Chapter 51: The TLR Potion (Please keep reading!)

The sensitivity serum was, in truth, an interrogation drug. Anyone who drank it would have their physical senses heightened to an unbearable degree. For instance, when the makeup brush touched Lydia’s neck, what would normally cause a faint tickle suddenly became so intense that she questioned her very existence. When Roan gave her arm a slight squeeze, the mild ache was magnified into piercing agony, as if her arm had been snapped in two. And as the makeup brush traveled lower… Lydia stared at Roan’s profile, terror filling her eyes.

Roan poured her a glass of wine, feeding it to her slowly and cautioning her not to drink too quickly. He cocked his head and asked, “Well? Shall we continue?”

“No, please, no…” Lydia, her throat parched and hoarse, shook her head vigorously. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face desperate.

“Then talk.” Roan tossed aside the makeup brush, now stained yellow, and picked up a clean one. He also retrieved the fountain pen from the floor and asked, “What exactly is this thing? What’s in it?”

Faced with the pen and the makeup brush, Lydia was on the verge of tears. She had overestimated herself and underestimated just how torturous Roan’s methods could be.

It was true that women were said to be made of water, but they were not self-replenishing; once drained, they too needed replenishment from outside. As it turns out, everything should have its limits. Excess is as bad as deficiency, as the wisdom of the ancient East teaches.

Drawing a shaky breath, Lydia tried to steady her trembling limbs and took a new position. In a quavering voice, she explained, “I don’t know the full chemical name of the serum in the pen. I only know that NSA agents always call it ‘TLR serum.’ It’s a concentrated mixture—hallucinogens, white powder extract, sedatives, and the like.”

At her words, Roan’s heart sank, though his expression remained unchanged. He pressed on, “What does it do?”

“It’s used to control people.” Now that she’d started talking, there was no point in holding back—especially since Roan gave the makeup brush a casual flick, and Lydia’s body recoiled instinctively. She continued, “After the target consumes the serum, they fall into a period of hallucination. During that time, NSA agents repeat certain phrases to them over and over. After repeated doses and hallucinations, the target subconsciously internalizes these phrases. At critical moments, they’ll act in accordance with the NSA’s expectations. Also, the extract from the white powder has been refined by the NSA to create a dependency—after the first dose, the target will never be able to quit. When withdrawal hits and their body aches, they’ll instinctively seek out the person who gave them the hallucinations. So…”

“So, once I’ve taken the serum, I’ll be under your control for life. Whenever I feel unwell, I’ll come looking to you for comfort. As the discomfort grows, I’ll seek you out more and more, caught in a never-ending cycle. And at some crucial moment, I’ll subconsciously do whatever you’ve hypnotized me to do, correct?”

Roan nodded. He understood Lydia’s explanation and recalled things an old assassin had once told him. Back in the 1950s and 60s, the CIA conducted the notorious MK-Ultra project—an experiment in mind control through drugs. Over a hundred experiments were performed, countless people died, and after a certain president’s resignation, the project was officially shut down. Of course, “officially” meant little, since the CIA was involved; their reputation was well known. The NSA, being closely tied to the CIA, would have no trouble acquiring such drugs. The “L” in “TLR serum” likely referred to the hallucinogen LSD—lysergic acid diethylamide—which, when mixed with other drugs, could drive a person insane and rob them of intelligence. As for the “T” and “R,” Roan didn’t know what they represented, but he doubted they were anything benign.

“Will you let me go now? Roan? I was wrong, I’m sorry, truly sorry.” Seeing Roan fall silent after hearing her confession, Lydia whispered, “But you don’t have to worry—I met you for the first time last night and didn’t know you were Mona Evans’ teammate, so I never used TLR serum on you. It wasn’t until this afternoon, when I saw the news replay, that I realized who you were and decided to use TLR on you… but you saw through it.”

“Hm?” Roan was taken aback. So Lydia hadn’t dosed him with TLR yesterday—then why had his back hurt so much when he got up this morning? Was it really just a lack of exercise? Impossible! Absolutely impossible! When it came to matters of dignity, a man’s pride was harder than diamond.

Roan Greenwood had played such games before, but since becoming a new FBI recruit, he hadn’t had any interaction with women for over two months. His daily routine involved sitting behind a desk, with the occasional set of push-ups for exercise.

Roan paused, then shifted the topic with a smile, “One last question, Lydia. Answer, and I’ll let you go.”

Lydia nodded, but Roan’s question made her face freeze at once: “How did your previous husbands die?”

Seeing Lydia lower her head in silence, Roan grinned and twirled the makeup brush in his hand.

“…”

Feeling her body unconsciously leaning toward the brush, Lydia was filled with grief and indignation. Her resentment toward Roan was minor compared to her frustration with her own stubbornness. Why had she resisted? Roan had warned her—if she drank the wine, she would answer his questions, but only after enduring torment…

Lydia began to gaslight herself.

“I can answer that question.” After a long silence, Lydia finally chose to respond, though she made a demand first: “I want to apply for witness protection with the FBI. Otherwise, even if you torture me to death, I won’t say a word.”

Roan’s expression grew serious. He realized there was more to this than met the eye. As for her claim that he could torture her to death, he didn’t believe it for a second. The way she kept leaning toward the makeup brush hardly looked like someone afraid of more torment.

Lydia fell silent. After a moment, Roan nodded in agreement but didn’t let her speak immediately. Instead, he began searching the room thoroughly.

“What are you looking for?” Lydia asked, puzzled.

“Checking for any bugs or surveillance devices,” Roan replied. Earlier, he’d found nothing while searching for clues to Lydia’s identity, but caution never hurt—one more check wouldn’t cost much, and it was always better to be thorough.

After a while, Roan finished searching again and found no surveillance equipment. Lydia let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, you can talk now.” Roan sat back down on the bed. Noticing Lydia’s chapped lips, he poured her another glass of wine.

“Thank you,” Lydia said, still bound, and took a small sip. She glanced at the makeup brush lying on the floor and involuntarily sighed. Realizing what she’d done, she quickly shook her head and forced aside her odd thoughts, her expression turning grave.

“This was a plan secretly carried out by a high-ranking NSA official, behind the FBI’s back.”