Section 31 - There's Something Wrong with This Gun

Dr. William Jackson tapped on the display in front of him a few times, and immediately saw the assessment value, a pentagonal diagram, and a commentary.

"139 points, lawful good, sensitive, principled, upright, conservative, emotionally biased, weak in judgment..."

Over a hundred random professional psychological assessment questions had thoroughly analyzed Chen Fei's personality traits and mental state.

"Emmmm..." Dr. William Jackson hesitated as he looked at the results, his gaze shifting back and forth between Chen Fei and the checkered draft paper on the desk, tentatively asking, "Did you really write this essay yourself?"

Chen Fei confidently said, "Yes, I wrote it."

At that moment, the draft paper was right in front of him, the pen in his hand, and the handwriting was also his; surrounded by a group of elementary students, it was impossible for someone else to have written it for him.

"The essay is indeed very abnormal, clearly exhibiting paranoid and antisocial personality traits, with characteristics of schizophrenia, yet your psychological test shows no issues at all, completely that of a mentally healthy normal person."

This time, even the doctor was somewhat perplexed.

The psychological assessment questionnaire system that Dr. William Jackson had Chen Fei complete was the most professional and widely used in the industry, containing tens of thousands of questions. It could automatically generate tests with models catering to different professional fields, and the final assessment results were not just a matter of adding and subtracting points for correct or incorrect answers; there was a deep analysis of behavioral consciousness, and each question was interconnected through hidden logical rules, assessed via a special computational model.

Up to this point, cases of clear misjudgment had been few and far between, occurring only among those with professional training, all of whom were experts well-versed in human nature.

Chen Fei looked towards the black doctor scratching his head and asked, "So, I am normal, right?"

"You are normal at the moment, and it..." Dr. William Jackson's eyes fell on the checkered draft paper and he said, "is not!"

"This is a paradox."

Chen Fei shook his head, finding it hard to accept such a conclusion.

"Uh! Let me think, let me think this through." Dr. William Jackson tried to clear his head, then suddenly slapped his forehead and said, "Right, there's a new product you can try."

He stood up, rummaged around the room for a while, pulled out an elegant paper box, took out a ring-shaped object from it, and handed it to Chen Fei.

"This device is called 'Ayr's Ring,' a monitoring headband that can capture brainwave signals and spiritual power fluctuations, lasts a week on a full charge of electric energy. Put it on your head and see how it feels."

Chen Fei weighed the delicate white ring, light in weight, as he tried slipping it onto his head, jokingly saying, "Feels like the Golden Hoop from 'Journey to the West', Jackson, are you sure I can take it off again after putting it on?"

"Ayr's Ring" had a stretch mechanism that could adapt to various head shapes, with several sensors tightly fitting Chen Fei's head.

"Ha, don't be ridiculous, how could that be? You are not the Monkey King, bound by a Tightening Curse? Just wear it for now, bring it in periodically for data collection, and remember to charge it on time."

The black doctor laughed, amused by how a newly launched high-tech product ended up associated with the classic literary work 'Journey to the West'. Indeed, slipping something like a Golden Hoop onto one's head was quite a fascinating idea.

"All right, I'll give it a try first."

Chen Fei tried taking off "Ayr's Ring" again, which was easy without the unfortunate entrapment like the Monkey King.

Dr. William Jackson inquired, "Any other questions?"

Chen Fei, wearing his new equipment, shook his head, his gaze falling on the tabletop.

"No more, so this paper!"

"Leave it here with me for now, I'll have an expert look at it."

The black doctor prepared to file the checkered draft paper for reference, the original document having potential value for analysis.

-

After leaving the medical group's clinic, Chen Fei returned to his dormitory, put away his backpack and "Ayr's Ring," then carrying a long object tightly bound with rope, he went to the small bar "Medusa's Beautiful Eyes," adjacent to the base's cafeteria.

As night fell, the holographic projection sign of "Medusa's Beautiful Eyes" was the most noticeable spot in the entire Aircrew Base. Every time a night flight returned, the first visual confirmation was not the runway, but the bar's lights.

As the only entertainment venue on base, the bar not only had a long bar counter serving various drinks but also featured a dance floor, a jukebox, slot machines, billiards, a reading area, a tea room, and a quiet room, catering to both lively and calm activities.

Chen Fei pushed through the bustling dance floor, finding Major Chekhov Leonidovich Ivanov, the squadron leader of "Genuine Fragrance" Combat Flight Squadron, surrounded by people amidst the bizarre lights and the slow sway of saxophone music.

The big bear was gritting his teeth in an arm-wrestling match, howling continuously.

Bang! The arm-wrestling table shook, and like a big gorilla, Chekhov leaped up, pounding his chest forcefully.

"┗|｀O′|┛ Woah~~KUMA!!!!"

After a tense ten seconds, he suddenly exerted his strength and finally won.

The big bear's recovery strength was truly terrifying.

The crowd around them cheered along, most of whom were pilots from the "Genuine Fragrance" squadron.

The man who lost to Chekhov, annoyed, pushed through the crowd and retreated to a corner to sulk with his drink.

The arm-wrestling table was scattered with a pile of cash, all spoils of war for the victor.

Chen Fei squeezed next to the hopping and jumping big bear and greeted him loudly.

"Chekhov!"

Whether it was from too much excitement or too much drink, the bear, reeking of alcohol, replied incoherently, "Hey, Rookie, call me 'Peanut Butter'. Look, 'Peanut Butter' the mighty is unmatched in this world."

"Okay, I came to return something to you, uh, never mind, I'll come look for you tomorrow."

Chen Fei was a bit worried that the big bear might be too tipsy, for he was carrying something that was certainly no toy.

"What is it? My beloved little treasure? Hahaha, bring it here, let's fire a few shots, if you're a man, come shoot!"

Sure enough, the big bear was a bit tipsy and Snatched the tightly wrapped oblong item from Chen Fei's hand without any explanation.

His carrot-thick fingers lightly tugged at it as if tearing off a girl's panties, pulling open the cords and the bag.

"My baby, Emmmm… my gun!"

Just as the big bear was about to proudly show off his little treasure, the next second, his eyes bulged out, his face filled with disbelief, followed by a heart-wrenching cry.

What, how come there's a big hole in the receiver frame, a clear view to the interior showing the hammer, firing pin, and the recoil spring? Looking at the other parts of the gun, they're covered with dents and pits, the nearly new condition mysteriously transformed into a post-apocalyptic wasteland look.

What happened to the promised original products from Izhevsk Armory?!

"Aaaaah, Rookie, what have you done to my little treasure?"

If not for the correct serial number stamp on the gun, he would have believed that Chen Fei had switched it out.

"Puhahaha, Chekhov, what happened to your little treasure? Looks like it got run over!"

"Did you get someone to modify this? Wow, it looks even more artistic now!"

"'Peanut Butter' boss, there's no problem with your gun, right? How did it turn out like this?"

"It does look quite unique!"

Not that no one suspected Chen Fei had pulled some trick; this old relic could blow its barrel, break in half, or even completely vanish, all acceptable outcomes, but this level of industrial art was truly baffling.

"How, how did it turn out like this?"

Chen Fei was also dumbfounded, unable to believe that the "broken gun" in Chekhov's hands was the same AK-47 automatic rifle he had wrapped up before.

He remembered distinctly, even throughout the whole day, the AK-47 was perfectly fine when it was handed to him in the morning, how did it become such a mess now.

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