8 Chapter-8 | He's not Batman yet... [Edited]

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PATRE0N.C0M/shanefreak

...

One misty morning in Gotham City, Schiller stretched and sat up in bed. He had just settled down in the Marvel universe, enjoying some peace and quiet, when he noticed the presence of SHIELD agents near his Psychological Clinic.

Those people were like sticky toffee that couldn't be shaken off. Even for ordinary people, that might be the case. Even the wealthy Stark of that world was constantly bothered by them but had no way to deal with it.

[ShaneFreak: Is Wakanda's King wealthiest or Tony ?]

But Schiller was different. After being annoyed by the young Batman in Gotham, he could simply leave and go to Marvel to relax. And now that he was being watched by SHIELD agents in Marvel, he could choose to leave and hide in Gotham.

The SHIELD agents had no idea how Schiller vanished without a trace. His departure left no clues. There were no train or plane tickets, and his presence was not seen at any intersections. This only strengthened Nick Fury's belief that Schiller was not an ordinary person.

Upon returning to the DC universe, his colleague and future Scarecrow, Jonathan, hadn't realized that his fear gas had been stolen. Schiller wasn't greedy; he only took a small amount in a test tube.

Unlike Scarecrow, who used fear gas to create terror attacks, Schiller only used it against a few low-level gang members. He didn't need high-tech devices to spray the gas. Just a small spray bottle aimed at a person's nose turned the concentrated fear gas into a powerful weapon. After all, those gang members didn't have the reflexes of Batman.

While studying this gas, Schiller, despite lacking a comprehensive knowledge of chemistry, knew how to make the most of it. Aside from using it as a weapon to spray on others, Schiller discovered that this initial version of fear gas seemed impure. It not only induced fear but also triggered other negative emotions. For a psychologist like him, it was great news because therapy couldn't progress if patients were unwilling to open up about their inner emotions.

Schiller realized that he could use diluted fear gas as perfume by a factor of hundreds. For some reason, perhaps due to his system, this gas had no effect on him, but it could infect people near him with a small amount of negative emotions.

Yes, Schiller planned to use this trick against the inexperienced Bruce, the young Batman.

The current Batman was not the wise old man who foresaw everything. Bruce was still young, having just finished his travels and acquired his skills. He was eager to start his revenge plan, wearing the initial version of the Batsuit and carrying Batarangs. In his eyes, spending billions to create equipment was a simple task. However, he had yet to realize that what truly made him Batman was not these external items but his inner spirit.

Clearly, Batman had a long way to go in his journey of growth. For the sake of his personal safety and a stable life in Gotham, Schiller had to assume the role of a mentor to the young Bruce.

It was an ordinary morning for Bruce. Meeting Schiller on a rainy night was just a thing of the previous evening. Schiller had called him by his real name, and Bruce didn't feel surprised. He knew this person must have something extraordinary about him.

Perhaps it was superpowers or magic. During his travels around the world, he had encountered many such individuals. He also knew that this world was far from simple as ordinary people imagined, with many incredible powers peering into it.

Bruce knocked on the door of the psychotherapist's office once again, and a calm and steady voice from inside said, "Please come in."

For some reason, Bruce felt a sense of relief because the reply came quickly. It was evident that the person inside knew who he was and was happy to let him in.

Batman disliked all things mysterious and nihilistic, and so did Bruce. In his view, Schiller's attitude meant that perhaps he would tell Bruce what was really going on, rather than continue to evade and conceal, using linguistic techniques to beat around the bush.

Bruce sat across from Schiller once again and said, "Professor, it seems you're in a good mood today."

"Mr. Wayne, it seems you're not in a good mood today," Schiller said. "I thought you would come in and pour me a cup of coffee, just like the first day."

He spread his hands, indicating the empty table. "You see, this morning I deliberately didn't make any coffee, waiting for you to come."

Bruce remained silent for a moment but still got up to make Schiller a cup of coffee.

In reality, Schiller found it amusing to drink coffee made by Batman himself. However, Bruce saw it as a test or a form of mental interference, using words to manipulate the other person into fulfilling his command. Well, thinking that way probably suited Schiller's character better—a mad doctor obsessed with psychology and mental studies.

Schiller took a sip of the hot coffee, dispelling the cold that had enveloped his body due to Gotham's chilly weather. Bruce started the conversation:

"Why did you appear there last night?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"If you wanted to conceal it, you should have worn a mask last night instead of denying it now that I've seen your face."

Schiller put down his coffee cup, making a crisp sound on the table. He said, "I'm not denying that you saw me last night. I'm asking you why you would rather wear a ridiculous tight suit and run through the streets of Gotham in the pouring rain, fighting with small-time thugs, instead of using your billions to donate to charities and foundations."

Faced with this question, Bruce fell silent.

"This isn't a rhetorical question," Schiller said. "You don't need to think about how to answer because I will answer for you."

"Because your ultimate goal is not to save but to seek revenge."

"That's the answer you gave me," Bruce said.

"No, I merely saw the answer within your heart," Schiller said.

"I don't believe in mind reading in this world."

"Of course, there's no such thing as mind reading in this world. It's just that some people are not aware of how their strong desires can manifest through their reactions. People always think they can hide their inner selves well, but in reality, it's not the case."

"Can I learn this ability?" Bruce asked. "The ability to see into people's hearts."

"And then use it to seek revenge against criminals?" Schiller asked. "Clearly, you're simplifying everything, Bruce. Perhaps revenge is your motivation, but if you take it as the sole driving force behind everything you do, it will be just like last night."

Schiller made a falling gesture, and Bruce explained:

"When I returned last night, I added a cape to my Batsuit. I also planned to design a utility belt..."

"You know those things are not the point. You can give yourself an iron fist with the strength of several thousand kilograms in your hand. You can equip your boots with engines that allow you to leap to the moon. You can even design wings that let you fly to any planet in the solar system. These things you can do, Bruce, I believe you can do."

"But it's not enough, far from enough."

"If I had that kind of power, I could eliminate all the criminals in the world, right?" Bruce asked.

Schiller sighed. Clearly, Batman, as imagined by Bruce, had yet to encounter the Joker. He couldn't imagine how an unarmed criminal, a person with no skills other than some acrobatics and combat techniques, someone who was thin and weak, could defeat a superhero who mastered hundreds of combat techniques and had learned various abilities from around the world.

Schiller felt that no matter how he guided the current Bruce or the future Batman, he would only be a secondary professor in Batman's life. The one who would truly teach Batman everything would be his arch-nemesis, the Joker.

And now, the Joker should be living a very ordinary life in some circus.

Bruce was still arrogant. He made a request to Schiller to learn psychology because that's how he was. He had learned various skills from all around the world, and his humility and arrogance were not contradictory.

Schiller said, "As I said before, you can certainly learn psychology. Everything is in the textbooks. You're welcome to attend my classes, study the books, do homework, write papers, and take exams. I am a professor, and I won't stop any student from learning."

"You know that what I want to learn is not this..."

"Then what do you think it is?"

"Your kind of... special abilities." Bruce gestured and said, "I've seen many people like that around the world, people with extraordinary abilities that normal individuals don't have..."

"No, I'm not like them. I don't have any superhuman abilities."

Bruce pondered for a moment, pursed his lips, clearly not believing it. But Schiller had nothing to explain to him. The young Batman seemed too immature, too straightforward, impulsive, and unaware of the consequences.

And he appeared too impatient, the lack of success in his superhero career only intensified his impatience. Apparently, he believed that if he could learn those abilities similar to mind reading from Schiller, it would make it easier for him to deal with criminals, instead of being pushed down the stairs by a few gang members and landing in a miserable state.

He hadn't figured out yet what had caused his failure.

Bruce left empty-handed once again after meeting with Schiller. Schiller only told him, even threatened him, to study well, complete all the courses, and get good grades in the final exams.

But Bruce clearly didn't pay attention to any of it.

Later that night, Schiller went out again. He went to Jonathan's secret base and stole a considerable amount of fear gas. Even if Jonathan were an idiot, he should be able to tell that his two rows of test tubes were significantly depleted.

Schiller was not proficient in any chemical knowledge, so he couldn't make any modifications or improvements to these special gases. He could only transfer them into different containers or dilute them in simple ways.

But there was one thing he could do, and that was to use the fear gas to scare Batman.

Soon, Schiller reappeared in the Morrison District. He knew Batman would come here. Bruce was that kind of person. Wherever he fell, he would insist on getting up there and never want to change the place. It was his pride.

The Morrison District was not large, with only six alleys. The building where Bruce fell happened to be the first alley in the Morrison District, where there was a nightclub controlled by the Sewer Gang.

The Sewer Gang was just a small gang in Gotham. It was named after a drainage ditch next to the Morrison District. The Sewer Gang liked to throw some unfortunate victims into that ditch, and the ditch had become increasingly foul-smelling. Other gangs started referring to the Sewer Gang using the name of the ditch, and the Sewer Gang took pride in it.

The first enemy Batman defeated was not a famous supervillain. They were just a group of petty criminals smoking cigarettes on the upper floor of the nightclub. Batman used his combat skills to deal with most of them, but his lack of combat experience led him to be hit with quicklime in the eyes and stumbled, falling down the stairs.

In the early days, Batman had no sidekick, and his equipment was not yet mature. It wasn't surprising that he failed in the sewer. But the Sewer Gang didn't have the same luck the second time. Schiller leaned against the wall at the end of the Morrison District for a while and heard terrified cries coming from the nightclub. Soon, the night quieted down, and an insignificant gang like the Sewer Gang disappeared from Gotham.

Batman emerged, clearly in better shape than last time. He lowered his head, seemingly contemplating how to modify his bat equipment.

Suddenly, he remembered something and walked forward, turning a corner. He wanted to find that beggar and give him some dollars, telling him that the Sewer Gang had been taken care of and he wouldn't be in any danger with the money.

Indeed, he found the beggar in the same old spot. She was still tightly wrapped in a blanket, trembling in the cold and damp Gotham night air. The umbrella Schiller had given her was nowhere to be seen.

Batman handed him the money and said in a deep voice, "There are no more gangs in this neighborhood. You're safe now."

The beggar trembled and looked up, but Batman saw no gratitude in his eyes. To his disbelief, he discovered only hatred in the beggar's gaze.

"Don't you feel happy?" Batman asked.

"Of course not." A familiar voice came from Batman's overhead, and Schiller stood on the balcony of the beggar's building, looking down at Batman from the second floor.

"Because of the Sewer Gang's presence, the nightclub had a constant stream of customers. Some of them would hold food in their hands, and when they had only a little left, they would casually toss it on the roadside. That way, the beggars could pick it up and continue to eat."

"But now that the Sewer Gang is gone, the nightclub can't stay open. Without customers, it means no food."

"But a few hundred dollars should be enough for him..."

"Yes, you have the best healthcare system in all of Gotham, a personal doctor, and a family health advisor. You haven't experienced the feeling of having a fever or catching a cold a few times, let alone know what it feels like to be so cold that you can't stand up."

"In your imagination, he could easily take a few hundred dollars and go to the nearest supermarket, buy enough supplies, maybe even find a hotel to stay in for a few nights, and then get treatment for his illness..." Schiller dragged his voice and continued:

"But unfortunately, he can't even take the first step."

Batman squatted down, pulled back the beggar's blanket, and discovered that her lower limbs were already frozen purple. Gotham had been raining for several days, and her legs were soaked in water, swollen beyond recognition.

Batman had a theoretical knowledge of surgery, and he knew that even in the best hospital in Gotham, such lower limbs could only be amputated.

He fell into complete silence, looking at the dollars scattered on the ground, no longer held in his hand, and felt an incredible absurdity, a suffocating shame.

Suddenly, he felt that many negative emotions were devouring his heart uncontrollably, making him want to roar. Batman realized that he had never been so out of control before tonight. He stood up, staggered backward, took a few steps, and then sat down on the ground.

Clearly, an unexpectedly tragic ending to a story and the negative emotions triggered by a little fear gas were enough to silence Bruce for several days.

[ShaneFreak: Damn, I felt that!]