As the three Buick cars stopped, six or seven men in suits got out and carefully approached the Volkswagen to check the situation inside.
In the driver's seat, Ling Chen's head rested on the steering wheel, his forehead bruised from a severe impact, and his cheeks still bore scratch marks from which blood profusely flowed, dripping down his neck.
"He's passed out."
One of the men in suits sighed in relief and gestured to his companion to pry open the deformed car door, then they dragged Ling Chen out of the driver's seat and transferred him to a Buick car.
...
It was unknown how long had passed when the groggy Ling Chen finally came to. He opened his eyes and struggled to sit up, looking around to observe his surroundings.
