Chapter 4880

"Professor, you really don't need to go to so much trouble for me," Coppert said, shaking his head. "I don't have any suicidal tendencies; I just have some things to think about. The one I gave my mother has already been tested and injected. As for this one of mine, I still need to consider it."

"You want to save it for Edward?" Shiler saw through him. "He does indeed have pathological mental issues, and they're quite complex and hard to resolve through normal means. But I still suggest you use it first; once you recover, you'll be able to get more."

Coppert appeared somewhat silent. Shiler noticed his resistance and didn't press further. Alberto warmly received Shiler; although there weren't many people at the manor now, Alberto still prepared a table full of dishes and two bottles of good wine.

"How is the old godfather's health?" Shiler asked.

"He's fine," Alberto replied. "Brainiac has arranged for him to oversee a large lemon grove in Sicily, and he's currently cooperating with Miss Ashley on plant enlargement experiments."

"Even the lemons need to be enlarged?" Shiler couldn't help but ask.

"Sicilian lemons aren't sour," Alberto explained, having said this many times before. "Precisely because of their low acidity but strong fragrance, they're famous worldwide. Most aren't eaten directly but used to extract essential oils."

"I see," Shiler nodded. "Has he never thought about returning to current-day Gotham to take a look?"

Alberto shook his head. "To be honest, no one who has adapted to the climate of Southern Italy would have the courage to return to Gotham. Even though Gotham's weather has improved considerably, it still can't compare to Sicily."

Alberto's mood also sank somewhat: "Over the years, Gotham's ghostly weather and pollution have placed a great burden on my father's health. He recuperated in Italy for a long time before barely recovering. Doctors also warned him not to go to overly dark and damp places, or else he might relapse."

Shiler understood: the old godfather likely had some bone and joint issues, all thanks to Gotham's damned weather. People with this condition shouldn't go to rainy, damp regions; they should recuperate in places with abundant sunshine and warmth—Southern Italy perfectly fits the requirement.

Gotham's weather has indeed improved considerably, but it still can't compare to Mediterranean countries, especially places like Italy and Spain with mild climates and constant sunshine, which are truly blessed by nature.

Shiler wanted the old godfather to return and see, really just wanting him to witness Gotham's changes with his own eyes. But since his body needs recuperation, there's no rush—Gotham will only get better.

"But what urgently needs solving now is the rainy season problem," Coppert said, looking out the window. "This year's rainfall has been exceptionally heavy; I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing."

"This is the result of my efforts to restore the water cycle," Brainiac said. "The urban heat island effect next summer will be greatly reduced."

But obviously, Gotham residents grow melancholy at the first sign of rain. They ask these seemingly meaningful but nonsensical questions, not wanting scientific explanations, but instead starting to dream up whatever they say.

"Not a good omen," Alberto said. "Last night, it seemed several power towers failed; there might be another blackout tonight. Gotham hasn't been this dark in a long time."

"Tonight probably won't be peaceful," Shiler said, lowering his eyes. "I hope I don't miss the TV program."

"No more power towers will be damaged," Brainiac insisted, still trying to explain. "That was just an accident; lightning rods have now been installed everywhere. Besides, missed TV programs will have reruns—you can watch them tomorrow."

No one paid him any attention. Soon, more people joined them, as Gotham University's faculty and students had already settled in, so naturally someone came looking for them.

"Mr. Falcone, it's a pleasure to meet you," Victor said, shaking his hand. Behind Victor followed another person—that is, Bruce Banner from a certain universe, also one of the scientists Shiler brought back.

Banner stepped forward and shook Alberto's hand. His expression carried a hint of gloom; his mood was clearly not good. Shiler saw him arrive, stepped forward, and shook his hand as well.

"How are you? Still adapting, Doctor Banner?"

"Not too bad, really," Banner said, forcing a smile uglier than crying. "At least I'm still human, and I'm still on Earth."

"Brainiac won't expel you," Shiler said. "He has specific, stable criteria for determining humanity, and currently you cannot violate them. Moreover, artificial life cannot act against its nature, so you can rest assured."

"That's exactly what I want to say," Banner replied, flashing an extremely sharp, sarcastic smile. "My fellow humans want to expel me, while the one taking me in is actually an artificial intelligence."

"He's not entirely an artificial intelligence," Victor explained to him. "Currently, he's somewhere between sentient life and artificial intelligence. If I'm not mistaken, he expressed sympathy for your situation."

"I thought he was just imitating," Banner said, struggling to stay alert. "Being sympathized with by an artificial intelligence isn't exactly a good thing for me."

"My point is, you can't just see him as a emotionless tool, nor is it us wielding this tool to save you—this is entirely his own will."

"I will thank him for that." Banner's mental state was poor; clearly, he couldn't absorb anything. Victor also couldn't help.

"Why don't you go rest for a while, sir?" Alberto interjected at the right moment, speaking to Banner. "The sleeping pills are in the second drawer of the bedside table."

Banner quickly went off. Knowing that, under Brainiac's control, obtaining sleeping pills is as hard as climbing to heaven. His diagnosis hasn't come through yet, so he can't get any medicine—he's gone several nights without proper sleep.

Victor somewhat disagreed, saying: "Avoidance isn't the way to solve problems; he needs to understand something before he can truly stay here."

"Forced melons aren't sweet," Alberto said. "If he keeps thinking about those things, he'll eventually want to go back. Forcing him to stay serves no purpose and might even let that thing inside him wreck this place."

Victor let out a long sigh: "I just hope he realizes he isn't really a monster here. From ordinary people to rulers, no one would want to expel him."

"Seeing is better than hearing," Alberto said, leading them to the table and having the chef prepare some food.

Generally speaking, hiring private chefs isn't allowed now, but Alberto's situation is special. Previously, all of Gotham was built upon the mafia system, with the godfather as its spiritual leader—even today, many diehards remain.

For Gotham's stability, Brainiac will make concessions to Alberto on daily life details. Although he assigned Alberto work, his colleagues are Alberto's former subordinates, and his house now has more residents—though they're all former servants from the manor.

These servants grew up watching Alberto, and their relationship with him is like that of Alfred and Bruce. It's not just an ordinary employment relation; there are emotional bonds. Brainiac understands this and hasn't forcibly separated them.

Not long after, Ethan arrived. On the evacuation route, he went to pick up his newly issued identification documents.

"You seem to be adapting quickly," Victor said.

"I'm good at adapting," Ethan smiled, looking at his documents. "I'm not flattering anyone, but I genuinely like this place—it's a very simple city."

"I've never heard anyone describe Gotham like that before," Shiler said, looking at him.

"Simple it is, in that everyone is not simple," Ethan said bluntly. "I'd rather work with a group of non-simple people than teammates who, when things go wrong, just cry and desperately drag everyone down. These people can handle most things on their own and even help me."

"I believe in self-help heaven helps," Ethan continued. "If you yourself are self-destructive and unwilling to make an effort, any disaster can knock you down. I can see that most people in this city have an unyielding spirit. Facing difficulties, they won't sit and wait for death; their will to survive is strong, and they understand mutual aid—this will make things much easier for me."

Shiler recalled that Ethan was a key figure in helping Iron Man return to civilized society. Whether in film or comics, their relationship has always been good. Perhaps precisely because, after awakening, Iron Man decided to save himself instead of self-destructing as before.

For rulers, this Gotham mob might be a bit too rowdy. But for doctors, this vitality is just right. No one wants their patients lifeless and hopeless; they want them as stubborn as a young calf, struggling with Death even with one breath left. And Gotham people happen to excel at this—no wonder Ethan feels good about Gotham.

By contrast, Banner doesn't adapt well. It's not that he can't adapt, but his past experiences have left him full of resentment, his mind stuck on past events, without deeply understanding this universe and this city. Victor is trying, but with little effect.

Shiler didn't expect everyone to be able to stay; this really doesn't need forcing—letting each decide for themselves is best. Gotham has changed a lot, but one thing remains unchanged: what belongs to Gotham will ultimately stay in Gotham.

After eating, they played cards to pass the time and watched some TV programs, but unfortunately, tastes differed. Besides Shiler, no one liked watching detective documentaries; in Victor's words, Shiler had come to kick his addiction. Shiler just smiled and said nothing.

As the sky darkened somewhat, since no one had moved much, no one was hungry, so they decided to each attend to their work. Shiler, however, kept sitting in the living room without moving; everyone thought he was tired from grading assignments or wanted to watch the TV program he missed yesterday.

After the sky turned completely dark, thunder followed one after another, and the rain outside continued to pour down. Raindrops striking the water and ground produced distinctly different sounds; the rising rainwater could actually create the force of sea waves. Accompanied by gradually rising winds, many waves could actually slap against the windows, producing terrifying noises.

Suddenly, the shadows on the window frame began to flash rapidly, continuously shifting from front to back like the hands of a broken clock spinning wildly. Amid the interweaving red and blue light and shadow, Alberto drew his waist gun, and Brainiac let out a sharp, startled cry.

No one paid him any attention. Alberto quickly walked toward the door, and everyone else gathered by the wall, each seeking cover. "Bang bang bang," the door was knocked on.

"GCPD! Open up!"

Alberto was dazed for a moment; from childhood to adulthood, he had never been called to the door by police like this. He was about to say something when Shiler stopped him.

He stepped forward and opened the door; wind and rain rushed in faster than the police. Countless flashlight beams illuminated the dense rain lines, and also lit up those gray pupils, making them appear like colorless ice.

Unexpectedly, standing at the door was Tim. Tim gestured to stop the people behind him, flashed his credentials, and said: "Commissioner Gordon is absent; I am temporarily acting as Deputy Commissioner of the Gotham Police Department."

His voice low: "Something has happened, Professor."