Chapter 151

In the silent estate, the fireplace crackled, and light rain tapped against the glass; the faint sound vanished into the dim lighting within the room.

The soft rustle of turning pages filled the air as Schiler sat on the sofa before the fireplace, reading; in this slow-paced era, the time between sunset and bedtime always felt endless, and as he held the book, the world before his eyes swayed among the words, gradually blurring—just as drowsiness rose, a sharp telephone ring jolted him awake.

Schiler sat still, closed his eyes for a moment, removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then slowly rose, walked to the side of the stairs, picked up the receiver from the cabinet, and held it to his ear.

"Fish Mooney is dead."

On the other end of the line, Gordon's voice boomed like thunder.

Schiler pressed his hand to his forehead, leaning against the cabinet, and said, "Who?"

"The boss of the Mooney gang, ruler of the Living Hell."

"And?"

"... need your help, Professor."

Schiler glanced at the pitch-black sky outside; he was about to refuse when Gordon said, "Batman found the crime scene. When we arrived, Fish was already dead. After documenting everything, we brought her body back for autopsy—and with it, a witness. The witness is in poor mental condition, possibly suffering from some psychiatric disorder. We truly need your help."

Schiler hung up the phone, sighed, pulled on his coat, took his umbrella, and left the warm, quiet estate, stepping into Gotham's dark rain-soaked night.

At the front of the old police station, only a small bulb hung above the entrance porch; through its glow, the falling rainlines were visible.

Schiler climbed the steps, slick with puddles, and looked up to see Gordon straining to open the wooden door chained with iron links.

Schiler closed his umbrella; Gordon walked over and said, "Thank heaven, you came just in time."

"Next time there's an emergency..." Schiler shook the umbrella vigorously, as if venting frustration, "don't call me. Wait until morning."

Gordon followed his motion, his gaze falling on the umbrella. He turned his head to examine it closely, then said, "What happened to your umbrella? Didn't you say it was high quality?"

"It was. But even the best things break—and when they do, there's nowhere to fix them."

Schiler stowed the umbrella and walked straight into the station. Gordon followed behind and said, "That guy in the suit showed up in the Living Hell in the middle of the night—and stumbled onto a murder."

Gordon quickened his pace, stepping ahead to lead Schiler, speaking rapidly: "Fish Mooney was the original crime lord of the Living Hell. Since the district's redevelopment, many other East End bosses have moved in, carving up Mooney's territory."

"Fish had a violent temper—seemed like a sadist too."

"She's dead now, so no need to describe her symptoms. Tell me about the living—the witness?"

"I'm about to take you there..." Gordon led Schiler down a long corridor and stopped at the room at the very end. A young officer stepped out and said to Gordon, "That kid really seems mentally off—I swear I didn't touch him, but he..."

"Alright, alright." Gordon patted the young officer's shoulder. "I trust you. You're not the violent type. Let's go in and see."

Gordon entered first. As Schiler stepped inside, he saw a familiar figure seated behind the interrogation table: Oswald Cobblepot.

He looked terrible—pale face, wet black hair plastered to his forehead, eyes sunken and vacant, limbs twitching, muttering incoherently.

He wasn't sitting on the chair; he crouched in the corner of the room. The young officer followed in and explained to Gordon: "We asked him to sit, but he refused. We didn't cuff him or use any force—he came in like this..."

Gordon understood why the young officer kept emphasizing they hadn't used violence; in Gotham Police Station, most officers weren't kind to suspects—getting beaten after arrest was normal.

Gordon had specifically ordered no violence against Cobblepot. The young officer, seeing Cobblepot's state, feared Gordon would misinterpret.

Gordon unlocked the iron door behind the interrogation table with his key. As he stepped inside, Cobblepot grew terrified. Schiler halted Gordon's advance and said, "He's suffering from acute stress disorder. Don't get closer yet..."

Schiler and Gordon stood two meters from Cobblepot. Schiler tilted his head, observing Cobblepot from the shadowed side, and realized Cobblepot was in the midst of an episode.

Gordon, however, observed from another angle. He turned to the young officer and asked, "You really didn't touch him? I see what looks like a wound on his neck."

The officer raised his hand. "I swear, we didn't even touch him! That wound must've been there before he arrived."

"The Heroic Martial God"

The officer spoke with certainty. Gordon frowned. Schiler turned to Gordon and said, "Have him leave. Too many people will prevent him from calming down."

After the young officer exited, Schiler said to Gordon, "This is acute stress disorder."

Schiler took half a step forward. Cobblepot recoiled wildly, screaming incoherently. Schiler stepped back and said to Gordon, "Again, symptoms: panic, hypervigilance—and..."

Schiler rubbed his chin. "It's more than that. Alongside hyperarousal, there appear to be other psychiatric disturbances..."

"Alright, it seems unlikely we'll get anything useful out of him."

"Not necessarily. But his symptoms require hospitalization. After treatment, he should regain normal cognition."

"How long will that take?"

"Are you in a hurry?" Schiler asked Gordon. "Fish Mooney may be a crime lord, but she's not even top-tier in Gotham. Who's pressuring you so hard?"

Gordon sighed. "This is complicated. Let Batman explain."

No sooner had he spoken than a sound came from behind them—Batman appeared from the shadows in the corner of the interrogation room.

"I'll state this upfront: I know you suspect I beat him, but I didn't."

Schiler turned to him. "Isn't that wound on him from when you subdued him?"

Batman shook his head. "When I found him at the crime scene, he was unconscious—and covered in injuries, clearly beaten recently."

Batman stepped inside the iron door, standing farther back, watching Cobblepot. "When I arrived, Fish was already dead. He lay unconscious nearby, his body riddled with bruises. There were no third parties present. I called you, Gordon, had you process the scene, then brought Fish's body and him here together."

"I think you should start from the beginning and tell me what happened," Schiler said, stepping out with the two. Gordon kept glancing back, looking almost sympathetic toward Cobblepot. "We're just leaving him here? That's not right. Shouldn't we take him to the hospital first?"

"For now, no one should approach him—it'll only trigger him further," Schiler said without turning. But Gordon still worried. "That kid doesn't look like he's even an adult. Doesn't he have family? They'll be frantic if he doesn't come home this late."

He called out twice, summoning the young officer smoking by the stairs. "Find out where this kid lives, who's in his family, and notify them he's safe. Oh—and don't mention his mental state. Say he got hurt in a street race and is now at the hospital..."

"Don't use 'street race' as an excuse," Schiler warned Gordon. "I know him—he's a student at the Living Hell Vocational School. He has a mother at home. He doesn't race."

"Then what? Fine, say he got drunk or high."

"He has no bad habits. Doesn't drink, doesn't do drugs, doesn't race, doesn't fight—not even a smoker."

Gordon's eyes widened. He looked from Cobblepot to Schiler, astonished. "No smoking, no drinking, no drugs, no racing, no fighting? No bad habits at all? You're sure he's from Gotham? That's strange..." Gordon crossed his arms, baffled. "There are people like this in Gotham? I've lived here for years and never seen one."

He grew even more sympathetic, lingering at the door, staring back repeatedly. Schiler said to Gordon, "I remember last time I came here, I saw a cleaning lady. Send her here—someone around his mother's age might help lower his guard."

You mean Mrs. Mona? Alright, she hasn't left yet. I'll send her over—at least get him changed into some new clothes first.

After the three left, they went to Gordon's office. Gordon and Schiler sat facing each other; Batman stood in the shadow by the window.

Schiler poured himself a cup of hot water and said, "You should start from the beginning. What exactly happened?"

He turned to Batman. "Why were you in the Living Hell?"

Then he turned back to Gordon. "And how did Fish die? Why are you so desperate to solve this case?"

Gordon spoke first. He sighed. "I'll start with what I know. It begins with the redevelopment of the Living Hell district..."

"We all know the newly redeveloped Living Hell is like a delicious pie—everyone wants a slice. Though the Mooney gang once ruled it with an iron fist, the East End has plenty of tough players. Just on Elizabeth Street alone, there are several powerful figures close enough to the Living Hell to seize the advantage."

"As the original owners of the Living Hell, the Mooney gang wanted to hold onto it—but they knew they couldn't do it alone."

"So Fish ceded part of her territory to these outside bosses, allowing them to occupy parts of the North Zone. But these crime lords were insatiable crocodiles—they kept pressuring Fish step by step. Eventually, the entire North Zone and half the South Zone were seized by outsiders. Fish was nearly driven mad..."