Chapter Sixty-Three – Sixty-Four

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Regular communications with the Emergency Centers were part of the daily routine, and only the warden was authorized to conduct them, as no one else even knew these centers existed.

“Unit 01 to Emergency Center One, please respond!” Zhao Li pressed the communication button punctually as usual, initiating contact one by one.

Something felt off today. Normally, the moment he called, a response came instantly. After a brief status report, the communication would end. But today, several seconds passed without a reply.

“Unit 01 to Emergency Center One, please respond!” Zhao Li called again.

“Emergency Center One, go ahead!” The familiar voice finally came through, the same one he had grown accustomed to over the past month. Zhao Li had memorized every inflection and tone, believing that remembering the voice would ensure safety.

“All clear on Unit 01’s end,” Zhao Li replied, suppressing suspicion as he awaited their response. Yet the figure on the screen seemed somehow unnatural.

“Center One is normal,” came the reply after a pause, the voice still familiar, but Zhao Li’s doubts lingered stubbornly.

Cutting the communication, Zhao Li frowned—the personnel at that emergency center seemed unnaturally rigid, unlike their usual demeanor.

He pondered, then used his warden privileges to activate the entire desert region’s defense systems, including anti-aircraft defenses. Next, he pressed the button to contact Center Two.

The conversation was routine, seemingly without issue, but Zhao Li felt unease, a pressing tension closing in. After contacting Center Three, Zhao Li was certain: all three emergency centers had issues.

Without hesitation, Zhao Li pressed the alarm button. This alarm triggered not only the emergency centers but also nearby military districts. Within an hour, two Sirius-class warships could be overhead. This wired alarm system was impervious to electronic interference.

The three operators’ expressions and tones were too mechanical; though unchanged on the surface, they lacked their usual natural ease, as if held hostage by some unseen force. Zhao Li was not afraid of a false alarm—triggering it would merely give the emergency centers and nearby military units additional live-fire exercise experience, adding a layer of security to the prison.

As Zhao Li pressed the alarm, at least three people immediately saw the flashing red lights and heard the piercing siren.

“Damn it! What’s wrong?” A masked man wielding an assault rifle, pointing it at the Center One operator, clenched the trigger in frustration and shot the contact dead. Then he shouted into his communicator, “Operation compromised, repeat, operation compromised! Plan B!”

The same scenes unfolded at the other two emergency centers. Although all three groups wore masks, their clothing and weapons varied.

The alarm also vibrated through the prison guards’ devices. Without a sound, everyone began moving toward the conference room, the primary assembly point. Zhao Li was already waiting inside.

“I suspect an attack targeting the emergency centers and the prison,” Zhao Li announced. A guard raised his hand immediately: “Sir, is this only a suspicion?”

Before Zhao Li could answer, the defense system map on the conference room screen sounded an alert: “Alert! Alert! Intrusion detected. Automatic defense engaged!” Then, a burst of gunfire echoed.

No further proof was needed; the defense system’s response spoke volumes. “Confirmed. Official alarm! Intruders detected. Everyone to positions! Heighten vigilance and prepare to engage!”

The assault came from outside, and the attackers cared little for the defenses. Within minutes, several desert defense points were destroyed. The 3D map’s destruction markers kept reminding Zhao Li of the enemy’s formidable strength.

“Emergency status! Emergency status! All inmates return to their cells! All inmates, return to your rooms!” Zhao Li’s voice boomed over the speakers to the inner circle prisoners.

These inmates showed no signs of panic, their nerves remarkably resilient. No one fled or caused a scene; silently, they returned to their buildings and rooms, even closing their doors behind them.

In truth, this was unnecessary. Upon declaring emergency status, the prison’s automatic lockdown system engaged—locking all external doors and sealing cell blocks and individual cells within thirty seconds until the emergency was lifted.

In Zhao Li’s hand was a final trump card—a last-resort button. If the prison could not hold out until reinforcements arrived and the enemy succeeded, pressing it would reduce the entire prison to ashes in a colossal explosion, a last-ditch, all-or-nothing gambit.

But this was a measure of absolute last resort. Zhao Li understood the prisoners’ importance—any escape would spell disaster, and any death among them would be a tremendous loss. Though the enemy seemed formidable, Zhao Li refused to activate this final measure upon first alarm.

From the military district’s reception of the alert to warships overhead required at least an hour. The emergency centers were likely already compromised, meaning Zhao Li and his team had to hold fortified positions and rely on layered defenses until reinforcements arrived.

After positioning everyone in their stations, Zhao Li calmly observed the defense systems from his office. The perimeter defenses were quickly breached; Zhao Li suspected these attackers had long known the weak points—otherwise, such rapid destruction would be impossible.

Fortunately, the outer defenses were spread thin over a large area. The inner defenses were denser and should hold longer. The enemy was still hundreds of kilometers away; reinforcements should arrive in time.

As Zhao Li analyzed the situation, many inmates wore mysterious smiles, as if anticipating this moment—an eerie sight.

Apparently, Zhao Li’s reputation was good; from various cells came faint, low murmurs of “Good luck,” though too quiet for most to hear.

Who could orchestrate such a grand operation, striking all three emergency centers simultaneously? Each center housed a company of soldiers and had three small warships on standby.

This was bad—three warships meant nine in total from three directions. A plan capable of neutralizing three companies would not tolerate ignoring these vessels. Those warships could change the tide.

Zhao Li gritted his teeth and strapped the remote control device to his wrist. A short code would detonate the prison in ten seconds, but now was not the time. It was a precaution—never to be used unless absolutely necessary.

The prison’s anti-air defenses might not stop nine small warships breaching the skies—a major concern. The 3D map showed outer defenses falling one after another, unlikely to decisively turn the tide but potentially buying some time.

“All personnel, watch the skies!” Zhao Li ordered over the communicator. “Within the next thirty minutes, any aerial craft in sight must be shot down!” Emergency weapons systems were now online. The guards, all special forces veterans, operated them with ease.

No sooner had he spoken than an ear-splitting noise filled his ears—electronic interference. It had come too late to stop the alarm, which reassured Zhao Li his alert had gotten through. The enemy must have resorted to this after their operation was exposed.

They had held back before, fearing discovery inside the prison. Now that the alarm was out and stealth lost, they had no choice but to switch to a full assault, rendering secrecy useless.

All involved knew this mission had to succeed. Failure would not only endanger themselves but also prompt the prison to increase security, making future attempts impossible. This was their closest chance.

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This was Zhao Li’s greatest concern. He had believed this loosely managed, tightly secured prison could be safe, but now the outer defenses had proven shockingly fragile against these unknown assailants. Communications were surely monitored; Zhao Li’s earlier orders must have dashed their hopes, prompting the electronic jamming.

With their cover blown, the attackers had no choice but to force their way in, placing tremendous pressure on the guards.

Except for Zhao Li, the other guards were seasoned combat veterans who handled their weapons with ease, appearing more relaxed than their warden.

A low, ominous engine drone filled the air, followed by anti-aircraft weapons roaring to life. Zhao Li’s timely commands prevented a surprise attack from above but underestimated enemy firepower. What he thought were mere small warships turned out to include a siege-class assault ship, whose weapons outmatched their defenses.

The rapid fall of the outer defenses was explained—no defense could withstand such firepower.

Several times Zhao Li’s fingers hovered over the remote detonator, but he hesitated. This device was specially designed to resist electronic interference, and if activated, this audacious assault would end in total failure for the enemy.

Yet at the thought of the living prisoners and guards, Zhao Li could not bring himself to decide so rashly. There was still hope: if they held out for half an hour, help would arrive.

In moments like this, Zhao Li never considered his own fate. He never pondered what would become of him if he triggered the self-destruct.

The special guards, experienced warriors, knew when to abandon their positions to avoid being shredded by the warships’ weapons. Thankfully, the enemy avoided widespread bombing to keep the prisoners alive, focusing instead on precise strikes—giving the guards a chance to retreat safely.

Zhao Li gripped his assault rifle, vigilant. Once the defenses fell, the enemy would appear.

Three tense minutes passed before the gunfire ceased. For Zhao Li, it felt like torture in a blazing inferno; for the attackers, it was a moment of intense frustration.

“Damn it! Why haven’t we broken through the final defenses? Are you all idiots?” a leader roared. “Be careful not to damage those two buildings inside!”

“Still haven’t breached the last defense?” another leader anxiously watched a young man frantically working at a computer terminal, urging him on.

On the screen, a red progress bar steadily advanced, with minutes remaining.

“Report: weapon systems destroyed!” someone shouted.

“Send teams down immediately!” the leader ordered decisively. “Hold off the guards! Don’t let them lose morale. Give them the illusion we’re close to breaking through. Buy time!”

“Yes, sir!” The reply was crisp and military—a clear sign they were no ordinary men. As the person turned to leave, the leader added, “Notify the other two teams. Our goals are aligned. They’ll know about the final defense; coordinate with them. Don’t push too hard!”

“Yes, sir!” The messenger sprinted off to deliver orders.

“Damn it, who are these people? How did they coordinate attacks with us on the same day?” the leader muttered, staring at the radar showing their allied groups from two other directions.

“We’ve received word—they’ll cooperate but only for ten minutes,” the messenger returned swiftly. “Also, both sides insist no prisoners be harmed.”

“Agreed. Go make contact.” The leader glanced at the red progress bar inching forward. Ten minutes would be enough. After all this preparation, failure at this point would be unacceptable. Yet the identities of those two sides remained a mystery.

64 Armed Prison Break

Zhao Li and the guards were unaware of these developments; their communications were down, forcing them to fight alone. The warships quickly reached overhead, and personnel began deploying.

Shockingly, it wasn’t just one warship’s forces but three, each with distinct uniforms—could this prison break be orchestrated by three separate factions?

There was no time to ponder. Zhao Li raised his rifle and, applying Professor Sanders’ shooting techniques, fired at the first descending figure—the presumed strongest enemy, whose fall would shatter their morale.

Many guards shared Zhao Li’s thought. Each of the three men descending from the warships took at least ten bullets.

Though Zhao Li lacked extensive live-fire experience, at such close range he didn’t miss, hitting his targets squarely.

Yet the enemies’ resilience shocked him. The bullets glanced off their clothing without harm.

Bulletproof vests? Zhao Li’s first thought. But no vest could repel that many rounds so easily.

Level seven or above experts! His second thought—only masters of such caliber would be unfazed by firearms.

Who could deploy so many elite fighters? Zhao Li’s mind reeled. However, the prison guards were also formidable, with at least level seven or eight skills. If the enemy numbers were limited, defense was possible.

The guards, military veterans, swiftly drew their combat knives from concealment. They knew when to hide and when to strike. With few enemies, they aimed to overwhelm quickly and increase their chance of success.

Zhao Li thought differently. With such a large force, the attackers must have some backing. The prison itself seemed deserted—surely no one was left unassigned there. As a prison break, they would not neglect such a critical location.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Zhao Li lunged toward the prison buildings, quickly entering the inmates’ cell block. Here, guns were useless. The moment he rose, he discarded his rifle.

As expected, three men appeared, startled but quickly recognizing him as a guard, not one of the allied factions.

Without greeting, one lunged at Zhao Li. The fierce, chilling attack left no room for negotiation—this was a fight to the death.

Though Zhao Li had never faced such mortal combat before, he felt a calm resolve. His inner energy surged wildly, ready for the battle.

He avoided direct confrontation unless he knew he was evenly matched. Slightly sidestepping, he employed a skilled grappling technique, grasping the attacker’s arm.

The opponent was a master, twisting mid-air to strike again, still aiming at Zhao Li. The speed left no time to dodge; Zhao Li met the attack head-on.

The clash of flesh and bone echoed. Zhao Li’s forward momentum paused, then he stepped back hastily. Yet the attacker pursued relentlessly.

As their fists met again, Zhao Li transitioned instantly from fist to palm, firmly grabbing the opponent’s fist. Instinctively, he executed a tendon-severing joint lock.

The attacker felt a strange, unbearable force at his wrist and immediately countered with internal energy. Bones cracked, but the timely resistance saved him from being broken. Still, he was stunned—what martial art was this?

As he marveled, Zhao Li’s other hand seized the opponent’s forearm, applying internal energy and locking the muscle—less resilient than bone—even with inner energy, Zhao Li’s technique prevailed.

Suddenly, the opponent’s muscles cramped violently from overexertion, paralyzing one arm. Yet he was tough, silently using his other hand to claw toward Zhao Li’s throat.

Zhao Li wasn’t caught off guard. Both hands met the clawing grip, beginning a struggle of strength. The attacker’s thumb-controlling muscles spasmed painfully.

Crack! His wrist stiffened instantly, numb. Before he could react, similar snaps echoed from his elbow and shoulder.

A sharp pain struck his knee; it felt as if the joint was forcibly twisted—he cried out in pain. Zhao Li pressed on relentlessly. Memories of Sanders’ treatment after a dislocation flashed through his mind. No mercy now.

One hand clamped the attacker’s throat; the other gripped his cervical vertebra.

Crack! Several onlookers in neighboring cells witnessed the bizarre scene—the attacker’s neck bent at an unnatural angle as he collapsed. Though this should have been fatal, the man’s eyes remained wide open, blinking faintly.

What was this? An unwilling spirit? The stunned spectators quickly intercepted Zhao Li, but another assailant rushed to check on the fallen man, confirming his condition before joining the attack.

The victim’s neck was dislocated but not life-threatening. With no chance for proper treatment, their priority was to subdue Zhao Li.

Recognizing Zhao Li’s rank and youth, it was clear he was the prison warden. Yet his combat prowess was impressive—inflicting such damage while keeping the opponent alive was remarkable.

Knowing this, his attackers held back, aiming to capture or kill him to eliminate the threat of the final defense measure.

This was bad news for Zhao Li. Fortunately, he drew his baton in time, using it to absorb some blows.

The two enemies were unprepared for Zhao Li’s skillful baton techniques, quickly thrown into disarray. Just as they reached for their combat knives to retaliate, they suddenly saw a terrifying sight—Zhao Li pressed several buttons on a watch-like device on his wrist.

Was this the activation of the final defense? The thought flashed through their minds, causing a moment of distraction. One second later, the prison was set to be obliterated by tons of high explosives—no matter the skill, survival was unlikely.

Zhao Li paid no heed to the consequences; this moment awakened him. If he delayed any longer, the chance would be lost. Resolute, he entered the code.

Sensing the opportunity amid their hesitation, Zhao Li refused to spare the two enemies before him. He hurled the remote at one’s face, while grabbing the other with both hands.

Meanwhile, aboard the warship, the young operator saw the progress bar turn green.

“Report: final defense breached!” he laughed, but then froze as a red warning blinked—“Damn, he’s activated it!” he shouted, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Well done, damn it!” the leader exclaimed with conflicting emotions. “Abort immediately!”

No need for orders; the young man was already working frantically.

Suddenly, the leader realized something. “Raise altitude! Everyone, full attack! Extract the target ASAP. Anyone below, engage with lethal force!”

“Abort now!” the leader barked, turning to the young operator.

“I’m trying!” the young man snapped without looking up, his hands never stopping. “Besides, I’m just helping. Don’t try to boss me around!”

“Good, work harder!” the leader said, then added, “Let me motivate you!” A gun cocked, and a weapon pressed against the back of the young man’s head.

Sweat poured down the young man’s face, but he ignored it, his fingers flying faster, the keyboard clicking like a machine.

Back inside, Zhao Li had just released his grip on the attacker’s arm. Then, with two fierce kicks infused with his inner energy, he struck the two prone enemies’ ribs, knocking them unconscious without a sound.

Still wary, Zhao Li dislocated their cervical vertebrae as he had the first attacker, then dragged over several potted plants to conceal the three bodies.

So much time had passed, yet the self-destruct had not triggered—something had gone wrong. Even if the large-scale prison break couldn’t be stopped, Zhao Li hoped to leave survivors for investigation.

He wondered if these attackers targeted specific prisoners or intended to eliminate everyone, possibly silencing those they deemed useless.

Suddenly, pained screams came from outside. Zhao Li recognized the voices of several guards. Surprisingly strong, these special guards had no chance—overwhelmed and subdued in a short time.

“Their warships are ascending—what does this mean?” a leader on another ship asked, puzzled, soon realizing: “Damn, they haven’t neutralized the final defense! Ascend immediately! Warn the teams below!”

The young man at the terminal’s hands were nearly a blur, flying over the keyboard. Finally, the screen showed a green status indicator; the red warnings vanished.

He exhaled deeply, slumping in his chair, desperate to hide under the desk. The intense operation had drained him more than an hour of physical exertion.

“Well done, kid!” the leader patted him on the shoulder, but the young man waved him off, resting his head and unwilling to speak further.

The leader ignored him; the mission was complete. “Everyone, accelerate! The final defense is lifted. End the battle within five minutes!” The announcement sparked cheers below.

Furious that the final defense had failed after such effort, Zhao Li cursed, unsure whether to blame the system designers or the attackers. Rising, he dashed outside.

Three masked men blocked his path, launching a synchronized triple punch. Zhao Li dodged one but took two heavy blows to the chest. The force was like a hammer strike; Zhao Li’s cultivated inner energy barely softened the impact. Blood sprayed midair as he fell hard, blacking out before hitting the ground.

The three showed no interest in checking Zhao Li’s condition—they seemed certain he was finished.

In the empty cell corridor, the three sized each other up cautiously, neither moving. Then a squad burst in, silently forcing open every cell door.

“Found them!” “Found them!” “Found them!” Three consecutive shouts brought smiles to the masked trio, though their covered faces revealed only the corners of their eyes crinkling in amusement.