After Shiller got into the Federal Bureau of Investigation's vehicle, it was dead silent inside. Shiller's complexion was pale, and his breaths were hurried. The agent sitting beside him couldn't bear it anymore and asked, "What's wrong with you? Do you need medicine?"
"I'm experiencing a serious stress reaction, you must... you must give me enough tranquilizers right now, otherwise, I can't assure you I'll be alive to see your superiors..." Shiller spoke breathlessly.
Without any hesitation, the driver immediately picked up the communicator and said, "Send someone to the hospital. Get a sufficient amount of tranquilizers."
After speaking, he turned around to observe Shiller's condition, then said, "Get a potent tranquilizer, for agitation and nervous hyperactivity…"
"Thank you; you're even more professional than my students," Shiller leaned his head back against the rear seat cushion.
The agents had a good attitude. A female agent in the passenger seat said, "Hang in there a little longer. We must first take you to our temporary base before we can medicate you."
Shiller had already closed his eyes, suppressing his nervous hyperactivity alongside the gray mist. However, since the nervous reaction was psychogenic, the hyperactivity wouldn't stop as long as the stressor was present. The specific symptoms included hyperventilation, tremors, high blood pressure, etc.
As Shiller was leaning back on the seat turning pale, the female agent in the passenger seat quietly said to the driver, "Scott, under such circumstances, can we put a hood on him? It might cause him to stop breathing, right? If he goes into shock, we don't have any resuscitation measures…"
After speaking, she glanced outside at the road, "There's broccoli everywhere right now. We can't even drive fast. If he really goes into shock, we might not even be able to get him to the hospital."
"There's equipment in the car. Monitor his heart rate and blood pressure. If his reaction is really intense, then don't put the hood on. He won't have the time to pay attention to where we're taking him anyway," Scott, the driver, replied.
"But..." The female agent looked back at Shiller again, "What if he's faking it? He's a very competent psychologist. He might be able to hypnotize himself to produce these symptoms…"
"But we can't gamble," Scott steered the wheel to avoid a patch of broccoli, and slowly turned a corner, "Regardless of whether his identity is genuine or not, we've already reported it. We have to safely deliver him to Washington. Any hitches along the way are our responsibility."
"He can die, but he can't die on our watch. From the moment he revealed his identity, our mission changed to ensuring his safety by all means possible."
"Alright, you're the expert so let's leave it," The female agent looked around again, "No, we can't get through ahead. Let's find another road here."
The car slowly stopped. The female agent on the passenger side got off first to scout the surroundings. After a while, she came back, knocked on the car window, and said, "Get off, follow me."
After the agent on the left got down, the one on the right also wanted to get off, but Shiller just sat still without moving.
This agent turned back and looked at him, then said to the female agent, "No, I believe he's lost his ability to move. We have to drive as close to the base as possible. Otherwise, he may faint on the way, which would be very dangerous."
The female agent hammered on the car window, and said, "Alright, I will direct you guys to reverse the car into the alley. There's an entrance there."
Scott returned to the driver's seat. Under the female agent's guidance, the car reversed into the alley. Through the mist, Shiller felt himself being dragged off the vehicle. In his daze, he saw a sewer entrance appear before him.
Even though he was feeling so bad that he was barely conscious, he managed to say, "I really didn't expect your base to be in the sewer. We're not in the era where you guys call spies rats anymore, right? Vermin in the sewer?"
The female agent punched the wall in annoyance. She turned towards the driver and said, "Even when he's this weak, he doesn't forget to insult people?! Are all psychologists like him? Almost dying and still putting up a tough front?!"
"Calm down, Lauren. I hope he has this much to say during the interrogation," the driver coldly responded, then opened the sewer entrance, and they all entered it.
Before they had walked for two minutes, a dark figure appeared atop the alley wall.
When Batman just landed, he didn't notice anything unusual about the alley because all the traces here had been cleaned up. Like all other dark alleys in Gotham, it was dark, narrow and there was a broken car parked in the middle of the road.
However, the tracking device attached to Shiller's coat showed this as the destination. Batman leaped down from the rooftop and noticed that something was wrong. The alley was too clean.
Everyone knew that in a city like Gotham, you could hardly expect anyone to be civic-minded. Most people wouldn't care if they stepped on the flowers and plants at the roadside when they were driving or walking, let alone purposely clean their muddy footprints.
But in this alley, not only were there no footprints from getting in or out of a car, the weeds on the ground, the moss on the road, none of them showed signs of damage. That was not something rough truck drivers could pull off.