Under the red and blue lights, the snow transformed, and the police car, like a meteor under the moonlight, left a long trail in the snow before slowly stopping next to a black car. Two police officers got out of the car and walked to the black car. The window rolled down, and Shiller turned to look at them.
"Director Gordon said your car broke down and sent us to pick you up."
Shiller pushed open the car door and got out. He got into the police car and then said, "Take me to Morson street."
"What?"
Twenty minutes later, the dark district was illuminated by police lights. A man in a black suit got out of the car, opened an umbrella, and entered a crime scene that was cordoned off. The surveillance camera on the street corner lit up for a moment and then went dark.
The traces of Jerryta the corpse collector's death still lingered in this house, like a ghost reluctant to leave. Bloodstains on the sofa, footprints at the door, fingerprints on the glass. He indeed came to help, Shiller thought, he got to the key.
His phone suddenly received a message, the sender's name was "Moriarty." "Brainiac hasn't acted yet," Shiller said, "There's no need to trace it; it's sent by someone he controls."
"I'm waiting for you at the cliff." Just this one brief sentence.
Shiller left the house, got back into the police car, and then said, "Take me to the cliffside restaurant."
In less than half an hour, the sea, which appeared even more murky in the night, came into view beyond the railings of the speeding sidewalk. Not a person was on the beach. The tent, lounge chairs, and bar counter only left vague outlines.
Shiller got out of the car and entered from the east entrance of the cliffside restaurant. The restaurant was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop; there was no light, no sound. Only one screen was lit. At the moment his gaze focused on the screen, Shiller's pupils were reflected to be almost colorless.
"Good to see you, Professor." A childish voice rang out, "The game has begun, let us cheer together."
Static——
"Shiller, I found out——static——static——"
The world fell silent again. The images on the screen changed, finally freezing on a religious-themed painting.
Shiller lightly tapped the floor with his umbrella, making a sound so faint it was almost inaudible. With a "bang," the door to the restaurant reception room opened. It was still pitch black inside, like an abyss ready to devour.
Shiller stared unblinkingly at the space beyond the door until there was a sound. He stepped inside, still in darkness, but a peculiarly shaped machine was set on the table.
Shiller approached the machine, and suddenly a bright light flashed outside the window, flickering on and off in a highly regular manner as if someone was signaling. The light spread farther and farther, even the lighthouse on the island across the sea began to blink incessantly.
"Quiet down, Mrs. Brainiac, don't disturb my thinking." Shiller whispered. But obviously, no one could hear him.
In the next second, Shiller reached out and touched the machine.
When he came to his senses again, he found himself standing on the rooftop of a building. The cold wind howled, the night was deep, and the spotlight of a helicopter was so dazzling that he couldn't keep his eyes open. In the instant all the lights focused on him, countless gun muzzles aimed at him like black holes.
"Don't move! Drop your weapon! Put your hands up!"
"Shiller Rodriguez, you've poisoned in the Morson district, with victims exceeding 50 people. We must arrest you immediately, do not make any unnecessary resistance, or we have the right to shoot you..."
Shiller didn't look at them; he just raised his head to the sky. Thick clouds were impenetrable, the heart of the city lay silent, just like it did years ago.
Shiller stepped back, standing at the edge of the building. In the interplay between police lights and searchlights, he turned and looked at the ground thirty floors below. Police cars had completely blocked off the area.
"What are you going to do?!" the police shouted at him, "Don't think about committing suicide to escape punishment! Get down from there now!"
Shiller turned his head back, seemingly contemplating the words seriously, and said, "Handcuffs."
The police officer, crouching and holding a gun, slowly approached him: "Put down the umbrella!"
Shiller dropped the umbrella in his hand. The officer walked over to handcuff him, then took him into the helicopter.
"What crime have I committed?" Shiller asked.
No one answered him. Everyone remained silent. They returned to the police station, and Shiller was taken to the interrogation room. A familiar face appeared before him.
"I'm James Gordon, you can call me Chief Gordon." he said, "What do you think about the poisoning on Morson street, sir?"
"You think I did it." Shiller said with certainty.
"We found the chemicals you used at your place, identical to those detected on the bodies. More than one eyewitness claimed to have seen you at the crime scene. A student even reported you for making poison in the lab, and indeed, we discovered the same chemicals in the lab you used. We will charge you with terrorism, first-degree murder, among other crimes..."
"Only you would do this." Shiller said.
"What?" Gordon squinted.
"I won't go to court."
"That's not up to you."
"Nor is it up to you." Shiller looked at Gordon and said, "Your evidence is thorough, but the informants in the police station will deliver these things to their masters overnight. I won't stay here long."
"What are you talking about?"
"Only you care about the dozens killed." Shiller said, "The rest can only glean the power they longed for from death."
With a "bang," the door to the interrogation room opened, and Shiller's handcuffs were removed. A sullen-faced detective looked at him and said, "You better not try anything funny, Mr. Rodriguez. You can no longer return to teaching at Gotham University. If you can't show your value, you know the consequences."
Shiller said nothing. Those gray eyes, under the dim light of the police station hallway, resembled snow on coal ash.
In the brightly-lit, luxuriously decorated mansion's parlor, a tall man sat with his legs crossed on the sofa. Upon seeing Shiller enter, those fierce eyes scrutinized him up and down, then said, "I've heard of your reputation, Professor Rodriguez."
"Kill Carmine Falcone," Shiller said, "Otherwise, he'll kill you."
The glow of the cigar suddenly flared, and the scarred hands forcefully extinguished it on the table. Eyes stared dead into Shiller's: "What did you say?"
"Or let me see Falcone," Shiller continued, "that's the only way to save you from death."
"Rodriguez..."
"Do you know Hugo Strange?" Shiller suddenly changed the topic.
"You mean that popular professor?"
"I see," said Shiller, "your lover is having an affair with your subordinate. Next week they will forge evidence of you betraying the Godfather, then leave from Dock No.7 controlled by the Lawrence family."
"How do you know?" The man squinted his eyes.
"Those 50 people won't just stand there waiting for me to kill them." Shiller said dismissively, "You brought me here, aren't you expecting me to have such skills?"
"You've only created some chemicals. What I want is a formula. Or is that just your blind eye technique?"
"Not that effective."
"How many people can it kill?"
"Perhaps 20,000."
"What?!"
"Those 50 people weren't killed with chemicals. What I made, once deployed on a large scale, is enough to destroy half a city. So I advise you to kill Falcone first, so he can't stop you from destroying Gotham."
"Bullshit about destroying Gotham. I still have business to do." He stood up and walked to Shiller, face fierce, "What tricks are you playing exactly?"
"You know better than I do. In Gotham, killing quietly is more important than killing more. Forget about any chemicals."
"Is what you said about the lover true?"
"No. But you can tie them up, bring them to the Godfather, and take me along too."
The man's pupils suddenly contracted. Shiller stared into his eyes without flinching and said: "Solve the lover clinging to you, the subordinate you're dissatisfied with, and the Godfather's questioning, along with me. Isn't it quite a deal?"
Entering the classically decorated room again, Shiller slightly lifted his eyes, looking at the carved ceiling, then let his gaze fall, meeting the Godfather's eyes.
"Rodriguez?"
Shiller didn't answer, just stood there, seemingly a bit distracted. Then, he suddenly seemed to come to his senses and looked at the Godfather saying, "Hand me over to the FBI, and you'll get at least three years of peace."
The Godfather paused his hand's movement. He didn't get angry or question, he simply said, "Do you think they'll let you go?"
Shiller shook his head: "I'm just letting you go."
"People often say I'm different from anyone they've met. For most, that's only because their experience is shallow, they've seen too few people. But you're different, Carmine Falcone, trust your instinct that's warning you. I'm not a knife used for slicing butter."
The Godfather stared at him in silence for a long time, then said, "Three years is too short."
"Indeed too short. The person you want to wait for, Hugo Strange, will never give them to you." Shiller shook his head lightly and said, "But I can only leave because if I stay here, you won't be able to maintain even three years."
Shiller stood in front of the FBI car, the wind whipping his coat, making a sound like a hunter's. He glanced back at the Godfather standing by the window, then got into the car, leaving the dark city behind.
Interrogation room, office, crime scene, Capitol Building, White House, airport, and finally the Pacific Ocean.
When Shiller came to his senses again, he was once again standing in the restaurant's room. He looked up towards the empty window and softly said, "How does it feel to be sentenced to 231 years?"
With a "bang," another door opened. Shiller turned around, seeing the opposite private room's door wide open, inside engulfed in darkness.
He walked in again. A machine was placed on the table. He stared at it for a while before reaching out to touch it again.
With a "clang," the not-so-clear sound of shackles hitting the ground was heard. Shiller glanced at his prisoner's uniform, and then at the prison guard walking ahead.
"How long was I sentenced for?" he asked.
"231 years, sir. Sir, even in Blackgate Prison, you are among the elite," the guard said without turning his head.
"How long is smuggling contraband into prison sentenced for?"
The guard halted, turning back to look at Shiller: "Are you threatening me?"
"You now want to throw a punch, show me who's boss here, make sure no news gets out. But I don't intend to report you. The warden is too greedy, the supplier too difficult, the buyers don't understand your hard work at all. If I could help you eliminate one of them, who would you choose?"
The guard squinted his eyes.
"You could take them down?"
"How long was I sentenced for?"
With a "thud," a toothbrush was thrust straight into the throat. The bulky figure in a suit slowly fell down, while the person holding the weapon was none other than his own hands. The tall prison guard stood stiffly to the side.
"How many years will this add to my sentence?" Shiller asked.
The guard opened his mouth and slowly said, "Someone will come for your release tomorrow, sir."