Attempting the Psionic Link
To prevent any accidents, Luke prepared thoroughly. He not only set up a strict defense mechanism in the base but also had Carol wear the Phantom Armor.
"Be careful," he warned.
Carol nodded. She walked up to the metal sphere, extending her right hand, which wore the Original Lantern Ring, and placed it on the sphere's surface.
The Power of Emotion began to seep inside. The metal sphere let out a low, humming sound. Luke's face tensed. After a moment, he relaxed slightly when the sphere showed no further reaction beyond trembling.
"Ava, what's the status?"
"Brainwaves are stable, heart rate is normal. No abnormalities detected."
Luke stayed silent, standing by and watching quietly.
The Torture of Hal Jordan
Hal Jordan felt like he was about to collapse. His physical strength was nearly spent, and his vision was blurry. He had been relentlessly hunted for a full eleven hours, starting at six that morning, like a bull being surrounded by hyenas.
Yes, hyenas.
The Young Master's Gang was a pack of hyenas. They tortured him brutally. Several times, Hal had given up resistance, but those bastards wouldn't strike the final blow. They would leave with strange, mocking smiles, sometimes even leaving food and water to continue their savage hunting game.
Damn them!
Hal punched a wall, his teeth gritted in hatred, but his eyes revealed a deep despair.
The constant threat of death tormented him. His body was broken, and his mind was barely holding on. He even considered suicide.
"Rather than being toyed with by them, I should just kill myself and end it all."
Hal pulled a dagger from his pocket. He'd snatched it from a limping gang member. The blade was pitch-black, but the edge was snow-white, clearly a high-quality weapon.
Hal pressed the dagger against his neck. With just a slight slice, blood would erupt like a fountain.
"That scene would be ugly," he muttered to himself. He was silent for a few seconds before tossing the dagger aside.
"What a waste. Why didn't you stab yourself?"
A familiar voice came from behind. Hal was jolted as if by lightning. He quickly looked back. In the silvery-gray moonlight, a lean figure stood in the doorway.
It was none other than Dio Clay, one of the three major leaders of the Young Master's Gang—the one who terrified him the most.
Hal instinctively grabbed the dagger, tensing every muscle, ready to fight with everything he had left.
Dio lit a cigarette. After taking a long drag, he tossed it on the ground, stripped off his jacket, and flicked his wrist. Two surgical scalpels dropped into his palms. The scalpels were silver-white, their blades mirror-smooth and brighter than the moonlight.
"Pray. Pray to your most beloved God that I don't sever your carotid artery."
Half an hour later, Dio dragged the blood-soaked Hal out of the town. Blood oozed from Hal's numerous wounds, leaving a long, red trail on the road.
Tony walked over, circled Hal, and clicked his tongue.
"72 cuts and he's still alive. You knife-wielding pervert, your technique is getting sick."
Wang Hu buzzed, "Why didn't you just kill him?"
Dio gave the 'Vietnamese kid' a cold glance and replied indifferently, "The Young Master said to leave him with one breath."
"What's the boss plotting now?"
"Go ask him yourself!"
With that, Dio dragged Hal to where Danny stood, covered in bandages, and stepped aside.
Danny didn't ask Luke the reason for the order. He simply pulled out his own dagger and cut off four of Hal Jordan's fingers. Then he nodded to Dio and turned to leave.
Gangs have their own rules. Luke said to spare his life, but that didn't mean Hal Jordan could leave unharmed. Some actions demand a price.
Among everyone who had crossed the Young Master's Gang, Hal's outcome was considered relatively fortunate.
A Failed Negotiation
Back in the underground base, Carol finally woke up after waiting for two hours.
"How was it? Are you okay?" Luke asked.
Carol shook her head, her face etched with deep fatigue.
"She told me many things. Too many. My head is throbbing badly. I need to rest for a while."
Luke frowned. "She?"
The girl nodded, looking at the metal sphere.
"Yes, she. Also known as The Defender. She is a single-unit cosmic warship researched by Zamaron scientists for the elite warriors of the Green Lantern Corps..."
She couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. Her eyelids dropped, and she fell into a deep sleep on the sofa.
Luke covered her with a blanket and sat watching the metal sphere intently.
He had clearly heard Carol refer to the metal sphere as "she" instead of "it." Both are third-person words, but they carry a fundamental difference in meaning.
Does this thing have a gender?
Luke stroked his chin, then walked up to the metal sphere and spoke.
"You can hear me, right?"
"..."
"Do you want to talk to me?"
"..."
After a long silence, Luke decided to try a different approach. He placed his hand, engulfed in green flame, onto the sphere's wall. The anticipated reaction didn't occur; the metal sphere remained unchanged, unaffected by the green flame's corrosion.
"It possesses the intelligence of a sentient being but lacks the corresponding soul," Luke muttered to himself.
"That is truly strange."
Luke grew more curious.
All the technology he had encountered was based on computers. Everything revolved around data. Psionic technology, however, was an entirely different operating model.
If he could integrate this technology into the creation of Phantom-3, the results would be incredible.
Carol didn't rest for long. She woke up after only forty minutes. Luke handed her a glass of mango juice.
"Well?"
The girl shook her head, her expression serious. "She recognizes me as the future Queen of Zamaron, but she won't grant me full access until I ascend the throne."
"So, that means you can't use her to track Villian right now."
"That's right."
"That's a problem."
Luke frowned, then asked, "Is there any way to forcefully hack into it?"
"It's simply impossible," Carol sighed. "Zamaron's psionic technology has tens of thousands of years of development. It's too comprehensive and perfected to be easily breached."
"It seems there is only one option left."
Luke shrugged. He retrieved a mechanical gun resembling a longsword from the warehouse. He turned on the power. The barrel emitted a large stream of blue particles. The particles accelerated and vibrated, transforming into a brilliant blue light blade under the control of a magnetic field.
Carol's eyes widened. "Is that... a High-Frequency Particle Blade?"
"You're observant," Luke smiled. He gripped the handle and walked toward the metal sphere. "I intended to keep you intact, but I'm afraid I have no choice."
The metal sphere seemed to detect the danger. Vague energy ripples surfaced on its exterior, but against the indestructible High-Frequency Particle Blade, this defense was no different from tofu.
The particle blade plunged into the sphere's wall. Under Luke's control, it sliced open a two-meter-high doorway.
Luke kicked open the improvised "iron door" and stepped inside.
The interior was completely different from what he had imagined. It was very spacious, containing only one piece of furniture that looked like an electro-shock chair and a bed that didn't look comfortable.
The chair was in the center, and the bed was tucked into a corner.
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