Chapter 3830: The Nameless Bat (11)

"Boss, something's happened!" An agent sprinted into the office and shouted at Seeing Natasha, "The head of the Wei En Group's information security department was found dead in his villa in the suburbs. The GCPD (Gotham City Police Department) is at a loss. They called the FBI for support, but the FBI has turned their sights on our raid from three days ago."

"You mean they think our people silenced him?" Seeing Natasha narrowed her eyes and said, "They can't possibly not know that Mr. President was present at the time, right? Wait... of course they know. They're doing this on purpose."

Seeing Natasha immediately waved her hand and said, "Field team, with me!"

A group of agents rushed quickly toward the underground parking garage. Soon, several inconspicuous black cars drove out of the garage, speeding all the way to the crime scene.

The night sky was illuminated by the lights of police cars and ambulances. The orange caution tape had been knocked to the ground by a rain that had just stopped. Through the layers of vehicles, Seeing Natasha saw an orange comfort blanket draped over a little girl. From her subordinate's report in the car, Seeing Natasha knew this was the deceased's daughter.

As soon as she approached the caution tape, two police officers wearing windbreakers with huge, bright yellow "FBI" lettering walked over. Seeing Natasha flashed her credentials at them, crossed the caution tape without a word, and strode toward the inside.

As she walked, she pondered in her mind: she knew this job wouldn't be that simple. If it were just to stall the superheroes, there would be no need to call her over.

The President's power is the sharpest blade in the hands of the Arkham Batman; no one can remain indifferent when it is held to their throat. Even Superman is no exception. Because they have attachments to life in secular society, they can only bind their own hands and be trapped by Batman.

There was no need to call Black Widow for this kind of work; any experienced agent could do it. And the special team that had been assembled was not lacking in such people; any one of them could complete the task perfectly.

The fact that Arkham Batman would go to the trouble of crossing the universe and traveling thousands of miles to find Seeing Natasha meant that there were some jobs only she could do.

Seeing Natasha raised her vigilance to the highest level. She equipped her "Widow's Bite," took a gun in each hand, kept her arms tight against her body facing one side, and leaned sideways as she approached the house.

Several police officers stood at the doorway. They didn't recognize Seeing Natasha, but they recognized the professional agent gear she was wearing. They assumed she was with the FBI and did not stop Seeing Natasha from entering.

Seeing Natasha walked into the house and saw some bloodstains on the carpet on the first floor. She looked up; there were also bloodstains on the stairs nearby. It looked like the victim had been attacked upstairs, stumbled down to the first floor, and was then stabbed to death on the carpet.

Seeing Natasha heard intermittent sobbing coming from the bedroom on the first floor. She frowned slightly and walked over quickly.

Several FBI agents were surrounding a crying woman. The woman looked completely broken; she was squatting on the ground, trembling all over, unable to even move. The doctor nearby could only wait helplessly, waiting for her emotions to calm down slightly before they could take her out.

"So unprofessional!" Seeing Natasha cursed.

"Get in here!" she shouted at her subordinates waiting outside the door, "Take this woman out, and make sure you watch her get into the ambulance before you leave!"

Seeing Natasha's agents rushed in. They pushed open the bedroom door and reached out to pull the woman. A young doctor nearby shouted, "Wait! Her emotions are unstable right now, you can't..."

"This is a crime scene, not a hospital. All irrelevant personnel must leave here immediately!" Seeing Natasha roared at him, then turned her sights on those FBI agents, "Have your training courses all gone to the dogs?!"

"There are reporters outside," the leader among them said. "If you let her go out crying and breaking down like this, she'll be on the front page tomorrow."

"The person who died is a supervisor at Wei En Group. No matter how anyone here acts, this news will definitely be the headline. Take her away!"

Seeing Natasha stepped back two paces, letting her subordinates drag the person out. But just as they were dragging the woman across the doorframe, she suddenly pulled a gun from under her skirt.

Bang! Bang-bang!

Seeing Natasha rolled quickly to dodge the first shot, but was hit in the calf by the second. She seemed not to notice, straightened her body, knelt on one knee, and raised her guns with both hands.

Bang!

One shot hit the woman square in the chest, knocking her down. The agents rushed over to suppress her. Seeing Natasha stood up, reached her fingers directly into the wound on her calf, dug out the bullet, and threw it aside, her movements as light as taking off a high-heeled shoe.

"Is he also a john?"

"He isn't. He is just learning."

"Learning?"

"He is exploring human flesh relationships." Schiller paused for a while and then said, "Considering there are minors present, some less healthy sexual psychology concepts I won't say. In short, he thinks the flesh relationship between johns and prostitutes that has nothing to do with feelings is very good learning material."

"But he killed them."

"Experimental." Schiller said, "His purpose isn't killing, but to preserve certain things. It's a bit like photography."

"Photography?"

"Yes. Killing them in this state, for him, is a kind of photography, a method of permanently preserving certain things."

"Is it that kind of art?"

"It isn't. He is still in the apprentice stage. He hopes he can understand more things, far from the time to express his own thoughts. It looks very green, and also very simple."

Gordon couldn't help but look at Mnemosyne.

Mnemosyne seemed not to see him at all. Her eyes were fixed on Schiller. She looked at Schiller and said: "Are you talking in your sleep?"

"I'm not, miss. Just like you can't understand those foster families, when talking about murder cases, I also have no way to communicate with you in the way you are used to."

Mnemosyne stared at him without blinking. But Gordon had no time to care about what conflict there was between them. He leaned his body forward, looking at Schiller and saying: "So who is he?"

"Ms. Mnemosyne's words make sense. The Eden Killer didn't take action himself; he just manipulated two people, one male and one female, and there was also a copycat who might have taken the initiative. I suggest you catch the people who took action first; the target is already very clear."

Gordon hesitated slightly, but still took out his phone and started arranging tasks. He walked toward the backyard. And taking advantage of his absence, Mnemosyne stared at Schiller with shining eyes and said: "How was that done? Do you have empathy?"

"When I analyze these, do you think I am a killer?"

"That is precisely what I am puzzled about. If you were empathizing with the killer, then I would definitely be able to see it. I would see the Eden Killer sitting in front of me, but I didn't see a trace of imitation on you. This shows that you didn't get these conclusions by empathizing with the culprit."

"Yes. This isn't simple empathy, but psychoanalysis."

"Psychoanalysis?"

"Yes. Empathy, the application of psychoanalysis, and the theory of psychoanalysis are three different things, although they are interrelated, the barriers between them are also stronger than most people imagine."

"Do you have empathy talent?"

"I do. But that is a kind of talent that requires you to shatter your own rationality and let yourself completely fall into a broken emotional vortex to exert power. That is a very dangerous state; it's possible that the killer hasn't been caught yet, and you have already had a mental breakdown yourself."

"You aren't using that; you aren't collapsing at all. You are more stable than anyone can imagine." Mnemosyne stared at him and said.

"What I am using is indeed not empathy, but talent in psychoanalysis. This kind of talent is very special, usually based on my spectrum characteristics and hallucinations brought about by mental symptoms."

"Are you also a spectrum patient?"

"Yes. However, my situation is very complicated and cannot be summarized by simple illness. You can understand it as sand blown up by the wind falling down and just happening to build a castle, or monkeys all over the world choosing a letter to press, and compiling the entire Shakespeare."

"You are a miracle." Mnemosyne said.

"Considering who turned me into this, yes, I am an uncopyable miracle." Although Schiller said this, there was no self-satisfaction in his tone, and he still looked very calm.

"It's truly incredible." Mnemosyne said, "Can't you adopt me? I think we will have a lot to talk about."

"The problem is that as a person with a history of mental illness, I cannot meet the adoption conditions." Schiller said.

"This is just an excuse." Mnemosyne said, "People like you can easily get everything, and you don't care about any legal provisions. You don't do this purely because you don't want to."