Chapter 1417

In Schiller's office at the New Arkham Psychiatric Hospital, Schiller took a bottle of sherry and two wine glasses from the liquor cabinet. He placed the wine glasses in front of Victor. While pouring the wine, he asked: "Has Nora recovered? How is her condition?"

"Didn't you already... oh, yesterday that wasn't you, your other personality?" Victor picked up the wine glass and blinked, then said: "No wonder, when we were at the Gotham University laboratory, you had already called my wife 'Nora', but your first reaction yesterday was actually to call her 'Mrs. Fries'."

"Sorry, the other me isn't familiar with you all. He might have forgotten that Nora doesn't like being called Mrs. Fries."

Victor smiled, shook his head, and said: "It doesn't matter. That's just because Nora really doesn't like being viewed as someone else's accessory. She is indeed not just Mrs. Fries, but also an equally excellent cryogenics scientist and a good teacher."

"Actually, I went to see a friend yesterday." Schiller picked up the wine glass, leaned against the armrest of the sofa on one side, and said: "You know, through the Dream World."

"The other me got a precious experimental sample. That friend of mine is currently researching it intensely. He has obtained some research results. Do you want to see them?"

After finishing, Schiller stood up and walked toward his desk, took out a piece of paper from the desk, and handed it to Victor. Victor took the paper, glanced at it, and then frowned.

There were actually no complex data on that piece of paper. Eighty percent of the paper was blank. Only in the very center were a few lines of words written. Similarly, there were no numbers, and not even any symbols. There was only a pile of peculiar referents and annotations.

"Is this a string of codes?" Victor stared at those lines of words and said: "They could be deciphered into something else. No, that's not right. Since your friend gave it to you, there's no need to set a code."

"But from the form of expression, this doesn't look like any research data. Whether it's mathematics, physics, or chemistry, experimental data is very rigorous and precise; it's impossible to be this brief. The only things that can be this brief are... formulas?"

Victor's tone seemed a bit uncertain. He held the paper in one hand and touched his chin with the other, saying: "This looks a bit like an equation, but it's incomplete. And the marks referred to on this, I can't understand at all. It's not any kind of existing mathematical symbol."

Victor thought for a moment, placed the paper on the desktop, looked into Schiller's eyes, and said: "I don't know if you have heard of such a theory: puzzles that humans have been unable to crack so far, including uncalculatable chemical reactions, mathematical laws, and physical principles, actually all have formulas; it's just that humans are currently unable to summarize them."

"On this basis, there is an even more extreme theory: all formulas that humans are currently unable to summarize can actually be attributed to one formula, called the 'Universal Truth'."

"I completely disagree with this idea." Victor shook his head, emphasized his tone, and said: "I would suggest people who say this to believe in God, because this is completely obliterating the possibility of scientific exploration."

"If humans pursued the only Universal Truth from the very beginning, then it would be impossible to have the flourishing scientific community of today. It is precisely because we are uncertain about how many paths lie ahead during the process of exploration, and even uncertain about whether there is a path ahead, that humans can open up new possibilities for science at those wonderful coincidental intersections."

Schiller nodded and said: "Yes, from the perspective of psychology, if an intelligent species were born knowing that all problems in the world have the same standard answer, then I'm afraid it would be very difficult for them to develop a colorful civilization. Uncertainty is the greatest charm of humans, and exploration is an indispensable part of science."

"And what I want to say is." Victor continued: "That friend of yours might be exploring formulas unknown to humans. There are also many scholars currently doing this, but forgive me for speaking bluntly, this is not work that can be completed in a day, or perhaps even in a generation."

"What if this person is Batman?"

The hand Victor used to hold the wine glass stiffened. He reached out quickly to take the paper back, narrowed his eyes, and carefully examined that equation. After a long while, he said: "If this is Batman's achievement, then I am willing to believe that this formula has a certain degree of credibility, but I need time to have any possibility of seeing a clue."

Victor slowly put the paper down again, frowned, and said: "This doesn't conform to any knowledge system I know. If it is to be verified, I'm afraid it will take decades."

"But you have another Batman." Schiller reminded him.

Victor's eyes suddenly lit up. He waved his other hand and said: "That's right, I have another Batman! Wait, this formula actually wasn't made by the Batman of our world?"

Schiller nodded. Victor put down the wine glass, stood up from the sofa, and said: "What you said makes sense. Only Batman can understand Batman, and he is currently my graduate student. I will go find him now; the group meeting will be held three days early!"

After finishing, Victor took the paper and ran out in a hurry. After he left, Schiller made a phone call to summon a nurse and asked: "Which ward is Roman Sionis currently in? His trial should have ended, right?"

The nurse nodded. Schiller stood up, straightened the hem of his suit, gently brushed the dust off his cuffs, and said: "Lead the way."

Two minutes later, Roman sat expressionless opposite Schiller. He snorted and said: "Didn't you say you transferred me to Dr. Brand? Didn't you say yesterday was the last time I would see you?"

"Yesterday was indeed the last time you saw him." Schiller leaned back in his chair, placed his hands on the armrests, and said: "But I hope you won't turn today into the last time you see me."

"What do you mean?" Roman stood up irritably and said: "Are you going to transfer me twice? Are you just here to humiliate me?!"

"I mean, if you don't sit back in the chair now, this might be the last time you see this world."

Roman felt as if he had been doused with a basin of ice water. He looked into Schiller's eyes, where there was only coldness and mockery. Schiller said in a very calm tone: "Even in the most formal psychiatric hospital, it's hard to avoid accidents where patients go crazy and hurt themselves, isn't it?"

"You want to kill me?!"

"Not me." Schiller remained sitting calmly in place, hands folded in front of him, looking at Roman and saying: "Haven't you noticed your security guards often read newspapers?"

Roman froze in the center of the room, not knowing what Schiller was going to say. Schiller lowered his eyes and said: "Your security guard was once the notorious Ripper of Nevada. The nurse who brought me in is known as the Heart-Stealing Demon in her hometown of Ontario. The cleaner who cleans your room lost his previous job because he raped a corpse while cleaning in the morgue. The gardener who greets you every day while passing your window has used gardening shears to cut off the heads of at least twenty people."

Roman opened his mouth slightly, both corners of his mouth drooping, but his eyeballs seemed about to pop out. Seeing Schiller's serious expression and focused gaze, his face began to turn paler and paler.

"Serial killers with poor academic levels have all been locked in the Florence Supermax Prison. Those who no one could catch have all come here. It's overcrowded, sir."

Schiller sighed lightly, changed his posture slightly, and then said: "Yesterday, the nurse asked me if I wanted to give you some 'special treatment'. Did you think she meant giving you more medicine to keep you quiet?"

"She was just asking me if I wanted to give you a little more medicine before keeping you quiet forever, to let you suffer a little less."

Roman's teeth began to chatter because he recalled more details. The patient in the room next to his disappeared last week, and he smelled some blood in the middle of the night during sleep time, but saw nothing in the morning. And both the nurse and the security guard answered him that his neighbor had just been discharged.

"This is a hunting ground." Schiller's voice had a sense of nothingness, as if it came from a very far place.

"Batman has established a hunting ground for all serial killers. This is the supreme hall for all serial murderers. All contestants who can escape capture and find a way in get a ticket to enter the Hall of Fame."

"There are only hunters here, no prey. Everyone, including me, follows a killing rule that only we know ourselves. All we have to do is survive, or start a killing hunt for our own interests."

"Now tell me, Mr. Sionis, what is your killing rule?"

Roman trembled all over. He fell back into the chair, hugged his arms, shook his head, and said: "I don't know what you're talking about. What is going on here?"

When he looked into Schiller's eyes, the cold calmness in Schiller's eyes made him feel a bit calmer. So he asked with trembling lips: "What, what is a killing rule?"

"Under what circumstances will you kill?"

"I..." Roman took a few deep breaths and exhaled. The chaotic thoughts made him unable to answer this question.

"Let me change the question. Under what circumstances will you be so angry that you want to kill?"

Roman looked up at Schiller. After about ten seconds, he answered: "When others ignore me."

Schiller nodded and said: "Then, remember this point: when others ignore you, go kill them."

"Are you instigating me to kill?" Roman asked incredulously.

"I'm just telling you the rules here. If you don't do this, others will understand that you are prey, not a hunter."

"But how do they know what rules I follow?"

"Then never let them know."

Schiller stood up. And when he walked to the door, Roman suddenly rushed over and grabbed the railing, looking at his back and asking: "Then what is your rule? What would you kill for?"

"I'm just an ordinary person. I don't kill."

After finishing, Schiller pushed the door open and walked out. He looked left and right in the corridor. After hearing a series of familiar footsteps belonging to Mrs. Miller, he reopened the door and returned to the room. He didn't leave again until the footsteps disappeared.

In Victor's laboratory, Bruce looked up at Victor's face and said: "You mean you want me to crack this... formula?"

Bruce continued to lower his head to look at that string of ghost-drawn symbols, an absurd expression appearing on his face. Victor stared at him with bright eyes and said: "Of course, one week should be enough, right?"

"I..."

At this time, the door was knocked. Victor turned his head and found his wife Nora standing outside the door. Just as Victor wanted to speak, Nora walked in, placed a stack of papers on the desktop, and looked at Bruce with a smile.

"I have finished reading the paper you submitted last week. Oh, Victor, you don't mind, right? I have a few points I want to discuss with Bruce, especially his views on the space application of dense ice. I think this is very forward-looking."

After finishing, Nora looked at Bruce and said: "I think you can explore this aspect in depth, first publish a paper in the journal 'Nature', and then I will help you contact NASA engineers."

"I don't have time to write a paper." Bruce said, frowning.

"Then what are you going to do?" Nora asked with some curiosity. Victor pulled his wife gently and said: "Aisha is going to elementary school; we haven't looked at the school yet."

"Oh, I see. Then I won't delay your time. You can take the child to look at the school now. Submit the first draft of the paper tomorrow afternoon, no problem, right?"

Bruce sat in place, looking at the expression of the Fries couple, feeling quite absurd, and also carrying a hint of confusion.

Being bothered by children, scolded by his father, having his bank card frozen, being dragged to work overtime, and now having to add being chased by a professor for a paper.

Is this the Batman life he dreamed of???

Classic reproduction.