Chapter 1418

In the narrow prison corridor, the light bulbs overhead flickered. This wasn't because the power supply here was insufficient, but purely to prevent the prisoners from resting well, so they wouldn't have the energy to cause trouble.

The one-hour relaxation time every day would be before dinner, because lunch only provided very little food, and dinner time was relatively late. By this time, most of the prisoners were already hungry, which could very well prevent them from having enough physical strength to fight.

The prison guard knocked on the railing with the baton in his hand. Every prisoner here could understand all the secret codes of the knocking rhythm. The prisoners in each cell stood in a line. Two prison guards walked down from the stairs at the end of the corridor, used the keys in their hands to open the room doors one by one, and took them to the recreation area in groups of four.

In the "Human Rights Act", when prisoners are relaxing, they are not allowed to wear handcuffs and shackles. But the Florence Supermax Prison has a special nature. Prisoners with A-level security clearance must also wear electronic ankle shackles that can discharge electricity during recreation time. This is to prevent some prisoners with special abilities from suddenly going crazy and harming ordinary people.

But judging from the rule setting where special-ability prisoners and ordinary prisoners relax together, Amanda is probably hoping that special prisoners will suddenly go crazy, kill all the serial murderers here, and then she can justifiably shoot and execute them. But unfortunately, most people still cherish their lives. Currently, there hasn't been a large-scale riot in the Florence Supermax Prison.

When it was the turn of the cell where the Bandaged Murderer was, originally, the Bandaged Murderer's bed was closest to the door, so he should have stood first. But Dog squeezed him to the side with his arm, whistled a hooligan whistle at him, and then stood steadily in the first position.

The Bandaged Murderer stood on the side and didn't line up. The prison guard knocked on the guardrail with the baton very dissatisfied. The small person standing in the last position reached out and pulled him, pulled him in front of himself, and then whispered: "You'd better be obedient. You still have an ankle shackle on your foot that can discharge electricity."

"Follow me when relaxing." The Bandaged Murderer said.

The small person showed a terrified expression. Just as he wanted to say something, Dog, standing in the first position, looked back and glared at him fiercely, his eyes full of killing intent. The small person swallowed his saliva and didn't dare to say anything.

The four were brought out of the room one after another. The first moment they arrived at the recreation area, Dog made an insulting gesture at the last two people in the team, and then strode toward another group of people.

The Bandaged Murderer didn't turn his head to look at the small person, but went to the side of a stone pier under the electric fence at the edge of the recreation area on his own. The small person followed him step by step, as if he were afraid that if he were one step slow, the other party would go crazy.

The two squatted beside the stone pier. The small person kept swallowing his saliva and said: "You shouldn't have offended Dog. He specializes in organ trafficking. He captured two FBI members alive, tortured them crazily, and then took their hearts and kidneys. That's why he was designated as an A-level dangerous person. The FBI hates him to death!"

The small person looked at the southernmost side of the field with some fear. Many burly men were gathered there, all with bright flower tattoos on their arms and backs, and some with skull patterns tattooed on their faces. He continued: "See that? That's the Mexican gang. They are notorious in every maximum-security prison. Offending them won't end well."

"Were you sent here because you offended them?" This was the longest sentence the Bandaged Murderer had said. The small person shrank his neck and said: "If I had offended them, would I still have my life to get here?"

His gaze swept to a group of people gathered about one hundred meters to the right of the Mexican gang. The Bandaged Murderer followed his gaze. That also looked like a gathering place for a gang. The small person said in a trembling tone: "They are also a South American gang, but they do drug trafficking. I was sent here precisely because I offended them."

As soon as the small person turned his head, he saw the Bandaged Murderer's one eye, full of red bloodshot, staring coldly at him. The small person took two steps back and said sternly: "I know you killed many people, but in prison, having no gang means being bullied. You have already offended Dog. The Mexican gang won't let you go!"

And the Bandaged Murderer just said coldly: "I am a Gothamite."

The small person felt as if he had been drenched in cold water all over his body. He shivered fiercely, his teeth chattered, and the words were cut into pieces in the trembling: "You, what exactly do you want to do? Why are you looking for me?"

"You weren't squeezed over here." The Bandaged Murderer's tone was still very cold, and it also contained a threat—not the kind of threat with violent factors, but a threat of "don't make me talk to a corpse."

"They need someone to send drugs over here." The Bandaged Murderer's one eye stared at the small person's face and said: "All maximum-security prisoners want cigarettes and drugs. This is the reason why you have been able to survive under Dog for so long."

"Please!" The small person said in a breakdown: "It's not that I wanted to do this, but they need an inconspicuous informant. If a strong troublemaker were to do this job, that damn woman named Amanda wouldn't let him go."

"What is your name?" The Bandaged Murderer asked again.

"You can just call me Jimmy." The small person shook his head hard and said: "Originally, I was smuggling at the border. As a result, two police officers who couldn't think straight came to find trouble that day, so I killed them both. But I didn't expect it to be filmed by one of my subordinates. He was an FBI informant. The evidence was conclusive. I was sentenced to seventy years of maximum-security imprisonment, without parole."

The Bandaged Murderer's only remaining eye narrowed slightly. He looked at Jimmy silently. Jimmy could only sigh and say: "I slaughtered quite a few meat pigs—oh, that is, the corpses of those stowaways. They were dug out by the FBI. If I had known, I wouldn't have buried them together."

"How many people did you kill?"

Jimmy pursed his lips and said: "I've been in this business for almost twenty years. Are there few people who don't have eyes and drag their feet? At least I can give them a quick end. If they fell into the hands of those organ traffickers and drug dealers, they would suffer even more."

Jimmy sighed, looked at the Bandaged Murderer, and said: "Let's talk about you. Honestly, it's quite rare for a Gothamite to be caught and sent here. The FBI can't even get into that ghost place. Many criminals pursued by the FBI want to run there. Why did you run out?"

"Refuge."

The Bandaged Murderer only answered with one word, but it triggered countless associations. Jimmy looked at him with a slightly probing gaze and asked tentatively: "Hiding from enemies?"

"No, hiding from my teacher."

In Schiller's office at the New Arkham Psychiatric Hospital, Victor leaned on the sofa in front of the bed and took a sip of wine, saying: "... You also have to understand him. At that time, he really didn't have a better way to restrain you. Broccoli was just a restrictive measure that had to be taken as a last resort."

"Of course, I certainly understand." Schiller sat on the sofa with the wine glass, leaned back on the chair back in a relaxed manner, and said: "I don't mind at all that he specifically ran to Kansas to invite an agricultural expert, then contacted another revolutionary fighter to come to distant Mexico, bought a Lamborghini tractor, and with the assistance of a princess, a magician, a cryogenics scientist, and a botanist, grew a whole field of broccoli, and then threw me into the center of the field."

"Uh..." Victor used the wine glass to cover his mouth with a guilty conscience and said: "Seriously, your act of giving me the nanocontroller was a bit scary to me. Of course, I also didn't expect that the restrictive measure Bruce mentioned was really broccoli."

Schiller took out the pocket square from his suit pocket, refolded it, pressed every crease on it flat with his fingers, and said in an understated tone: "Yes, I also didn't expect that his imagination in this regard would be much more active than his thinking in terms of the innovation of his papers."

"However, I didn't expect that he would actually choose to return to psychology. He knew clearly that he had just caused trouble." Victor's tone became light again. He leaned his body toward Schiller's side, propped his elbows on the armrests, looked at him, and said: "This should also be considered a kind of sincere apology and request for forgiveness."

"He'd better be."

Schiller put the folded pocket square back into his suit pocket, adjusted the angle of the pocket square with his hand, stood up with his hands on the armrests of the chair, walked to the table, pressed the schedule with his fingers, lowered his head to check it line by line, and continued.

"I sincerely hope that even if I am not at Cat Getan University, this school will never stop its pace of progress, especially in terms of academic achievements in various disciplines..."

Victor immediately stood up from the chair. He showed a fake smile, put down the wine glass, extended a hand to Schiller, and said: "I have something to do; I'm leaving first."

He rushed out of the office door at the fastest speed, then arrived at the patient communication activity center of the Arkham Psychiatric Hospital at the fastest speed, found the cryogenics laboratory, rushed in, picked up the phone inside, and roared at the other end.

"Bruce, hurry up and come over! When do you plan to submit your paper? If there are no results this week, both of us will be in big trouble!!!"

"What, you don't have a car? Then fly a plane!... You don't have a plane? Then go build one! You can't even get into the Batcave? Then go home and build... You were kicked out of the house?!"

Victor, holding the phone, sighed long. He extended a hand toward the other end of the phone and said: "Listen, Bruce, our emergency restrictive measures for Schiller are quite effective, but now it's time to pay the price!"

"If we can't produce enough research results before Schiller's anger continues to reach its peak, then I will immediately transfer you back to the Department of Psychology. You can handle it yourself!"

In the laboratory of Cat Getan University, Bruce held the phone and listened to the busy signal on the other end, feeling confused. Just as he put down the phone, the door was opened with a "bang", and a long-haired girl rushed in in a hurry and shouted at Bruce.

"Bruce! When do you plan to start the project you mentioned before about plants that can grow in Cat Getan?!"

That girl grabbed her hair and said: "It's all because of your damn emergency restrictive measures! Professor Schiller made an appointment with me to eat at the restaurant on Wednesday morning. By then, if I can't produce research results, I'm dead!!!"

With a "bang", the door that had just been closed was bumped open again, and a red-haired young man rushed in in a hurry and said: "Bruce, is the interface for the Arkof Reactor ready?! The sociology paper on the humanistic impact of sunlight returning to Cat Getan has been late for a week. If I don't submit it, I'm dead!!!"