Chapter 2289: Gotham Music Festival (Part 37)

"We have to find a way to make him return to normal, or at least stop him." After hearing the rules of the second round of the game, Natasha frowned and said, "No one will allow Schiller to suffer such serious injuries, even if he is willing."

"His mental illness has flared up, so someone must intervene." Bat-Bale also expressed this: "If a patient tells the people around him that I am happy to be like this, and everyone just lets him go, then there is no need for so many mental hospitals in this world."

Natasha looked at him and asked, "I saw an inhaler bottle in Schiller's hand. What do you think the medicine inside would be?"

"I'm not sure." Bat-Bale shook his head and said, "If, as you said, seasickness brings him considerable pain, and this makes his mental state extremely unstable, then this may be medicine to relieve seasickness, but it doesn't rule out that he really has respiratory problems, or it's simply used to expand the trachea and increase oxygen supply."

Natasha rubbed her forehead and said, "Either way, it's good for him, right?"

"Theoretically, that's the case. What do you want to do?"

"A cruise ship of this level must have all kinds of medicine. I want to find some to see if I can put them into his medicine bottle, at least let him stop and go to rest first."

"Can you dispense medicine?"

"I was a nurse and know how to prepare all kinds of simple injections, but I have almost no contact with inhalers. Can you?"

"Yes, I can, but I must return to the VIP room before the game starts. It would be too suspicious for both of us to disappear for so long."

"Believe me, you look like someone who can spend two hours in the bathroom with me."

Bat-Bale had a "here we go again" expression. Natasha walked toward the outside of the bathroom and said, "I'll go find medicine, you keep an eye on the gambling game. Once you find something wrong, intervene in time. I think you can experience the tension of the situation better than anyone else."

Bat-Bale watched her back and nodded. He could indeed see the undercurrents surging under the seemingly calm appearance.

Every Batman wouldn't allow such a thing to happen, so Bat-Bale walked back to the VIP room. He knew he couldn't let Schiller, who was in the onset period, be the fuse that ignited the bomb, otherwise the scene would be completely out of control.

On the other side, Natasha walked down the employee passage. She knew Stark must be on this route, and sure enough, she found the information Stark left in a break room for employees downstairs.

A note under the water dispenser read, "I went downstairs for something, ask someone else about that matter before."

Not too stupid, Natasha thought. If this wording was discovered, people would only think it was a communication between two employees.

Natasha understood the information Stark left for her. It probably meant that I went downstairs to find the ship's engine, and you stay above to catch a tongue and ask for information.

Natasha looked around and found that someone had used it a few minutes ago, which meant that many employees would come here to take a break, but it was important to distinguish who they were.

Natasha could see that there were many strange things about this ship. Many of their employees were not ordinary people, so if she caught the owner of this ship's men, she might not be able to handle it.

Moreover, problems have priorities. Let's put aside what the owner of this ship wants to do for now. Whether it's duty-bound or personal feelings, Natasha would rather target the FBI first.

That's right, even if Natasha didn't know Amanda, she could smell the stench of these hyenas she dealt with all day. She knew those agents must be hiding in the corners, ready to let the situation of any matter deteriorate to the point where no one could clean up the mess. This was their job.

The mop still stained with water left a blurry water stain in the dim and narrow corridor. The cleaner wearing a uniform adjusted his hat, clamped the mop handle under his arm, changed hands to carry the bucket, opened the tool room door, and put everything in one by one.

He was always so unhurried. Although his mind was entirely on the task to be executed next, he could still instinctively do any task in his disguise identity well.

Finally, everything was put away. The man sighed, and after relaxing, the urge to urinate surged. He swayed toward the bathroom. Although he made a full relaxed posture, a string in his mind was always taut. This was the self-cultivation of an agent.

Walking to the urinal and unzipping his pants, he heard the movement of a door opening behind him. Through the reflection on the floor, he saw a figure in a red sash. This kind of dress should be a gambler participating in the competition.

The agent relaxed again. The second round of the game was about to start. He also encountered many contestants who wanted to take advantage of the second round of the game to relieve themselves when he cleaned the previous bathroom. They should go out soon.

However, what made the agent feel a bit strange was that the bathroom closest to the venue was the one he had just cleaned, not this one. This one required turning another corner, at least walking 100 meters more. In the case of no queue in the other bathroom, why would someone take the initiative to take a detour?

Just thinking of this, he suddenly felt a scorching gaze suddenly appear, as if this person hadn't looked at him before, but was staring at his back suddenly now.

The alarm bell in his heart rang loudly, his muscles tightened, his waist and legs exerted force. Just as he bent his knees and swung his elbows, a long mop handle nailed him to the wall.

Blood instantly gushed out of his mouth. The fish mouth that was nailed made a *he-he* breathing sound, struggling desperately to turn his head.

The next second his hair was grabbed, *bang bang* twice, the intimate contact between his head and the wall smashed his brow bone and nasal bone to pieces.

Blood gushed out of his nose and mouth at the same time. Severe pain came from his body, because the other party didn't pull out the iron rod that had pierced his body, but pressed the murder weapon downward, and the organs in his body were instantly stirred into a mess.

Both hands loosened at the same time, and the agent fell to the ground, but the blood flowing from his forehead completely covered his eyes. The dizziness brought by severe pain made his eyes pitch black, and he couldn't see who the other party was at all, only seeing him biting the mouthpiece of the asthma medicine and taking a deep breath.

"Who is Amanda's target?"

The agent felt a bit ridiculous. If the other party wanted to interrogate him, they shouldn't have let him suffer such a serious injury. He was about to die, and the pain was about to end. In this case, how could he say anything?

"You are different from them." He heard the other party mutter to himself, "You were not assigned to target the target that most people target. You have a special mission. Who are you watching?"

The agent grabbed the iron rod that pierced his wound in shock. He struggled desperately, but a hand was steadier than him, powerfully gripping the head of the iron rod. He stood the iron rod up, and the fish that was pierced on it kept sliding downward due to its own weight.

A large amount of blood choked into his lungs, making him unable to shout at all. A second before he drowned in his own blood, he heard the other party whisper: "Amanda wants to kill two birds with one stone? Two sets of plans?"

Schiller's figure appeared on the gambling table again. He finally had time to carefully look at his opponent.

The other party was very strong, with lush hair and a fierce look. Usually, one would only see such a strong man in weightlifting or strongman competitions, and occasionally in the group of dock workers.

But Schiller noticed a detail: there were no tan lines on the other party, which was not very common. Summer had just passed, and even ordinary people who commuted to work every day would have traces of being exposed to the sun on their exposed limbs. A short month was not enough for the tan lines to fade.

Unless he stayed in the room 24 hours a day without going out, but his fierce temperament didn't look like a homebody.

Schiller wanted to wait, wait until his vision became blurred again, and then he could see the other party's true face.

That didn't take long. The time for sobriety was getting shorter and shorter. Just when the ripples began to ripple at the edge of Schiller's vision again, a crisp bell sound woke him up.

The gambling game began. Both sides stretched out their arms, and the staff member performed blood collection.

Everyone rolled up their sleeves, revealing their arms, and Schiller was no exception. Now he only had one hand left to support the table.

The staff member who walked over picked up the needle, couldn't help but look up at Schiller's pale complexion and equally bloodless lips, as if he didn't need to lose too much blood, and was already not far from death now.

The needle pierced both arms, and the arms were fixed on the table with equipment to prevent instability during the blood collection process. Both sides' blood flowed into the pump along the hose, and the dark venous blood was like fine dry red.

People rarely have the opportunity to observe how their own life passes away, because the long process of growth and aging usually makes people forget all the details, making it difficult to deeply realize the despair of life heading toward the end.

The process of blood loss, a concentration of life's decay, by experiencing the long path of human decay in a few minutes, seeing the majestic tide in all the tiny places.

Schiller began to feel more and more dizziness, followed by the excitement that the medicine could no longer suppress. His heart was beating too fast, so no matter how hard he inhaled the inhaler, the boiling blood couldn't cool down.

Finally, he pressed the 1000 ml button on the remote control.

Schiller's move obviously shocked the staff and his opponent at the same time, so that except for explaining the rules, the staff member who almost never made a sound confirmed to him: "Are you sure? 1000 ml? Once the blood collection process starts, it will not stop. This may lead to your direct death."

"Yes, I am sure."

Schiller closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he showed a crazy smile to his opponent.

"Hello, Sea." ===== CHAPTER 2290 =====

"Hello, ocean."