Chapter 1440 Research on Manipulation (VI)

The overall building of Florence Super Prison is a hollow regular hexagon, with different types of cells on each side, and the exercise area is in the center of the building, which can effectively prevent prisoners from escaping.

But a very big problem with this type of building is lighting. The polyhedron surrounding structure is destined to prevent the building from being exposed to direct sunlight in several directions.

But fortunately, the prison does not need much lighting, or it can be said that having a window in the ordinary prisoner's cell that is only big enough to put an arm in is already a special gift from Amanda. Before she compromised with the FBI, all the cells were completely closed cans.

This small window added later did not play any role. It was just to meet the minimum requirements of the Human Rights Act. Therefore, the sunlight could no longer be used as a natural alarm clock. Bruce was awakened by a commotion at the end of the corridor.

He heard an extremely heavy footsteps, and every step on the ground seemed to be as hard as stepping on the ground to make a pit, but soon, Bruce distinguished that it was not someone stomping hard, but the person who came was a terrible big guy.

Bruce rarely used the adjective "terrible" to describe anyone, but when he looked over the railing and saw the person outside the door, he even felt that terrible was not enough to describe this monster.

Bruce had seen big guys before. His good friend Crocodile Man in the East District was a rare big guy, but the man outside the railing was a head taller than Crocodile Man and much wider than him. It was no exaggeration to say that the man's arms were thicker than Bruce's thighs.

Bruce knew that even if he didn't lose weight, he couldn't fight against such a monster in terms of weight, but he also knew that ordinary humans couldn't reach such an arm circumference. He must have used drugs.

Bruce looked up again and saw that the person who came was also wearing a mask. The mask was black and white and covered the upper half of his face. What was more eye-catching was the tube behind his head that looked like hair and the strange equipment on his back.

Bruce narrowed his exposed single eye slightly and looked at the liquid flowing in the pipe. Then he heard the prison guard shouting the man's name and pushing him into the cell.

"Bane?"

Bruce sat on the bed and stared at the big guy and shouted. The other party ignored him and just sat on the edge of the bed, staring at him with deep eyes under the mask in silence.

Bruce finally ended his relaxed posture. He lifted the quilt and sat up, tightening the muscles on his back like a spring ready to eject at any time, while the other party kept looking at the muscles on his neck, waist and legs.

"Amanda lied to me."

The big guy called Bane kept staring at Bruce with that deep gaze, and after a moment of silence, he said: "She said you are just a crazy rich boy, but you are not."

"I am."

Bane's eyes did not change, still staring at Bruce. Bruce rarely felt pressure in the eyes of others. The last time he felt this kind of pressure was when he faced Schiller, and it was a sick Schiller.

"You have the cold-blooded temperament of a general. Have you ever fought in a war?" Bane asked again. His tone was not cold, but just normal. It was not like many people deliberately lowering their voices when forcing others to answer, but it made Bruce's hair stand on end. "I guess so." "Where?" "Hell." It seemed that Bane took this answer as a cold joke that was not funny. His eyes under the mask did not blink, and Bruce asked again: "Amanda asked you to kill me?" "No one can make me do anything." Bane replied: "Whether to kill you depends on me and you." Bruce's alarm bells rang even louder. In addition to being very strong, the other party was also very smart, not much less than the madman in Gotham. Bruce entered the state of Batman again after a long time. He took a deep breath in a subtle way, increased his heart rate, and allowed more blood to flow to the brain. Instantly, space and time condensed, and the blue-eyed Bruce stood up from Bruce's body, walked to Bane's side, and began to observe him.

Bane smelled of the sea, but it was not the kind of pleasant sea breeze, but a kind of humid air that magnified the smell of body sweat. He was very likely to have lived in a relatively closed place with a high moisture content in the air for a long time. Bane may have lived there for more than ten years, so he had such a smell.

Gotham is a coastal city, and Bruce has also lived in the slums by the sea. He is very familiar with this smell. It often appears on people who do hard labor in the living hell of Gotham East before the transformation.

The basements of coastal cities are relatively humid, and the underground water veins flowing next to them are prone to seawater backflow, with high salt content. If the air is not circulated, it is easy to accumulate a strong smell of the sea.

But there was no sign of hard labor on Bane's body. Although his arm muscles were well-developed, the skin on his shoulders had no scars from long-term wear and tear. He had never done any work such as carrying things or pulling ropes. Compared with other parts of his body, his waist muscles were not well-developed, and his fingers had no signs of wear, so he was not a porter. The wear and tear on his feet was light, so he was not a runner.

Bruce showed a puzzled expression. The other party was very strong, but there were almost no signs of exercise on his body. There were many scars, and judging from his strength, he should not be bullied at any age, unless this strength did not accompany him throughout his life.

Cyborg?

Bruce focused his eyes on the tubes behind Bane's head again. He had tried his best to avoid looking at it, because he felt that looking at it any more would be an insult to his knowledge of biology and chemistry.

From the insertion angle to the handling method, and then to the technical content, those tubes are simply a pile of shit.

Bruce has tried his best not to judge them with his own technical level, but if we look at it from the perspective of modern human biology and chemistry, this thing is not only a pile of shit, but also violates all laboratory safety and hygiene regulations.

Seeing this, Bruce really couldn't bear it anymore. He gave up the subsequent observation and reasoning, looked at Bane's deep eyes with his one eye, and then pursed his lips and said.

"Let's not talk about anything else. Who connected the tube behind your head? Does he have a doctor's license?"

Bane seemed to have not expected him to talk about this, so he didn't say anything for a while, but Bruce said again.

"Do you feel that the second tube on the right back of your head hurts especially when you turn your head to the left? That's because the doctor didn't avoid the nerve there when he cut, and why did they fix a circle of metal bolts outside the interface?"

"Because they need to fix the tube..."

"No, because they chose the wrong tube material for the brain implant. They should use a soft tube instead of a hard metal tube. They connected the tube to your brain, but found that the tube couldn't be bent, so they could only connect a circle of metal bolts to force it over."

Bane saw the young man with a head full of bandages across from him take a deep breath, then pressed his chest and said: "Listen I definitely don't have obsessive-compulsive disorder, but this is too outrageous. "

Bane narrowed his eyes slightly, and he said tentatively: "I killed seven people in the original prison, so I was chosen as an experimental subject."

"No matter how much you deserve it, you can't cover up the fact that their technology is not much better than drilling wood to make fire."

Bane looked at Bruce in silence. Bruce sighed after a long time, covered his only remaining eye with his hand and said: "Sorry, where were you just talking about?"

"This doesn't sound like something a rich kid would understand." Bane's tone became slower, and it sounded more like a chat than a threat.

Bruce tightened the muscles around his eyes and said: "Actually, do you know how bad they are doing?"

"Of course, butchers who kill fish are better than them."

Bruce felt very strange. The big man opposite made him feel very contradictory. He was not the kind of person like Big Dog who showed his strength all the time and kept exuding aggression to anyone.

When he was silent, he even had some scholarly temperament, as if he had done more in-depth thinking than anyone else in the first half of his life. This calm temperament was completely inconsistent with his rough appearance, as if a philosopher's soul was stuffed into the body of a beast.

So Bruce also stared at Bane in silence. The two of them stared at each other for a few minutes, as if they were reading each other's souls through their eyes.

"You are not a rich kid, nor a murderer." Bane tilted his head slightly and said, "FBI agent? Police? Mad scientist?"

"You are not a murderer either. Who are you?"

"Just a prisoner."

The two fell silent again, and this time it was Bruce who took the initiative to end the silence. He asked.

"What is your purpose here?"

"To kill you, originally."

"Why did you change your mind?"

"Because you are not you."

"Then you can kill me too."

"I don't plan to do that."

"Why?"

"I will kill you when it's time to kill you."

Bane's answer seemed meaningless, but with his eyes, Bruce could read more information.

Bane must be planning to do something here. There must be a time for him to kill his cellmate, but not now. Now he is waiting, waiting for a chance.

Bruce sat back a little further in and leaned his back against the wall. He was thinking that Bane was definitely not a good cellmate, and more importantly, he was not a good object of manipulation.

Bruce was very helpless, even a little complaining, this mentality was not common in Batman's career.

And all his thoughts can actually be attributed to-

Why is it the Sunset King Shrimp again? ? ?

There are always people who want to see Batman in trouble

Is there a possibility that Bats always have bad luck