Long Easter (VI)

"Patient in Room 2 still needs to be monitored. Also, the dosages for those two patients on the fourth floor were changed yesterday. Go get the prescriptions from Nurse Jenny. And pay special attention to Room 13—his arm joint was dislocated when he struggled yesterday…"

Schiller, wearing a white coat, strode down the corridor while giving instructions to the nurse behind him. When he entered the office, Brand was leaning against the sofa with his eyes closed, taking a nap. Hearing the movement, he jolted awake, sneezed, and asked hoarsely, "You’re here? How are the patients?"

Schiller shook his head, set down the medical records in his hand, and said, "Not optimistic. Another five people were admitted yesterday. One male student’s symptoms are especially severe. I need to check on him later."

"Go ahead. Leave this place to me."

As he spoke, Brand stood up and walked over to the coffee machine, intending to pour himself a cup. Schiller said, "Make me an espresso too… Make it two. I’m a little sleepy."

"You’re only feeling sleepy now? Thank God! You’ve been working for more than fifty hours straight, haven’t you?"

Schiller yawned and said, "It’s fine. Once I deal with that student’s condition, I’ll get some sleep."

After saying that, he took the coffee from Brand and left.

When he arrived at a ward on the fifth floor and pushed open the door, the boy on the bed began struggling frantically like a Beast suddenly startled awake. If his arms had not been tied to the bed rails, he might already have leaped up and pounced on Schiller.

Schiller paid no attention to his reaction. Instead, he walked to the bedside and observed him with a frown.

Schiller knew he could not diagnose this as an ordinary psychiatric case, because every case admitted over the past day and night had displayed the exact same symptoms. This was clearly not a natural outbreak.

If it was not natural, then the cause could be extremely bizarre. It might even involve some occult elements. Such cases were nearly impossible to analyze with modern medicine, yet so far, Schiller had not found a good treatment.

As Schiller was thinking, Gray Mist inside him sent out a mental wave: "I can…"

"What? What can you do?"

"You want to examine him, right? I can do that…"

Schiller asked doubtfully, "How do you plan to examine him?"

"Touch him with One Hand…"

Following Gray Mist’s instructions, Schiller reached out with One Hand and touched the boy’s shoulder. The boy desperately twisted his head, his face contorted as he tried to bite Schiller’s hand. But as an imperceptible wisp of gray mist drifted into his body, the boy gradually calmed down.

A series of mental feedback signals flooded into Schiller’s mind, allowing him to perceive certain functions within the human body from a more intuitive perspective.

He said to Gray Mist in his mind, "When did you learn to do this?"

"Take your hand away."

Schiller hesitated, but after he withdrew his hand, he discovered that he had suddenly gained another person’s perspective—the boy’s perspective. At that moment, the boy was staring at the ceiling.

Schiller said in surprise, "You split?"

The Symbiote sent a string of negative emotions. Then, a wisp of gray mist floated out of the boy’s body and returned to Schiller. The second perspective vanished as though it had never existed, and the Symbiote showed no change. There was no additional consciousness.

"I am different from them." The Symbiote’s voice came through. "I am mist. Mist was never a whole…"

Then, through the mental waves sent by the Symbiote, Schiller understood. Due to its different form of existence, Gray Mist differed greatly from other Symbiotes. Because its nature was mist, it could not split—or rather, it was constantly split at every moment.

Other Symbiotes were also made of symbiote factors, but Venom’s symbiote factors were bonded together. Once separated, they became two independent individuals.

But Gray Mist’s symbiote factors had never been connected in the first place. They were scattered apart. Even if cut apart, at most the distance between them would increase; they would still remain one whole.

"Then can’t you reproduce like other Symbiotes?"

"I can. As long as I voluntarily abandon that portion of my factors, it will become another Symbiote."

Schiller nodded, then said, "In other words, you can attach yourself to someone else. The part attached to them will still follow your commands, and through you, I can indirectly control other people?"

Gray Mist sent an affirmative mental wave. "But the factors have limited control. They cannot perform precise movements. They can only learn something about his condition, and the farther away he is, the weaker the information sent back becomes."

"Why didn’t you tell me before?" Schiller asked.

"I couldn’t before. Recently, food has been everywhere. I ate so much that I’m full, so now I can."

"Food everywhere?" Schiller asked doubtfully. "Don’t tell me it’s the rainwater? That rainwater affects you too?"

"Like alcohol." The Symbiote gave its answer. "Like Fear Toxin. It tastes good, and it fills me up."

Schiller rubbed his chin. He thought that if the rainwater was useful to Symbiotes as well, then it meant the rainwater contained some substance capable of stimulating them.

Then he thought of that unlucky Venom. The poor thing truly had no taste. If Venom had followed him back to Gotham, the entire city would have been food. Why would he still be fixated on those few chocolate balls?

Afterward, Schiller had Gray Mist enter the boy’s body again and conduct a full examination. He then discovered an unknown substance in the boy’s blood—the true culprit behind his madness and agitation.

Schiller did not act rashly, because he did not know how that substance had formed. Out of responsibility toward the patient, he felt it would be safer to identify the culprit first before treating him. Therefore, he withdrew Gray Mist and planned to observe a little longer.

Just as Schiller was trying to use Gray Mist to soothe the patient’s emotions, Victor called again. From the other end of the line, he said, "Get over here. Something happened."

Hearing the seriousness in Victor’s tone, Schiller returned to the office, changed clothes, and headed for Gotham University.

The moment he entered the campus gates, he saw two police cars parked on the main road. Farther ahead, a crowd had gathered in a dense circle while officers pulled up caution tape and shouted, "Move back! Everyone, move back!!!"

Schiller walked over. A young officer was just about to stop him when an older officer beside him pulled his colleague back and said, "Professor Rodriguez, right? Sheriff Gordon will be here soon. You can go in first."

Schiller nodded to him, then quickly entered the cordoned-off area. He saw Victor standing beside a police car while an officer questioned him.

Schiller walked over and asked, "What happened?"

As he spoke, he glanced behind the police car. It seemed to be a scene of someone falling from a building. A figure lay sprawled on the ground, with blood splattered everywhere.

"Sheldon is dead," Victor said. He looked back at the fall scene. "He fell from the balcony outside his office. Eight floors up. He died on impact."

"What exactly happened? Tell me."

Victor shook his head. "I don’t know either. You know we’ve been short-handed lately, and a lot of students have fallen ill. I was busy restraining patients while also investigating what they had in common."

Victor glanced at the officer scribbling away and continued, "I was already overwhelmed when President Sheldon suddenly called and asked me to come to his office. So I had no choice but to put down what I was doing and rush to the administration building…"

"I entered the administration building as usual. Just as I reached the fourth floor, I saw a black shadow fall past the stairwell window. Then I heard a tremendous bang. When I looked down through the window again, I saw Sheldon’s body."

"To be honest…" Schiller patted Victor’s shoulder. "That version of events raises your suspicion by thirty percent out of thin air. When Gordon gets here, don’t put it like that."

"But that’s the truth…"

"You can polish the story a little. For example, you and Sheldon had a pleasant conversation on the phone. He strongly insisted that you come to his office for a small gathering. You tried every way to decline, but ultimately had no choice except to head to the administration building…"

"Then, because the building had cracked, the power went out and the elevators could not be used. You had no choice but to take the stairs. Since you’re a helpless researcher with no physical strength, you were already exhausted by the third floor. You gasped your way up to the fourth floor and leaned against the windowsill to rest, only to see an unidentified black shadow fall."

"You were horrified, your legs went weak, and without thinking, you ran out of the stairwell and called the police."

"Don’t forget…" Schiller reminded Victor. "You’re an outsider, not a Gotham local. Only Gotham locals would be that calm around a murder case."

"After coming here, I found this hellhole suits me pretty well." Victor shrugged. "I don’t know why, but I don’t feel much about corpses or blood. I might be a little too calm."

Soon, another police car pulled up. Gordon rushed out of the vehicle, and the first person he saw was Schiller. Gordon took a deep breath and hurried over. He first craned his neck to look at the body, then walked to Schiller’s side and studied him with suspicious eyes.

"This wasn’t me. The witness is right here." Schiller pushed Victor a step forward. Victor explained to Gordon, "This is what happened…"

Victor repeated the version Schiller had told him. Gordon’s brows drew tightly together as he listened. "That story is a little too ridiculous. How could that possibly… Oh, wait, you’re an outsider, right?… Then it makes sense."

"If a Gotham local saw someone fall from a building, they’d only curse ‘shit,’ then keep complaining to me that the blood and brains had dirtied the ground and demand that we wash it immediately…"

"Whatever the case, let’s look at the scene first."

The group walked around the police car and entered the cordoned-off area. Sheldon’s body lay sprawled in the middle of the road.

Schiller took one look and said, "His luck was bad. He landed directly on a sharp corner created by a crack in the pavement. Otherwise, he might have had a slight chance of surviving."

Gordon waved his hand, and a group of officers began investigating the crime scene. Then they moved the body into a vehicle and took it away for an autopsy.

Gordon stood beneath the spot Sheldon had fallen from and looked up. The eighth floor of the administration building was still lit. He turned to Schiller and Victor and said, "I’m sorry, gentlemen, but according to standard procedure, you cannot participate in what comes next. And witness Mr. Victor Fries needs to come with us…"

"As for you, Professor Rodriguez, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to be summoned."

What surprised Gordon was that neither of them voiced any objection. Victor cooperatively followed the officers into the police car, while Schiller did not insist on joining the investigation and simply turned to leave.

Before leaving, Schiller said to Gordon, "Though I’m happy to cooperate with your investigation, Arkham Asylum has too many patients lately. I have to put their safety first…"

"I heard earlier that many Gotham University students fell ill at the same time. What exactly is going on?" Gordon asked Schiller.

"I have a few leads, but I haven’t investigated thoroughly yet… Don’t look at me like that. I have no reason to create trouble for myself. Once they go mad, won’t I be the one treating them? I haven’t slept for fifty hours straight."

"Professor Rodriguez, I must remind you that no matter what, I will uncover the truth behind this murder…" Gordon paused, then continued, "I hope that when I follow the trail to the end, it won’t lead back to you again."