When the fork was removed from his mouth, his gaze shifted upwards along his thinly carved lips, over his prominent nose bridge to his grey eyes. They were perpetually unfocused, yet disturbingly intense.
That was Shiller, slowly and deliberately eating his meal.
At that moment, the television broke into a series of deep laughter, drawing everyone's attention back.
"Ha ha ha... Look at your terror-stricken faces. This is you, a bunch of frightened, stupid pigs."
"Do you think this is over? No, I must tell you. Half of you here are eating real pork, while the other half...."
The person on the screen stopped speaking, but everyone understood his point. All eyes turned back towards their plates.
Some people, who had vomitted earlier, had accidentally knocked over their plates, with their meat falling onto the ground. They pushed away their chairs and crawled under the tables to pick it up, eager to find any sign on the pork ribs that might prove they were the luckier ones.
"Mine, mine! This has got to be pork, I know the taste of it!"
You all know that I actually love pork and the texture of this is exactly like what I used to have. So, mine must be..."
"I threw it all up earlier, so I actually didn't..."
But then, an even more triumphant burst of laughter echoed from the television. A strange voice came again, "Half of you are very lucky. Oh, sorry, I wasn't referring to the ones who got real pork... because the real pork... is poisoned."
All those who were inspecting their meat froze in place.
Those who firmly declared earlier that they were eating pork quickly discarded their meat as if it burnt them. Even though no one spoke up, they all shared the same silent prayer.
Within a few seconds of shared glances, they understood each other's thoughts, and also realized that the civilized people with whom they were sharing a table, were actually a bunch of perverts hoping that they were eating human flesh.
Bruce frowned, trying to find holes in the whole situation. But, honestly, it wasn't surprising that the crazy people of Gotham might do something like this. There was no need to question their capabilities. If they were mad enough, they could accomplish it.
"What are you thinking?" The voice from the television asked. "You are not only unapologetic but are also thrilled. Actually, it's not the first time."
"You have, time and time again, sat at the dinner table, eating the flesh of your own kind, while your faces were filled with satisfaction."
"Therefore, you don't have to feel guilty... Friends, raise your glasses! Continue celebrating everything, just like you always do—raising us, slaughtering us, carving up our meat, cooking it and eating it!"
"Throw some scraps again into the pigsty, making us grateful and proud. March towards the slaughterhouse with heads high, to prove our worth!"
Everyone was transfixed by the television screen when a calm voice came from beside the dinner table: "I ate pork, the pork isn't poisonous, but it's overcooked."
The others turned their heads back and saw that Shiller had finally put down his cutlery. Those who were worried about the possibility of the pork being poisoned quickly turned their gaze towards him, saying: "How can you be so sure? The meat is almost charred..."
Bruce also turned to look at Shiller, curious to know how the Professor had come by this conclusion.
In his opinion, the meat didn't provide any useful clues, since it was overcooked, making it practically impossible to discern any details. Even if there were some indications to surmise from, there really wasn't any substantial evidence to determine the answer.
Thus, Bruce, confident in his deduction skills, asked:
"...Why are you so sure?"
Shiller wiped his mouth with a napkin. Those barren eyes looked toward Bruce, and in an instant, Bruce had a bad feeling, thinking that he shouldn't have asked.
Then, Bruce heard Shiller speak in a poised, slow tone:
"Because... Human flesh doesn't taste like this."