Chapter 3292

Batman had never seen Gordon in such a disheveled state.

When he was waiting in Gordon's office, he saw James Gordon, soaked all over, walk in from the door. Because the heating in the police station was insufficient, he was shivering a bit.

Batman watched him walk in silently, his gaze following him and asking: "What did you do?"

"Nothing." Gordon took a deep breath and said, "I just accidentally fell into the Cat Getan River and saved someone by the way."

"Who?"

"Landon Harvizer, who was just released on bail."

"Why was he in the Cat Getan River?"

Gordon glanced at Batman, and Batman had never seen such a look before. This made Batman's heart jump, because he always felt that his old friend was starting to become a stranger.

"Will he appear in court?" Batman asked.

"I don't know." Gordon went to the break room to change clothes. He walked out wearing a dry uniform, his hair still wet. But he didn't wipe it, instead just slumped in the chair like that.

Batman saw his complexion was exceptionally pale, not just because of exhaustion. There was something indescribable that was devouring him from the inside.

Gordon closed his eyes, and scattered images began to flash through his mind.

No one knew that James Gordon, who graduated from the police academy, was the student with the highest success rate in ground pursuit among the graduates of that year at the Chicago Police Academy. His driving skills were very good.

After becoming the Police Commissioner, he rarely used this skill again. And just yesterday, he forced Harvizer's car into the river.

Then he stood on the bridge and saw Schiller's figure.

Schiller saw him. Gordon was very sure of this, and he might even have been chasing him. Everything was planned by him. Once he took action, there was no turning back.

In the second before the car was about to be completely submerged, Gordon jumped off the bridge. He fished out Harvizer, who was half-drowned, and his lawyer, and brought them up.

He originally thought Schiller would find a way to stop him, but he just stood quietly on the riverbank, watching Gordon use all his strength to save the two people, then called an ambulance and sent them to the hospital.

The police car Gordon drove over was totaled. Just as he was soaked all over, walking staggeringly toward the nearest road, another car stopped in front of him.

The window rolled down, revealing Schiller's face. Gordon didn't say anything, sitting silently in the passenger seat.

"Which do you think will arrive first, the thank-you letter or the handcuffs?" Schiller asked.

Gordon, very rarely, didn't ask if Schiller minded him smoking, but instead took out a cigarette with trembling fingers and held it in his mouth. The weak flame of the lighter flickered at the end of the cigarette several times before successfully lighting it.

Gordon took a deep drag and leaned back, almost like an addict addicted to pleasure.

"What are you thinking about?" Schiller asked again.

"Thinking about which prison is more suitable for me."

"They saw it was you?" Schiller turned his head while turning the steering wheel, asking as if somewhat complaining, "You were too imprudent, actually driving a police car."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Gordon looked out the window with the cigarette, "The reporters should have already rushed to the hospital, right?"

"I'm afraid so." Schiller nodded and said, "Soon you will see Harvizer on TV tearfully accusing the police of murder. I won't ask what you plan to do. I just want to ask, the moment you jumped off the bridge, what were you thinking?"

Gordon's eyes were a bit hollow, as if he had emptied all his thoughts and wasn't thinking about anything. But hearing this question from Schiller, he came back to his senses and touched the police badge on his chest with his hand.

"I wasn't saving him, I was saving myself."

Schiller's hand on the steering wheel paused, and his tone finally had some fluctuation; he said: "Am I the first person to emphasize your stupidity so much?"

"Of course not." Gordon actually laughed, saying, "You came too late; not only are you not the first, you don't even rank in the top hundred."

"Who was the first?"

"The instructor at the Chicago Police Academy, my teacher. He said if I chose to throw myself into a pile of dog shit, I should be prepared to turn into a maggot one day."

Gordon lit another cigarette, biting his teeth and frowning, his voice revealing a fierce temperament he had never shown to anyone, like a starving wolf that had suddenly smelled blood.

"It seems you don't understand a principle. I maintain the rules, not because I admire these things that have never been able to protect ordinary people well. I do this to maintain my position."

"If the law only protects the interests of the upper class, then I, who maintain the law, am just another kind of lackey. It's not that I don't understand this, it's just that I need this position, need it more than anyone."

Gordon tilted his head back again, his eyes blurry in the smoke. He held the cigarette and said: "The kindness of the weak is a burden, it's useless. Only with a gun in hand can you save people. And to let them hand the gun to me with peace of mind, I must be a maintainer of the rules, letting them think I am an obedient dog."

"But now you are not." Schiller said, "You opened your mouth, but didn't bite anyone to death. They will soon realize you are not safe."

"They have never sincerely felt I was safe, they just couldn't do anything about me. Just like you."

Schiller turned his head abruptly to look at him and slammed on the brakes. Gordon's forehead hit the side window glass. The sign of the Cat Getan Police Department emitted a faint light in the morning mist.

"You're here." Schiller said.

Gordon finished the last drag of the cigarette, turned to look at Schiller, and said: "I know you aren't really helpless, but regardless of what purpose you had for not doing so, I want to thank you."

He got up and walked out of the car, but pulled the door open, leaned his body down, and looked at Schiller sitting in the driver's seat, saying: "But I also want to warn you, it's best not to fall into my hands."

With a bang, the car door was closed. Schiller watched Gordon walk into the police station, and he also reached out to take out a cigarette, lit it but didn't smoke it, instead watching the smoke drift in the car quietly.

He had to admit, watching Gordon jump off the Cat Getan Bridge, his brain stopped working for a moment, briefly forgetting the countless schemes circling in his heart.

The Cat Getan Bridge is 187 meters high. For a human to jump from this height and contact the water surface, there is absolutely no possibility of survival.

Gordon wasn't crazy, he wasn't committing suicide. He was betting that Schiller would definitely save him.

Schiller used gray mist to destroy the surface tension of the water, letting Gordon enter the water safely and saving the two people.

Schiller didn't know how to evaluate James Gordon as a person.

He rarely encountered such a complex person in Marvel, possessing both the characteristics of a hero and a lunatic, but fused very perfectly.

Schiller showed up just to put pressure on Gordon.

If he wasn't discovered, he could treat this matter as if it hadn't happened. But once there was a bystander, Schiller's existence would constantly remind him that he had broken his principles and no longer had his former legitimacy and purity.

When there is a stain on a pure white piece of clothing, there will definitely be countless more. Because when people discover that the first stain cannot be eliminated, they will default to it not mattering how dirty the clothing gets. The police uniform is the same.

But Gordon found the only way out in this dead end—he chose to jump off the bridge, throwing the question of "to save or not to save" back to Schiller.

And Schiller had no other choice.

At this moment, Gordon was a lunatic. But most of the time, he was a hero.

And Schiller would never be able to watch a hero die.

Schiller saved Gordon, but also left behind an eternal mystery. That is, if he hadn't shown up, would Gordon have chosen to save those two people?

Gordon would never answer this question, perhaps this is also a kind of answer.

Becoming the factor that painted legs on a snake in his own plan didn't make Schiller feel frustrated. He was just somewhat moved.

In such a city, arrogance choosing to live one's own life might be right. No one here needs to be saved.

After finishing a cigarette, Schiller opened the car window and restarted the car. He came to the entrance of a bar, parked the car on the side of the bar, and walked in through the side door himself.

This is the Lower East Side. A person dressed like this walking into a cheap bar here would always attract side-glances. But the atmosphere in the bar was at its peak, and no one cared about Schiller sitting in the corner.

He ordered a drink casually, sat against the wall, and listened to the movement in the bar. The loudest sound wasn't the deafening passionate music, but one person's roar.

"Paul is dead! This son of a bitch is finally dead! I don't care who that Hick is, he's the most damn powerful boxer in this city! Next time he competes, I'm buying all his bets!"

Cheers immediately erupted in the bar. But soon, someone else said with a worried face: "But there was another bombing on Lark Street, more than a dozen people died. Do you think those criminals will come to our side?"

"Have you heard? Willy's daughter was assassinated." Someone suddenly said, "It seems someone broke into her house and almost beat her to death. Fortunately, she ran fast."

"Willy? Is that the gladiator Willy?" Someone immediately followed up, "He was the one who led people to Paul's factory gate to demand back wages before. Is it him?"

"It's him. That guy is a tough guy. I heard he took two baton hits and didn't run, instead, the police were afraid of him. His daughter doesn't seem to be in high school yet, right?"

"Seems so. I've seen that little girl once, is she red-haired, with some small freckles on her face?"

Someone in the crowd suddenly stood up; it was a big fat man who looked to be over 200 pounds, wearing a duckbill cap. He said: "I have to go to Willy's house to see, can't let that little girl fall into the hands of those bastards."

"Are you crazy? Those killers might not have left yet!"

"I'm not going to have a firefight with them, just going to see. If I can find her, I'll have my aunt secretly send her to Blüdhaven. That way at least she won't lose her life."

"I'll go with you. We'll just hang around outside her house, she shouldn't have run too far."

"Then I'll go too, I'll keep watch for you."

The noise in the bar soon ended, and Schiller also finished a drink. Fiona was smarter than he imagined. She learned very quickly, and it was also possible the Pale Knight had taught her some things. Announcing the assassination news was beneficial to her without any harm.

Schiller drove the car to Willy's house. He arrived relatively quickly, and that group of people hadn't arrived yet. He saw the door was open, glass shards all over the floor, and blood in the center of the living room.

Schiller put on shoe covers, walked around the living room twice, clicked his tongue, and said: "Still too green."

After speaking, he returned to the car, took a bottle of glass cleaner out of the trunk, and returned to the house. After unscrewing the cap, the liquid inside the bottle was deep red.

After dealing with everything, Schiller sat in the car, watching a group of people sneakily touch the entrance of Willy's house through the car window.

The person who stretched his head and took a look into the window immediately let out a scream.

"Blood! There's blood!!!!"

(End of chapter)