Chapter 1178 Professor (Forty-One)

Chapter 1171 Professor (41)

"Thomas Elliot!" Bruce called out his name. He let go of his hand, threw Roman to the ground, rolled forward quickly, and punched Thomas who came in through the window before his feet even touched the ground. on his chin.

Thomas originally had a newly installed prosthetic leg. He didn't have much time to adapt to his prosthetic leg. As soon as his toes touched the ground, he suffered a heavy blow on his chin. He was unable to stabilize his center of gravity and pointed straight towards Fell over from behind.

Bruce took another step forward, grabbed him by the hair, dragged him into the room, and then slammed his head against the wall.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

When Bruce let go of his hand, he stood there and took a deep breath. He looked at Thomas lying on the ground with his face covered in blood, and murmured in a low voice: "The textbook says that violence can relieve stress... The textbook is right. "

He touched his nose with his hand, turned around, and continued to drag Roman out of the door, but as soon as he opened the door, he saw Mrs. Miller's eyes widening.

Bruce hesitated and wanted to take some measures, but Mrs. Miller immediately took a step back, pointed to the corridor, and said: "Go forward, turn right, emergency exit, the key is under the door blanket."

"Thank you, ma'am."

While Mrs. Miller watched Bruce dragging the person out, she adjusted the position of the teacup on the tray in her hand. Bruce paused and looked up at Mrs. Miller.

Mrs. Miller looked at him condescendingly and said: "Don't worry, I have seen too many doctors in my life. Many of them dissected corpses in their offices, maybe because they don't have to follow the regulations of the operating room. "

Bruce pursed his lips, ashamed of the fussing emotion that had just arisen in his heart. He dragged Roman to the emergency passage, and then returned, dragging the other two people in.

At this time. Mrs. Miller had already put the tray on the coffee table. Looking at the broken glass, she pointed at the window as she walked out and said, "I will ask someone to repair it."

Bruce shook his head and looked at her and said, "It's best not to..."

"Bang! Bang!"

Bruce clenched his fists and turned to look at the window. Another black shadow rolled in along the window.

Bruce lowered his head and took a deep breath. He opened his hands vigorously and walked quickly to the sofa. He picked up the scalpel that he had thrown away before. Then he rushed to the window and inserted the scalpels into the black shadow. The back of the hand gripping the window frame.

Ignoring the screams in front of him, Bruce pulled out the scalpel and punched him in the nose. He turned around and walked back into the house without looking at his figure falling downstairs.

Mrs. Miller, who was standing by the door, watched his series of actions. When Bruce turned back, she shook her head slightly and waved to Harley in the room.

Harry seemed not to want to leave at all, but as Mrs. Miller's eyebrows raised higher and higher, the little girl could only lower her hands, sighed, and followed Mrs. Miller away.

Before Mrs. Miller left, she only left one sentence: "I will ask the newsboy to deliver tomorrow's breakfast and the newspaper."

Bruce stood there with his hands on his hips, looking at the mess in the office, and sighed deeply.

But what he didn't expect was that this disaster was just the beginning.

In the next week, Bruce didn't even have a chance to leave the office. Except for eating and going to the bathroom, he spent every moment fighting the serial murderer.

Bruce felt that his understanding of Arrogant Schiller was still a bit superficial.

At first, he thought that his professor asked him to deal with so many horrific murderers in his dreams because he expected that one day, he would have to face the sick Schiller.

But now he discovered that things are not like this. No matter how perverted Schiller is, he is only one person. There is no need for Bruce to face the situation of so many serial killers joining forces. And since he has done this, it means that he I'm afraid I've expected what happened today.

For the next whole week, Bruce used the skills he had learned in the dream world to deal with serial killers to deal with the serial killers who came one after another to slide.

Bruce felt as if he was trapped in a strange space where there was nothing but serial murderers.

But this space cannot affect reality, at least not Schiller’s reality.

The psychiatrist was still attending clinics as usual. Facing the bloodstained and haggard Bruce on the floor, he acted as if he hadn't seen him and continued to write medical records, review treatment courses, and make rounds on time.

When some weak sunlight in the morning shines into the room through the windows that no longer have glass, Schiller, wearing a dark red suit, is sitting on a single sofa reading a newspaper, with the food delivered by the newsboy in the morning in front of him.

Opposite him, Bruce, who had not slept for almost seven days, was also devouring food.

The space is divided into two parts with the coffee table as the dividing line. On this side, Schiller is wearing a spotless suit, with every cufflink buttoned, his tie not crooked, and he is flipping through the newspaper leisurely.

Opposite him, Bruce was frighteningly haggard. Since returning from the slums, Bruce had kept his semi-long hair style, but the previous fight with the serial murderer in the bathroom had wet his hair, and now it was stranded. Pasted on the forehead.

He hadn't shaved for seven or eight days, so his entire chin was covered with rough stubble. Combined with his wolfish expression, he looked like a real homeless man.

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Schiller gently closed the newspaper, raised his eyelids to look at Bruce, and asked, "How long do you plan to stay here?"

Bruce stopped chewing, his eyes deep in his brows, staring straight at Schiller, and then said, "Until you send me an invitation letter."

"Do you know? Pride said that you are a stubborn person." Schiller shook his head gently and said, "This kind of paranoid personality may make you fall into the abyss and make you unable to judge rationally what kind of situation you are in now."

Bruce just looked at him silently. Schiller lowered his head to fold the newspaper and said to himself, "This morning, when I brought a plate of vegetable salad, you felt surprised."

Schiller raised his head, looked at his office, and said, "In a closed environment, facing a person you can't resist, the standard will always be lowered again and again. This is a typical Stockholm plot. The more paranoid you are, the deeper you will be dragged."

Bruce closed his eyes, lowered his head, and then turned his head away. Various hallucinations flashed before his eyes.

It can be said that if his spirit had not been tempered, he would have slipped into another abyss as Schiller said.

Schiller put the folded newspaper on the coffee table. When a corner of the newspaper crossed the dividing line in the middle of the coffee table and stabbed into the other half of the space, it was like a knife stabbing into Bruce's body.

"The party will start on time at 9 o'clock tomorrow night. All my friends will be there. At 11 o'clock tonight, I will go out. You should understand that you can't stop me. Don't do useless work."

After saying that, Schiller stood up and turned to walk towards the lounge. Bruce squeezed out a breath from his throat, leaned on the back of the sofa, raised his arms and covered his eyes.

His current haggard state has nothing to do with his fight with serial killers or sleepless nights. Schiller has brought him too much pressure.

Then, Bruce leaned forward again, supported his elbows with both hands, and covered his face with his hands.

He remembered that when he was in the slums, he had been in the same room with Schiller, and the situation was the same as now.

He had read in the textbook that a confined space would make people feel the emotions transmitted by the other person more clearly, and when trapped in a confined space and unable to leave, the pressure would increase exponentially.

The huge pressure combined with the situation that cannot be resisted will stimulate the body's self-protection system. Since you can't change the other person, then change yourself. The human mind will automatically lower its standards to cooperate with the other person in exchange for short-term comfort.

Schiller's words just now made Bruce's defense, which had been pushed to the edge, almost collapse.

Because this morning, when he saw Schiller bring in two plates of very pure vegetable salad, he was almost crying with joy.

Bruce's reason told him that this was actually not normal at all, but many times, reason is not applicable to ordinary people, and it is even more unrealistic to expect him to control a mental patient.

Bruce sat quietly on the sofa, the light and shadow of the floor-to-ceiling window behind him changed, and one Bruce after another appeared beside him.

Some stood in front of the window and punched the serial killer who wanted to come in, some bent down and dragged the knocked-down serial killer out of the door, and some half-knelt on the ground to pick up the glass fragments.

Countless figures came and went in the room, but there was only one unique figure, holding a wine glass, standing in front of the door in the corner of the room, watching everything quietly, that was Schiller.

Bruce turned his head at an extremely slow speed, and saw Schiller's eyes through countless fragments of space and time.

With a "pop", the illusion in front of him was shattered. When Bruce woke up, he found himself in a cold sweat, and Schiller, who had just walked out of the lounge, looked down at his watch and walked quickly to the door of the office.

Bruce turned his head suddenly to look at the window. The light of the early morning had long disappeared, replaced by bright moonlight, and then he looked up at the clock hanging on the wall of the office. It was 10:52, and there were still 8 minutes to 11 o'clock.

Schiller's hand was already on the door handle of the office, and when his arm exerted force to turn the door handle, the whole office seemed to be frozen again.

Bruce stood up unaffected, came behind Schiller and said to him: "You can't go out and kill people, professor."

The door handle did not stop turning, Bruce, who was standing in place, shook his head vigorously and said: "No, this won't work."

Then, he strode forward again and reached out to touch Schiller's shoulder, but the next second, he found himself lying on the floor, Schiller looked down at him, holding a bloody boning knife in his hand.

The non-existent pain woke Bruce up, and at this time, Schiller had already pushed the door open a little.

Bruce stood up and walked quickly behind Schiller, and after Schiller opened the door, he did not leave immediately, but stood outside the door and turned to look at Bruce behind him, his closed eyelids and the pair of desolate gray eyes were like an ultimatum.

Bruce opened his mouth slightly and said:

"You don't have to go out."