Chapter 2048

Jason was left feeling unsettled by Schiller's last words before going ashore, because he remembered an argument he had with Batman a long time ago, which was still about their different attitudes toward criminals.

"I will become the embodiment of fear in Gotham. Fear is like a noose tightened around the necks of all criminals, allowing them to maintain a balance without daring to act rashly."

"Then why not just kill them?" Jason remembered asking angrily: "Make them bleed, make them pay the price, use it to warn those who come after, so they don't commit crimes again."

"Perhaps that could solve part of the problem." Batman rarely explained more, saying: "But it can't solve everything, because there are always people in this world who aren't afraid of death."

Jason recalled the attitude Batman had when he said this. He seemed to separate death from fear, but they should actually be one and the same. Who wouldn't be afraid of death?

Schiller stepped off the boat first and set foot on the level ground. This place had clearly been artificially repaired. Through the slightly murky sea surface, Schiller guessed that a Bat-submarine should be docked beneath the island.

Jason followed closely behind, stepping onto the slightly damp morning soil, walking through a patch of wild grass, crossing discarded wooden boards and dead wood lying on the ground, heading toward the only small cabin on the island.

Fortunately, the area in front of the house's door was no longer so messy. In front was a small garden, hanging some signs that had faded to the point where the text was illegible. Walking up the steps of the porch and pushing open the sky-blue door, the interior furnishings were quite comfortable and cozy.

The floor was naturally dark red pine, covered with a deep blue threshold printed with a welcome slogan. On the right was a marble fireplace embellished with gold metal plates, and on the left was a hall with a semi-enclosed floor-to-ceiling window.

In the center of the hall was a white rug with tassels, on which sat a soft sofa with flower-shaped backrests and an armchair printed with small dark green floral patterns. The plants were mostly tall ferns, planted in white polygonal flower pots.

Crossing the screen wall, the other side was the dining room and kitchen. The light green and camel-colored cabinets and wall cupboards were arranged neatly, and the pots, bowls, and pans were mostly made of common transparent glass and porcelain printed with mimosa leaves.

Pushing open the door at the end of the kitchen was the stairwell. Behind a small door on the side was the laundry room. The stairs were still made of red pine, with gold spherical decorations engraved with patterns installed on the handrails.

Walking up the stairs, upon entering the second floor, there was a hallway. On the right was the master bedroom, on the left was the study, and moving forward was the second-floor terrace, where an egg-shaped hanging chair was placed.

The master bedroom had a bathroom, and the side of the study also had a bathroom. Returning to the stairs and going up again was the attic. The entire attic was furnished with a single bed and a chest of drawers. On the left side was a balcony, and on the right was another laundry room.

Jason walked around the house and didn't find any listening devices, but he didn't believe Batman would be so negligent. Either he had upgraded his technology and placed invisible surveillance, or they were still carrying other surveillance equipment on their bodies.

When Jason went downstairs, he found that Schiller was adding firewood to the fireplace. The burning flames made him feel a bit hot in his suit of armor.

He wasn't very comfortable with his armor, which had been touched by Batman, so he simply walked into the laundry room next to the stairwell, took off all his clothes except for his undershirt, threw the armor out the window, and threw the fabric clothes into the washing machine.

This place was clearly maintained by someone year-round; there were no problems with water or electricity. Jason even found a bag of fresh, un-clumped laundry detergent and poured some into the washing machine.

He walked out with the laundry basket and asked: "Do you need to wash any clothes?"

"I think I do." Schiller in front of the fireplace nodded, looked at his cuffs stained with dust, and then looked at Jason's laundry basket and said: "Have you already started the washing machine? Then I'm afraid I'll have to wait a moment."

Jason went back without saying a word.

Jason went upstairs along the stairwell. He had seen things in the master bedroom closet earlier. After walking over, he found that there was indeed a large box there, filled with all kinds of clothes.

He held them up against himself to measure, finding the sizes were reasonably appropriate, but he didn't find any clothing in the same style as Schiller's. Well, he would have to fend for himself.

Jason changed into a hoodie, pulled the drawstrings of the hood tight, and put a baseball cap on his head, but then took it off. He looked at the environment of the master bedroom and finally chose to move the box to the attic.

When he went downstairs, he found that Schiller was already sitting at the coffee table writing something, so he stood at the entrance of the stairwell and asked: "Which room are you staying in?"

"Either is fine. Have you already decided?"

Jason frowned, feeling very repulsed. He had never liked people talking to him in that "I have completely seen through you" tone.

"Yes, I'm staying in the attic," Jason said in a stiff tone.

"Then you can go upstairs and rest for a while. Someone will be here to deliver food for us soon."

Jason stood where he was, staring at Schiller. He asked: "What are we going to do?"

Schiller was still focused on writing. After hearing this question, he paused for a moment before looking up at Jason and saying: "What?"

"I mean, what are we going to do here? You, Batman, and all of them brought me here—what do you want me to do here?"

"Are you expecting a psychotherapy session?"

"I'm not expecting..."

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait a moment. I have some thoughts I want to organize. If you don't mind, I'll call you before dinner."

Jason sighed, then took another deep breath, filling his chest, and said: "I can't take it anymore. Can't you just give it to me straight? Is guessing back and forth fun? Why are you all like this?"

"You haven't talked to anyone else in a long time, have you?" Schiller looked up at him again, but quickly lowered his head to write while saying: "That's why your desire to express yourself is so unusually strong. You are just hoping someone can have a good chat with you."

"However, excessive anxiety is not conducive to conversation. I can give you some sedatives; plenty of sleep will make you feel better."

"Stop changing the subject!" Jason said loudly: "Tell me what you're going to do, or I'm leaving!"

"I don't want to lie to you, Jason." Schiller finally put down his pen, rested his hands on his knees, and looked at Jason, saying: "I am doing some research. It is research I am conducting together with Batman. We have reached a deal."

"Huh? Batman sold me to you?"

"Not you." Schiller shook his head.

Jason was even more surprised, but Schiller stopped talking. When he picked up his pen again, he only said: "I think you've already realized that this is a very serious and important matter, and the focus is not on you."

"I hope you won't disturb me while I'm working. At other times, I will try my best to answer your questions."

Jason stood silently for a while, went upstairs along the stairwell, returned to the attic, and sat on the bed. Feeling his whole body's muscles aching and unable to sleep, he wanted to get up and move around.

On the way to the balcony, he happened to see a mirror on the wall. Jason turned his head and found that the scars on his face had faded a bit. It seemed the treatment from that strange symbiote was working.

"This will force Batman into a dilemma." Poison Ivy extended two fingers, folded one down, and said: "Either endure the Joker living in his own body, or kill the innocent souls within the Joker virus-infected individuals to let the Joker be resurrected in someone else."

That must be the boat delivering ingredients, Jason thought, so he didn't pay much attention and continued to check the scars on his body. The small boat stopped at the dock, and Jason saw a figure get off, who didn't look like an acquaintance.

Moving closer to the window, Jason discovered that it seemed to be Peter Parker, who was moving some insulated boxes off the boat with surprisingly nimble movements, showing that his strength was astonishingly great.

Because he wanted to know Peter's specific strength data, Jason simply walked to the side of the curtain, used the wall to hide his body, and leaned out to look.

After Peter moved several large insulated boxes, Schiller walked out, but he had no intention of helping Peter move the ingredients; instead, he stepped back onto the small boat.

Jason saw Schiller drag a black trash can out of the small boat—the kind of public trash can often placed on streets, usually black or dark green, with a lid that had raised stripes.

Jason discovered that the things in that box were definitely not light, and Schiller's strength was also astonishingly great. He estimated in his mind, and then discovered that Schiller would definitely find his own words about taking him down in three seconds ridiculous.

Although it wasn't as easy as he imagined, Jason felt that the two of them should be considered evenly matched. After all, his weight class was there, and it wouldn't be that easy for the other party to subdue him.

Then Jason felt a bit strange. What kind of ingredients would be put in a trash can and transported over with other insulated boxes? Judging from Schiller's attire, he wasn't the type of person to be so careless.

Peter carried those insulated boxes, while Schiller pushed that large trash can, but they didn't head toward the front door; instead, they went around to the back of the house. Jason had discovered before entering the house that there was a door leading to the basement there.

Jason, standing at the windowsill watching the two go around the corner, narrowed his eyes. The refrigerator and freezer were clearly in the kitchen on the first floor, and water and electricity were ready to use. Why did they have to move things to the basement first?

Jason immediately became alert. He ran down from the attic, came to the second floor, crossed the hallway to the second-floor terrace; this direction offered a view of the basement door.

Unfortunately, it took him a little time to run over, and Peter had already walked out. Jason watched helplessly as he hung a large lock on the basement door.

The basement had two doors in total: one leading directly outside, and one leading directly into the first floor, right on the other side of the first-floor stairwell. If the outside door was sealed, one had to go to the first floor to enter the basement.

But his room was in the attic, so Schiller's room must be on the second floor. To get to the first floor, he would definitely have to pass through Schiller's room.

It seemed he had made a wrong decision, Jason thought. Perhaps this decision wasn't even made by him, but was made only after he had been guided by Schiller.

Then the question arose: Schiller moved the ingredients into the basement, locked the outside door of the basement, and also blocked Jason's path to the basement. What was he planning to do in the basement?

Jason hesitated for a moment. He felt that Schiller shouldn't be returning to the first floor so quickly, so he ran down.

Before he could even reach the door to the basement, Jason saw the paper Schiller had just been writing and drawing on being blown by the wind on the tabletop, with the corners drifting to the other side of the coffee table.

Jason slowed his pace and walked over slowly. Only after getting a little closer did he discover that there was no text written on it, just a drawing.

It was a human anatomical diagram.

Jason looked up, and Schiller was standing by the door watching him.