teeth dug into the flesh, ripping open a small incision, a stomach-turning stench exploded forth—a pungent, sour odor so overpowering it seemed to seep through the very screen. The audience reeled; many involuntarily wrinkled their noses in disgust. Yet Jack Thompson remained utterly unaware, or perhaps indifferent. With one hand gripping the intestine tightly, he plunged the other inside.

When his blood-soaked hand reemerged, it was clutching a key—dripping crimson, yet gleaming faintly under the dim light. And on the wall, the incessant timer ticked mercilessly downward: only thirty seconds remained…

“Woo-woo-woo-woo…” Outside the North Suburb Playground, a convoy of police cars shot into view like an onyx tide crashing against the horizon. Their sirens wailed sharply, emitting dazzling flashes of red and blue light—piercing even the gloom of the dim setting. They tore through the gates, hastily opened by flustered staff, heading straight into the heart of the playground.

In the lead vehicle, David’s eyes were glued to his phone screen, his expression tight and frantic as he monitored the evolving livestream feed. Urgency etched across his face, he barked, “Faster! Push the speed! We’re running out of time!” The young officer at the wheel—Oscar—nodded firmly, his features set in tense concentration. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, the pedal pressed flat against the floor. The car shot forward like a wild stallion, finally skidding to a halt in front of a small building.

Inside the room, the blaring of police sirens outside froze Jack Thompson mid-motion. For a moment, his panic-stricken movements stilled. Then a flicker of unbridled excitement danced in his eyes, and an eerie smile curled up his lips. He knew his rescue was imminent—the authorities wouldn’t allow him to rot here. As for what legal consequences awaited him once in custody? It didn’t matter, not in the slightest. In Jack Thompson’s mind, the shadowy forces pulling strings behind the scenes would never let him stay in the police’s clutches for long; they had ways to get him out. And with this thought, the tension in his body loosened. Jack Thompson slumped heavily onto Alicia Linder’s mangled corpse, treating it not as the remains of a companion he had once shared countless moments with, but as a mere inconsequential object. Blood continued to ooze from her disemboweled abdomen, and her lifeless, unblinking eyes stared upwards in eternal horror. Jack Thompson, however, paid it no mind. To him, it all meant nothing.

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