Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1242 - 1081: The Most Painful Acupoint

Northwest Illinois and the Persian Border, a desolate highland, hidden camp.

After hours of forced marches through dangerous border zones, everyone in the team is exhausted, but the tension in their nerves makes it impossible to relax.

The relief from having successfully evaded air raids quickly gets replaced by new anxiety—they are dragging a dozen burdens behind.

The mont the team arrived at this pre-scouted Persian secret camp, located in a barren mountain hollow, Song Heping issued new orders before there was ti even for a hot drink.

"Ibrahim, take people and separate the prisoners, guard them carefully, without my order, no one is to approach."

"Samir, arrange the sentry posts, double guards, send out periter scouts, be alert for any tracking."

"dics, care for the wounded, check everyone's physical condition, especially for frostbite."

"Everyone else, rest on the spot, replenish strength, but do not leave your equipnt."

The orders were concise and clear.

The militian silently executed them, the camp quickly transford from a marching formation to a defensive alert state.

Song Heping did not rest.

He walked to the deepest part of the camp, into a narrow, dark, isolated cave, which had been temporarily converted into an interrogation room.

The air was filled with dust, the sll of blood, and a cold fear.

The CIA team leader, disguised as an old man, had his hands tied behind his back, eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged, curled up in the corner, wearing only a thin, dirty prisoner uniform, trembling in the highland's cold night.

Ibrahim followed behind Song Heping, carrying the lead box and a small toolbox in his hands.

"Secure him."

Song Heping's voice echoed in the cave, sounding particularly cold.

Two robust militian stepped forward, dragged the prisoner up, tied him to a thick stalagmite in the middle, ensuring he could not move.

Song Heping gestured for Ibrahim to put down the items and then sent him out to guard the entrance.

The cave was left with only him and the prisoner.

He did not rush to start a violent interrogation.

Instead, he slowly walked around the prisoner in a circle.

Shuffling—

The sound of footsteps on the rocky ground was clearly audible, creating imnse psychological pressure on the other party.

Finally, he abruptly tore off the blindfold and gag from the prisoner.

Though there was only a dim battery-powered lamp in the cave, the sudden light still made the prisoner squint his eyes, he coughed violently, greedily took a few gulps of cold air, his eyes looking around in fear, finally settling on the expressionless Oriental man in front of him.

"Na. Number. Affiliated departnt."

Song Heping asked in English, his voice steady, without a trace of emotional fluctuation, like a neighborhood committee aunt registering the data of an incoming population.

The prisoner gasped heavily, his eyes flickering, trying to appear tough: "I... I don't know what you're talking about! We are lost herdsn! This is illegal detention! Soone will co for you!"

Song Heping seed to completely ignore his words and continued repeating in that suffocating tone: "Na. Number. Affiliated departnt."

"I said! I'm a herdsman! Abdul Karim!"

The prisoner raised his voice, his tone steady, appearing righteous, any ordinary person would find it difficult to detect the slightest hint of lying.

Of course.

If the person in front is an operative, things are different.

Operatives involved in actions undergo counter-interrogation training.

Part of it is learning to morize one's cover identity completely and hypnotize oneself into believing they're the person in the cover identity before the operation.

Song Heping remained silent.

He walked to the toolbox, opened it, inside was not imagined torture tools, but rather items that looked more peculiar—a few syringes of different sizes and vials of dicine, a portable audio player, so patches with electrodes, even a set of fine acupuncture needles and a small heating canister emitting weak heat.

These were the tools Ibrahim brought.

The Special Forces mbers of the Persian Revolutionary Guard are similarly professionally trained.

And Ibrahim is a technical sergeant in the "Sand Fox" squad, also trained in interrogation.

"The tools are quite complete..."

Song Heping mumbled to himself as he reached out to pick up a syringe, drawing a small amount of transparent liquid from the vial.

Then he walked to the prisoner, rolled up his sleeve.

"What are you going to do?! What is this?!"

The prisoner's face finally changed, he began to struggle desperately, but the straps held him firmly to the stalagmite.

"An auxiliary agent."

Song Heping said calmly, accurately inserted the needle into his vein, slowly pushed in, "It won't take your life but will enhance your nerve sensitivity, making your hearing, touch, pain... five tis, even ten tis sharper than usual. This way, our subsequent 'communication' will be more efficient."

"For Allah's sake..." The prisoner shook his head, a pleading expression in his eyes: "Don't torture like this, I truly am just a herdsman..."

"Hmm..."

Song Heping patted his shoulder, like an adult soothing a child.

"It's okay, I said you wouldn't die, just a little uncomfortable. If you're really not a CIA agent, the drug won't have any effect on you at all, don't worry."

By the end, he even smiled.

However, this smile was more terrifying than a devil's grin to the prisoner.

He had read Song Heping's files before coming.

Any normal CIA operative feels an inexplicable fear after reading Song Heping's background material.

Because too many agents have died at his hands, not just from the CIA, but including Mossad, MI6, and intelligence operatives from other countries.

The drug quickly took effect.

The prisoner began to feel a strange excitent and excessive alertness, the sound of dripping water in the cave, distant wind, even his own heartbeat beca clear and loud like drumbeats, the cold air sensation on his skin turned unusually sharp, as if pricked by fine needles.

Song Heping picked up the audio player, pressed the play button.

A very low, almost inaudible yet extrely irritating and unsettling infrasound began to loop, mixed with abruptly alternating and irregular sharp white noise.

When the prisoner heard this sound, his complexion changed dramatically.

The seemingly chaotic sounds actually hold a lot of aning.

These sound attacks directly affect the brain, combined with the effects of drugs, causing intense physiological reactions.

Indeed, a few minutes later, the captive quickly felt excruciating headaches, nausea, inability to concentrate, and emotions spiraled out of control into agitation.

"Stop! Stop it now! What do you want?!"

He roared, veins bulging on his forehead, gasping for air, as if trying to use the oxygen intake to keep his mind clear.

Song Heping reached out and turned off the sound, the cave instantly fell into dead silence, only the captive's heavy breathing remained.

This stark contrast further shattered his nerves.

"Na. Number. Departnt."

For the third ti, Song Heping asked the sa question, with an unchanging tone, pace, and pitch, a chanical repetition that itself was a form of torture.

"I... I'm really... a shepherd from Illiguo..."

The captive's ntal defenses began to crack, but his professional training barely held up.

Song Heping asked no further.

He picked up a heating canister filled with scalding hot, steaming water.

Using a small spoon, he scooped a little, and walked up to the captive.

"The temperature is high, but under normal circumstances, a splash would only cause a blister."

Song Heping seed to state a scientific fact.

"But now, with your senses amplified tenfold, it will feel like a red-hot iron."

As he spoke, he lightly flicked his wrist, and a drop of boiling water splashed precisely onto the exposed inner wrist of the captive.

"Ah——!!!"

A dreadful, distorted scream instantly filled the cave.

The captive's body convulsed madly as if electrocuted, the scalded skin instantly swelled and reddened, and the intense, beyond reason burning sensation almost made him faint.

This precise attack on the extrely magnified senses was far more effective than regular beatings.

"Stop it! I beg you! Stop!"

Tears and mucus instantly covered the captive's face, the last of his dignity and training collapsed under extre pain.

"It's just a drop of slightly higher temperature liquid, imagine the flavor with sothing else."

Song Heping set down the spoon, pulling out a combat knife for a brief sway before putting it down.

Afterward, he once again faced the captive, asking for the fourth ti with exactly the sa tone: "Na. Number. Departnt."

"I... I... I..."

The captive's lips began to tremble, his eyes evasive.

Clearly, his brain hesitated to choose confession.

Song Heping gave him no chance, reached for the combat knife, and started to cut down on his upper arm.

The sharp knife tip cut a wound on the skin.

Song Heping's force was just right, about 5 milliters deep, not deep but enough to cause pain.

"Ah——!!!!!!"

The drug's effect was indeed severe.

The captive scread wildly again, his eyeballs protruding half an inch high.

"John... John Keller... number GT-7384... CIA... Illiguo Special Operations Center... ground branch..."

The captive broke down and cried out intermittently, providing information.

Song Heping took out a tablet, presented a detailed map of Northwest Illinois: "Very good, John. Now, tell us, what is your team's mission? Besides guiding the airstrike, what else? What's your rendezvous point? Contact thod? Most importantly, the CIA intelligence network in Northwest Illinois, all the points, safehouses, contacts, informants you know, mark them all."

He showed the tablet's screen to John Keller.

"No... I can't... my family... they'll..."

John caught sight of the map, fear flashed in his eyes.

Song Heping said nothing, just picked up the set of acupuncture needles, drew out a long one, shining cold under the light.

He precisely inserted a needle slowly into John's Ten Xuan point—Ten Xuan is a fingertip acupuncture point.

Located at the fingertips, the nerve endings are extrely dense here, with over 200 pain receptors per square centiter, with noticeable pain during needle insertion.

Instantly, an excruciating sensation swept through half of John's body, making him scream again, the pain directly acted upon the nerves, impossible to resist.

"You can choose to continue loyalty and endure more far more 'efficient' communication."

Song Heping's voice was calm yet intimidating.

"Or choose cooperation. I only want information. Afterward, you can survive as a bargaining chip, even possibly reunite with your family. The choice is yours, but my patience is limited."

He slowly twisted the needle, intensifying the bizarre pain.

About twenty seconds later, Song Heping slled a stench.

Looking down, John's pants were already wet...

Under intense pain, he directly lost control...

The dual extre pressures physically and psychologically finally completely overwheld John Keller.

He wept uncontrollably, spirit thoroughly broken.

"I'll talk! I'll say everything! Please take it out!!"

He scread.

Song Heping withdrew the needle.

John collapsed limply in the restraining straps, left with only heavy breathing and sobbing.

"I'll tell... I'll say it all..."

This CIA agent cried like a fragile girl before Song Heping.