Shiller saw that the man who returned to sit beside him appeared completely indistinguishable from before, seemingly oblivious to the fact that only his plate bore a fresh head, and resumed eating with his knife and fork as though nothing was amiss.
However, this time, when he used his fork to scrape the flesh off his face, the flesh on his own face did not fall off—it seemed as though it were merely a dish, not his own head.
At other tables, several people had already eaten the decayed heads, their heads rolling onto the table just like this man's, placed back on the plates, and then another version of them walked in and continued devouring their heads.
The ones who returned may no longer have been themselves.
Shiller looked at the menu beside him, which listed seven courses according to the sequence of a French meal, serving each course one after another: an aperitif, a starter, soup, a main course, cheese, dessert, and a digestif.
Shiller had arrived late, and the aperitif had already been served, left to his left—it was a glass of orange-yellow aperitif that was peculiarly viscous, resembling syrup with bubbles mixed in.
Thus, the human head served at the table must have been the starter, which on the menu was named "Nutrient."
Shiller recalled the nursery rhyme sung by the head earlier. The rhyme seemed to split into two parts; the first few lines spoke of how they ate others and gained nutrients, but as they became fewer, they had to consume themselves, eventually growing into a towering tree.
The "they" used in the first few lines was a personal pronoun, indicating that it referred not to animals or vegetables, but to people—though not necessarily in the biological sense.
Looking around, Shiller found it easy to notice that the diners sitting by the tables were mostly dressed sharply; to be precise, none who stayed at the Wayne Hotel were ordinary, and the likes of Peter's class could not afford such accommodations.
The restaurant at Wayne Hotel was also highly prestigious, only serving a limited number of patrons at a time, attracting gourmets globally with a world-renowned chef, often hosting small gatherings of celebrities and numerous weddings of the wealthy.
Therefore, the earlier line might suggest that they derive nutrients from those on the lower societal rungs, but Shiller didn't believe the creatures here harbored any altruistic intentions, the monstrosities under the Cthulhu Mythos weren't about vengeance or grievances; their induced madness was chaotic and utterly illogical.
These monsters wouldn't differentiate between the wealthy and the poor, nor would they punish individuals simply because they were rich; worldly matters were irrelevant to them, and human society was no more than an anthill in their eyes—what does wealth even mean to ants?
If Shiller wasn't mistaken, the people in the restaurant now were among the wealthiest guests of the Wayne Hotel; these monsters weren't HR to perform background checks on them before they entered the restaurant, denying entry to those without money, were they?
Shiller had a hypothesis, yet he couldn't be sure just yet.
Returning to the dish, since the "they" in the nursery rhyme were dwindling, it might now be the stage of consuming oneself.
Shiller searched through his mind for tales from the Cthulhu Mythos related to this situation, but found none that particularly fitted; on the contrary, the story of Ouroboros suited the current scene better.
Ouroboros essentially depicted a serpent biting its own tail, eternally in a state of consuming itself; Jung deemed that Ouroboros reflected human psychological states, but Shiller thought Jung was talking nonsense.
This emblem was also imbued with the meaning of an "infinite cycle," much like what was happening in the restaurant: the man devoured a rotten head, his own head became the dish on the plate, and then another version of him walked in to continue consuming his own head, akin to an endless cycle of devouring, almost identical to the story of Ouroboros.
Because it related to psychology, Shiller had also analyzed this story, aligning somewhat closely, yet not entirely, with the mainstream views; many experts believed that a creature capable of infinite self-consumption represented human desire for complete self-sufficiency.
In mythological descriptions, this serpent had neither eyes nor ears; it needed neither sight nor hearing, nor did it have hands or feet, as its very act of self-consumption served as a form of movement.
Undoubtedly, compared to other mythological tales of omniscient and omnipotent gods, it seemed far more bizarre, even defective, not birthed for creation or destruction, but merely existing for the sake of existence.
But Shiller believed it all related to the self, the Ouroboros representing a self-centric point of an entire reference frame, predominantly reflecting the psychosocial concept of "I am the society," essentially, the human self projected to an infinite scope and adopting an active strategy of isolation.
This was akin to saying, except for myself, nothing else can judge me, my presence alone is a macroscopic state of motion—advancing, devouring, growing, everything is executed by me, without the need for any external references.
This could further extend to the study of narcissistic personality disorder, where Ouroboros's "infinite self" clearly represented an ideal state for someone with narcissistic traits since typical manifestations of such a disorder involve an infinite magnification of self-worth.
People with this type of personality disorder usually always feel worthless, which is why they need to exaggerate their self-worth to gain a sense of security, living in a constant intertwine of inferiority and grandiosity.
Psychoanalysis Method considers this a projection disorder, where their psychic power cannot project onto anything external and stays within, turning into narcissism. However, this theory is no longer accepted in the field, as it doesn't account for the coexistence of inferiority and grandiosity.
Modern behaviorism and object relations theory suggest that such personality disorder sufferers primarily show signs of "self-other merging." Due to a lack of sufficient love from others during childhood, they believe they cannot find security from others; only by loving themselves and affirming their value can they feel secure.
Therefore, they require higher self-identification, but the majority of people's self-identification comes from social recognition—approval and praise from family and friends, career progression, and acquiring wealth.
However, the typical degree of social recognition cannot satisfy their heightened self-identification needs, placing them in a perpetual state of low recognition, thus fostering feelings of inferiority and beginning to overly exaggerate their self-worth, resulting in grandiosity.
Ouroboros, a state of being completely self-sufficient, is precisely the condition that narcissistic personality disorder sufferers yearn for where the self is a society, capable of fulfilling all its own recognition needs.
As previously mentioned, monsters within the Cthulhu Mythos don't have such complex thoughts, so after Shiller analyzed all this, he became even more convinced that someone was manipulating the abnormal events in the restaurant from behind the scenes.
This isn't surprising. In most Cthulhu Mythos narratives, these Old Gods and Outer Gods indeed have their share of blame, but bluntly put, most disasters are human-caused.
Specifically, some people, daring to do anything for forbidden knowledge, become mentally disturbed by the uncontrollable knowledge they acquire.
Nobody is perfect, no one's psychology is entirely healthy. Those who seek forbidden knowledge are not that well off to begin with, and the impact of this knowledge only drives them madder, leading them to harm their kin.
It could be said that in the majority of movies, television dramas, or novels based on the Cthulhu Mythos, excluding this human-caused factor would hardly cause much harm.
Many perpetrators in these works of art are contaminated humans. Just consider Shiller's experiences on the 19th floor—without Jerome causing chaos there, without the delirious Gordon setting traps, Shiller wouldn't have been delayed for so long.
Thus, the restaurant is undoubtedly a product of both natural and man-made disasters.
From the appetizer alone, it's clear that the manipulator harbors a certain animosity toward the rich, not necessarily out of sympathy for the lower classes, but simply out of hatred for wealthy individuals.
Furthermore, the individual could be a narcissistic personality disorder sufferer, or it might be the chaos and madness amplified by his contamination, driving his desire for a perfect closed-off self.
To some extent, he fulfilled this desire; using the monsters' abilities, he completed a perfect loop of self, trapping these despised individuals inside the restaurant, forcing them to repeat their actions over and over. He only needed their suffering, not their judgment, for he had already triumphed over and controlled them.
This brings up a question, however, what about himself?
Shiller didn't consider himself wealthy, at least not as wealthy as Doctor Sophocles' background, and he figured he might be an intruder. Yet, the chef claimed he was the last guest, which was clearly contradictory.
He glanced again at Jerome across from him, clearly an exception. The Valerius Family wasn't wealthy either; even if Jerome was highly educated and intelligent, he was too young to belong to the same class as the old money seated here.
Shiller and Jerome were like those teens who mistakenly wander into a celebrity banquet in a nonsensical comedy, except this was no comedy, but a horror film.
Why there was a spot just for him could be pondered later; what was most important now was to decipher the secret of this appetizer.
In the few seconds Shiller contemplated, another dozen diners finished eating the rotten heads, left their own heads behind, and then walked back in through the door to sit down and repeat the actions they'd just taken.
As they ate all the meat on a head and left their own behind, logically, the number on the table should have increased, eventually overwhelming the table since they could only digest the flesh, not gnaw on the bone. If left undisturbed, a mountain would eventually pile up on the table.
But in reality, as fresh heads rolled onto the plates, the original heads quickly decayed, as if time accelerated on them, with both bone and flesh decomposing into a pool of black liquid, vanishing under the tablecloth.
After a fresh head was consumed, a new one appeared, and those still relatively fresh discarded heads also decayed quickly before a new diner arrived and disappeared from the table.
Shiller looked down at the head on his table, seeing no signs of accelerated decay, so he just needed not to eat, right?