After Superego finished speaking, Schiller was not particularly surprised. After all, there were very few outsiders in this High Tower. The Joker infected by the Joker Virus counted as one, and the system that had suddenly appeared back then naturally counted as another.
After shifting his gaze away from the corpse of Schiller lying on the table in front of him, he did not look back at Superego's face. Instead, he looked at the chair behind the table.
It was not a particularly comfortable chair. In fact, it was not even an ordinary chair, but a metal restraint chair used in twentieth-century interrogation rooms, with buckles for securing someone all over it.
The entire room had no windows, aside from a dim little bulb hanging overhead. Schiller did not need to look to know that the door behind him was tightly shut. More importantly, Superego's smile was not very friendly.
"If you were inviting me to dinner, there was no need for such stringent measures." Schiller shook his head and said, "We are the same person. If this benefited me, I would not run away."
"But this is not to stop you from running away." Superego tapped the tabletop with his fingertip again and looked at Schiller. Schiller paused, but his expression remained unchanged as he walked over and sat down. Seeing Superego fiddling with the buckle beside his left arm, he said, "You do not think I have some psychological burden regarding the type of food, do you?"
"Wrong again," Superego commented, then explained, "This is to prevent certain overly violent personalities from getting excited halfway through."
After saying that, Superego glanced back at Schiller's corpse on the hospital bed. Schiller followed his gaze and instinctively began examining the state of the body. From its appearance, the corpse wore