บท 2137: Chapter 1440: Research on Manipulation (Part Six)_1
The Florence ADX Supermax Prison was architecturally designed in the shape of a hollow regular hexagon. Each of its external sides was different types of prison cells, and the yard was located right at the centre of the structure, effectively preventing inmates from escaping.
But this type of architecture had a significant problem with lighting. Its multi-faceted structure was destined to have several directions where sunlight could not directly reach.
Luckily, a prison does not need prime lighting. Or rather, an ordinary prisoner would already view a window big enough only to stretch an arm through as an exceptional privilege from Amanda. Before she made concessions to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, all the cells were completely sealed tin cans.
This subsequently added tiny window didn't make much difference either. It was there only to meet the bare minimum requirements of the human rights act. Thus, sunlight could no longer serve as a natural alarm clock. Bruce was woken up by a commotion at the end of the corridor.
He heard an extraordinarily heavy set of footsteps, with each step sounding as if it could carve out a hole in the ground. But soon enough, Bruce discerned that it was not someone stomping forcefully but rather, that the individual approaching was an intimidatingly big guy.
Bruce rarely described anyone as "frightening". However, when he looked past the railing to see the figure outside his cell, he felt that this term was not enough to describe the monster.
It wasn't that Bruce had never seen big guys before. Killer Croc, a good pal of his from East Gotham, was a pretty rare big guy himself. But the man beyond the rail was even taller than Killer Croc and much broader. To say that the man's arms were thicker than Bruce's thighs was by no means an exaggeration.
Bruce knew that even if he hadn't gotten thinner, it would be impossible for him to compete with this kind of monster on a physical level. But he also realized that it would be impossible for a regular human to achieve such forearm girth. This man must have taken some drugs.
As Bruce looked up, he saw that the visitor also wore a mask – a black and white one covering the top half of his face. What grabbed more attention were the tubes, which looked like hair, at the back of his head, and the peculiar device on his back.
Bruce squinted his exposed eye, observing the fluid surging inside the tubes. Then he heard the prison guards calling that man's name and pushing him into the cell.
"Bane?"
Sitting on his bed, Bruce stared at the big guy and called out. Ignoring him, Bane simply sat on the bed's edge and studied Bruce silently with his deep eyes that peeked out from under the mask.
Expecting no small talk; Bruce finally sat up, abandoning the lax posture he had assumed. He threw off his blanket and sat up; his back muscles were taut, like a spring ready to pop any moment. Meanwhile, Bane kept surveying the muscles on Bruce's neck, waist, and legs.
"Amanda deceived me."
Staring at Bruce with those deep-set eyes, Bane, after a short silence, said: "She said you're just a crazy rich boy, but you're not."
"I am."
Bane's gaze remained unfaltering as he kept staring at Bruce. Unusually, Bruce felt pressured under his gaze – the last time he had experienced this was when he met Shiller, the morbid one.
"You have a general's cold-blooded demeanor. Have you fought in a war?"
Bane asked. His tone was not chilling, sounding casual, and not like many others who would deliberately lower their voice when forcing someone to answer. Yet this left Bruce feeling goosebumps.
"Kind of."
"Where?"
"Hell."
That didn't seemed to amuse Bane. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, remained unwavering while Bruce asked again: "Did Amanda order you to kill me?"
"No one can make me do anything." Bane replied: "Whether or not I kill you depends on me, and also you."
The alarm bell inside Bruce was ringing more loudly. Besides being highly muscular, the figure before him was also intellectual, on par with the lunatics he had encountered in Gotham.
Bruce once again slipped into Batman's mode after a long time. He inhaled deeply in an unnoticeable manner and quickened his pulse, boosting the supply of blood to his brain.
In an instant, time and space seemed to freeze, and Bruce, the one with blue eyes, detached himself from his physical body, walked over to Bane's side, and began to scrutinize him.
Bane smelled faintly of the sea, not the pleasing aroma of the sea breeze but the amplified smell of body sweat in damp air. He most likely lived for an extended period in a rather enclosed place with high humidity. He had to have been living in such a place for over ten years to carry such an odor.
Gotham was a coastal city. Bruce had lived in the slums by the sea, so he was quite familiar with the smell – it used to linger on people who did hard labor in Living Hell before the recovery project of East Gotham.
The basements in coastal cities were generally damp. The underground rivers flowing by were prone to saltwater backflow. If the air circulation was bad, the body would easily accumulate a strong smell of the sea.
But Bane's body showed no signs of laborious effort. Although his arms were well-developed, his shoulders bore no signs of continual abrasion, hinting that he had never carried things or hauled goods. Compared to the rest of his body, his waist muscles were underdeveloped, and his fingers bore no signs of wear, suggesting he was no porter. His feet didn't seem worn out either, indicating he wasn't a messenger.
Bruce wore a puzzled expression. The stranger before him was indeed very strong, but he didn't seem to have any signs of rigorous training. However, he bore several scars. Judging by his present might, he should not have been bullied at any point in his life, unless this strength was not always a part of his life.
A transformed human?
Once again, Bruce directed his gaze towards the tubes at the back of Bane's head. He had been trying to avoid giving it more than a glance as he felt every additional look was an insult to his biological and chemical knowledge.
Everything about those tubes – from the insertion angle and treatment approach to the technical competence – was absolutely rubbish.
Bruce had tried his best not to judge it based on his technical level, but at the human race's current level of biology and chemistry, this stuff was not only crap but also violated all laboratory safety and hygiene regulations.
At this point, Bruce couldn't bear it anymore. He gave up further observations and deductions, looked into Bane's deep eyes with his single eye, and then spoke with pursed lips.
"Before we talk about anything else, who put that tube on the back of your head? Do they have a medical license?"
Bane seemed completely caught off guard by this topic, so he was momentarily speechless. But Bruce spoke again.
"Did you find that the second tube on the back right side of your head is particularly painful when you turn your head to the left? This is because the surgeon didn't avoid the nerve when he was operating. Moreover, why did they have to fasten a metal bolt around the outside of the port?"
"To fix the tube..."
"No, it's because they chose the wrong material for the tubing in the brain implantation. They should have used a soft tube instead of a rigid metal one, after they had connected the tube to your brain, they realized that they couldn't bend the tube, so they had to bolt a metal band around it to forcibly pull it over."
Seeing young man with a bandaged head on the other side, Bane took a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest he said: "Listen, I don't have obsessive-compulsive disorder, but this is ridiculous."
Bane squinted slightly, cautiously speaking: "I killed seven people in the original prison, so I was chosen as a test subject."
"No matter how deserving you may be, it does not change the fact that their techniques are not much better than rubbing sticks to make fire."
Bane looked at Bruce silently. Bruce let out a sigh after a long moment, he covered his only remaining eye with his hand and said: "I'm sorry, where were we?"
"It doesn't seem like something a wealthy young master would know." Bane's tone slowed down, making it sound more like a casual conversation than a threat.
Bruce, however, tightened the muscles around his eye and said, "Do you actually know how bad their work is?"
"Of course, even a butcher who kills fish does better than they do."
Bruce found it strange, the big man in front of him gave him a conflicting impression, he was not like Big Dog, who constantly displayed his strength, and did not aggressively project his image to anyone.
During Bane's moments of silence, he showed somewhat a scholarly temperament as if he had conducted more in-depth thinking in the first half of his life than anyone else. This quiet demeanor does not match his rugged exterior; it's as if a philosopher's soul was stuffed into the body of a beast.
Therefore, Bruce watched Bane in silence. They both stared at each other for several minutes, as if trying to read each other's souls through their eyes.
"You're not a wealthy heir, nor a killer." Bane tilted his head lightly and said: "Federal Bureau of Investigation agent? Policeman? Mad scientist?"
"And who are you, if not a killer?"
"Just a prisoner."
They fell silent again, and this time, Bruce broke the silence, asking.
"What brought you here?"
"To kill you. Originally."
"So why did you change your mind?"
"Because you're not yourself."
"So you could still kill me."
"I don't plan to."
"Why not?"
"I will kill you when it's time to."
Bane's answer seemed to be meaningless, but paired with his gaze, Bruce could read more information from it.
Bane must have come here planning to do something. There must be a moment for him to kill his cellmate, but not now. For now he is waiting, waiting for an opportunity.
Bruce reclined against the wall, and started thinking. Bane was definitely not a good cellmate to have, and even more so, not a good subject for manipulation.
Bruce felt quite helpless, even a bit resentful, something unusual in Batman's career.
All his thoughts could be summed up in one line—
Why is it the Sunset Overlord Shrimp again???
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