Tupac stepped forward, swung his arm fiercely in the manner of a gang greeting, and then clasped hands with Eminem.
"I've heard of you, a white guy who does rap. Dr. Dre says your 'Infinite' is pretty good, and he's considering whether to take you under his wing."
To his surprise, Eminem seemed delighted. He touched his nose and lips with his hand and moved his Adam's apple before saying, "Really? I thought nobody listened to it."
"We listen to every West Coast rap song, and although most of them are crap, you can still find some gold." Tupac lowered his eyelids again; he didn't seem very lively, but his exhaustion wasn't very apparent due to his dark skin.
If Hal and Clark were really two white guys coming to bully Tupac, they should be turning their hostility toward Eminem by now. Racists hate white people who defend black people even more than they hate blacks; people despise traitors in their own group the most.
"You came at the right time, we really didn't come to trouble him, we just heard about him from a friend, and that friend of ours is in some trouble now. We want to know if he knows anything about it."
Clark's words were very sincere, and it was hard for anyone stared down by his blue eyes to claim he was lying.
Tupac hesitated, which he always seemed to do. But Eminem stopped him with a hand and looked at Clark, asking, "Is your friend his fan, or do they actually know each other?"
"They were alumni of the same high school, but they probably don't know each other," Hal admitted. "But you might have heard of him, Oliver Queen, the heir to the Quinn Group."
Tupac's face reflected a moment of reminiscence, while Eminem shook his head and said, "If they haven't actually met, I'm afraid there's not much we can do to help, but you can tell us. Just make sure, if it doesn't work out, you won't make trouble for anyone."
Tupac looked at Eminem with some surprise. Before meeting him, they might have thought a white rapper was just a bored rich kid. In fact, there are many such people who only fantasize about gang life.
But Eminem seemed adept at dealing with the lower levels of society, speaking carefully, acting experienced, and standing his ground, a survival wisdom unique to the lower class.
Tupac felt slightly reassured, understanding that in this country, the rich are the minority. It didn't matter if they were black or white; the majority were the struggling poor, and there were plenty of poor white people as well.
"I assure you, we won't make trouble for anyone, anytime. We're here to help our friend," Clark said, raising both hands to show his harmlessness. "He's in trouble but won't tell us. We can only figure out what's wrong through other means."
"When we found out he was in trouble, he mentioned you, Tupac. We think it's not without reason. So, if possible..."
"I don't know him," Tupac said. "I've hardly heard the name; maybe a long time ago on the news about the Quinn Group. But I can't remember, and I never met him in high school."
Clark sighed, knowing it would turn out this way. Hal looked visibly disappointed, but he didn't say anything, and Clark concluded, "If that's the case, we might have misunderstood. We won't bother you anymore, we'll wait over there."
After they moved to leave, Eminem and Tupac realized they hadn't come to cause trouble. Tupac pursed his lips and finally said, "Tell me what trouble your friend is in. I may not be able to help, but I'm willing to listen."
Clark exchanged a look with Hal, uncertain about speaking up since the topic was highly sensitive within America. All the media outlets were aligned, and once said, they had to face the risk of the other party not taking their side.
On this issue, Hal was more radical, so he blurted out, "Mexico. He's run into some trouble in Mexico."
Eminem looked confused, not understanding what he was talking about. Tupac's expression turned serious and, lowering his eyelids again, he touched his earlobe and said, "I don't know what you're talking about, but I have to leave now. If you can find me on the boat, we'll talk."
With that, he turned and left, even brushing past Eminem. The sudden change in demeanor stunned all three of them. After coming to their senses, Clark said to Hal, "He definitely knows something."
"Absolutely," Hal confirmed. "His reaction was incredibly strange, unnaturally so."
Eminem glanced at them but decided to follow Tupac. Clark took out his phone and said, "I'm going to check what kind of trouble Tupac has recently gotten into. Is it related to a rap singer?"
The two began to search on their phones and discovered another protagonist in the rap rivalry between the East and West Coast—Christopher.
"Honestly, I have no idea why I came here," Big guy said with a sigh, holding his drink. "I don't understand why he's handling our issues this way; it's not good for anyone."
"If you ask most people here, they'll say the same," Shiller said, lightly clinking his glass with the Big guy. "But whether that's what they truly believe, who knows."
"I know most people don't," Christopher said bluntly. "Even though they say this way of solving problems is too radical, their presence here proves they approve of it."
"And you're just the same."
"No, I plan to get on the ship; I just want to meet Tupac because I know there's no other way to see him—he simply doesn't want to meet me."
"You don't plan to gamble with him?"
"Fuck that." Christopher shook his head and said, "There's a saying popular on our street, 'The best way to die is to overdose on the curb;' because if you die like that, it could be a relief to many people, they're freed from their worry for you, and the grief is only temporary."
"It proves one thing, if you choose to die in a casino, or even lack the courage to die there, it's destined to bring disaster to all those who worry about you, that's the most despicable cowardice."
"I know many gangs forbid gambling." Shiller said, "At least in Gotham, if you do drugs, you might die due to a mistake in a fire, but if you gamble, you could be shot dead by your own boss."
"It's the same everywhere." Christopher showed no surprise at Shiller's understanding of the mob, because he knew that in the godforsaken place of Gotham, no one was unconnected to the mob.
"I'm not saying that doing drugs is a good thing, I've suffered a lot because of it." Christopher stretched out one hand and said, "But it might also drive you mad, harm those around you, but there won't be any good people around you, and you'll suffer the consequences."
"But if you gamble, you'll definitely hurt those who trust you most, those who want to save you because they love you, believe you can change, and keep giving you money to pay off those gambling debts. That's a sin you can't wash away even if you go to Hell, and the devils would spit on your coffin."
Christopher spoke with a curious rhythmic sense, as if he planned to write these words into a song, in fact, he actually had an inspiration.
"Could you talk to me about what Gothamites think of gambling, PhD?" Christopher looked at Shiller and said, "I rarely get the chance to meet someone as learned as you, this is the only good thing since I decided to get on the ship."
"Actually, I think I don't know enough about Gothamites, but I think I can talk about my views." Shiller swirled his glass and said, "Gambling can destroy a person's values and such is all cliché, but I think the most interesting aspect of a person addicted to gambling is the emotional changes they exhibit, their humanity gradually gets eroded, emotions are fading away."
"Do you think these people could calmly face the disappointment and sorrow of their loved ones from the start?" Shiller asked.
"Of course not." Christopher shook his head and said, "I've seen such people, at first they would sincerely repent, toss and turn, suffer through sleepless nights, but in the end, nothing would change."
"That's the interesting part, at first their emotional system is normal, they see their loved ones sad, and they feel sad too, it proves that their empathy is working as usual."
"But what makes this organ gradually rust?" Shiller posed a question and answered himself, "Perhaps it's too frequent a stimulation of dopamine, which can blunt the empathy organ very well."
"The pleasure of gaining and controlling has been a long-term source of dopamine for humans; if you experience intense stimulation like this repeatedly in a short time, you'll become infatuated with that pleasure and amplify its role in your brain. When your own voice grows louder, others' voices become much weaker."
"Until that roar thunders in your head, like a whole fleet racing through the canyons of your brain, you wish they'd never stop, to give you an exhilarating listen."
"Later, those normal voices, others' advice, and the sorrowful emotions they convey to you, would become annoying to you, right? They affect your focused listening to yourself, preventing you from amplifying the pleasure you feel, so you block them out as much as possible."
"Continue long enough, and your empathic senses can shut down, until you can hardly hear those voices again."
"Your analogy about racing cars is stunning." Christopher dug out a pen and paper from nowhere, began writing quickly, and said, "I'm thinking of a song on my next album that interprets a gambler's life, when he wins he feels like the king of the world, let me describe the most passionate moments of his life in the most splendid words; I'd like to use this metaphor."
"Of course." Shiller nodded and said, "It would be my honor."
Christopher put away the pen and said, "Same as before, PhD, I rarely get the chance to meet professionals like you, after all, there are no doctors in the community I live in, so I still want to hear your professional opinion, what do you think is wrong with Tupac, and why does he resort to these methods?"
"I'm afraid if it were any other occasion, I'd have to talk to you about consultation fees first," Shiller laughed and said, "but thinking that my analogy will spread across the world with your masterpiece, I'm very willing to offer you a free consultation."
Christopher laughed heartily, clinked his glass with Shiller's, and said, "I'm afraid I'll steal many more such exquisite metaphors in this consultation; perhaps they will allow these songs to reach even further places, maybe even the Moon and Mars."
"What do you think Tupac is like?" Shiller asked.
"In fact, I used to misunderstand him," Christopher sighed and said, "That might also be the root of our conflict, I got to know him through his music, but I found out he's not the person he is in his songs—he's somewhat... too pessimistic."