Chapter 2 Brett's Redemption
Concurrently, a specific area within the base functions as the primary control center. Here, all footage captured by the numerous surveillance cameras installed throughout the base is compiled.
Despite the lateness of the hour, several marines remained on duty in the monitoring room, stifling yawns as they monitored the feeds to avert any unforeseen incidents.
Suddenly, an unanticipated event occurred.
"What is happening? What is wrong with that fish man? "
An exclamation shattered the silence.
The previously drowsy marines instantly became alert and gathered behind the navy member who had spoken.
The marine gestured to the monitor and explained, "He seemed a bit uneasy earlier. I noticed him exercising just now before he suddenly collapsed. "
"Is he ill? "
Some speculated.
"Could it be an act? " questioned a certain navy officer with skepticism.
"It doesn't seem to be the case. He glanced at the camera, yet it appeared he had no intention of signaling for assistance," replied another.
"This individual has been quite calm over the past few months. He should understand the implications of inciting disorder. Fish men may sound formidable, but they are merely an inferior species. How could he possibly oppose the government? " remarked a marine in a relaxed manner.
"Indeed. We should send someone to investigate. The doctor will ensure he has no serious issues. "
"I'll contact someone immediately. "
On the monitor, Brett appeared to have lost consciousness, motionless. If his chest had not continued to rise and fall, he would have resembled a lifeless body.
Brett lay silently on the cold ground, yet his body felt as hot as fire.
His heart raced vigorously, powerfully circulating blood throughout his body.
Despite the thrilling moment, his demeanor remained remarkably calm.
Naturally, he was not unwell, nor had Vegapunk subjected him to any dreadful experiments; he had merely drawn blood and obtained some skin tissue and hair. For their genetic studies, these samples were quite sufficient.
His current appearance was merely a ruse.
He had endured this state for three months in anticipation of this precise moment.
This tactic might be considered old-fashioned and rather simplistic, but it promised to be effective.
It was impossible to render the navy completely relaxed and defenseless against him. However, it was sufficient to reduce their alertness from its peak.
Even diminishing their vigilance from one hundred to ninety-nine was worthwhile.
Squeak.
Brett heard the heavy metal door creak open.
The arrival was prompt, suggesting that they likely did not take the time to consult the medical department for a physician.
This was very encouraging news.
The moment he had been awaiting had finally arrived.
The intense nervousness and excitement heightened his adrenaline production, yet at this juncture, Bright experienced an unparalleled sense of tranquility.
Footsteps echoed.
One, two, three—
Are seven individuals arriving?
Four individuals paused at the entrance, and merely three advanced.
boom.
Brett experienced a forceful impact on his arm.
It stung slightly.
His hair was then roughly seized, his head was yanked upward, and his right eye was forcibly opened.
Brett made a concerted effort to keep his pupils steady so that they did not quiver at all.
Since there was no physician present, he felt unconcerned.
"What do the pupils of the fish-man appear like? Is this typical? "
An impatient voice inquired.
"I am unsure, but he is unmoving. It appears he has lost consciousness," another voice replied.
It appears that the three months of feigned behavior have been fruitful.
"It is indeed going to create issues for others. You are sleeping deeply! Cursed fishman, why don't you just leave him be and let him perish? You would no longer have to endure the stench of fish. " Another voice remarked.
"Do not utter foolish statements. He is a crucial experimental subject for the doctor. He cannot die, regardless of your fate. In summary, place him on a stretcher and transport him to the medical department promptly," the individual referred to as the captain reprimanded.
"Blast it, the fishman reeks. You won't contract any diseases by coming into contact with him."
"Am I not requesting you to wear gloves then? "
Brett overheard several Marines conversing before he was hoisted and unceremoniously placed onto a stretcher.
"This Fish is truly heavy! We need two more people to assist. "
Two of the four Marines stationed at the door approached, and the four of them collectively lifted Brett, making him feel as though he was being elevated into the air.
Then, he was finally in motion outside the cell.
Brett was mentally calculating.
The Marines started to turn, and they had already exited the cell door. There appeared to be multiple Marines at the entrance, and they were leading the way.
Ah, four?
Thus, the total number of individuals is eleven?
A patrol unit?
One could faintly hear the sound of metal clashing. They are armed. Indeed, their vigilance has not diminished.
But that was sufficient; it was sufficient that the genuine senior officers of the Science Force were not present.
The Marines engaged in conversation, and Brett tensed.
Turn left.
Then, turn right.
Proceed straight ahead.
Turn right once again.
Then, this must be the location.
The base's bathhouse is one of the few areas within the base that lacks surveillance cameras owing to privacy concerns.
The recollection of when he was taken to the medical department for a health examination was finally applicable now.
One final assessment, there are eleven adversaries in total. The four leading and the two following must be armed.
The four individuals supporting the stretcher should not be able to free their hands.
Thus, the foremost individual of significance is the navy captain accompanying him.
Based on previous assessments, the commander of each surveillance team is required to possess a communication device for alerts and coordination. Activating it prompts the entire naval force stationed at the base to respond.
Therefore—
"Cough cough cough cough! "
Brett abruptly reopened his eyes, his body convulsed, and he started to cough intensely, accompanied by involuntary head movements.
His sudden actions caused the four marines who were carrying the stretcher to jolt.
"What occurred? "
The navy captain, characterized by a thick beard, approached with a furrowed brow, "Hey, fishman, what ails you? "
"Um? "
The navy captain was momentarily taken aback. He observed Brett's menacing countenance transforming abruptly to calm.
Uh-oh!
The captain's expression began to shift.
Yet, he remained silent. Bright's powerful left hand had clamped down on his neck.
"Fishman Karate—! "
The muscles in Brett's left hand expanded, and his fingers felt as rigid as steel, embedding themselves into the captain's neck.
Throughout his eleven years on Fishman Street and the subsequent three years with the Sun Pirates, he had not only maintained his physical fitness but also honed his combat abilities.
The navy captain was rendered mute due to the strangulation, his muscles and bones contorted, producing a disconcerting creaking noise.
"Captain! ! "
One of the marines carrying the stretcher shouted.
Following a brief moment of shock, the six armed marines realized their duty and elevated their firearms.
Brett, being exceptionally muscular, did not require precision at such close range, nor could the navy captain prevent him from aiming his weapon.
Nevertheless, he lacked immunity to projectiles. Thus, he propelled himself off the stretcher, raised the navy captain high with his left arm, and subsequently hurled him to the four sailors in front of him.
In a manner reminiscent of a bowling strike, the four marines were launched away, tumbling to the ground like scattered gourds.
Initially restrained by handcuffs and shackles, Brett had been limited from executing such forceful maneuvers.
However, at the moment of his leap, the chains binding his cuffs and shackles fractured simultaneously.
A marine, previously carrying the stretcher yet now fallen to the ground from Brett's upheaval, gazed at the unfolding scene in astonishment.
Those were chains composed of a specialized alloy! Even giants struggle to break free!
A joyful grin appeared on Brett's face.
Thus, it was not yesterday, nor the day before yesterday, but today!
Do not underestimate the strength of a shark's teeth!
During the night, when the lights were extinguished, he would quietly curl up without disturbing anyone. He spent three months gradually filing his teeth, honing a total of one hundred and seven sets, ultimately liberating himself from the physical constraints.
Drops of water trickled from Brett's hands, which he casually flicked away.
"Water bullets. "
In the following moment, the two marines positioned behind were struck directly, eliciting a backward motion from their bodies.
A perforation appeared in their chests, resembling wounds inflicted by a high-caliber firearm.
Brett descended, employing the strength of his legs to propel himself forward.
The sailors who had recently been knocked aside by the navy captain lacked the time to regain their footing, as massive fists were rapidly approaching them.
Bang bang bang bang.
After slightly adjusting his position, Brett turned around, observing the four marines who initially were responsible for carrying the stretcher as they drew their weapons.
Their hands shook, and they even faltered while loading their firearms.
This was due to their fear.
They were finally not as arrogant as they had been previously.
"Watet bullets. "