That gesture triggered every one of Jason's self-defense mechanisms. After shuddering where he stood, he nearly leaped away like a mongoose.
But he soon looked at Schiller skeptically, because he couldn't read any sympathy in Schiller's body language or eyes.
He often sensed that emotion from people like Schiller, including the Wayne Family's private doctor, Batman's technical adviser, and sometimes Alfred.
This is too strange, Jason thought. Schiller hadn't come to hurt him, nor had he come to treat him out of sympathy. Then what had he come for?
So he stopped in the stairwell, unwilling to move forward, while Schiller took a small square plastic packet from his pocket. Inside were two round pills.
"Tranquilizers. You'll need them."
"Don't joke around. Batman won't let me take drugs."
"It's not anything on the market, and it's harmless to the body," Schiller explained. "It produces almost no euphoria, so it isn't addictive."
"Are you kidding me?!" Jason practically roared. "You even convinced Batman just to get me alone onto some isolated deserted island, and then your first move is to lure me into numbing my brain with drugs like the worst dealer alive?!"
"It seems I must explain why this is necessary." Schiller sighed and took a syringe from his pocket.
Jason sharply noticed Scarecrow's mark on the syringe. His eyes widened as he stared at it. "Fear Gas?"
"A concentrated solution. I applied it to my handkerchief."
Jason instinctively took a step back.
"Not for you." Schiller shook his head. "I told you, I have a reason for doing this, and that reason isn't you. You should know I have had plenty of chances to give you an injection directly."
"I'm surprised you haven't already."
"Not funny, Jason." Schiller shook his head with slight resignation. "If I wanted to torture