Chapter 2096

Bruce was taken to a special office. The people here were obviously not staff members, but important employees of the Osborn Group, and might even be senior leaders.

This lady wearing a blue uniform with a work badge hanging on her chest walked up, shook hands with Bruce, and said: "Hello, sir. I am the person in charge of the Osborn Group's San Francisco Medical Research Center. You can call me Faroman."

"Hello, Ms. Faroman."

"Please sit down."

The two sat face to face. Faroman got straight to the point and said: "I think you should have heard about the change in the appearance of citizens in San Francisco. The volunteer recruitment conducted by the Osborn Group is precisely aimed at this matter."

"Mr. Norman Osborn believes that the citizens of San Francisco may be undergoing human modification without their knowledge and in an unethical manner. He wants to know the content of the modification and find a solution."

Bruce widened his eyes slightly. He was indeed a bit surprised because he thought the Osborn Group was the culprit behind all this. But what the other party said might not be all true; perhaps they were "thieves crying stop thief."

Ms. Faroman placed some photos in front of Bruce, mostly of crime scenes. After placing the photos, Faroman observed Bruce's expression.

Bruce didn't have any expression at all. As a Gothamite, he saw enough crime scenes every day; why would he be shocked by photos?

Thus, Faroman, who hadn't waited for a question for a long time, spoke up herself: "These are vicious conflict cases that have broken out in San Francisco recently. Most of them developed from small quarrels into murder cases."

"Perhaps you have discovered that subjects similar to you have become very irritable. We suspect that this mysterious virus that can make people's appearance more perfect will also affect people's psychology and emotions. Do you have any understanding of this?"

Bruce shook his head. Faroman sighed lightly, took back the photos, and said: "So far, we haven't observed cases where this virus significantly strengthens human strength. Most people just gained corresponding strength after gaining muscles; the improvement isn't great."

"Then you, sir." Faroman crossed her fingers and placed them on the table, staring at Bruce with pure eyes, and said: "Where does this strength of yours come from?"

She turned her head, took a physical examination report from the shelf next to her, and then said: "According to the test results, you are not a mutant, nor do you have muscles that can bring this kind of strength. Where does this strength come from?"

"I don't know." Bruce shook his head and answered truthfully.

"Sir, you must understand what serious consequences this change will bring." Faroman frowned and said: "Even if one out of a hundred people becomes like you, the world will be in chaos."

Bruce was noncommittal. In fact, he had been thinking about a question: if this virus could really pull everyone's appearance and figure to the same level, would everyone support the spread of the virus?

Of course, there would be skeptics, but those who opposed it even more were probably the vested interests who already possessed appearance and figure.

Bruce had to admit that when he saw people who couldn't even do movements standardly easily lift weights he couldn't lift, he felt a bit unfair in his heart.

Although his appearance was natural, his good figure was completely trained by himself. He put in effort and sweat, strictly demanding of himself day and night. And if anyone who was infected with a certain virus could possess the same good figure and the same powerful strength as him, then what was the point of his effort?

Besides, good appearance would also be a stepping stone for certain classes, because only if you have enough spare time and money to maintain your appearance can you be beautiful and strong. This is a representation of class.

Would the upper class, who spent a lot of effort maintaining their appearance, really allow any homeless person on the street to be more beautiful and stronger than them?

If they didn't allow it, what price would they want this man-made beauty to sell for?

It seemed that no price was right. If the price was low, they would feel that it would let too many people below their class mix in. If the price was high, they would become the group that couldn't afford it and couldn't mix into a higher circle.

Bruce couldn't think any further when he thought of this. He wasn't very good at this kind of abstract association, so he felt a bit of a headache.

As a result, he heard Faroman say: "If one out of 100 people can produce a strongman as strong as you, then the military wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice the other 99 people to create a strong super soldier."

"It's not that they haven't done it before; it's just that they have never been able to achieve large-scale production. If they succeed this time, World War III won't be far away."

Bruce frowned deeply. He only thought about changing appearance, but forgot that increasing muscle mass itself would increase strength.

Even if not everyone's strength increased as terrifyingly as his, just being able to let the thinnest homeless person increase their strength by 30% would be enough for some ambitious people to prepare thousands of reasons for aggressive war.

Sure enough, it was trouble. Bruce sighed in his heart. The mysterious Superior Iron Man didn't know where he was. If World War III really broke out, he didn't think he could dodge a nuclear bomb.

"I hope you can cooperate with us." Ms. Faroman stood up and said: "First, we have to go to New York. Mr. Norman Osborn wants to see you personally."

Wait... I have a daughter, Bruce said in his heart. But the moment before he said this out loud, he felt a sense of his heart being gripped, which caused him to fail to say it.

Bruce couldn't say what this strange feeling was. Anyway, his heart tightened, his back felt cold, and cold sweat broke out, as if something bad was about to happen.

Forget it. It's fine if Aisha was kidnapped by that mysterious person. At least for now, that mysterious person seemed to have reason, while this so-called Norman Osborn looked like he was already anxious.

Bruce made this speculation because as soon as he walked out of the office door, the staff told him that a plane was already waiting for him.

Before boarding the plane, Bruce ate a few more tubes of energy gel, which made him feel his body strength was full and that feeling of hunger dissipated, so he asked for some more to carry on him.

On the private plane, Bruce still didn't feel hungry, and he wasn't sleepy either. He just felt very energetic, even a bit too energetic.

Batman never thought in his life that he would chat with a flight attendant, and it was four flight attendants and one male flight attendant.

Actually, Bruce knew he probably didn't have any common topics with them, because he had long known that there was no Cat Getan in this universe, and the era, region, and class he lived in were all different from this group of people. What could they talk about?

But they just chatted about those gossip news in the web search bar for two hours, and neither side felt bored; they both felt the other party was quite humorous.

When preparing to get off the plane, all four left small notes for Bruce, and they even added each other on Facebook.

After getting off the plane and getting into the private car, Bruce started chatting with the driver again. The general topic was something like his first time in New York. The two chatted all the way again. The driver said he had two daughters at home and used this as an excuse to ask for Bruce's contact information.

For Batman, this wasn't just opening the chatterbox, but overturning the chatterbox.

And Bruce felt very magically that when he focused on something, time seemed to slow down, and the same was true when talking.

He felt that a long time should have passed from organizing his thoughts and clarifying language logic to speaking, but in fact, it didn't. Almost the moment the other party finished speaking, he had finished replying.

After getting off the plane and having a signal, Bruce finally remembered to check his text messages, and then he found the text message Stark sent him asking about his current situation.

Bruce thought about it, simply confirmed what could be said and what couldn't, and started replying to Stark in a text message bombing way.

After his thinking speed and language organization ability improved, it didn't make him create any world-shaking masterpieces. Shit was still shit; it was just pulled faster.

Stark was hammering the keyboard to hack into the Osborn Group's network when he heard the phone *beep-beep* twice. Stark immediately knew that this was Bruce replying to him.

But he wasn't used to turning his head to deal with other things when focusing on work, so he just left it there and didn't care.

As a result, the text message sound rang for a full 20 minutes. By the time Stark finally couldn't bear it and went to check the phone, there were already more than 200 unread text messages.

You'd better have something important, Batman, Stark thought, gritting his teeth. Either you tell me World War III has broken out, or you tell me the Earth is about to be destroyed. Otherwise, this is definitely harassment.

Then Stark started his "gold panning in shit" operation. This was the name he gave to his operation three minutes after he started reading the text messages.

Batman really wasn't harassing him. Every one of his text messages was about serious business, but the amount of useful information was pitifully small.

Stark really couldn't figure it out. How could things that happened in just one afternoon be written into more than 4,000 words, including soup and water?

And since you've written so long, why couldn't you finish it all at once? Why did you have to split it into more than 200 messages?

Since you split it, why couldn't you group all the items of a certain thing together and then compile a directory?

Is this for people to read?

Nick turned his head to look at Schiller next to him and said: "You just laughed, right?"

"I didn't."

"You laughed, Professor." Nick said relentlessly: "This isn't very authentic. You know that no matter which Stark it is, they aren't cut out to be a professor."

Schiller pressed his lips with the back of his hand, cleared his throat, and said: "... I think he has this talent. He will be a good teacher."

"It would be more convincing if you put your corners of your mouth down before saying that." Strange snorted coldly, and then said as if reflecting: "Since the establishment of Kamar-Taj Magic Academy, I haven't seen the homework written by those little mages..."

Loki grabbed Strange's arm and looked at him with very sincere eyes, saying: "They wrote very well, but you'd better not look at it."

Strange narrowed his eyes.

Loki grabbed Strange's arm tighter and said with a fake smile: "This world needs Kamar-Taj, but it needs the Sorcerer Supreme even more."

Strange's suspicion grew heavier. Loki turned his head, sighed deeply, and looked at Strange again, saying.

"If you must look, promise me, go get a medical license first, then get prescription rights, at least know what medicine to prescribe for high blood pressure."

"Don't joke. If he knew what medicine to prescribe, he wouldn't have become a surgeon."

Strange glared at Schiller.