Chapter 1184: The Cry of the Lamb (Part 13)

In the dimly lit corridor, only the indicator sign at the entrance of the operating room emitted a faint, cold light. In this special hospital, the center of the door of this special operating room was inlaid with a piece of frosted glass.

When the light in the room shone through the frosted glass and reflected on the floor of the corridor, it was like leaving a puddle of water on the ground. And looking inward along the glass, one could only see some hazy images.

Through the glass, one could see the upper body of a naked man. He looked like he was lying on the operating table, with one arm hanging down. When the bright light shone on his smooth and tight back muscles, the atmosphere was extremely like the famous oil painting "The Death of Marat".

Blood dripped down his arm, forming a small puddle on the ground. The clean tile floor reflected his pale complexion. Sweat slid from the outside of his eyes, which were deeply sunken under the brow bone, all the way to his thin, bony jaw, and then dripped onto the ground.

The instrument made a slight buzzing sound. Between the hazy and dreamy light halos, the doctor, who was full of blood and holding a scalpel, gently took off his mask, put the knife in his hand on the tray beside him, turned around and glanced at the instrument, and said:

"His physiological signs are approaching the limit. The surgery cannot continue."

"Dr. Fitzgibbon, I hope you understand that he is not an ordinary person and won't die in this surgery. And you must complete Ms. Waller's explanation. This is your job." A female nurse, whose figure was obviously different from other nurses, said.

The doctor called Dr. Fitzgibbon turned to look at her and said seriously: "Although I am known as the Doctor of Death, I am not a doctor who is good at letting patients die."

"My surgery success rate is very high, so you'd better value my opinion. The surgery has reached this point, and all the effects you require can be achieved. Then what is the point of continuing?"

The nurse standing beside him glanced at the man lying on the operating table.

On his naked upper body, a very long and deep wound was opened from the back of his head to the tailbone. Almost the entire spine's vertebrae were exposed.

At this moment, the surface of the exposed bone had an abnormal reflection. Dr. Fitzgibbon glanced at the nurse's complexion, seemed to remember something, made a sound of dissatisfaction, muttered a low sentence, and tried hard to put away his dissatisfied expression.

He picked up another syringe from the metal tray beside him, pulled the edge of his glove with his other hand, shook his head helplessly, and said:

"Well, I know, Ms. Waller and this Professor Schiller have some personal grudges. She hopes the result of the surgery can be as she wishes, but the process is best not to be so smooth. Since that's the case, then add double the dose."

After saying this, he held the syringe like a knife and stabbed the sharp needle into the gap of Schiller's exposed spine.

Instantly, Schiller trembled violently as if electrocuted. The silver metallic light spread along the surface of the bone. With Schiller's uncontrollable twitching, more blood burst out.

The nurse who was standing by the door and was quite strong walked up, pressed Schiller's neck with her gloved hand, and pressed him dead on the operating table, making him unable to struggle.

Until the silver light completely penetrated into the bone, Schiller lay in place without moving anymore like a fish on the verge of death.

And his whole person was like a fish that had just been fished out of the water, his black hair soaked with sweat, mixed with blood, dripping from his arm.

Dr. Fitzgibbon brought three more syringes. Just like before, he stabbed them into the cervical vertebrae, lumbar vertebrae, and tailbone respectively. After multiple injections, Schiller's entire spine completely changed color. That dull color even spread along the spine to the ribs and shoulder blades.

Schiller lay on the operating table with a pale complexion and scattered spirit, but Dr. Fitzgibbon put down the syringe in his hand, stepped back two steps, took one last look at Schiller, and turned to walk out of the operating room.

Amanda Waller was waiting outside the operating room door. Seeing Dr. Fitzgibbon come out, she raised her eyebrows, and her expression was self-evident. Dr. Fitzgibbon glanced at the semi-transparent glass in the center of the door and said:

"You should know that there will not be any scholar in this world who has studied deeper in the direction of nano-implantation than me. The micro-bomb you want to use is completely a pediatrics to me. The nano-controller used on this Professor Schiller is my masterpiece."

Looking at Amanda's slightly eased complexion, Dr. Fitzgibbon coughed gently and said: "Humans are vertebrates. No one can deny the importance of the spine to humans. The close connection and precise and clever cooperative relationship between this skeletal system is God's masterpiece. When you hold a spine in your hand, it's like holding the scepter of life."

"Dr. Fitzgibbon, I came here, not to listen to you recite poetry." Amanda turned to look at the gray-haired doctor and said: "I just want to know, what kind of effect can the so-called human skeletal nano-controller you studied by misappropriating more than half of the micro-bomb research funds achieve?"

"No, no, no, this is not a bone controller!" Dr. Fitzgibbon shook his head gently and said: "This is more biased towards a nerve controller. You should know what human nerves are, right? The reason why some paralyzed patients cannot walk is not because their bones have problems, but because of nerves."

"What kind of result will nerve damage have, the nano-controller can achieve what kind of effect." Dr. Fitzgibbon tried hard to use easy-to-understand words to explain his experimental results to Amanda.

"You mean, if I want, this professor will be like a paralyzed patient in a car accident and will never be able to stand up again?" Amanda asked with interest.

"This is just the simplest, most superficial way of using it. If you want, you can make him completely unable to move, or you can transmit unimaginable pain through human nerves, or even artificially create withdrawal reactions... The ability of this thing depends on how much pain you hope the other party has, and your imagination." Dr. Fitzgibbon shrugged and said.

"I am not a sadist." Amanda said, and then she turned her head and looked at Schiller, who was still lying motionless on the operating table, through the blurry glass in the center of the door, and said: "You confirm, during the surgery, he was awake?"

"Of course, however, I can only tell the truth, this actually doesn't count as too painful. Except for the process of cutting open the skin and muscles to find the spine, the pain might not even be comparable to a violent electric shock. Trembling and twitching are all from nerve reflexes, and actually don't transmit pain."

"Pain is not the greatest torture." Amanda revealed a sneer and said: "For this group of cruel and ruthless serial killers, the humiliation of falling from a butcher to a lamb is the most painful thing for them."

After saying this, Amanda pushed open the operating room door. Other nurses in the operating room had all left, leaving only Amanda standing in front of the operating table and Schiller, who was lying on the operating table with his eyes slightly closed.

The wound on Schiller's back had been sutured, but because the wound was too deep and the area was too large, the suture thread used was very thick, and the traces were also very obvious. The dense stitches were like installing a zipper on his back.

Schiller tilted his head, half of his face pressed against the operating table. The half that was exposed, his lips had no blood color, and his eyes were still scattered, only his eyelashes would occasionally tremble.

"Look at you, Professor." Amanda looked down at Schiller and said with a sneer: "You didn't scream, didn't shout, and didn't even say a word."

"Is this because you feel that if you screamed, you would be no different from those lambs who once screamed because they were abused by you?"

Amanda pursed her lips, breathed out slightly, lifted her head high, looked at the air in mid-air and said:

"You group of cruel, cold, and ruthless killers feel that you and ordinary humans are two kinds of creatures. You regard them as pigs and dogs, feeling that you can slaughter or abuse them at will."

"Therefore, the thing I like to do most is to shatter your arrogance, letting you understand that you are no different from the meat on the chopping board. You are not dominators or controllers, and you are also just weak and helpless lambs."

Schiller blinked gently and said in an incomparably hoarse voice: "Amanda, do you know? If you write this into a thesis, I am even willing to give you a middle-to-upper score."

"Because you wrote down your motivation, proposed a technique, firmly implemented it, obtained certain data, and reached a conclusion. The argumentation process is very complete... better than some people."

Amanda put her hands on the edge of the operating table, tilted her body vertically downward, looked at Schiller's side face, and said:

"You are like this. The precious lives of ordinary people, in your eyes, are just data. The articles composed of secret codes that appear in newspapers are all cruel blood cases one after another, and you just treat this as a joke for fun."

"Amanda, you are also feeling pain, why?" Schiller asked intermittently.

"Because I also once held hope for you, and my family did too." Amanda straightened her body, lowered her eyelids, looked at Schiller's pale side face and said: "My parents thought my younger brother would have a good teacher, but he killed them. I thought I met a good professor, but you are a serial killer who is as cruel as them."

"You are very firm, and very hard-working, but there is only one problem." Schiller closed his eyes as if somewhat tired. The hoarse voice was like a gust of wind blowing through a desolate canyon.

"You have no talent, no talent, you are just an ordinary person."

"Shouldn't I feel lucky for this?" Amanda's tone trembled fiercely: "Fortunately, I am a mentally normal ordinary person, not a damn madman like you!"

"If you don't understand us, you will never be able to deal with us." Schiller's Adam's apple trembled, and his voice gradually weakened: "Soon you will find that you are up against a true genius... you will come back to find me."

Amanda Waller stared at Schiller with cold eyes, but the readings and sounds of the instruments beside her told her that Schiller's life signs were not optimistic. If she took some rough measures now, this professor would not have the opportunity to make a contribution.

Thus, after Amanda stared at Schiller for dozens of seconds, she turned and walked out of the operating room. But before she could walk out of this corridor, she saw Dai Weisi walking over quickly at the corner.

"Good news, Amanda." Dai Weisi raised his tone, looked at Amanda and said: "Wei En Group took the initiative to contact me. They showed very strong interest in our project. Bruce Wei En might be able to help us tide over the difficulties!"

"Who?!"

"Bruce Wei En!"