Wang Ye fell like a rock, vaulting over the wall, his body tracing an arc in mid-air before plummeting straight down.
When he hit the ground, his feet touched down first followed by a roll on the spot, skidding six or seven meters into the mud, his wounds gaping open, the bandages around his waist stained red with blood.
Chen Yong stood on the roof, a pistol in hand, looking down. A pair of searchlights on the wall also swung in his direction.
Wang Ye lay on the ground, crawling towards the distant woods. He felt his left thigh swell up, probably twisted during the fall. His back ached unbearably. He was in no position to return fire. If Chen Yong spotted him, he would be nothing more than a live target.
The institution's alarms were blaring loudly. In the director's office, Li Ting stood by the window, on the phone with someone.
"The kid has escaped, the process went smoothly, but he killed a few wardens," Li Ting said.
