Chapter 433: The Clouds Over Metropolis (14)

"And Rodriguez… Shiler Rodriguez!"

"A damn murderer, a pervert!"

"You damn agent! You've been searching for the original killer, haven't you? I'll tell you—the killer is Rodriguez. He killed two people! One of them he dismembered! I saw it with my own eyes!"

!

When Lionel uttered the name Rodriguez, a flood of negative emotions poured out through his clenched teeth.

Benjamin felt for the first time that human emotion could truly become tangible blades, pricking at his back.

If hatred could truly take physical form, Lionel might possess the sharpest weapon on Earth—but unfortunately, such a thing was impossible.

So he could only clench his fists and stamp his feet fiercely in this reception room, venting all his negative emotions toward Shiler as a victim.

When Benjamin heard Lionel say "Rodriguez killed at least two people," his brow furrowed deeply.

Outside the window, the snow began falling heavier; through the swirling flakes, warm lights glowed again, and the mayor's residence appeared in the midst of the blizzard, time rewinding two years.

This time, the brilliant lights had dimmed; bloodstains in the parlor remained uncleaned; the deputy speaker's corpse lay in a corner of the hall, covered by a white sheet; every door in the mayor's residence was shut, all lights off, everyone hiding in their bedrooms, silent and terrified.

For just moments ago, two more murders had occurred; even the police could no longer maintain order; everyone scrambled back to their small rooms like mice fleeing a cat, hoping to find some fragile sense of safety.

A violent blizzard surrounded the estate, turning it into a prison for ordinary people—and a hunting ground for the serial killer.

In the pitch-black corridor, only one room at the end emitted a sliver of light; the glow seeping through the door crack sliced the corridor's end into another cold, chilling space.

Lionel tiptoed down the corridor, stopping before the door emitting that faint light. He held his breath and heard a cold voice coming from within:

"... Looks like this is the last one... Too bad, still not what I'm looking for."

Lionel heard the horrifying sound of meat being cut inside the room, followed by splashing water and the rhythmic "tap-tap" of leather shoes on the floor—all of it filled him with terror, yet he suppressed his fear and kept listening.

"Such a vast treasure... Winter, winter... Looks like I have to leave here. But before that..."

The voice from inside the room came in fragments. Lionel held his breath, straining to hear more clearly—then the sounds inside abruptly ceased. Lionel's body trembled slightly.

Just as he calmed himself with deep breaths, stood up, and prepared to leave, he heard a soft "creak"—the door opened.

A figure in a suit stood within the light spilling from the room—but like a black hole swallowing all light—it was Shiler Rodriguez.

Lionel collapsed onto the floor, scrambling backward on his hands and knees, gasping short breaths. He said: "Professor Rodriguez..."

"Did you see it?" Shiler asked, expressionless.

"No, I didn't! I saw nothing!"

"You saw me kill Nelson," Shiler stated as fact. "You saw me approach him, ask him those questions, then kill him and throw him down the stairs. You followed me here, hoping to find out what I was looking for."

Lionel rolled over, struggled to his feet, clasped his hands together, and bowed his spine. "No, no, Professor, I saw nothing. I can keep it secret, truly..."

"Then why did you come here?"

The evil tone carried a chilling coldness that made Lionel's heart freeze. He didn't know how to answer. He forced a weak smile. Shiler smiled back—his smile, horrifying.

"Uh... well, I came to you because I wanted you to treat my son. He has autism. I've consulted many specialists, but I feel none match your expertise..."

"Where is he?"

Lionel hadn't expected Shiler to ask so directly. He looked hesitant, troubled. "It's very late now, and..."

"If you didn't come for that, then you truly saw something..."

As Shiler spoke, a trickle of blood seeped from under the door. Lionel swallowed hard, his fear barely contained. Finally, to save his life, he said: "... No, I'm serious. If you think that, then come with me..."

Lionel and Shiler moved through the pitch-black corridor, climbed the spiral staircase, and reached the upper floor—arriving at the reception room.

There, waiting in a suit, was Lex Luthor—much younger, still a boy.

The Age of Genes

Shiler stepped forward, bent down, and stared at Lex. Lex looked up, his eyes dull, his mind scattered, incapable of autonomous thought.

Shiler narrowed his eyes. Lionel stepped forward, feigning politeness: "Professor, how is my son? Is his condition improving?"

Shiler stood upright, pretending to ponder, then turned and began pacing the room.

Lionel's attention was fixed on Lex, so he didn't notice Shiler, now behind him, picking up a vase from the decorative table.

"This child's luck is terrible. When his mother gave birth to him, she developed postpartum depression. I hired many doctors, cared for her meticulously—but in the end, she took her own life..."

"Though I was heartbroken, I knew I had to hold on—for little Lex. But even worse, years later, he was diagnosed with childhood autism. He couldn't communicate normally, his thoughts were disordered..."

"Professor, you don't know how much I suffered. At that moment, I nearly followed my wife to the grave—but I held on, for his sake."

"For my son, I must live..."

Lionel's voice trembled like a grieving father. As he rose and turned to see Shiler's reaction, what appeared in his vision was a massive vase.

With a loud "crash," Lionel collapsed to the floor. Shiler dropped the vase's handle, ignoring the bloodied, unconscious man at his feet, and walked to Lex's side.

He bent down, touched Lex's head—but Lex showed no reaction, still vacant.

Shiler lifted Lex's eyelid and muttered softly: "Long-term overuse of sedatives..."

He searched Lex's body. When his fingers brushed Lex's calves and knees, Lex instinctively shrank back.

Shiler rolled up Lex's pant leg—many old scars were visible. He made Lex turn around, lifted his shirt—and saw scars on his back. Clearly, these were not accidents. They were signs of abuse.

He glanced at Lionel, his eyes turning cold. Then he tested Lex's responses again, sighed, stood still for a long time, and finally placed a hand on Lex's back. "... Come with me."

He patted Lex's back, guiding him out the door, through the dark corridor, to the previous room. Even the overwhelming stench of blood didn't move Lex.

Ignoring the indescribable mass at the room's center, Shiler stepped over it, reached the bed, and pulled a small box from his suitcase.

Opening the box revealed a tiny vial. Shiler stared at the remaining liquid inside—less than a milliliter—and sighed deeply. "Already scarce. Now only this much remains..."

"But since there's only this little left... maybe I can't do anything else anyway." Shiler spoke as if comforting himself.

He looked at Lex—his youthful face, his vacant eyes—paused, then stepped forward.

He unscrewed the vial's cap. The moment it opened, a rich, intoxicating wine-like aroma spread through the room.

He gripped Lex's chin, forced his mouth open, and poured the liquid inside.

The instant the liquid entered Lex's mouth, his face twisted in excruciating pain.

Shiler bent down and embraced him, restraining his thrashing. Lex writhed like a dying fish dragged onto land, trembling for minutes, then vomiting and coughing.

When Lex finally sat up, his eyes began to gleam faintly.

Like a coma patient awakening after years, he was momentarily confused, then froze—beginning to absorb the memories flooding his mind.

Shiler held his shoulders, stared into his eyes, and said: "I know you're confused now. You probably remember what happened to you—but I still need to explain."

"Your father has been abusing you. But I don't understand why he gave you long-term overdoses of sedatives—drugs that severely damaged your development and cognitive function."

"Fortunately, I have something extraordinary—a substance that can reactivate the mind. Too much might drive a person mad, but just a little should perfectly suit your condition."

"Of course, there are side effects. In moments of heightened excitement, your thoughts may become hyperactive, even slightly erratic—but still within manageable limits."

"Alright, child, listen. I'll put your father into a hypnotic trance to make him forget I knocked you out and treated you."

"Hypnosis isn't perfect. With more time, I could do more—but now, for certain reasons, I must leave immediately."

Shiler looked into Lex's eyes. "Remember: pretend nothing happened. That's how you protect yourself. If he gives you more drugs again, find a way to deceive him."

"And until you're certain you can succeed, don't think about revenge. Goodbye."

Shiler turned, closed his suitcase, and prepared to leave. Suddenly, a slightly childish voice came from behind: "Do you know why my father used drugs to control me?"

Shiler turned, stared into Lex's eyes, and asked, puzzled: "You can speak already? You..."

In his vision, bathed in light, standing before a mountain of corpses and blood, Lex smiled—a wild, mad grin—and said:

"Because I'm a genius..."

"A super genius."

Behind him, the snowstorm still raged.

Through swirling snow, time raced forward. When they looked again through the window, the tension between Shiler and Benjamin grew fiercer.

And the red-haired boy standing behind Benjamin slowly raised the vase in his hands.