Bob looked a little unconvinced. Holding back his anger, he said, "As far as I know, a lot of unemployed public transit workers have been protesting and demonstrating, and quite a few have even made bombs..."
"I believe that if a few more of those damn Speeders fall out of the sky, people will realize that buses are still the safest!"
"Tony Stark, that damn playboy, took money that should have been mine. I have to get it back!"
Eddie shook his head and said, "What we need to discuss isn't how you can make Stark pay, but how you can save yourself. That does not include getting this worked up while holding a bomb. Aren't you afraid you'll accidentally hit the switch?"
It was as if Bob had been doused with a bucket of ice water. He suddenly tossed away the bag in his arms in fright and said, trembling, "I... I didn't... Oh my God, how could I make a bomb? I..."
Bob sniffed and said, "My dad used to be an engineer. I watched him fiddle with this stuff, so I know how, but that was a long time ago. I don't know how I even remembered..."
"A crime of passion." Schiller suddenly spoke up. "Emotional stimulation, heightened excitement, elevated blood pressure, accelerated breathing—all of it causes blood to rush to the brain, prompting a person to recall knowledge they had forgotten. It's a typical category among ordinary people who commit crimes of passion, where their abilities and knowledge suddenly improve..."
But when Eddie and Bob both looked over, Schiller lowered his head again as though he had fallen asleep. After a while, he jerked awake and said, "What's wrong?"
Bob was startled by him. Eddie hurriedly reassured him, "Don't mind him. My friend's mental state isn't