Both Red hood and Red Robin are killers, though their records show instances of choking or beating criminals until they were revived, for the most part, they haven't successfully killed anyone.
Despite their distance from the term "bloodthirsty," their thoughts and methods are indeed the most radical within the Batman Family, with Damian being the most radical.
Red Hood, once killed by the Joker, swore to make all criminals pay after his resurrection. Because Batman won't let him take a heavy hand on criminals, he has had disagreements with Batman several times, and Batman is troubled by his somewhat radical idea.
However, Mr. Lu Xun's window-opening effect is always somewhat reasonable, no matter when.
If you ask him not to kill, he will surely refuse. But if you allow him to shove the frozen human corpses into the cutting machine, slicing them bit by bit, immerse them in a chemical solution and print the muscle texture and nerve structure on paper, and finally put the slices into a specimen slide, then he would agree not to kill.
Red Hood is truly going insane.
He held a frozen, rigid female arm, standing before the slicer, stunned. Looking at Harley operating the machine beside him, he yelled in grief, "How much longer?!!"
"Soon, soon." Harley frowned and adjusted the machine data, saying, "Aren't you just feeding an arm into the machine?! Can't you have a bit of academic spirit?! If all the doctors in the world were like you, how would human surgery ever progress?"
"Is this an arm?!!!"
With Red Hood's roar, the human limbs piled up like a mountain next to him suddenly scattered on the floor, instantly filling the ground at Red Hood's feet. The close human fingers made Red Hood jump up like he'd been electrocuted.
"Don't I have to pick the right material?!" Harley immediately snapped back at him. "What if the experimental material is unqualified and need to be reworked, won't that be a bigger waste?!"
"Just get it over with! Please!" Red Hood was almost wailing: "What am I doing!! Why am I standing amongst a mountain of arms and legs in the middle of the night, helping you slice a corpse into dozens of pieces?!!"
"You sissy!" Harley scolded without lifting her head. Then she slapped the machine hard and stared at Red Hood. "Weren't you also from the streets? Why are you so scared of corpses?"
"Of course I've seen dead bodies! But not this...not this kind...not this kind..." Red Hood stammered, unable to articulate himself.
To put Red Hood's train of thought into perspective, if someone suddenly asked, "Have you seen a dead body?" most people would instinctively answer, "Of course not."
But actually, many people have seen dead bodies when an elderly relative passed away at home. But at that time, the body lying on the bed had not been labeled a corpse yet, and what most people felt was death.
Death is an instantaneous process, and a corpse is the result of death. Most people, when encountering these two, often focus more on the significance of death itself and overlook the resulting corpse.
As a child, Jason had often seen gangster turf wars and bodies, but he was more concerned about why the gangs were fighting, how many people had died, and was less interested in the characteristics of the bodies lying around, when they would decay, when they would fall apart, and how they would ultimately be disposed of.
Except for those with professional backgrounds or quirks, the vast majority of people do not pay special attention to the shell left behind after a human death, and given societal norms about respecting the deceased, most people tend to stay away from corpses.
Red Hood is no different. In his view, killing criminals is acceptable, but dissecting, freezing, and slicing their corpses is too inhuman for him.
The machine began humming into action, and Red Hood pushed forward the corpse's arm as Harley had instructed. He was on the verge of collapse when the first slice was made.
Red Hood is a normal person; he could not handle the vibrational feedback that comes with cutting through a human body. He could distinctly feel the blade slicing through the frozen muscle, catching slightly on the bone, and then continuing to press down until that part of the limb was completely severed from the body.
Even for a madman, that was too advanced.
He tossed the arm away and charged out of the warehouse, slammed into a corner, putting his hands on the walls on either side of him; facing the following Harley, he yelled: "You goddamn madwoman!!!"
Red Robin sighed softly, he steadied himself against the wall and, looking at Harley, said: "I'll do it."
"Don't go there, Tim! It's full of, full of..."
"Remember? I have a background in surgical education." Red Robin said this and followed Harley into the warehouse.
Although he was still startled by the alarming number of frozen limbs, he behaved much better than Red Hood; he waved at Harley saying, "I have a leg wound and can't exert much force, you put in the limbs and I'll work the machine."
"Do you know how to use it? Don't break it; I need to hand in my homework."
"Don't worry, I'm good with machines."
Red Robin fiddled with the cutting machine's control panel, indeed getting it to run smoothly; Harley selected the suitable limbs and in about ten minutes a fair amount of material was ready.
"While I know you might not answer, I still want to ask - where did you get all these human specimens?"
"If I said I killed them myself, would you want to kill me?"
Red Robin shook his head saying: "Firstly, I don't have a gun and secondly, there are many common points among these limbs. The most significant being, the muscle markings indicate they have been trained and not from average people with no ability to fight. I don't think you have the capability to kill so many martial artists."
"If you're a serial killer, considering your age and size, your victims would more likely be the ones who are less on guard and not physically strong, not these burly types that look just like mob enforcers."
Red Robin looked around at the limbs strewn about and bent down to pick one up. The Red Hood, who was already leaning against the warehouse door, let out another strangled gasp.
The limb that Red Robin had picked up was a man's arm. A tattoo was clearly visible on it, and from the calluses on his fingers, it seemed he often used a gun.
"You're right, they're all mob enforcers." Harley bent down, beginning to return the disorganized limbs into the freezer.
"What on earth is happening?!" Red Hood raised his voice, "This hospital, these bodies, and the damned serial killers outside, who can give me an explanation?!"
"Just as you see, this mental hospital is full of serial killers. Those bodies are the members of the mob who died in gang fights. The one you're holding in your hand should be an enforcer from the John Street Railroad Gang, judging by the train track tattoo on his wrist."
"The one lying in that room is a drunk driver who shattered his own legs in an accident. He died of excessive blood loss before the ambulance arrived, so his body was brought here. His legs are gone, but his upper body is still useful for me to practice removing the pancreas."
"Does this hospital buy bodies from the mob?" Red Robin asked, frowning, as he quickly sensed a potential dark secret here. He followed up: "How can you ensure the mob won't go out and murder ordinary people to sell to you?"
"Buy bodies from the mob? No, no, no, we help the mob deal with the bodies. They have to pay us."
Both Red Hood and Red Robin were stunned, then they listened to Harley's detailed explanation.
"After a gang fight, the mob has to deal with the bodies immediately. If they don't, disease may break out in their territory and the smell of rotting corpses is unbearable."
"Aside from some more fortunate gangs located by the sea, dealing with bodies cost a lot for most of them. Sedans can't hold several bodies, so typically they either hire trucks to dump bodies into the sea or buy machines that can grind bodies before flushing them into the sewer."
"Without a doubt, the bigger the mob, the more money they have to spend on this. If they don't handle it well, the smell can permeate an entire neighborhood. Other mobs wouldn't be pleased – it could shake their credibility."
"But now, after a fight, no matter how many injured or dead, they just need to make one emergency call. Our ambulance will take the injured to a regular hospital and the dead to our underground cold storage, as lab materials."
"At the end of the year, according to the frequency of calls, they settle the costs. There's no effort wasted, no time lost. Just pay once, and the year's corpse disposal problem is solved. Where can you find such a good deal?"
"Now, 90% of Gotham's mobsters have signed up for corpse disposal at New Arkham Mental Hospital. This actually has many advantages."
"First of all, the nurses here can deal with bodies more efficiently and tidily than amateur mobsters. They can find every piece of a body, even those blown into hidden corners, preventing them from rotting and causing disease and odors. This significantly improves the hygiene of Gotham's streets."
"Second, if a mob uses heavy weaponry and causes the bodies to shatter too much, they'll have to pay extra for the increased difficulty of clean-up. The more difficult the task, the higher the cost."
"As a result, the mob now seldom uses heavy weaponry. If they accidentally cause a building to collapse and bury all the people inside, the quote for corpse disposal would be astronomical."
"They'll use pistols instead of shotguns wherever they can, cold weapons instead of hot ones, and try to fight face-to-face on the streets rather than take shots from hidden corners. The easier the bodies are to handle, the more room for negotiation in the next year's disposal fee."
"This greatly reduces the range of gang disputes and lessens the damage to buildings. Since they've returned to the pre-firearms era and started hacking at each other with cold weapons, the maintenance cost of Gotham City has decreased by at least half."
"The mobs can handle bodies more conveniently and cheaply, while the serial killers here have an endless supply of human experimentation materials, allowing them to try out all sorts of ideas. It's a win-win."
At this point, both Red Hood and Red Robin were sitting against the corner of the door, their eyes seeing stars as Harley returned all the scattered frozen limbs to the cooler.
She walked back into the room with the operating table and found that the body on it had thawed sufficiently. She waved at the two men, saying, "Come over. Can you hand me the tools?"
The two followed Harley to the operating table. Red Hood looked at the body on the table and seemed intent on going back, but he saw the sharp scalpel in Harley's hand and her indifferent gaze, and ultimately, he chose to stay quiet.
With some surgical experience, Red Robin frowned at Harley's youthful face and very skilled surgical hand movements. He handed her a pair of scissors but couldn't help asking.
"Who taught you anatomy?"
What he meant was, which teacher in their right mind would teach such a young child about dissection and surgical skills?
What came back was Harley's nonchalant response.
"Bruce Wayne."
Both Red Robin's and Red Hood's hearts missed a beat.
"Knock, knock, knock."
The knock on the door, followed by an even more heart-stopping voice, came from outside the door.
"Harley, are you there? It's Bruce. Have you finished your homework?"