Chapter 1195 The Lamb's Scream (7)_1

In the dimly-lit room, only a screen flickered with an icy sheen highlight. The image on the screen was eerie, as it displayed just one color in various levels of darkness and it was almost entirely still, giving off a cold, brutal, and lifeless vibe.

Anyone who had ever seen a surveillance screen would know that the image shown was the scene captured on a night vision device.

The image showed a narrow cell that could not be narrower. A man wearing a face mask was sitting on the bed, staring straight ahead, without moving.

After a while, a small outlet opened on the wall in front of him, but there was no one on the other side of the passage. There was only one passage leading upward. A wrapped sandwich made of special material that was somewhere between paper and cloth slid out from the passage.

With a "click," the lock on the face mask was remotely unlocked. The mask itself could not be removed, but the device that secured the jaw no longer functioned. That portion of the mask which covered the mouth could be lifted up.

Judging from his mechanical chewing motion, this food was probably tasteless. After consuming everything, the lock on the mask locked again. A red light went up over the passage on the wall. The man sitting on the bed reached his hand, holding the wrapper, inside.

After the wrapper was removed, his arm was pinned down. A needle for an IV injection pierced his skin, and liquid nutrients and the water required by the human body were slowly injected into him.

The IV would last for about half an hour. After it was done, a small hidden door opened at the right hand side of the wall holding the passage. The door was about half the height of a man. Behind it, through a narrow and low passage, was a bathroom with basic facilities.

All the facilities and doors were programmed to open and close at specific times, but the intervals were irregular. Sometimes they might open twice in an hour, sometimes only once in five. This was also the case for food delivery and the IV.

All these cumbersome and painstaking imprisonment activities were designed to blur the concept of time, to strip the prisoner of his sensory perception of "day," to make him lose any idea of how long he would continue to be there, and to plunge him into a despair with no end in sight.

Most experiments suggest that sensory deprivation is the cruelest punishment for humans. The most painful aspect is the blurring of time.

The human race needs a framework to accurately perceive time. If a person only has his own thoughts without any sensory perception from the outside world, his experience of time would be somewhat different from the passage of time in reality.

In most cases, the time perceived while lost in one's thoughts is much longer than in the real world.

And this boredom and loneliness, which feels as if it has been slowed down countless times, can almost break the will of any human. Of this fact, the two people watching this scene in the control room were well aware.

"What a harsh punishment." William, resplendently dressed in a suit and tie, said this with a smile as he stood in front of the screen.

Davis, standing next to him, took a look at him and said, "Mr. Denaceti, you should understand that it is precisely because you have ample experience working in other maximum-security prisons that you are here. Why are you now lamenting this punishment?"

William adjusted his glasses a bit, shook his head and said, "Indeed, many maximum-security prisons adopt long-term confinement and sensory deprivation as ways to handle prisoners."

"But the main purpose of such punishment is to keep frantic criminals quiet, to warn them not to attempt any escapes, and not to harm prison officers. The mental trauma it causes them is just a side-effect of the warning."

There was a cold sneer on William's face as he glanced at Davis and said, "But here, such cruel sensory deprivation punishment is levied on the prisoners with the specific aim of causing them mental trauma. It is only normal for me to express shock about such harsh methods, isn't it?"

Davis walked to the other side of William, stared at him with a cold, slightly mocking gaze, and then opened his mouth and said, "Do you still think they are just ordinary prisoners?"

"The 16 criminals on hold, including Schiller Rodriguez, all possess capabilities that far exceed those of ordinary people. These capabilities could be superpowers, such as enormous strength, sharp fangs and claws, or they could be the ability to influence people's minds."

"These superpowered criminals existing among ordinary people pose a grave threat to the civilian population. The Federal Bureau of Investigation cannot simply stand by." Davis pursed his lips into a thin line and continued in a low voice.

"If they were merely different from ordinary people, they wouldn't be detained here. All criminals transported to this prison have committed grave crimes using their extraordinary powers. They don't deserve sympathy."

"For ordinary criminals, a little punishment might quieten them. But for these super criminals, if cruel torments are not used, they will never repent for their crimes."

Davis turned around. The surveillance screen now showed many small boxes. Most of them displayed harshly flickering images transmitted from within the cells. More than half of the criminals, unable to bear such horrific sensory deprivation, were now screaming, going berserk, and acting violently.

Davis just stared coldly at the screen. His eyelid twitched for a moment, and he said, "They are dangerous, but also invaluable. The abilities they possess could have generated great value for the world, but they chose to use them to commit crimes."

"What we must do is whip them, admonish them, make them understand pain, wake the fear long forgotten in their crazed minds."

"We need to establish new personalities for them, new rules that make them fearful yet aware of shame, to rescue them from their madness, so that their proud gifts can be directed in the right path, and their talents can atone for their evil deeds of their prior years."

Surrounded by the cold light emitted from countless surveillance monitors, Davis spread his arms and lifted his head to declare:

"These pure and beautiful lambs need a new shepherd to lead them to the glorious sanctuary, to atone for sins ordinary people cannot absolve, in order to receive the Lord's forgiveness and mercy. They should be grateful for this, and cry out loud."

"Hence, we have named this grand endeavor — the Lamb Plan!"

"The Lamb Plan?"

In the top floor office of the Wayne Enterprises Building, Bruce echoed the phrase that Angela had just spoken, and the policewoman solemnly nodded again: "Yes, I just found out the exact name of the project."

Angela turned around, bracing herself on the back of the chair, and looked out at the dreary sky of Gotham, her expression equally gloomy.

"Before, there wasn't enough time. I didn't get to tell you. You might have been wondering how come an ordinary police officer suddenly joined the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"

"An ordinary officer? Forgive me for speaking plainly, Miss Dodgson. You're underselling yourself. In the federal heavy case squad, everyone knows who you are. Everyone knows that you are most adept at dealing with those crazy serial killers, uncovering the slightest clues from their actions and solving their committed crimes," Bruce said.

But Angela revealed a bitter smile. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something but then gently shook her head and said,

"Yes, I have spent my entire life combating these brutal serial killers and have indeed had some success. However, Mr. Wayne, what you may not realize, the more you understand about them, the clearer it becomes that they cannot be eradicated."

Bruce raised an eyebrow and watched Angela's expression. The policewoman did not show any specific emotion, but spoke as if this was just the norm: "I've seen a 13-year-old girl slaughter her parents because her toy bear was sick, and she wanted to heal it."

"I've also seen a Wall Street elite who burned down half a street, not out of revenge on society, but because he enjoyed the smell of human char."

"Their madness has no reason. They're thoroughly mad and pure in their madness. When interrogating them, they have no regrets for the lives they've taken or even for the futures they've ruined for themselves."

"I've thought, perhaps they are some manifestation of human original sin... Does it seem ridiculous? A police officer attributing these incidents to religious reasons?" Angela exposed a ludicrous smile, but there was no laughter in her eyes, only glimmering tear drops.

"Do you know why I chose to join the Federal Bureau of Investigation?" Angela's red-rimmed eyes were like the afterglow of a Gotham sunset. Her tone was very calm, as if she had accepted the reality.

Bruce didn't answer, but silently watched her. Angela didn't need anyone else to answer this question either.

"It's not because I hate them, and it's not because I'm terrified of their cruelty. Over the years, I've found that I've gradually started to understand them."

Angela lifted her head, the muscles in her neck twitched, she fell into a reminiscing expression, and opened her mouth to speak,

"Perhaps you know, I once received treatment from Doctor Schiller. At that time, everyone thought that I couldn't bear the fear brought about by these damned madmen's heinous crimes. But the truth was the exact opposite."

"In Schiller's therapy office, I wept and screamed, not out of fear or anger, but because I was fighting against the illusions I saw."

"At each crime scene, I could clearly see how the killer ruthlessly murdered the victims. I could clearly feel their happiness and excitement, their joy and satisfaction derived from such cruelty."

"I too felt excited, satisfied, and couldn't distinguish the difference between them and me. I couldn't understand whether my understanding of them made me as incurably insane as them."

"As I got closer to them, as I understood them more, this thought became unstoppable. To avoid falling into the abyss, I had to retreat."

"Joining the Federal Bureau of Investigation, although it still involves investigative work, also meant that I gave up my lifelong pursuit. I left the front line, where I was most needed, like a coward, choosing to escape."

Angela's eyebrows lifted, in her always solemn and sharp eyes; Bruce saw a vulnerability as delicate as a young girl, and a confusion as fresh as a newborn.

"Many have asked for the secret to my success, everyone wants to know how I can precisely find the clues from those serial killers. I didn't say, so they assumed I was merely hoarding my knowledge."

"But I can't tell them, that in every long night I've spent alone, on the couch, in the mirror, on the other side of the bed, there's always a crazed figure, shadowing me."

"It's a naturally cold, ruthless, and crazed serial killer, the kind of criminal I hate the most, and also... another me."