Shane Freak
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Chapter 796: Deadly Joke (Part 23)
🕑 Added 2023-12-07 13:50:09 +0000 UTCIn DC World With Marvel Chat Group : Table of Content/Chapter List
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"Sorry, we only have one pizza left, but since you're our guest from afar, it's all yours," Schiller said as he opened the kitchen valve, heated up the pan, and warmed the pizza. He then poured two glasses of water and placed them on the table.
Bruce sat at one end of the dining table, staring at the steaming hot pizza without much appetite. Right now, he was more concerned about the chair that had lost two of its legs, feeling it was more important than any food.
However, the body's needs couldn't be ignored. Bruce was indeed hungry. In the past couple of days, he had only eaten a bit of conch and seaweed, unable to resist the tempting aroma of modern industrialized food. Trembling hands, he finally picked up a slice of pizza and put it in his mouth.
In Hell's Kitchen, every standard apartment had a refrigerator, thanks to compact ice technology. The refrigeration method had undergone significant improvements, becoming more cost-effective while maintaining better freshness.
As a result, the pizza tasted delicious, just like it had just come out of the oven. Schiller watched him eat from across the table. After Bruce had mechanically eaten half of it, he asked, "Aren't you going to eat?"
"No," Schiller replied.
"Aren't you hungry?" Bruce asked again.
"If I get hungry, I'll find something to eat myself," Schiller said, taking a sip of water and averting his gaze, holding the cup in front of his mouth.
Bruce's thoughts turned to some unpleasant matters, causing him to lose his appetite immediately. At this moment, Schiller coughed twice and spit out the water in his mouth.
"God! Why does this water taste so bad?" Schiller frowned, looking at the water in his cup. "Didn't they install a water purifier here?"
Bruce, on the other hand, finished his glass of water and said, "Yes, but the purifier focuses on safety, not taste. It's nothing like the independent purifiers in the affluent areas."
Schiller frowned, displaying a very disdainful expression. He placed the water glass back on the table and said, "I need someone to bring me a clean glass of water. This is too unbearable."
"This is clean water," Bruce replied. "The purifier ensures safety; it's just the taste that's a bit off."
"That's the problem," Schiller said, standing up from the dining table and walking over to the telephone in the living room of the house. While dialing a number, he said, "I remember seeing this gang's telephone on the wall when I came in. Let me think... Oh, hello."
"I'm Rodriguez, the new tenant here. Today is my first day moving in. I was wondering if you could grace me with your presence at my housewarming party and perhaps bring a clean glass of water as a gift?"
"No, this isn't a prank call. I'm quite serious. If you don't want to come to the party, just bring me a glass of water."
"Do you think I'm joking? But I really need a glass of water right now, and I can tell you that if I don't get it, there could be consequences."
"I have a principle: if I don't have an umbrella, no one can make it rain. If I can't have water, then no one can drink water."
"If you don't bring me a glass of water, I will walk 8.7 kilometers southeast from here to the edge of the East District, where the ACE Chemical Factory is located."
"They have recently been producing a chemical solution for making pesticides, and even when diluted about 1800 times, it remains fatally toxic to humans."
"At 11:10 tonight, I will arrive at the northwest gate of the ACE Chemical Factory and distract the guards. By 11:30, I will successfully enter the factory's management office and locate the chemical I need."
"At 11:40, I will reach the factory's warehouse, find what I need, and pour it into a bottle to bring back to Living Hell."
"At exactly 2 AM, I will find the water source valve in Living Hell, and then, following the pipeline, I will reach the bottom purification area and gradually introduce the chemical into the water source."
"I'm not a chemistry expert, so I can't estimate how many people will die, but if a large-scale water contamination incident occurs, you will definitely be held responsible. Or you can blame it on the idiot who designed the water purifier here."
Schiller glanced at Bruce and said, "Anyway, it's Batman's fault. He made the purified water here taste so bad."
After hanging up the telephone, within five minutes, there was a knock at the door. Upon opening it, a well-dressed man wearing sunglasses, followed by four or five armed bodyguards, stood outside. Schiller stepped forward and shook hands with the well-dressed man, saying, "Hello, Mr. Hans. Welcome to my new home. Please come in."
Hans didn't move, but he carefully examined Schiller from head to toe, then waved his hand, signaling his men to lower their weapons because he was certain that the person before him was exactly what he had in mind.
In Gotham, there was a well-known rule: If you ever saw someone in the East District who appeared thin, weak, polite, articulate, and spoke with a gentle tone, there were only two words—run away.
This was actually a logical conclusion. In a city like Gotham, with its state of law and order, how could someone like that survive without being in control of some powerful force?
Living Hell was located relatively centrally in the East District, surrounded by gang territories, and most of them were notorious troublemakers.
To enter this place, there were two ways. You either had to look tough, burly, heavily tattooed, and appeared to be a hardened individual. Or, as long as nobody knew you were entering, you could get in.
People in Gotham didn't fear the physically strong ones, as such individuals were common, and gang enforcers disciplined themselves to appear as menacing as possible to gain an advantage during shootouts.
However, those who looked completely non-threatening, spoke calmly, and used clean language, making themselves seem easy to bully, yet managed to survive in the slums, indicated that they had to employ alternative methods to get by. These methods often involved various unsavory activities.
Of course, there were newcomers who initially adopted this gentle demeanor, but among them, the clever ones would try to blend into Gotham, using a tough exterior to gain some advantages. The less clever ones wouldn't survive in the long run.
So, when such a person appeared in this setting, it left one wondering about their true identity.
Gotham residents were also very aware that engaging in violence with someone like this was not a wise choice, unless you were absolutely certain you could utterly defeat them. Otherwise, you might wake up tonight to find them standing at the foot of your bed, smirking at you.
Having seemingly shaken hands seriously with Schiller, Hans said, "The water here really doesn't taste good, does it? Sir, did you just move in today?"
Schiller nodded and said, "Yes, in fact, this is my first time in the East District. You should be able to tell that I'm not a local Gothamite. I've just arrived here not long ago... Oh, I'm terribly rude. You've been waiting outside for so long. Please come in."
Hans took a step back and said, "No need, sir. I won't disturb your housewarming party any longer. Here's the water you need."
Hans handed over a bottle of water, and Schiller took a couple of steps forward without hesitation, accepting it. He then unscrewed the cap and took a sip, nodding and saying, "The taste of pure water is so much better. Thank you, Mr. Hans. If you ever run into trouble, you can come find me. I'd be happy to reward you handsomely for this bottle of water."
Hans waved to him and said, "Well then, goodbye, sir."
"Goodbye."
Schiller closed the door, drank a few more sips of water, and let out a satisfied sigh. Then he took the two cups away, rinsed them, and poured a glass of pure water for Bruce, saying, "You really should try this. It will make the water you just drank feel ashamed in your stomach."
Bruce covered his eyes with his hand and said, "You can't..."
"Can't what?" Schiller glanced at Bruce and said, "Are you going to tell me I can't deal with gangs? Come on, can't you see the situation now?"
"I was suddenly notified to come and live here for a while. I'm not familiar with this place, and I don't even have any friends here. I have to settle down somewhere, get to know some people, and maybe find a job, right?"
"Find a job?" Bruce's tone became somewhat unsettled. He pursed his lips and asked, "What kind of job are you looking for?"
Schiller sat down, sipping his water, and said, "I hope the job can provide me with enough food and water, not be too strenuous, and preferably allow me to pursue my personal interests."
He shook his head slightly and continued, "It's a bit of a pipe dream, right? But people always have to dare to dream before they can dare to do."
Bruce had already connected Schiller's job request to some terrifying possibilities. He carefully observed Professor Schiller, realizing that he had never been this close to Schiller before, not in terms of physical distance, but in their respective situations.
Many times, Schiller played the role of a teacher, and in such situations, he would habitually use language to assert dominance over Bruce, trying to gain the upper hand.
Bruce, on the other hand, was usually busy looking for opportunities to counterattack and regain control. During their conversations, they often engaged in a back-and-forth, testing each other, and rarely had calm and peaceful discussions.
But now, their situations and positions were completely aligned, and Bruce could observe Schiller more closely.
Then he noticed that Professor Schiller's behavior was indeed somewhat peculiar. For example, every time he placed the water glass down, he did so with pinpoint accuracy, without the slightest deviation. The octagonal glass was always oriented in the same direction when presented to him.
When Schiller put the glass down, he intentionally stared at its position to ensure it was correct.
Moreover, many of Schiller's movements were not fluid, appearing somewhat stiff. Bruce noticed that the focus of his eye contact was off, and when he followed Schiller's gaze, he realized that Schiller seemed to be counting the floor tiles.
Bruce carefully recalled his memories and remembered hearing from Victor that Schiller was an autistic individual, specifically a well-known Scholar-type autistic person.
Scholar Syndrome was a unique mental disorder where individuals exhibited exceptional genius in certain areas but suffered cognitive impairments in others.
If Schiller had cognitive impairments in some areas... Bruce didn't need to think too hard to know which areas those might be. In simple terms, it pertained to every aspect of dealing with people.
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Next Chapter>>Chapter 797: Deadly Joke (Part 24)
