TWO MEN

In this universe, the superhuman system is divided into two major categories. Aside from martial artists and sorcerers who develop and strengthen their individual powers, there are the genetically enhanced warriors and mech pilots who rely more on technological means.

The former group gains physical and ability enhancements through the injection of genetic serums. The latter fights by piloting powerful mechs. It's worth mentioning that, although genetically enhanced warriors and mech pilots rely more on technological power, these two systems are actually rarer than martial artists and sorcerers.

Genetically enhanced warriors, for instance, require a specific genetic compatibility, eliminating countless individuals right from the start. The survival and success rates after serum injection are also not high, making them a one-in-a-hundred rarity.

Mech pilots are even scarcer. Piloting a mech, especially at the lower levels, whether manually or through neural connection, does not have very high mandatory requirements. It seems like a job anyone with hands can do, but as everyone knows, the more accessible and easy-to-enter a profession appears, the harder it is to become powerful in it. This is because it involves something no instrument can detect – innate talent.

To give an example, take the popular 'League of Legends' professional league. There are hundreds of millions of players worldwide, and most have watched professional matches and have had the unrealistic dream of 'Coach, I want to go pro'. But in the end, there are only a few hundred real professional players.

The rarity of a genuine mech pilot is akin to the rarity of professional players among gamers, or perhaps even more so.

In the current situation, with all the prisoners in the jail wearing ability-suppressing electronic collars, even superhumans with extraordinary abilities cannot use their powers. If the mech in front of them is still operational, and if a professional mech pilot were to take control of the cockpit, they could indeed wreak havoc in this prison. But, of course, that's all they could do.

Mechs, whether they are individual or field types, are classified in the same way, from low to high: Soldier Class, Vanguard Class, General Class, Dominator Class, Titan Class, and so on.

Thomas could tell that the field mech in front of him was merely the lowest, Soldier Class. Even if it were in perfect condition, let alone its current damaged state, it would at best dominate among the prisoners but could never breach the layered defenses of the Ninth Prison.

What puzzled Thomas was why such a mech would appear in the prison, especially looking like it had just been through a battle. "What's going on? Are they so desperate they find mechs attractive now?"

The bald man and the curly-haired youth, escorting the mech, strode forward, with all the prisoners consciously moving aside, not daring to obstruct their path. They swaggered up to a warehouse-like door, which the curly-haired youth opened to reveal the scene inside.

Then, Thomas's expression became even more intriguing. Lathes, welding guns, hinges, wrenches... various tools were arrayed throughout the room, emitting a strong scent of machine oil. "All these professional tools... Are they planning to repair this mech?" Thomas frowned.

Despite being far from the mech, his keen eyesight made it clear that it was on the verge of being scrapped. The human and time resources required to repair a Soldier Class mech in such a state would be better invested in acquiring a new one, in terms of cost-effectiveness.

Could it be a collector's item? That didn't seem right either.

A new thought popped into Thomas's mind, only to be quickly dismissed. While the universe had no shortage of antique collectors, some collectors did have a hobby of collecting antique mechs, much like the way some wealthy individuals on Earth enjoyed collecting vintage cars.

Based on its appearance, this mech did indeed seem quite old. But if it was a collector's item, why would it be used in battle? Thomas mused, recalling people using beer bottles in fights but never heard of anyone using fine porcelain for that purpose. That seemed excessively extravagant.

Growing more curious, Thomas continued to ponder while observing the two men's actions. The curly-haired youth fetched numerous tools from the warehouse and began a comprehensive examination of the mech. He inspected it from top to bottom, inside and out. The process took over ten minutes, after which he returned to the bald man with a look of disappointment and shook his head slightly.

Instantly, the bald man's expression darkened. It felt as though the air pressure around him, within a radius of several meters, had lowered, inducing a subconscious heaviness in others' hearts.

"A master..." Thomas squinted his eyes. This man, despite wearing an electronic collar, could still noticeably affect his surroundings. His strength must far exceed the other prisoners; no wonder they reacted to him like mice to a cat.

Suddenly, as if sensing Thomas's gaze, the bald man turned and glanced in his direction. Just that one look made Thomas feel as though he was targeted by a ferocious beast, the oppression palpable.

Thomas quickly averted his scrutinizing gaze, slightly bowed his head, and took a couple of steps back, indicating he meant no offense. His primary goal was to leave the Ninth Prison. Staying inconspicuous among the prisoners was crucial; attracting too much attention could lead to unnecessary trouble.

However, not seeking trouble doesn't mean trouble won't find him. Soon enough, Thomas distinctly felt he was being watched. After a quick search around, his gaze locked onto a tall alloy building behind him. At a high floor, there was a floor-to-ceiling window. Behind it, Jenna Downs stood with her arms crossed, her eyes coldly fixed on Thomas, her lips curled into a mocking smile.

Just as their eyes met, Thomas suddenly realized something...

He had messed up!

During the interrogation, Thomas sensed that Jenna was probing for information about his background. Although he wasn't sure who was behind it, Thomas knew that if he revealed anything, Jenna might take action against him. So, during the interrogation, he continually targeted Jenna's vulnerabilities, infuriating her to abruptly end the session.

But now, it seemed his actions had backfired. The menopausal woman had lost her fear of the unknown aspects of his background and seemed resolved to eliminate him. "You really can't mess with a woman in menopause," Thomas thought, giving Jenna a deep look before turning away.

He sharply noticed other prisoners approaching him. Two of them. Both martial artists.

"This is not going to be fun…" Thomas frowned slightly.

Martial artists, with their enhanced physical strength, were much more formidable than others in a situation where everyone's abilities were suppressed by electronic collars. It was like an adult fighting a child.

In just a blink, the two had encircled Thomas from different directions. Caught between a rock and a hard place.

"Is it my life you're after?" Thomas looked from one to the other, getting straight to the point.

The two prisoners were initially taken aback, seemingly surprised by Thomas's directness, but quickly recovered. One of them nodded, revealing a sinister smile, "Seems like you're ready for this. Indeed, someone wants you dead."

"Is there room for negotiation?" Thomas asked.

"Negotiation?" The two prisoners exchanged glances, both revealing a cruel smile. "You mean, negotiating whether to leave you a whole corpse or not?"

Thomas narrowed his eyes in understanding.

By now, others around had also noticed what was happening. They looked at each other, then turned their heads back with interest to watch the unfolding scene, including the bald man and the curly-haired youth nearby.

In the Ninth Prison, although the escape success rate was zero, the death rate was not low. As long as it wasn't a special identity or a large-scale riot, the prison guards and security system would not intervene. Fights like this happened on average once a month. For the prisoners, it was a sort of spice in their monotonous life in prison.

However, the main attraction for them wasn't the fight itself, which wasn't particularly interesting. They were more eager to see something else. For instance, how a seemingly fragile young man like Thomas would react when facing notorious killers. Would he cry and wail? Beg on his knees? Or offer himself in desperation? The struggle of the weak in the face of death always brought them a perverse sense of pleasure.

Unfortunately for them, their hopes were about to be dashed this time.

"You can't kill me..." After a brief moment of contemplation, Thomas revealed a confident smile.

"Can't kill you?" The two prisoners looked at each other as if they had heard a hilarious joke, incredulously rubbing their ears. "Kid, who do you think you are? I can crush your head with just one hand. What makes you so confident to say that?"

"Just because of him!" Thomas said with a smile, casually pointing his finger in a direction.

Everyone followed where Thomas was pointing and saw the bald man, looking rather displeased. At that moment, the whole place fell silent.