"If you were in Germany at the time, it makes sense," Natasha said, thinking aloud. "Anti-Soviet sentiment was strong in those years. Most of Europe had fallen, and trends in Germany were always rather... radical."
But Shiller shook his head. "Not at all related to ideologies or affluence, nor the state of life, but maybe a bit with the law."
Natasha's gaze shifted, she leaned back against the chair, pressing into the backrest as if she wanted to flee. She noticed something off about Shiller's smile—something very off.
"More importantly, if you remember my previous situation, you'd understand how precious an opportunity to leave that country was for me—my first escape from surveillance."
"Tasting the forbidden fruit," Natasha unwittingly gave voice to the phrase that came to her mind. Shiller looked at her with a hint of surprise, then laughed. "Perhaps Rodin should be the one to sculpt your hardships, ma'am."
Natasha didn't find the compliment flattering. As if she anticipated Shiller's next topic, she struggled to close her ears and thoughts in advance.
"Shall we focus on fishing?" Shiller suggested, turning his gaze back to the water.
"God, stop torturing me. Just get on with it—I swear, I'll record every word you say in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s classified archives!" Natasha said through gritted teeth.
"You could just announce them to the public," Shiller chuckled, easing the tension with a light joke. To Natasha, the Shiller in front of her seemed funnier than usual, as if he were a great conversationalist.
He certainly was, to Natasha's despair. Knowing that the topics he'd cover next might just pollute her mind didn't stop her from sitting there immobile. She had a thousand excuses to leave, like checking out the catch with Nick and Steve.
But it was as if she were nailed in place, her curiosity piqued by the upcoming discussion.
"As you know, you cannot directly enter medical or law school in the U.S. You need a certain educational background. It wasn't hard for me—I spent about three months constructing a flawless identity for myself, and became a surgical medical student."
"You have a background in medicine?" Natasha asked, surprised.
"Although I hardly show it, yes, I studied surgical techniques—not exactly proficient, nor as gifted as our 'Hand of God', and even among students, I was not particularly brilliant."
Natasha squinted instinctively, catching the anomaly in Shiller's words. "Or did you make sure you weren't brilliant?"
"Being too brilliant is not good. I came from a remote town in Nevada, managed to stand shoulder to shoulder with the geniuses at medical school with my hard work and a professor's appreciation, and had a devout faith in Catholicism. I'd clear out a full day to be in God's house every weekend."
"Not surprising," Natasha reclined again, their eyes raking over Shiller from head to toe. "You have adequate theological knowledge at least."
"Yes, I often spoke with my peers about it. They were not very interested, would occasionally indulge me, but that was enough."
"So what did you do with that day?"
"Some interesting things."
Natasha knew the climax was coming. She felt her palms sweating and her heart pounding. Yet, she was just sitting here, listening to a past story. Why was she so excited?
Just then, Shiller abruptly pulled on his fishing rod. Another fat bass flung upward. Natasha expertly dodged backward to avoid being slapped by the fish.
Her reflexes were sharp, while Shiller caught the fish even more swiftly. He smacked it on the ice to knock it out before placing it into the water container the same way.
"See, this is the charm of fishing. This fish is still alive, but death is only a matter of time. In its struggle for life, it lashes out savagely, ugly and pathetic, while the angler remains calm."
"...You make it sound more civilized than a murder," Natasha observed.
She took a deep breath then, eyes downcast as she stared at the rippling icy water surface. "Who did you kill? Your teacher, classmates, or unrelated strangers?"
Having sorted everything out, Shiller took a towel to dry his wet hands. His fingertips were turning slightly pale in the freezing temperature, but the veins and lines on the backs of his hands under strain showed their strength.
"I'd make a specific bait, to fish a certain type of fish," Shiller clasped his hands together.
Natasha sank into deep thought. Her brain was racing to guess why Shiller had left his original cage to come to this vast, free land. What was his purpose?
"Revenge?" Natasha focused on Shiller's face, uttering a word.
"Partly." Shiller wrapped his coat tighter. He crossed his hands over his stomach, one leg over the other, and said, "But I couldn't just break into their homes and shoot them down. I know it's the American style of assassination, but practically speaking, it's hard to do."
"You have a heightened sensitivity beyond ordinary people, and a very sturdy physique. Infiltration and assassination should not be a problem." Natasha furrowed her brows. "Why didn't you do it?"
"That brings us back to our previous topic." Shiller lowered his head, chuckling resignedly. "What's most important about infiltration and assassination? It's not the infiltration or assassination, but promptly leaving after the act, eliminating evidence, and taking off."
"Yeah, right." Natasha misunderstood him. She said, "If you need to take out multiple targets within a short period of time, those chasing you can always find clues from these concentrated stealth assassinations. If you don't get out of this area quickly, the chances of being caught are very high."
"No, the problem didn't arise at this stage or, put differently, the problem was there even before having to go on the run."
Shiller sighed deeply, and Natasha heard real sadness and helplessness in that sigh. This gave Shiller an air of melancholy that Natasha hadn't imagined in him before.
Nobody in the world expected Shiller to be worried or upset, yet that's precisely what was happening now. Shiller practically had a look of constant frustration.
"I've said it before, my various cravings and morbidities grew together, deeply affecting each other, and to some extent, they have become intertwined."
Finally, Shiller stood up from his fishing chair, squatted next to his luggage bag, and rummaged through it for a tiny bottle of booze. It looked like the kind you'd find on the shelf at a convenience store—so mini, it was kind of cute, from the bottle itself to the cap.
"I guess you need a shot of whiskey, ma'am."
Natasha was taken aback as she swallowed and said, "Even if it might pull me into a dream as a weapon...yes, making a Russian sit in such a cold environment for three hours without drinking is a terrifying form of torment."
Shiller twisted open the cap, and a tempting aroma filled the air. Natasha all but snatched the bottle from him, downing it. After a head spinning moment, she found herself inside Shiller's Tower of Thought.
Unlike everyone else who had been there before, Natasha's first reaction was: "This booze is quite strong. Can I have some more?"
"Don't be so greedy, ma'am, even a genetically modified person like you can't take more. Follow me now, I've got something to show you."
As Natasha followed Shiller, she looked up, taking in the Tower's bustling interior. "I still can't help but ask, why me?" She questioned.
"Just like you said, ma'am, you're good at calmly accepting everything reality throws at you. You seldom overreact. We're alike in that sense."
"More importantly, if I were to bring my friends and show them these things...they'd probably treat me like a mad person, even more so than before, and I wouldn't like that."
"All of this could have stayed a secret." Natasha pointed out: "You didn't have to show me either."
"But they'd keep digging if no one had answers, and that can be annoying."
For the first time, Natasha saw a truly impatient expression on Shiller's face. This confirmed for her that the Shiller before her was not the doctor, who would never be impatient with his friends' questions and would instead encourage them to ask more.
Thinking of this, Natasha took a couple of steps back, staring at Shiller. This Shiller, within the Tower of Thought, looked different than he did in the real world.
He was wearing a dark grey turtleneck sweater, which made him look younger. He wasn't wearing glasses, but what surprised Natasha most was his semi-long hair, neatly pulled back into a ponytail, with a few stray strands falling over his forehead.
"Oh my goodness!" Natasha genuinely exclaimed. "If you had shown up in front of me looking like that in the first place, I would have invited you into my bed no questions asked. You are the perfect blend of abstinence and hedonism."
"That's not what we should be focusing on right now, ma'am. And for that matter, if you really did what you just said, you would not be alive today. I'll explain it to you later."
Shiller and Natasha stepped into the elevator on the ground floor. The elevator, which normally only operated above ground, now had a button for basement level one.
Natasha had never been here before, so she didn't know whether this was normal. But she did notice Shiller pressing the button for basement level one. After a brief shudder, the elevator started descending slowly.
Natasha waited for the elevator doors to open on that level, but it wasn't the side doors where they had entered the elevator. Instead, it was the floor underneath them. With a "clank," the floors parted, swallowing both of them together.
Before Natasha could even register surprise, she found herself floating in darkness. The elevator carrying them was now speeding upwards, disappearing like a shooting star into the dark abyss above.
Natasha looked around, but couldn't see anything. She did, however, feel like she was floating upward, like a diver gently carried by the buoyancy of the water.
All of a sudden, she felt her head hit something. As Natasha reached up to touch it, she felt Shiller's hand on her shoulder.
"Don't move."
Natasha followed his instruction instinctively. The next second, with a "thud," Shiller flipped her over. But instead of facing down as she would if she were drowning, she felt firm ground beneath her feet.
It took Natasha a few seconds to get her bearings. Then she realized she was standing upside down on the ceiling of what had been the ground floor of the Tower of Thought.
Suddenly, Natasha spotted a glimmer of light in the darkness. Squinting, she pointed at it and asked, "What's that?"
"Oh, that's where a hole was created. The story begins from there."