Chapter 477: Day 5 into the Alien War Story

Chapter 477: Day Five of Being Thrown into an Alien War Novel

When he died, alone and in despair, he found himself turned back into a little boy.

Beaten, insulted, abandoned deep in the mountains—fever, coughing, shivering all over.

His tiny body trembled in the fallen leaves, and finally he leaned against a tree, watching the sky darken bit by bit as his awareness slipped away.

His last thought before death was: Mom, it hurts.

The fourth time, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh...

An Yi stood at the window, his expression calm as he watched the man thrashing on the bed.

Watching him relive those agonies he never should have had to endure, again and again.

Each time was a real experience—pain, fear, despair, down to the last detail.

Once he had been driven to madness, the man suddenly jerked his eyes open, pupils dilated to their limit, shot through with bloodshot veins and terror.

His mouth hung open, but he couldn't produce a complete sound—only rasping, breathy "huh... huh..." sounds.

Then he saw them.

The room was packed with people.

Crammed together, filling every corner.

Women drenched in blood, children reduced to skin and bones.

They all stared at him, their eyes devoid of whites—only pitch blackness, shedding tears of blood.

"I'll kill you..."

"Why won't you just die..."

"It hurts so much... it hurts so much..."

"Why did you hit me... Mom... I want my mom..."

The voices piled on top of each other, shrill and bloodcurdling.

The man let out an inhuman scream, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

His wife woke with a start, flicked on the light, and saw her husband writhing wildly on the ground, clawing frantically at his face and neck, raking bloody gashes into his skin.

"Qiang! Qiang, what's wrong! Don't scare me!" The woman was terrified, throwing herself at him to try and restrain him.

But the man's strength was unnatural—he shoved her aside and kept clawing at himself as if trying to mutilate himself.

His nails dug deep into his flesh, ripping off strips of skin, blood pouring everywhere.

The child was startled awake, took one look at the scene, and burst into hysterical crying.

"Ghosts! There are ghosts! They've come for me! They've come for me!" the man screamed, his eyes locked onto the corner of the room—where there was actually nothing, but in his vision, it was packed with vengeful spirits coming to claim his life.

The woman clutched the child and shrank into the corner, trembling all over, too frightened even to call the police.

The man rolled and howled on the floor, slamming his head against the wall with loud thumps.

Blood and sweat mingled together, coating his face and body until he looked like a demon crawling out of hell.

Just as he was on the verge of knocking himself out, a distant, otherworldly voice echoed in his mind.

The voice was gentle, even carrying a hint of compassion—yet it filled him with dread from the depths of his soul.

The voice told him to turn himself in, to confess all his accomplices' crimes, and only then would he find relief.

The voice disappeared.

The "ghosts" in the room drew closer and closer.

Then they lunged at him, tearing at his flesh with their teeth!

The man collapsed on the floor, wailing in agony, every inch of his body screaming in pain.

All the suffering the trafficked victims had endured—the pain of broken bones, the agony of childbirth, the hurt of beatings, the torment of hunger and cold—was seared into his body's memory.

He struggled to his feet, stumbling and lurching toward the door.

"Qiang! Where are you going!" the woman cried out behind him.

The man didn't look back. He yanked the door open and plunged into the darkness of the early morning.

The woman was about to chase after him when she felt something grab her ankle. Trembling, she looked down and saw a little girl crouched at her feet, blood oozing from all seven orifices, smiling up at her.

She said, "Tear it open! Tear it open!"

"Tear you open!"

The woman watched as her own skin was peeled away bit by bit by those grimy little hands.

A bloodcurdling scream tore from her throat.

Xiang'an City Public Security Bureau, duty room.

----------

Officer Xiao Pu yawned and glanced at the clock on the wall: 4:20 in the morning.

He took a sip of his already cold tea to wake himself up and continued sorting through the papers on his desk.

Suddenly, desperate shouts came from outside the station's main gate.

"Help! Help!"

"I'm turning myself in! I want to confess! I'm a human trafficker! I've trafficked many people!"

Xiao Li jolted to his feet and rushed out.

The other two officers on duty also came running at the commotion.

Outside the gate, a man covered in blood was frantically pounding on the glass door, his face and neck covered in scratches—some so deep the flesh was visible.

His eyes were unfocused, his expression twisted, screaming hoarsely as he beat on the door.

"Get down! Hands behind your head!" Xiao Pu drew his baton and barked.

The other officers quickly moved into defensive positions.

The man dropped to his knees with a thud, throwing both hands up over his head: "I confess! I confess! My name is Wu Qiang, from Wushan Village. I've sold kids and women! I'll spill everything! I'll tell you all of it!"

Xiao Pu shot a look at his partner, then stepped forward and quickly cuffed the man.

The man's wrists also bore scratch marks, and he winced in pain as the cuffs clicked shut, but he didn't resist.

"I really am turning myself in... I'm guilty... the ghosts came for me... they came for me..." the man muttered, his eyes darting wildly in fear, as if something invisible were lurking around him.

In the interrogation room, Wu Qiang started rambling out his confession.

At first, the cops figured the guy might be off his rocker, but as he revealed more and more details—times, locations, victim descriptions, transaction amounts, accomplice names—everyone's faces turned stone-cold serious.

"Last... last March, outside the Experimental Primary School in Zhourong City, a seven-year-old girl in a pink dress, sold her to Lijiagou, pocketed twenty grand..."

"The year before... in August... we, we kidnapped a female college student at the train station. She wore glasses. We sold her to Wangjiacun, three brothers sharing one wife, pocketed forty grand..."

"Three years ago... this year... and last September..."

"And also..."

He clearly couldn't recall it on his own, but those memories came flooding back, sharper than ever.

He confessed for a full two hours, covering twenty-three cases, fifteen accomplices, spanning three provinces.

The interrogating cops' hands cramped from writing, their eyes burning with rage. They wished they could... damn it!

By dawn, the entire police station was bustling.

The chief took charge personally, set up a task force, and reached out to partner departments to apply for cross-provincial arrests.

An Yi stood unseen outside the interrogation room, watching in silence.

He watched Wu Qiang shake all over as he confessed, occasionally glancing up at the ceiling and corners in fear, as if something truly lurked there.

Over the following days, the other arrested accomplices were brought in one after another. Whether they started off acting tough or broke down sobbing and begging for mercy, every single one suddenly went mad the moment they entered the police station.

Each one was in the same state—bodies covered in self-inflicted cuts, minds hanging by a thread, muttering about "ghosts" and "retribution."