Chapter 3853: The Nameless Bat (34)

"Are you going to the crime scene, Professor?" Seeing Natasha turned her head to look at Schiller. Although she didn't really like calling him "Professor," because everyone in this universe called him that, she followed suit.

The reason she didn't like this title was simple. It was a very conservative and serious title, at least in America. Only the first few times meeting a professor would one call them that. Afterward, most students would choose to call the professor by their surname or first name directly, and even daily greeting emails wouldn't use this word.

This kind of vocabulary with clear professional attributes had a coldness that kept people at a distance, usually not producing positive effects for efficient and friendly communication. And Seeing Natasha really wanted to talk properly with this Schiller, because he was obviously very difficult to deal with.

Schiller nodded slightly, and then Seeing Natasha saw him stand up, seemingly to get his car keys. Fine, the female agent thought, although they had almost identical faces, you couldn't expect her to so easily accept riding in the car of a stranger she hadn't met many times, especially when she was a CIA agent.

Soon, Schiller walked to the door and picked up his umbrella. Seeing Natasha followed him to the garage. Very unsurprisingly, it was a classic Bentley, the car body's reflection bright but not sharp, revealing an elegance like his own. This man was covered from head to toe in labels of the old world.

When Schiller sat in the driver's seat, Seeing Natasha came to the passenger seat. When the car drove out of the garage, it started raining outside again.

"This damn weather," Seeing Natasha couldn't help but complain, "Why is this city raining every single moment? Have you ever seen it clear up?"

"Weather is usually a very safe topic, but not in Gotham." Schiller said, "This city has almost no sunlight and rains day and night all year round. The rain washes away traces of many murders and brings more bacteria and viruses."

Schiller's voice was very low, and his speaking speed was very slow. Seeing Natasha felt that if he went to be a psychologist who charged by the hour, he should make a lot of money. Because either they could use this aria-style long-windedness to extend the treatment time several times over; or he could directly make the patient fall asleep and then give them a maximum bill.

"Did the previous cases also happen on rainy days?"

"No, I'm afraid there is no such pattern." Schiller turned the steering wheel and said, "There were two cases that happened when it wasn't raining. The police found quite a few traces around, but the traces all pointed to the manipulated ones, not the real killer, the Eden Killer."

"Fine, it seems catching him will indeed be very difficult."

"Isn't this exactly what you want?" Schiller said in a completely calm tone without any waves, "You never intended to catch him. If the case is difficult to solve, it won't show your uselessness."

Seeing Natasha's fingers paused, and she said, "I came here to catch the killer. Although I previously planned to adopt a faster way to calm the situation, this wasn't certain either, otherwise I would have rushed into the TV station to make arrests long ago. I still referred to the Penguin's and your opinions as thoroughly as possible, at least making an effort in this regard."

"To cover up your original intention." Schiller tilted his head slightly and said, "The more diligent and active you act, the more you can cover up your purpose of not intending to catch the Eden Killer. You don't need to refute this point; anyway, I didn't want to catch him either."

Seeing Natasha felt uncomfortable all over and said, "Can you change your way of speaking?"

"What?"

"Don't be so blunt." Seeing Natasha rubbed her arm and said, "Otherwise it's that you have the air conditioning set too low; why do I feel a bit cold?"

"You didn't ask me if I could read minds right away, which already shows considerable professional quality, Madam." Schiller said while reaching out to turn up the air conditioning temperature.

"I don't ask because I already know the answer. Although Dr. Schiller always says he is a magician and a mutant, or says it's the ability the symbiote gave him, always telling us he can read minds. But he just wants to use this to get higher consultation fees and force us to fill out his psychological scales. But I know he doesn't; you just have a unique talent."

"Do you want to see it?" Schiller turned his head and asked with a smile.

"Sorry, what?" Seeing Natasha was a bit surprised.

"Do you want to witness this unique talent?"

"I think I'd rather not." Seeing Natasha shook her head quickly. But clearly, this Schiller in front of her was the exact opposite of the doctor. The doctor was the kind who looked like he would do as he pleased, but actually listened to friends' opinions and adopted them; while the one she met now was the kind who looked like he was good at listening, but actually did whatever he wanted.

"You are currently in a transitional phase you think you are in. You think you will enter a stable period of life after 30 like ordinary people, and live in a certain state until you die of old age. But recently, some changes have appeared in your life, making you realize you might have a second 30 years, which isn't entirely a good thing for you. The situation is complicated enough to give you a headache."

"If you want to say what made you re-enter this state of waiting for change but seemingly never waiting for it, I would say it's emotion. You have regained a part of your emotional life, the objects are a bit many, the emotions are a bit messy, and there are too many unsorted emotions and unreleased desires mixed in."

"You want to make all these relationships simpler, want to define them as 'a way of relieving desires that an adult should have, is legal, and no one can criticize'. In short, compared to love, you are more willing to talk about sex, even repeatedly mentioning it like self-deception, as if you are hypnotizing yourself."

"But I'm afraid it's not that simple. It's very tragic that among the men around you, not one is a normal person who is blinded by lust and only wants your beauty. Admitting that they fell in love with your soul and not your skin is very difficult for you. And no matter how you offer your beauty to them, the fact that they must have some emotional entanglement with you originating from the soul makes you despair."

"This is like an absurd comedy; most people who possess beauty would be very disgusted by others only wanting their beauty, and they would very much hope that someone could truly love their soul. And you are just the opposite; you would rather exchange beauty with them, just a superficial relief of desire, and don't want to have any soul resonance with them. Why is this?"

"You have a sense of unworthiness deeper than ordinary people. This isn't inferiority, but a kind of self-sacrifice. You think you have already offered your most sincere and noble love to a certain great existence, and it died with his passing. Then these remaining residues, even if left wholeheartedly to someone, are far from enough, especially if they intend to offer their most sincere and noble love to you."

"You think this is unfair, so you don't want to make such an exchange, preferring to let the relief of desire and the fusion of emotions stay at a very superficial stage. You constantly emphasize this to them, even in a very frivolous way, such as frequently mentioning sex, acting like a dissolute person. But unfortunately, perhaps it's a coincidence, perhaps they are smarter than you think, no one intends to give up, and even those who had already accepted reality now have extra thoughts."

"You can't stop them from thinking this way, Madam. These people chasing you are all saviors and self-sacrificers like Jesus; their favorite thing to do is save the dying. When they realize there is a tombstone in your heart, they want to save you from the identity of a mourner beside the grave. The more important this tombstone is in your heart, the more they want to do so."

"Clearly, there is almost no one whose tombstone in their heart is greater than the one in yours. Anyone who touches your inner heart even slightly has empathized with you when you were carving the epitaph; that kind of despair is a distant past for you, but it's not that distant for them. The moment they touch it, it almost shatters them, and then that saint-like desire to save and compassion make it impossible for them to give you up no matter what."

"Sex, pheromones, physical desire, the frivolity and shallowness you show, not only won't disappoint them, but will be interpreted by them as the antidote you use to numb yourself. They are like someone who sincerely helps an addict quit drugs, giving you the antidote in parts, wanting to limit it to a safe dosage, and then constantly persuading and encouraging you, hoping you can become better again."

"But you can't. You refuse them not because you are busy crying beside the grave, but just because this tombstone is really too big and too heavy; it has become a part of you. Solemnity, mourning, and despair are inseparable parts of your soul; how can they ask you to cut this part off? Comedy is not the savior of tragedy; some people just live by tragedy, so you refused them."

"But you have to solve this problem. You want to find someone who can't see these things, or someone who has no intention of paying attention to you, to help you block these Jesuses chasing behind your butt. I guess, Agent?"

"Stop the car."

Schiller stepped on the brake. Seeing Natasha pushed open the car door and walked out. Raindrops fell on that dazzling red hair, and under the red and blue light of the police car opposite, it looked like blood mist rising from a broken heart. The crime scene cordon was right in front of her. Seeing Natasha slammed the car door shut with a "bang," and then felt a shadow cover her.

She turned her head and saw Schiller holding an umbrella for her. Seeing Natasha turned her head and looked at him coldly, "Say you can read minds."

"I don't, Madam."

Seeing Natasha pulled out her gun.

"Fine, I do." Schiller withdrew his gaze from the crime scene and turned his head to look at her, saying, "I am a mutant, or a magician, or it's possible the symbiote gave me such an ability. I'm sorry for reading your privacy; I promise I won't say it out."

Seeing Natasha cursed in a low voice, then stared at him and said, "And don't tell the other you, especially the Agent."

"I'm afraid that won't work. Your pursuers are all good hands; if I want to block your peach blossoms, I might need to prepare well."

"I will tell him."

"What's the difference if I say it?"

Seeing Natasha was just about to say "Then I would lose the chance to talk to him and possibly take advantage of him," but she quickly thought of Schiller's previous mention of "the purpose of acting frivolous," and felt her heart sink heavily.

"Because that would make him dig up these arguments of yours from his memory. Your talent is like a gun without a safety; this kind of analysis without others' consent is simply impolite to the extreme. If it were to be spread through your neural network again, it would make me feel very offended." Seeing Natasha also had to make her way of speaking more medieval; she knew gentlemen cared about politeness.

"As you wish, Madam. I won't say anything." Schiller turned his head back to look at the crime scene, his eyes carrying a kind of inorganic indifference, as if he were just casually picking up a glass of champagne at a banquet, rather than having just had a bullet pass through a bright red heart. ===== CHAPTER 3854 =====