Chapter 474

After Shieler found the safe box he had left behind in the underground of the Metropolis Estate, he retrieved the "Philby List" that everyone was seeking, along with a Soviet medal—proof that the original Shieler had once been connected to the Soviet Union.

Now, Shieler's former classmate Brand openly admitted that Shieler was indeed a Marxist, having once visited East Berlin, lived in Moscow, joined the KGB, and eventually defected from it.

According to Brand, Shieler came to Gotham to seek refuge precisely to escape the KGB.

This made logical sense: through scattered clues, Shieler discovered that the original Shieler was no ordinary man; common adversaries could never have forced him to flee to this city of sin—but the KGB? Even now, Shieler himself had to tread carefully.

Many might not realize how powerful this organization was, for after the Soviet Union collapsed, its successor, the Russian Federal Security Service, faded into obscurity—but during the Soviet era, the KGB was unquestionably the world's premier intelligence agency.

Due to ideological conflict, the Soviet Union stood in opposition to the entire world, and the KGB waged constant war against every other intelligence agency; throughout the years the USSR existed, this spy organization always faced overwhelming odds, yet in the end, only the combined efforts of all other nations' spy networks could barely hold back its advances.

Of course, since it was 1988, internal contradictions within the Soviet Union were severe, and its economic situation had deteriorated, so the KGB's glory had faded—but unquestionably, it remained the world's finest intelligence agency, without equal.

If the original Shieler had drawn the ire of such a force, his choice to flee to Gotham was entirely understandable.

Yet one mystery remained: earlier, Shieler had encountered a group of people from Metropolis who came to harass him; they were unprofessional and posed no real threat, and Shieler suspected this might have been a KGB probe.

As the world's most powerful intelligence agency, they could not possibly be unaware of Gotham's peculiar nature—they did not, like the CIA, foolishly send agents directly into the city, but instead manipulated certain Metropolis factions to infiltrate and scout ahead, which made sense.

The only problem was that the assassin who later came for him was not a KGB operative, but Deathstroke.

Shieler did not believe the KGB would hire a freelance mercenary to kill him, especially given that Shieler likely possessed sensitive intelligence—yet Deathstroke had gone all out, clearly aiming to eliminate him, which was not at all the KGB's style.

To find the answer, Shieler needed Deathstroke to reveal the identity of his employer—but this seasoned mercenary was hard to handle, and more importantly, he was elusive and unpredictable; contacting him depended entirely on luck, and Shieler had no time to search the world for him.

Aside from seeking clues externally, Shieler had another option: to investigate his own memories.

Shieler spent a long time rummaging through the archives in his Mind Palace, but he was certain he had found no memories of the original Shieler's espionage work; he had memories of growing up, studying, graduating, working, and becoming involved in those bizarre cases—but they were not very clear.

Shieler could not determine whether this was due to his transmigration or some other hidden cause.

There were too few clues to make a definitive judgment, but since this was not a matter of great urgency, Shieler was in no hurry to investigate.

Even if we assume the worst, the Soviet Union was now nearly beyond salvation; at most, it would vanish within three years. Even if Shieler had deep grievances with the KGB, in three years, everything would vanish into thin air.

In the office of Arkham Asylum, Shieler slowly recounted the events that had transpired in Metropolis to Brand.

"... That's roughly the story. It's quite dramatic, isn't it?"

Brand rolled his eyes slightly and said, "Only you would call a dangerous incident involving power struggles and frequent murders 'dramatic'..."

Brand opened his medical file and said, "I can prescribe you some anti-anxiety medication. You need to adjust your sleep schedule and relax your mind. I assume the rest of the medical advice doesn't need me to repeat..."

"By the way, Hugo Strange, who replaced me, became a patient—so who's the attending physician now?"

"Don't even bring that up." Brand sighed deeply. "After Hugo was admitted, I went to the mayor and Bruce Wayne, hoping they'd hire another attending physician for this hospital."

"Since you came here, you've cut off all contact with your former teachers and classmates. If not for your published papers, they all thought you died in Gotham."

"Hugo was even worse—he became a patient within a week of arriving, completely severed from his former social circle."

"And as for me? To escape those troubles, I rarely contact the outside world either."

"Of the three of us, you're the most famous, but neither I nor Hugo are unknown. Three renowned psychiatrists have all been broken by Arkham Asylum—who else dares come?"

Shieler propped his chin on his finger and said, "If the pay is high enough, there must be a few reckless types willing to risk their lives."

Brand snorted coldly. "Haven't you realized yet? This place, Gotham, is fundamentally abnormal. A mentally normal person who comes here might become confused, but a madman who comes here only becomes a patient."

"Do you really think someone willing to risk their life in Gotham is sane?"

"I need a week to organize all my work and hand it over to the new attending physician—but how long will he last? Three days? A week?"

"More importantly, thanks to your infinitely wise governance plan, we have no spare wards left for a mad attending physician. If another one goes insane, he'll have to be locked in the bathroom."

"So Hugo was lucky, then?"

"Yes, at least he got the last permanent ward. Otherwise, I'd have had to lock him in a bathroom stall."

Shieler smirked, stood up, straightened his clothes, and said to Brand, "You should talk to the mayor—surely the acting attending physician deserves a raise?"

Brand didn't look up, only lifted his eyelids slightly and glanced at Shieler. "When Victor called me earlier, I didn't think it was alarming. Now it's clear your condition has worsened—take your medicine!"

Shieler shrugged, exchanged a few more barbs with Brand, and turned to leave—when Brand called out to him again:

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you—yesterday, I got a strange phone call. The caller somehow made my phone receiver lift off the cradle."

"He said he was your friend, and wanted a fixed bed..."

Shieler turned back and asked Brand, "Don't tell me his name is Constantine?"

"That's the name. He spoke with a thick British accent and was drunk—he didn't clarify his symptoms or condition. What's going on with him?"

"If he calls again, curse him out and hang up."

As Shieler finished speaking, a sharp phone ring echoed from the desk. Both Shieler and Brand turned their eyes to the phone.

Brand shook his head slightly, signaling Shieler to answer. Shieler hesitated, picked up a tissue from the side, wrapped it around the receiver, then lifted the handset to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Dr. Brand? It's me, Constantine—the one who called yesterday. Uh... can I come in for treatment now? I'm feeling a bit..."

"Constantine, listen—if you want drugs, go to the pharmacy on the East Docks. We don't offer discounts. If you're looking for a lover, go to the red-light district. We don't have what you're after..."

"Uh, Shieler? How come it's you? Did you go back to work?"

Constantine suddenly snapped awake. Shieler heard chaos on the other end—gunfire, too. He heard Constantine muttering to himself:

"Damn it, they're following me again... Wait, did I draw the sigil wrong? Did I drink too much?"

"Oh, wait, wait!... Batman! Don't attack! I haven't done anything! I was just resting! I didn't break any laws—you can't..."

"Swoosh! Swoosh! Bang! Boom—Crash... Splash..."

More violent noises came through the line, followed by Constantine's sharp intake of breath—then silence.

Constantine panted heavily. "Good thing I ran fast—that damn lunatic..."

"What happened? If you're fine, I'm hanging up."

"No! No! Shieler, for the love of friendship, help me! I've had it with this damn spandex freak!"

Before Shieler could ask, Constantine began venting:

"That Batman guy is a complete lunatic. At first, he just followed me like some creepy stalker—even when I went to bars or the red-light district for fun, he tagged along!"

"Lately, he's gotten worse—he's started restricting my freedom, beating me, kidnapping me. God, he's trying to kill me!"

"Constantine... do you know something?" Shieler interrupted him, speaking in a low tone: "I've always thought Batman's obsession with justice and crime-fighting in Gotham is excessive, and his methods are terribly inefficient..."

Constantine was about to agree—when Shieler suddenly switched to a tone of admiration:

"But I have to say, what he's done lately qualifies him as Gotham's true hero. If he manages to kill you, I'll erect a monument to him right in the center of the Roundabout."

"Don't say that, Shieler! Let me come hide for two days—just two days! Then I swear I won't bother you again..."

To Constantine's surprise, Shieler didn't immediately refuse—he asked, "What exactly did you do to piss Batman off?"

"I didn't do anything... Well, you know I'm a devout believer, so I go to church on the Sabbath..."

Then other worshippers should thank you—God saw Constantine attending church and carried the cross out of Heaven overnight.

Constantine snorted. "Stop joking—I'm serious. When I was praying in church, I happened to notice something strange beneath the floor. To ensure the safety of all worshippers, I naturally had to investigate..."

"How much did you take?"

"Just a small bottle. You think Batman's overreacting? No—I didn't take anything... Wait, I don't know what you're talking about..."

Shieler smiled. Constantine laughed nervously on the other end—then Shieler spoke, voice cold and sharp:

"Can't save you. Just wait to die."