After learning that the hotel where Peter stayed might be even more dangerous, Shiller did not want him to explore any longer because it was very likely that he would not be able to see through the calm façade to the many dangers below, too easily letting his guard down.
Shiller guessed that since the two ordinary people in rooms 1901 and 1903 had held on for so long without being fully assimilated, there might also be such people in rooms 1907 and 1909, as long as they still had their sanity and could communicate. Having been there longer than himself, they definitely could provide more important information.
Approaching 1 AM, Shiller took a flashlight and left his room. He did not plan to wait until the next morning because in such a place, there was no difference between day and night, and the monsters of the Cthulhu Mythos were not afraid of light.
Shiller quietly opened the door, the corridor was pitch black, the mysterious being that had made the elevator noise had already left, Shiller held a flashlight in one hand and an unlit white candle in the other and quickly made his way to the door of room 1907.
He did not knock but wrote a few words on a piece of paper, slipped it under the door, and made some rustling noises, then patiently waited for a response from the other side.
He had no specific reason to believe there was someone inside, just intuition, but sometimes, magic just needed some inspiration and intuition.
Sure enough, Shiller soon heard some movements from behind the door, another piece of paper was passed back, using the hotel's notepad, it read, "Whoever you are, leave this place as soon as possible."
"I'm trapped," Shiller replied, "I can't leave the 19th floor right now, do you have any way out?"
"Follow 'it', you only have one chance."
Shiller immediately realized that in addition to each room's alarm sounding, the elevator rang an extra time. This proved that the mysterious being was likely also using the elevator; it had a way to operate it.
Since it could use the elevator, Shiller could follow it into the elevator and thus go to other floors; the only problem was, could this creature be approached closely?
Shiller did not fully trust the person in room 1907, because they might have become like the person in room 1903, presently only lying to hurt others.
"Who are you?" Shiller asked a crucial question.
Another piece of paper quickly came out. The name written on it shocked Shiller enough to widen his eyes. The notepad was forcefully scribbled with "I am James Gordon."
The handwriting seemed to carry heavy resentment, the strokes were very forceful, and it was evident that the person's hand was trembling. If he indeed was James Gordon, his condition was certainly not good.
Just as Shiller was about to reply, another piece of paper came out. Shiller was about to reach for it but noticed under the flashlight that the notepad was wet.
Another notepad came flying out, still reading "I am James Gordon !!", followed by the second, third, fourth, countless notepads being frantically shoved out from under the door, all in that heavily resentful handwriting stating, "I am James Gordon !!!!".
Gordon certainly was in trouble. Shiller slightly narrowed his eyes. The notes kept being shoved out, but some of the papers were wet.
Shiller didn't touch any of them.
Suddenly, the notes stopped appearing. After about ten seconds of silence, the last note appeared in front of Shiller, written in blood-red font, "Help me open the door".
"Listen, Gordon, I know you still have some sanity left, at least part of you does. Please immediately give me your door card, I need to open the door to save you."
"I know you don't trust me, but whether you open the door or not, you are bound to die anyway. If your body could be left outside, at least it could serve as a warning to those who come after or let that creature in the corridor kill you to prevent the spread of corruption."
Shiller spoke rapidly, knowing this was his last chance to save Gordon; whether the detective could survive today depended on how much of his remaining sanity could control him to hand over the door card.
Shiller believed that as Gotham's ultimate conscience, he could do it.
With a click, a door card fell to the floor but did not come through the gap. Shiller, using the flashlight, could now see the threshold but the other seemed unable to bend down.
Shiller pulled out his small knife. He struggled to reach the knife through, the tip touched the edge of the threshold, but it was a bit too far to exert any force.
Suddenly, a foot at the door moved. Gordon kicked the threshold out with his right foot. The moment Shiller got the door card, he immediately affixed the threshold to the door and used all his strength to smash the door open with a bang, sending a dark shadow flying and crashing heavily to the floor.
Shiller did not rashly use his flashlight to illuminate him but turned on the room's light as fast as he could. Only then did he have time to look at Gordon—only one-third of Gordon's neck was still attached to his body.
On the severed part of the neck, many egg-like objects seemed to be embedded into the flesh, filled densely with dark plastic spheres. Just a glance made Shiller feel as if he had been heavily struck, his eyes aching as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.
Although his Sanity Points would not decrease, he still could not be completely immune to this kind of forceful psychic attack. Shiller suddenly leaned back, hitting the wall hard.
By then, Gordon had already gotten up. He seemed to want to attack Shiller but appeared to be held back by something. He stood shaking on the spot, his neck looking ready to break.
Ignoring the gash on his forehead, Shiller quickly rushed to Gordon's side, pinned him down, and stabbed his neck with the small knife.
"Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah !!!!"
Gordon's screams didn't sound human at all; they were more like the horrific screeches of a terror-stricken baby.
But Shiller's hands didn't stop. After the knife plunged in, he forcefully dug out one of the black eggs and tossed it aside. With a squelch, its soft shell shattered, and a creature resembling a slug fell to the floor, writhing as it tried to inch closer to Shiller.
Shiller, however, didn't have time to deal with it. He crushed it under his foot and returned to Gordon, but the other black eggs buried within the flesh seemed agitated and had already begun to hatch. Slugs as thick as half a palm crazily burrowed into Gordon's body.
"Ah! Ahhhhh!!!"
Now it was Gordon who was screaming.
Shiller struggled to pick the worms out with his knife, but one worm made its way through the esophagus into Gordon's stomach, seemingly aiming to feed on his organs. Shiller quickly stood up, opened the bedroom door, and, indeed, found a bottle of red wine on the bedside table.
He grabbed the wine, broke off the neck of the bottle, pried open Gordon's mouth, and poured it into his stomach. Gordon convulsed, rolled forward, and finally lay on the ground and vomited forcefully, expelling the slug.
Shiller didn't pause. He reached into his pocket, took out a small bottle of pills, and poured a handful into Gordon's mouth. They were high-dose painkillers.
Then he pulled out a needle and thread from the inside pocket of his trench coat. They weren't for surgical use, just ordinary ones, but there was no room for delicacy now. Shiller positioned Gordon's neck correctly and began to stitch.
Theoretically, a neck severed like that was definitely beyond saving, but Gordon had likely already been contaminated. Contaminated creatures had far greater vitality than others. For now, it was crucial to stop the bleeding, sew up the wound, and let Gordon's consciousness prevail to have a chance at saving him.
After the eggs and slugs were expelled from his body, Gordon gradually quieted down. His eyes turned toward Shiller, as if he was trying to recognize who he was.
Shiller carelessly stitched up Gordon's neck and was very careful to ensure that no blood got onto anything but his hands. He then cleaned his hands with the remaining red wine.
The painkillers quickly took effect, and Gordon's vitality indeed strengthened. He was even able to slowly stand up, touched his neck, exhaled, and said in a hoarse voice, "Whoever you are, thank you for saving my life."
Shiller shook the last drops of red wine off his hands. He looked at the young face of James Gordon, shook his head helplessly—a fully recovered Gordon would indeed make a good teammate, but unfortunately, everyone in this universe was young. Gordon looked to be only in his twenties, practically a rookie.
"Tell me what's going on here," Shiller said as he walked over to close the door, then added, "I just arrived yesterday and am staying in 1905."
Gordon looked pale as he sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette, slowly recounting his horrific experiences here.
"I didn't arrive much earlier than you, three days ago. I got a message from Bruce Wayne saying he ran into some trouble at Wayne Hotel and asked me to help him out."
"When you heard he was in trouble at his own hotel, didn't you suspect anything?" Shiller couldn't help but ask, as the loophole was too obvious.
But Gordon looked at Shiller strangely and replied, "You're not from around here, are you? In recent years, it's not strange for Gothamites to find trouble anywhere, even in their own bathtubs."
Shiller then remembered Little Bruce had previously used the power of the Evil God to clear Gotham of the Curse of Evil. Many deeply contaminated people had been eliminated, and the power of the Evil God had already tainted the city. It seemed that for a long time, Gothamites would coexist with these horrors.
"I know it's that sort of thing," Gordon indeed said. "It's the kind of thing we've been encountering frequently lately, very dangerous and horrifying, and Bruce Wayne absolutely cannot be compromised. The battle at Falcone Manor already cost us too much."
"Falcone Manor?"
"Yes, it was thoroughly contaminated. Maroni killed Falcone, turning into a twelve-meter-tall tumor; he wiped out many from the police station, and finally, it was only Bruce and I, together, who launched a Searing Shot and killed him."
Shiller nodded, indicating he understood, Gordon didn't want to dwell on past glories. He continued, "Realizing Bruce was in trouble, I hurried over here as fast as I could, but by then it was already too late."
"When I was going upstairs, I felt something was off because the elevator felt unusually damp. But I was desperate to save him, so I rushed into room 1907."
"You didn't find Bruce."
"He wasn't here," Gordon seemed confused, adding, "I don't think Bruce would deceive me."
"But the Evil God might." Shiller said bluntly, "Something certainly deceived you."
"Yes, but I realized it too late."
"How were you contaminated?"
"Actually, I don't know," Gordon also looked perplexed, saying, "After realizing Bruce wasn't here, I knew I might have fallen into a trap, but when I tried to leave, I found that the elevator no longer worked, so I had to spend some time looking for a way out."
"But during that time, my neck began to feel increasingly uncomfortable, always tilting to one side."
"It was only this morning when I looked in the mirror that I suddenly realized my neck was broken, and it had been that way since my first day here."