In the dimly lit corridor, only the sign at the entrance of the operating room emitted a weak, icy glow. This was a special operating room in a special hospital, its door fitted with a piece of frosted glass.
When the light from inside pierced through the frosted glass and reflected on the corridor floor, it looked like a puddle of water. And looking through the glass, one could only catch vague, blurred images.
Through the glass, one could see the upper half of a naked man. He seemed to be lying face down on the operating table, one arm dangling. When the bright light shone on his smooth, toned back, it felt reminiscent of the famous oil painting, "The Death of Marat".
Blood dripped down his arm, forming a small puddle on the floor. The pristine tiled floor reflected his pale complexion. Sweat slid from the corners of his eyes, deeply set under his brows, flowed to his lean, angular jaw, and then dripped to the floor.
The instruments emitted a subtle hum. Between a faint and blurry halo, a blood-soaked surgeon gently removed his surgical mask, laid down his scalpel on the tray next to him, turned to look at the medical equipment, and said:
"His vital signs are already pushing the limit; we can't continue with the operation."
"Dr. FitzGibbon, I hope you understand, he's not an ordinary man. He won't die during this operation. You must complete Ms. Waller's assignment, it's your job", said a female nurse standing by, her figure noticeably different from the other nurses.
The doctor named FitzGibbon turned his gaze to her and said seriously, "Despite my nickname as a 'Death Doctor', I'm not a doctor adept at letting patients die.
"My surgeries have a high success rate, so you better consider my opinion. Now that we've reached this point in the operation, we have the results you asked for. What's the point of going on?"
The muscular nurse standing next to him glanced over at the man lying on the operating table.
On his bare upper body, a very long and deep wound stretched from the back of his head to his coccyx, exposing almost his entire spine.
Now the exposed bones glistening under the light seemed abnormal. Dr. FitzGibbon glanced at the nurse's face and, as if recalling something, mumbled under his breath, repressed his dissatisfaction, and resorted to picking up another syringe from the metal tray next to him. He tugged on the edge of his glove with his other hand, resignedly shook his head saying:
"Alright, I get it. Ms. Waller has a personal vendetta against Professor Shiller, she hopes the operation's results will be as she wishes, but the process shouldn't go that smoothly. In that case, we will double the dosage."
FitzGibbon then directly held the syringe like a knife, plunging the sharp needle into the crevice of Shiller's exposed spine.
In an instant, Shiller convulsed violently, as if electrocuted. A silver metallic glow spread across the surface of the bone and, with Shiller's uncontrollable twitching, more blood gushed out.
The robust nurse standing by the door stepped forward, gloved hand pressing down on Shiller's neck, pinning him firmly to the operating table, preventing any struggle.
Only when the silver light had fully penetrated into his bones, did Shiller exhale like a dying fish, lying motionless on the spot.
Shiller, completely drenched in sweat, looked as if he had just been pulled out of the water. His black hair was damp, and mixed with the blood dripping from his arm.
Dr. FitzGibbon took three more syringes and, like before, injected them into the cervical bone, lumbar vertebrae, and coccyx. After several injections, Shiller's entire spine had completely changed color, the dull hue even beginning to spread to his ribs and scapula.
Shiller lay on the operating table looking pale and exhausted, but Dr. FitzGibbon placed his syringe down, took two steps back, and after giving Shiller one last glance, exited the operating room.
Amanda Waller was waiting outside the operating room. On seeing Dr. FitzGibbon come out, she raised her eyebrows in a way that spoke volumes. Dr. FitzGibbon glanced at the translucent glass in the center of the door and said:
"You should know that there isn't a single scholar in this world who has delved deeper into the field of nanotech implants than I have. The miniature bombs you want to use are child's play for me. The nano-controller Ms. Waller wants implanted into Professor Shiller is a true magnum opus of my career."
Looking at Amanda's slightly softened expression, Dr. FitzGibbon cleared his throat and said, "Humans are vertebrates, no one can deny the importance of the spinal column to humans. The tight connection and precise cooperation within this skeletal system is a masterpiece of God. When you hold a spinal bone in your hand, it feels like you're holding the scepter of life."
"Dr. FitzGibbon, I came here, not to listen to poetry." Amanda turned to look at the white-haired doctor and said, "I just want to know — you've diverted more than half of the funding for the micro-bomb research — what kind of results can this so-called human skeletal nanomachine controller achieve?"
"No, no, no, this is not a skeletal controller!" Dr. FitzGibbon gently shook his head, "This leans more towards a neural controller. You should know what human nerves are, right? The reason why some paraplegic patients cannot walk is not because their bones have problems, but their nerves."
"The problems that nerve damage can cause are the effects that the nanomachine controller can achieve." Dr. FitzGibbon tried his best to explain his experimental results in easily understandable terms to Amanda.
"So you're saying if I wanted to, this professor would be like a car accident victim left paraplegic, unable to stand again?" Amanda asked with interest.
"This is just the most simple, superficial use of it. If you wish, you could render him completely immobile, you could transmit unimaginable pain via the human nervous system, you could even artificially cause withdrawal symptoms... The capabilities of this device depend on how much pain you're willing to inflict on the person and your creativity," Dr. FitzGibbon casually explained.
"I'm not a sadist," Amanda asserted, before turning her head to look at Shiller, who was still lying motionlessly on the operating table, through the fuzzy glass in the middle of the door. She then asked, "Are you sure he was conscious during the surgery?"
"Of course. But to be honest, it wasn't that excruciating. Apart from the process of cutting open the skin and muscles to find the spine, the pain might not even be comparable to a severe electric shock. The trembling and convulsions are caused by nerve reflux, not actual pain transmissions."
"Pain is not the greatest torment," Amanda said coldly with a sneer. "For these ruthless serial killers, their ego is their downfall. The humiliation of being reduced from a butcher to a lamb is their most painful experience."
After speaking, Amanda pushed open the door of the operating room. All the other nurses had left, leaving only Amanda standing by the operating table, and Shiller lying on it with slightly closed eyes.
The wound on Shiller's back had been sutured, but due to the deep cut and large affected area, the sutures used were thick with conspicuous stitch marks. The dense sutures seemed like a zipper had been installed on his back.
Shiller had his head tilted with half of his face pressed on the table surface. The half that was visible showed lips devoid of any color and vacant eyes, save for his eyelashes occasionally fluttering.
"Look at you, Professor." Amanda looked down on Shiller from above, her mouth curling into a cold smirk as she spoke. "You didn't scream, didn't shout, didn't even say a word."
"Could it be because you felt that if you let out a cry, it would make you no different from the lambs who were tortured by you and had cried out in pain?"
Amanda pursed her lips and let out a sigh, raising her head high and addressing the empty air.
"You group of cruel, cold, and merciless killers deem yourselves an entirely different species from the rest of mankind. You regard ordinary people as animals, thinking that you can slaughter or torture them at will."
"Hence, my preferred task is shattering that arrogance, making you realize that you're no different from the meat on the chopping block. You're not the dominator or in control, but feeble lambs as well."
Shiller mildly blinked his eyes, replying with a hoarse voice, "Amanda, did you know? If you were to write a thesis on this, I might even give you a more than average grade."
"Because you've defined your motives, proposed a method, staunchly implemented it, harvested some data, and arrived at a conclusion. The process of your argumentation is complete… much better than some."
Amanda leaned forward over the edge of the operating table, looking at Shiller's profile, responding.
"That's exactly it. To you, the precious lives of ordinary people are nothing more than data. Each encoded article that appears in the newspapers corresponds to countless cruel murder cases, yet you regard it as a playful joke."
"Amanda, you're in pain too, why is that?" Shiller asked intermittently.
"Because I too once held hope for you all, and so did my family." Amanda straightened her body, let her eyelids droop, staring at Shiller's pallid profile. "My parents believed my brother would have a good teacher, but he murdered them. I thought I had met a good professor, but you turned out to be as ruthless a serial killer as the rest."
"You're firm and dedicated, but there's one problem." Shiller closed his eyes as if he was exhausted, his hoarse voice trailing off like a wind sweeping through a desolate canyon.
"You're not gifted, not talented, just an ordinary person."
"Shouldn't I be grateful for that?" Amanda's voice shook. "I'm glad I'm an emotionally stable, ordinary person, not a damned lunatic like you."
"If you don't understand us, you'll never be able to deal with us." Shiller's Adam's apple trembled, the volume of his voice dwindling. "You'll soon realize, you're up against a real genius... you'll come back for me."
Amanda Waller stared at Shiller with icy eyes, but the medical devices at her side told her that Shiller's vital signs weren't promising. If she used force now, he wouldn't get the chance to contribute.
After staring at Shiller for several dozen seconds, Amanda turned and left the operating room. But she hadn't even walked out of the corridor when she saw Davis around the corner rushing towards her.
"Good news, Amanda." Davis's voice was high-pitched as he told Amanda enthusiastically, "Wayne Enterprises reached out to me. They expressed strong interest in our project. Bruce Wayne might be able to help us overcome our difficulties!"
"Who?!"
"Bruce Wayne!"