Pixel Maniac in the Comic World

Chapter 7 Martin’s truth

another world.

Gotham City, Arkham Asylum.

"Mr. Strange, let me show you the prison... ward."

A bald man wearing a gray vest and white shirt stopped and smiled kindly at the man opposite who was nervous because he almost said the wrong thing.

"You just wanted to say the cell, right?"

Before the man could deny it, Strange lowered his head, took out a piece of glasses cloth from his chest pocket, took off his round glasses and wiped them.

"Do not be nervous."

The words sounded along with the movements of the hands, the voice was full of magnetism, and the whole person revealed an elegant temperament.

"I can understand you, including your work. This place is dark, damp, and depressing. You have to face some weird and quite aggressive people all day long - in fact, most of them are criminals, you said. That’s right.”

But after actually stepping into a certain door, the man became eerily quiet again.

"clown……"

"Firefly, Shadow Man, Locker..."

"Scarecrow, Jonathan."

The man continued to lead Hugo deeper into the room, chattering incessantly, and seemed to be mentally disturbed.

This is the experience gained from working in this damn lunatic asylum for many years. Even if there are iron bars and special glass between the mentally ill people, only by turning yourself into a walking zombie can you barely guarantee that you will not be resented by any dangerous guy.

"The Riddler, Edward."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Hugo, he is not on the list of psychotherapy counseling Arkham applied for. Please follow me this way."

The man immediately became excited. The director of the lunatic asylum sent him to receive an important person today. It was said that he was a professor who had made great achievements in the field of mental health care. Therefore, he had been very worried about his choice of words, fearing to offend this person. Scholars from civilized cities.

"That's great, Mr. Victor, let's continue. I'd like to ask you to introduce the situation of the ward in detail later. I heard that you have worked here for three years?"

Hugo didn't mind the man's change. Although this man was obviously suffering from some kind of stress-induced comprehensive mental illness, compared to the legitimate owners of the lunatic asylum, the research value represented by the man's mental condition was not worth it. carry.

"Mr. Hugo Strange, you are a truly knowledgeable person. You are not like those politicians or philanthropists on TV who are always aloof and can't see the dark side of the problem at all!"

But I didn't expect that the other party could understand so deeply the difficulties of working in this place.

Finally, they stopped at the door of a newly cleaned cell.

One after another, the names or titles of dangerous characters came out of the men's mouths. Most of them showed no reaction when they saw them passing by, but their gloomy and cold eyes were like looking at another fresh corpse. .

Passing through a long corridor, his voice began to become smaller and his tone became as dull as possible.

Or you may be labeled as discriminatory by the other party.

Hugo's eyes were hidden behind the lenses, and he glanced deeply in the direction of the 'forbidden' cell, as if he wanted to see through the heavy, dark iron door.

"Three years and seven months, oh - what a nightmare life it has been."

But in the end, he followed the man's pace calmly, walked around a corner, and continued to listen quietly to the man's detailed introduction to the ruthless characters who once caused trouble in Gotham City.

The man's footsteps paused in front of an independent cell. He remembered the dean's advice, but the characters in this cell were not among those whom Hugo Strange could contact.

"This is the last one."

The man said, his tone inexplicably brisk.

"Terry Pickles."

Hugo judged from the change in the man's tone that the character in this new cell did not seem to be particularly scary, so he took two steps and took a look at the observation hole reserved on the iron door.

A young man wearing Arkham's characteristic hospital gown was sitting cross-legged on the bed. His hands seemed to be holding something, his head was slightly lowered, and his eyes were extremely empty.

"He—doesn't have the weird titles like those people in front of him?"

"Well, Terry is considered a newcomer to Arkham. Although judging from the things he has done, this young man is equally dangerous, but when he was sent in, he was already in a vegetative state."

The man shrugged: "According to the diagnosis from Wayne Hospital, Terry's brain nerve activity is abnormally low and he is unable to respond effectively to most things in the outside world."

Hugo narrowed his eyes. "What did he do to bring him here like this? I think a special nursing home is more suitable..."

"Ha! Mr. Hugo, you asked the right person. Although the relevant information has been hidden from the news, there is no place in Gotham City that is better informed than Arkham."

The man laughed: "He killed the Penguin."

Hugo's eyes widened slightly, and the corner of his mouth, which was facing away from the man, unconsciously made a strange arc.

Then he stood up and turned around, and when he faced the man, his face returned to a calm look.

"So this Mr. Terry, is he on the list of psychologically assisted treatment?"

"Of course, the Wayne Group has given special care and priority for treatment. However, with all due respect, Mr. Hugo, several doctors have tried it before..."

Hugo shook his head and interrupted the man. There seemed to be a little disdain in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared.

"I personally like to challenge difficult subjects, Mr. Victor."

"Please put Terry Pickles at the top of my weekly psychiatry list."

……

Martin Lee looked at the hung up call with a gentle smile on his face unconsciously. However, a few seconds later, as the elevator door slowly opened, Martin put away the phone and the smile on his face disappeared. There was a cold look between his eyebrows that Terry had never seen before.

At this moment, he was on the 72nd floor of the Empire State Building in Manhattan, New York City. Behind him were several young men wearing black suits and uniform sunglasses, walking along the off-white carpet covered with the fur of some kind of beast.

While walking, a certain black and white energy spread from the position of Martin's heart until the skin, hair, and clothing all over his body were rendered black and white.

At the end of the corridor, a bald man in a leather jacket opened the red-painted walnut door for the visitors.

In the spacious office with red carpet, a huge black figure was sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Martin Lee raised his hand to signal the younger brothers to stop, and then walked in alone.

The black shadow slowly turned its fat head, and a fierce face torn by excessive fat and muscles faced Martin Lee.

"Mr. Kingpin."

Martin's voice was neither humble nor arrogant: "The contract between us has expired."

The giant black figure whom he called Kingpin stood up from the chair, and his astonishing height seemed to push through the ceiling above his head.

"What a shame, Martin. I thought we had a great time working together."

The cane inlaid with red gems gently poked a small hole in the carpet, and Kingpin's shadow completely covered Martin's figure.

"Aren't you considering renewing the contract? Separation would be a loss for you and me."

"Do not."

Martin raised his black face, the white hair on his head trembled slightly, and looked directly at the astonishing beast in front of him: "I just want to be more stable. With all due respect, I'm fed up with this kind of chasing after each other with the New York Police Department." ’s role.”

Jin did not reply immediately, but quietly stared at the oriental man in front of him who dominated the underground forces in New York and was known as Mr. Negative.

"Ah."

Kingpin exhaled, took heavy steps, waved the custom-made cane in his hand, and walked to the desk.

"I know that there is an old saying in the East, which is called washing hands in a golden basin - in fact, I like Eastern culture very much, and I can learn a lot of useful things from it."

"The movements of your forces have spread to the ears of the major underground forces in New York these days. You want to get out of this dirty mud. You have been trying to clean yourself up for these years..."

Kingpin stretched out his thick fingers, picked up a paper document on his desk, and made an unexplained hum in his mouth.

"Others may not understand all this, but I did learn some interesting news."

Martin's expression finally changed, and he stared at the document bag in Kingpin's hand in disbelief.

"You are not alone. Although you have hidden it very well over the years and spent money to open up many connections - in fact, the reason why you really want to get away is because you have a lovely nephew?"

boom!
  The black and white energy turned into crazy flames and jumped up from Martin's body.

(End of this chapter)