Shane Freak
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Chapter 1168 Professor (Forty)
🕑 Added 2024-04-16 00:36:38 +0000 UTCIn DC World With Marvel Chat Group : Table of Content/Chapter List
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When a loud noise came, the entire space seemed to be soaked in viscous glue, and every object, every speck of dust, and every fragment here were slowed down.
A bullet came out from the center of the office door, and the wood chips splashed by the bullet were like the cigarette flowers in the movie, which were frozen frame by frame. In the moment of blooming, they shattered people's reverence for Eternity.
As the person with the strongest reaction ability in the room, Bruce could see the muscles on his face constantly contracting inward with every millisecond of turning his head, from the eyebrows to the hair ends, every hair end was engraved with nervousness and shock.
Harley's slowly opening mouth became deeper in the bright red color of the oral cavity, and when the speed of the blood flow slowed down, the dilated blood vessels could be seen struggling in vain to stop the loss of life.
Valentin's eye sockets were still bleeding, but he made an effort to raise his head to see where the sound came from, to see what had happened.
And after that bullet, passing through layer after layer of dust stuck by glue, raising obvious waves and wakes, when it passed through the fibers of the Suit, parted the skin, and passed through the layered muscles, finally stopping not far from the heart, Schiller took a step back due to inertia.
In Bruce's blue eyes, the pupils contracted to the smallest, he heard a gurgling sound in his ear, he saw the glue gradually being diluted and dissolved, the time flow returned to normal, and there was a bullet hole in Schiller's chest, not much bleeding, but the suit jacket was stained red.
The intense ringing in his ears made Bruce unable to think, he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head to shake the chaotic and complex images out of his mind, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw a figure with a gun walking in.
Schiller, holding his chest, stood still, he seemed a little weak and lowered his head, using his hand to support the table.
Bruce suddenly remembered that when he first met the Pathological, the Pathological had told him that he would not use any special abilities, and he enjoyed the feeling of playing with the prey on the edge of Death.
Instantly, Bruce's genius brain told him that the force of that bullet was not enough to penetrate the heart, but his rational analysis also told him that the killer did this on purpose, he did not want to kill Schiller.
Bruce had long known that Roman was one of those serial killers, they came for Schiller, and if he did not want to take the opportunity to kill Schiller, it meant that a terrible and crazy dialogue between serial killers was about to begin again.
"We meet again, Professor Schiller." Roman, who walked in, still had a bandage wrapped around his head. Back then, Schiller had knocked him down with a vase, and his injury had not fully healed yet.
Schiller looked down at the wound on his chest, then looked up at Roman and said, "Is this your retaliation?"
Roman shook his head while holding the gun, his eye sockets began to turn red, tears were gathering in his eyes, but the muscles around his nose were becoming nervous, constantly shrugging upwards, and his eyelids were also trembling, making him look both fragile and fierce.
Schiller's complexion began to turn pale at an abnormal speed, he pressed his wound with his hand and slowly walked towards the armchair, supporting himself on the armrest and sitting down, lowering his head to adjust his breathing, like an old man about to be executed.
When Schiller turned his head to look at him, Bruce's ears started ringing again, and he heard Schiller's voice, sounding both near and far:
"Bruce, open the second drawer of the cabinet next to you, take out the first aid box, and come help me take out the bullet."
"That's not a good idea, Professor." Bruce said as he turned his head to look at the drawer, and when he turned his head back to look at Schiller, he found Schiller was wiping the blood off his suit.
Bruce pulled open the drawer with a "click" and took out the box containing the surgical knife, bandages, and other wound treatment items. Schiller's voice came from the sofa: "Bumping and fighting is a habit for infants to express emotions. You can just say directly that you don't want to save me."
Before Bruce could respond, Roman, who was standing at the door, slowly lowered his gun and stared at Schiller, saying, "Even if I shot you in the heart, you would still only want to talk to Bruce. You two are always like this, you only have eyes for Bruce Wayne!"
Schiller took off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, and Bruce, carrying a box, walked over and placed it on the coffee table, beginning to help Schiller remove the bullet.
"Bang!"
Another gunshot, but this one did not hit Schiller or Bruce. Or rather, it was deliberately aimed away from them.
Schiller, who was lowering his head, suddenly took a sharp breath. He looked up at Bruce and said, "You better not be taking revenge... Harley, Harley! Come over, I need a professional nurse."
Harley, who had crept along the shadow of the bookshelf to Roman's back, let out a "tsk" sound, slowly putting away the dagger in his hand, and with some anger, he waved his hand and quickly walked to Schiller's side, pushing Bruce aside, saying, "Move aside, rich person, you should go and chat with your friend who reeks of copper!"
Bruce looked at Schiller's chest, and removing the bullet would definitely require expanding the wound. He had just finished cleaning the blood, and his hands were now covered in Schiller's blood.
Schiller's condition was not good either. Although the bullet did not hit his heart, the position was very deep, and without professional equipment, taking it out would definitely cause a lot of bleeding. His shirt was already completely soaked in blood.
Bruce's ears started ringing again, and a hazy glow appeared in front of his eyes. The next moment, the sofa under Schiller turned into a red telephone booth, equally covered in blood, and the same pale face.
Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head hard, then turned the surgical knife to look at Roman. In a daze, a series of hallucinations appeared again - the aged face of Louis in the attic, the Owls' sinister laughter, the cold brought by the heavy rain in Gotham...
Immersing oneself in psychological therapy is not a good thing at all. Listening to others' secrets not only satisfies the voyeuristic desire, but without professional training, going into someone's inner world, understanding their thinking, and taking on their emotions is an extremely dangerous thing.
Batman's weaknesses all exist in his heart, and this attempt to understand madness will inevitably lead to instability in his mental state. Seeing wounds, hearing gunshots, and smelling the scent of blood will only exacerbate the condition.
Just as Bruce was slowly clenching the knife in his hand, Schiller, who had been keeping his head down, let out a soft sigh. He turned his head to look at Roman and pointed to the sofa across the room, saying, "...Sit down."
Roman put down his handgun, gasping for breath where he stood. It took him a while to calm down.
But he didn't go to the sofa, instead walking straight to the chair behind the desk and plopping down, even spinning around in it.
Bruce's grip on the knife suddenly relaxed, and he went to sit down across from Schiller. First, he unbuckled his suit's suspenders, then started rolling up his shirt sleeves.
"Why don't you want to come over here?" Schiller took a fresh towel from Harley's hand and started wiping the blood off his neck.
The moonlight in Gotham was brighter than the sunlight. Schiller sat alone on the single sofa, facing the window and the moonlight. His features were blurred in the light, his eyes deep-set like lighthouses shining in the night.
"Why should I do as you say?" Roman leaned forward in the office chair, looking at Schiller. "You're not a good psychologist at all. You can't tell who needs treatment more. You're just like those damn sycophants, circling around Wayne."
Before Schiller could respond, Bruce, rolling up his sleeve, turned his head to look at Roman and said, "You attribute all your actions to me because you're shirking responsibility. And the reason you think you have to take responsibility for these things is that you're still trapped in the morality of ordinary society, feeling guilty and ashamed."
"You're always stuck in the moral sense of ordinary people, never despising or ignoring them. You're one of them, not like us."
Schiller glanced at him expressionlessly and said, "I vaguely heard someone say there was academic plagiarism against me."
"The plagiarism just now, you're welcome." Bruce extended his bloodied hand, picked up the water glass, and drained it in one gulp. Watching his actions, Schiller paused, gripping the towel, and looked at Bruce, saying, "What are you going crazy about?"
"I've had enough!" Bruce stood up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and looked at Schiller. "I've had enough of you crazies."
He looked at Schiller, then pointed a finger at the still-lying Valentin, saying, "You, and you, your bullshit reasons, and your evil theories that no one but you will believe - just stay in the psychiatric hospital and keep discussing them. I'm leaving!"
With that, Bruce stood up and started to leave. But just as he reached the door, a gun was pressed against his waist. Bruce slowly raised his hands, closed his eyes, and let out a breath.
"Roman, has our feud really come to this?" Bruce spoke up. "Your father's comparison of you and me was not your fault or mine, but a failure of his education. You should think about the Sinnett family..."
"Why don't you understand, Bruce? I'm not jealous of you!"
"You are jealous of me." Bruce interrupted him, turning slightly to look at him. "But you're not jealous of my wealth, but of my talent, my intelligence, and my mental illness."
Bruce quickly turned around, staring into Roman's eyes. "You're jealous of my abnormality because you think it's cool."
"Including running around Gotham at night in a tight suit like a madman, you think that kind of behavior, which seems crazy to others, is much cooler than you hiding in the Manor listening to your father's lectures."
"You're so immature, Roman. You and Thomas are the same. When you found out I was Batman, your first reaction wasn't to mock me for looking for trouble, but to hope you could replace me and become a madman prowling the night."
Bruce lowered his arms, relaxed his shoulders, and sighed as he looked at Roman. "I really suggest you take a look at Gotham's tourism development plan and see if you can really stand on the rooftops for four hours every night and do these actions to try to replace me."
Roman was left somewhat dazed by Bruce's tirade.
At that moment, a "bang" was heard, and Roman slowly fell to the ground. Schiller, bent over, one hand clutching the wound on his chest and the other holding a desk lamp, the rod of which was bent from hitting someone's head.
The expressions on Bruce's face disappeared. He lowered his eyelids, looking at the prone Roman, then raised his eyes to look at Schiller.
"What are you two performing? A duet?" Harley asked from the sofa, spreading her hands. Bruce shook his head and said to Schiller, "I know you have no interest in giving him psychological treatment, so I just went along with you to take him down directly."
But Schiller shook his head too, one hand on the back of the sofa, slowly bending down to look at the floor. "You didn't cooperate with me to take him down because you saw my intention, but because you hoped that by cooperating with me to take him down, you could gain some say in how to deal with him, so that I wouldn't take a part of his body."
Schiller straightened up as much as he could and looked at Bruce. "This won't end until the final banquet arrives. You can stay here, but I'm going to go rest."
With that, Schiller, supporting himself on the wall, slowly walked back to the rest room in the office.
The blood-stained Bruce, hearing the sound of the door locking, threw the scalpel onto the nearby sofa and began to tidy up the two people lying on the floor.
But just as he grabbed Roman's arm to lift him up, a "crash" was heard as the glass in front of him shattered, and a person covered in bandages, with one prosthetic leg, rushed in, his eyes full of madness and cruelty.
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Next Chapter>>Chapter 1169 Professor (Part 41)
