It was another silent night in Gotham, and in the deserted corridors of the hospital, only shallow footprints on the tiled floor told of the chaos of the day and the silence of the night.

In a city that is always noisy by the sound of gunfire, the hospital is still quiet, where the wounded silently lick their wounds before they can face the sinister outside again.

One hand grasped the doorknob of the ward door, twisted it slightly, the sound of the door opening, did not cover the slight tremor of the instrument, the paper was turned lightly, and Victor, who was standing at the head of the bed reading the report, looked at Schiller who came in and said, "What did the attending doctor say? How does the drug adapt?"

Schiller looked at the report in his hand, and the drug reaction data on it made him feel a little familiar.

Connors had told him what kind of data meant that the lizard serum would work, and the good news was that the numbers were just within the range.

Schiller came to the bedside and looked at Bruce lying on the bed, and now, he was unrecognizable.

The burns from the previous warehouse fire were splashed with chemical agents, and then they were exposed to the wind and sun, and they were not properly treated, causing the wound to further infect and worsen.

What's even more terrifying is that after he fell into a chemical dye barrel, most of the hair on his body has been corroded, and his skin has become a rough surface like a zombie.

It's a terrifying image, the epidermis is corroded, the subcutaneous fat, muscles and tendons are entangled, and he becomes the muscular man of the anatomy textbook, but even more terrifying.

Now Bruce no longer has that handsome appearance, his youth, his robustness, and his beauty have disappeared with the fall, and his flesh has fallen silent, like a bat stuck to a mousetrap, and has to peel off his skin in order to take off again.

But neither Victor nor Schiller saw this appearance, and through this terrible appearance, they saw the soul that was gradually awakening.

The powerful power emanating from it amazed Victor, and made Schiller silently draw a cross in his heart for the other smiling bat.

May God bless him, Schiller thought, a Batman who laughs out loud because he is infected by the Joker virus will never be able to beat a Batman who really wants to laugh.

Schiller subconsciously reached out and touched the side of his neck, and Victor followed his movements, his gaze fell between his fingers, and he saw that there was a shallow scar there.

Ever since Victor met Schiller, he had always had such a scar on the side of his neck, which actually made Victor very puzzled, because he didn't think anyone in the city could hurt Schiller.

But Schiller never said anything about it, as if it was not an accident to laugh at, and standing in front of the bed, Victor spoke again, "Schiller, can you tell me what is going on? I don't think you're going to be an abusive student, how the hell did Bruce end up like this?"

"Victor, do you want to hear a story?" Schiller stood in front of the bed, looking into Victor's eyes through the soft glow of the spotlight at the top of the room, and said, "A story about pride and prejudice?"

Schiller lowered his eyes and looked at the monster lying on the bed, and said, "When Bruce came to school on his first day, he was nowhere near as strong as he appeared, and to this day, too."

"He's been bluffing to strengthen his confidence that he can accomplish his revenge, and I don't like to deal with people like that......

Victor thought for a moment and said, "Indeed, if a person is so paranoid that he can trick himself into it, it will definitely evolve into a strong demand for others to cooperate with his ideas, and he must get too deep into the drama to not wake up."

"I know this very well...... "Victor said with a sad expression, "in the most desperate days, I told myself that my wife would wake up, she would wake up, she would recover."

"If anyone casts a sympathetic glance at me, comforts me, and makes me mourn, I will feel the urge to kill him, because he is piercing this illusion of mine, and I live by it."

Schiller sighed slightly and said, "At that time,

I thought that my rejection of Bruce was based on my own emotions and the conclusion of some rational analysis, but I did not realize that from that time on, something terrible happened."

Victor opened his eyes slightly, and looked at Schiller, not knowing what kind of thing he called terrible.

"You should know that I'm not a native of Gotham, and I've been bored and bored since I came to this city."

"And when Bruce appeared in front of me and asked me a question, I heard a series of laughs that rang in my heart, but at that time, I didn't realize the seriousness of the problem......

Schiller paused for a moment, then said, "You may know, I've always suffered from mental illness, including congenital autism, and acquired anxiety disorders, as well as some obsessive-compulsive manifestations."

It was the first time Victor had heard Schiller admit that he was mentally ill, but he had known it for a long time.

Schiller's daily habits are a bit abnormal, but they are nothing in Gotham and therefore do not attract much attention.

But Schiller seems to have been avoiding this fact, and he is reluctant to talk about his own mental condition.

Victor can understand that no matter how good the theory and experience are, the doctor will not be able to treat himself, because doctors are also human beings and have weaknesses, and they are unwilling to face their own illness.

And now, for the first time, Victor listened to Schiller take the initiative to talk about his mental condition, revealing the doubts that Victor had been puzzled all along.

"I don't know if you know anything about scholar syndrome, but for as long as I can remember, my mental world has been different from everyone else."

Schiller tapped his fingers on the guardrail of the hospital bed, making a crisp sound, and he said, "Of course, this is what I learned later, and I later learned that the spiritual world of normal people is chaotic and disorderly, and their way of thinking is completely different from mine......

"Instead of going down the stairs and rummaging through the time tags on the files, pulling out folders and looking at them carefully, they checked their memories in a more hazy and chaotic way, remembering what they had experienced, and even lost some of them."

Schiller's hand squeezing the guardrail with a gentle force, Victor captured the details of the action, saying, "If you really don't want to remember, then don't think about it anymore, let's talk about something else."

Schiller shook his head and continued, "When I was very young, I used to see other children building blocks, and I thought it was funny, so for the first time in my own spiritual world, I built a block tower out of memory fragments."

"The tower was very small, crumbling, and crumbling at the touch of a button, but in the days that followed, I didn't have much else to do, so I tried to make more bricks and build a taller tower.

"At the time, I was driven by instinct and didn't know what it was doing, I just thought it was funny and didn't feel the danger in it."

"I just want a bigger tower, so I make more blocks to get to higher places, but I think, you know, the bricks will collapse one day."

Victor understood Schiller's analogy, after all, he had also read Schiller's essay on the temple of thought, so he asked, "When you were a child, you built a tower of blocks that you couldn't control, and one day, the tower collapsed, what happened after that?"

Schiller was silent for a long time, and he said, "The accidents in the real world did not happen on the day the tower collapsed, it was all foreshadowed."

"As I built the tower higher and higher, I found that I began to have a stronger memory, able to remember every detail of daily life, remember it by heart, and because my spirit itself was abnormal, I didn't consciously cover it up."

Victor had a bad feeling and asked, "You showed your genius, and then what?"

Victor found that Schiller always had a habit of pausing for long periods of time when he recounted all this, as if he was trying to skim over a part of the experience, or rather, to say it

In the screening of what can be said.

After a while, Schiller continued: "The idiosyncrasies that distinguish most ordinary people from this society are always easily perceived, and my life has changed a little, originally, it was nothing, but after the collapse of the building tower, things became uncontrollable."

"Did you have a nervous breakdown?" Victor asked.

"It's worse than that." Schiller looked down at his fingers and said, "I'm just an ordinary person, the human brain has an upper limit, and the mind is always limited by bandwidth, and it is impossible to expand indefinitely."

"I made the information I got into one block after another, and in order to build the blocks higher, my personality climbed up the tower of blocks, just to put the next block on top."

"If the building blocks represent all the information I get, then the ground represents my spiritual foundation, and obviously, my mental stability is not so high."

"So, one day, there was an earthquake."

Victor's fingers holding the notebook strained slightly, and he looked at Schiller, not seeing any special expression on his face, but it was obviously not as easy as he said.

Translating these symbolic metaphors into more direct concepts makes the matter all the more terrifying.

A genius born with scholarly syndrome, with a strong memory and learning ability, one day, the spiritual world completely collapses, and that can cause many horrific consequences.

"It doesn't matter if the ground cracks, the tower collapses...... Schiller shook his head, "The important thing is that my personality fell from the top...... It's broken."

Victor was dumbfounded.