Jun's withdrawal hit like a category five hurricane made of pure, unadulterated desperation and madness. The elegant S-class criminal who'd commanded mental landscapes with godlike authority just minutes ago was now sprawled on the concrete floor, clinging to my leg like his entire existence depended on maintaining that contact.
"Please," he gasped, pupils blown wide with chemical need that made his storm-gray eyes look like black holes. "Just one more taste. I'll do anything—anything you want. I'll kneel, I'll beg, I'll worship you like the god you are—"
His fingers clawed desperately at my pants, seeking any patch of exposed skin through the protective fabric. The sight of Lord Jun—the untouchable aristocrat who'd never bowed to anyone in his privileged existence—reduced to this pathetic, writhing state sent the livestream audience into absolute chaos.
**[LIVESTREAM - VIEWERS: 4,892,347]**
→ @BloodRose_666: THE MIGHTY HAVE FALLEN AND I'M LIVING FOR EVERY SECOND
→ @ChaosQueen: From god-tier to desperate junkie in one chapter ICONIC
→ @ShadowLord donated 500,000 credits: "ADDICTION ARC IS PEAK CONTENT"
→ @OmegaLover: He's literally begging and it's beautiful character destruction
→ @Anonymous_7749: This is better than watching empires fall
I looked down at him with the kind of clinical disgust I typically reserved for particularly virulent infections. Then, with deliberate calm that bordered on insulting, I pulled out my phone and opened the calculator app.
"Let's see," I muttered, fingers tapping against the screen with mechanical precision. "One N95 mask, contaminated by bodily fluids and desperate clinging: fifteen dollars. One pair of nitrile gloves, torn during struggle with withdrawal symptoms: three dollars. Military-grade hazmat suit, structural integrity compromised by subject's attempts at forced contact: two hundred dollars."
Jun wasn't listening to my itemized accounting of his destructive behavior. His withdrawal had progressed beyond the point where rational thought was possible, his nervous system hijacked by desperate need for another hit of purification energy. He lunged upward with surprising speed, trying to bite my neck through the protective suit, seeking any contact that might deliver the chemical salvation his body craved.
I didn't dodge or flinch away from his attack.
Instead, medical scissors appeared in my hand like a magician's trick—surgical steel sharp enough to cut through bone if the situation required such extreme measures. The metallic *snick* echoed through the elevator shaft like a death knell as I severed his grip on my sleeve with surgical precision.
"Too dirty," I explained matter-of-factly, watching the contaminated fabric fall away. "Contamination protocol requires immediate disposal of compromised materials."
Jun froze mid-lunge, staring at the scissors with dawning horror that cut through his drug-addled haze. In that precious moment of stunned silence, I struck with the cold efficiency of someone who'd spent years dealing with violent patients in emergency rooms.
The syringe appeared in my other hand, sliding between his ribs with surgical precision. Veterinary-grade muscle relaxant—enough to drop a horse—flooded his bloodstream like liquid paralysis.
"What did you—" His words slurred into incoherent mumbling as the pharmaceutical cocktail hit his nervous system like a sledgehammer wrapped in velvet. His eyes went wide with shock and betrayal before rolling back in his skull.
His body went completely limp, muscles turning to jelly under the chemical assault. I caught him before he could crack his skull on the concrete, lowering him with the same professional care I'd use for any valuable medical specimen.
**[CHAT EXPLOSION]**
→ @BloodRose_666: DID HE JUST USE HORSE TRANQUILIZERS ON AN S-CLASS?!
→ @ChaosQueen: THE CLINICAL EFFICIENCY IS TERRIFYING AND SOMEHOW SEXY
→ @ShadowLord: "Too dirty" while literally cutting his clothes I'M DECEASED
→ @Anonymous_0001 donated 1,000,000 credits: "MOST SAVAGE MEDICAL CARE IN HISTORY"
→ @OmegaLover: The way he caught him so gently after drugging him I'M CRYING
Working with the practiced efficiency that came from years of emergency medicine, I pulled out a set of medical restraints from my kit. Jun's limbs flopped like a ragdoll as I secured him with the kind of thoroughness that would make a straitjacket manufacturer weep with professional pride.
Then I reached for the pièce de résistance—a bright yellow biohazard bag, complete with warning symbols and disposal instructions printed in six different languages for maximum international compliance.
"Standard protocol for contaminated materials," I explained to the camera with the tone of someone conducting a medical lecture for first-year students. I slid Jun's unconscious form into the bag like I was packaging medical waste for incineration, working with the same care a florist might use arranging funeral flowers.
I left his head exposed for breathing purposes, because despite everything, I wasn't completely heartless—just professionally thorough and deeply committed to proper medical protocols.
The final touch was a barcode label, which I peeled off with the satisfaction of completing a particularly challenging diagnosis. The adhesive made a soft *thwick* sound as I pressed it to his forehead with clinical precision.
**[STATUS: SEDATED]**
**[CLASSIFICATION: MEDICAL WASTE/PENDING DISPOSAL]**
**[HANDLER: DR. SHEN AN]**
**[NEXT REVIEW: 24 HOURS]**
**[LIVESTREAM CHAT]**
→ @OmegaLover: HE LITERALLY BAGGED AND TAGGED HIM LIKE ACTUAL GARBAGE
→ @BloodRose_666: The barcode on his forehead like he's inventory I'M CRYING
→ @ChaosQueen: Most disrespectful thing I've ever witnessed and I love every second
→ @ShadowLord: Jun went from untouchable god to medical waste in ten minutes
That's when the roaring started from somewhere deep below us.
The sound erupted like a volcanic explosion—Zane's bellow of pure, territorial rage that shook the entire facility like an earthquake. He'd caught Jun's scent, now mixed with traces of my purification energy, and his possessive instincts had gone completely nuclear.
The sound of rending metal echoed up through the floors like the screams of dying machinery as Subject 01 began systematically destroying his reinforced cell in a jealous fury that would have impressed ancient war gods.
"Interesting behavioral response," I murmured, making a mental note in my professional assessment. "Next time, double the sedative dose for Zane. Maybe triple it, depending on the severity of his territorial displays."
Heavy footsteps announced the arrival of Warden Adam and his security team like the approach of an execution squad. They burst through the stairwell door with weapons drawn and tactical gear gleaming, expecting to find carnage, chaos, and possibly several corpses scattered across the floor.
Instead, they found me standing calmly beside a yellow biohazard bag, checking my watch like I was waiting for a delayed bus in suburbia.
Adam's single eye widened as he took in the scene—the destroyed elevator shaft, the unconscious S-class criminal packaged like medical waste, and me looking like I'd just finished conducting a routine physical examination.
"Dr. Shen," he said slowly, his voice carrying careful control that suggested he was reassessing everything he thought he knew about human psychology. "What exactly happened here?"
I reached into my coat with smooth professionalism and pulled out a neatly itemized bill, extending it toward him with the courtesy typically reserved for valued clients.
"Consultation fee for emergency psychiatric intervention: one thousand dollars. Hazmat suit replacement due to contamination: two hundred. Psychological trauma compensation for exposure to withdrawal-induced violence: three thousand. Proper disposal of contaminated biological materials: eight hundred. Total: five thousand federal credits, payable immediately."
Adam stared at the bill with the expression of someone trying to solve quantum physics with elementary math. His gaze moved from the paper to Jun's unconscious form, then back to me, processing the implications.
A slow smile spread across his face—the kind of expression a collector might wear when discovering a priceless artifact in a garage sale.
"Fascinating methodology, Doctor. Most of our staff require extensive therapy and medication after dealing with S-class inmates for even brief periods. You seem to have developed remarkably effective coping mechanisms."
He produced a sleek black card from his coat, pressing it into my palm with reverence typically reserved for religious artifacts. The surface was warm to the touch, humming with advanced technology.
"Unlimited credit line," Adam explained with obvious satisfaction. "Consider it an investment in your continued therapeutic services. The board of directors is extremely interested in your methods."
I pocketed the card without ceremony, treating it like any other piece of medical equipment. "What's the next assignment?"
Adam's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp and numerous for standard human anatomy. "Subjects 05-A and 05-B. The twins, Lucian and Damian. They're currently engaged in what our staff psychologists call 'violent co-dependency resolution therapy.' They want to physically separate from each other through immediate surgical intervention."
He gestured toward the medical scissors still gleaming in my hand like a silver promise of violence. "Since you seem remarkably comfortable with cutting tools and unconventional treatment methods, perhaps you could help them achieve their goal. Permanently."
*This is definitely several pay grades above what I signed up for.*
But I kept my expression neutral, professional. "If surgical intervention is required, that falls under a completely different fee structure. Significantly higher rates apply for procedures involving sharp instruments."
"Of course," Adam purred with obvious delight. "I wouldn't expect anything less from such a thorough practitioner."
**[LIVESTREAM CHAT]**
→ @BloodRose_666: CONJOINED TWINS WHO WANT SURGICAL SEPARATION?!
→ @ChaosQueen: This storyline keeps escalating beyond sanity
→ @ShadowLord: He's about to perform surgery with medical scissors
→ @OmegaLover: "Different fee structure" for surgery I'M SCREAMING
Behind us, Zane's roars grew louder and more desperate, the sound of his rampage getting progressively closer as he tore through reinforced barriers like tissue paper. I could hear guards shouting frantic orders as they tried to contain a situation spiraling beyond control.
I looked down at Jun's peaceful face, visible through the biohazard bag's transparent opening. Even unconscious and drugged into oblivion, he looked beautiful—like a fallen angel dreaming of redemption.
*One down, five to go. And the next ones want me to play surgeon.*
I adjusted my glasses with clinical precision and followed Adam toward whatever fresh hell awaited in the deeper levels of Abyss Prison, dragging my packaged patient behind me like expensive luggage.
The twins were waiting somewhere below, and from the sound of their screaming echoing through the ventilation system, they weren't going to be nearly as cooperative as Jun had been.