"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Kolbott Family Charity Dinner!" The Penguin Man stood above the atrium on the second floor, his corpulent figure blocking a large portion of the light. His shadow falling onto the ground looked somewhat comical, like a turtle swimming in shallow water, but no one dared to laugh.
"I know things have been unstable lately," he continued in a gentlemanly tone, "Some are constantly killing, while others are trying to save lives. I believe you are the latter. So in these stormy times, I must step forward to send out some reassuring signals—how can a city collapse because of a mere killer?"
"I hope you believe that sooner or later I will catch this damned bastard. Perhaps a few days later, or perhaps today." The Penguin Man shrugged his eagle hook nose, which made him appear particularly vicious. He gritted his teeth and said, "I am convinced the killer is among you, or at least you know his whereabouts. Is anyone willing to step forward and provide some clues?"
The hall fell silent. Many people lowered their eyes, while some showed fear. But the Penguin Man suddenly burst out laughing wildly several times and said, "Alright, I'm just joking. You are all respectable people, how could you be killers? I won't let the dirty water of the Lower City area stain my floor. Well then, eat and drink well, dance freely. I guarantee that tomorrow morning, everything will be back to normal!"
After finishing, he turned and left. After he departed, the hall's dead silence finally revived with some vitality. People murmured to each other, but accompanied by the sound of a minuet, the dance floor quickly filled up.
The Eden Killer's havoc was too loud; since the mayor's death, Gothamites have been on edge, and it had been many days since a proper banquet was held. Socializing is the blood of the upper-class people; they cannot go a day without a ball. With Penguin Man's assurance, whether he can truly deliver or not, at least tonight they have a reason to numb themselves and spin around freely.
Natasha withdrew her gaze from the Penguin Man, slightly turned to lean against the window's edge so she could take in the entire ballroom. But her attention was not on the dancing men and women in the dance floor, but constantly focused on Shiller.
"When you made up that story, I should have known." Natasha said, "Someone without that experience wouldn't have this mindset. It's just I'm a bit curious; I've been with Greed for so long, and he hasn't shown any particular interest in me."
"Have you ever spoken Russian in front of him? Excluding insults."
Natasha opened her mouth, defensively saying, "Give me a reason to speak Russian in an American superhero group? Isn't their red allergy severe enough?"
"So you haven't spoken?"
"Maybe once or twice." Natasha said, "When I was communicating with KGB agents in S.H.I.E.L.D., I would occasionally say a sentence or two. But it would quickly be interrupted because those Americans wouldn't understand."
"Did Greed hear it?"
"He was next door; he should have heard it." Natasha thought for a moment and said, "No, that's not the point. The point is he should realize..."
"Realize you're a Soviet orphan? You think you should play a more significant role in his plans?"
"That's not necessary. It's just that you two are one person, yet you're quite different on this issue. How could I not be puzzled?"
"You gave up." Shiller also leaned against the window, looking inside the ballroom and said, "...he didn't."
"'Didn't' refers to?"
"In my cosmos, there are no gravestones."
Natasha suddenly raised her eyes.
"Although it's hard to say how much soul is left, at least the shell remains. There are new sparks, new...comrades. (Russian)"
This is a long passage in Russian, heavy, solemn, cold, and severe. But in the ears, it feels short, like a butterfly lingering on a petal for just a moment, light, graceful, flickering and fleeting.
Like a trail of footprints, like an avalanche. Like one person's resolute death, like a vast world for a group of people.
Natasha let out a long sigh.
"Didn't give up?" Natasha looked at Shiller's eyes and said, "If he didn't give up and wanted to cultivate you and reverse tragedy, you absolutely wouldn't be like this now. Tell me, haven't you seen that gravestone in his heart? (Russian)"
This passage is longer and heavier, like that tall and magnificent gravestone that occupies eighty percent of a person's soul's weight.
Also like a father, silent and desperate, every bit of love and hope for that naïve child is personally filling the grave with a spade of earth and carving a character on the gravestone.
While Shiller was lost in thought, Natasha saw a gentle light in the shadowy gap beneath his eyelashes. So she knew she wouldn't find that name in the vast tome, but more likely in a picture book or storybook.
Then she realized she also wouldn't find her name in the tome, but more likely in those ridiculous romance novels she used to consider superficial and absurd, tossed under the bed in a basket, disdainful to read.
"You also think he should be shallow." Natasha said, "Admire your appearance rather than your soul, use your talents rather than devote himself to you, savor the sense of achievement from conquering you rather than fully accepting the pain and joy you bring him. Unfortunately, he didn't."
"Unfortunately he didn't. (Russian)"
Natasha exhaled, gulped down the remaining large mouthful of wine in her glass, grabbed Shiller's arm and said, "Let's go dance."
Shiller was obviously reluctant, but Natasha used the position of holding his arm to press the Widow Sting against his ribs, then said, "I tried out the dosage on the other you, thirteen anesthesia darts were clearly a bit much, maybe ten would suffice. Want to try?"
"Thirteen stones?" Shiller looked at him with some surprise. "I thought prolonged exposure to greed would have given you some understanding of us. I guarantee, if you add two more, it won't be an agent who wakes up."
"That's up to Batman now." Natasha didn't care about that. She shoved Shiller into the dance floor and followed in herself.
Perhaps because the city itself is so dull, Gothamites have a penchant for lively dance music. A single piece mostly consists of quick steps, traversing from the cathedral to the Gotham River. Natasha wore an incredibly bright red dress, spinning like a drop of blood hitting the snow.
Three steps forward, stop and spin. Who saw whose shadow on whom? Superficial, profound. Step back, spin sideways. Who saw the same gravestone together? Small, towering. Continue stepping back, move forward. Who speaks the same language? Past, present.
After the dance ended, Natasha lifted her skirt and walked outside the crowd, Shiller following behind her. Without looking back, Natasha said, "Did you tell the agent?"
"What do you mean?"
"I want to use him to block those admirers."
"You can't do it; there's no need to tell him."
"Why not?" Natasha rudely grabbed a drink from a waiter, turned her head to stare at Shiller, and asked, "Do you think I can't handle him?"
"I think he can't handle the others." Shiller also grabbed a drink. "There are too many who would die for people like you. Oh, not just people, maybe even gods. If you think he can handle beings like Lucifer, then pretend I didn't say anything."
"So you just want to emphasize this to me?" Natasha turned again, went to the window, and clearly somewhat drunk, leaned her head against the glass.
Shiller held his glass, standing beside her, and said, "He definitely hasn't told you he's almost a creation of greed. If something happens to him..."
"Greed will be sad?"
"Greed will beat up your pursuers for him. The agent can't handle Lucifer, but greed might. If you don't want fewer universe administrators there, it's best not to do so."
Natasha sighed again, suddenly turned around to face Shiller with a big smile, and said, "I think you're not bad."
"Pardon, madam?"
"I think you're the perfect shield." Natasha nodded while speaking, "Considering your past, you have plenty of reasons to pursue me. Then you can use your mind reading technique to berate them all and make them flee in panic. That way, I'll have some peace."
"Forgive my frankness, but I doubt it can be operated feasibly." Shiller shook his head, "First, I don't have the mind reading technique."
Natasha rolled her eyes so dramatically that even the whites weren't left.
"Secondly, do you think they don't understand?"
"What?"
"Do you think your admirers don't know who they are, or don't know who you are?"
Shiller's eyes changed, and Natasha knew that he was about to spew venom again. She took a slight step back, almost covering her ears.
"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, Mrs. Romanoff. They are very aware of what attracts them, know what they are doing, know who you are, and know what you want. But they can't help it; they can't control it."
"Is this based on your own experience?"
"Perhaps. Shiller's aggressiveness slightly diminished, and he said, "Bucky Barnes, hmm, I've met him. I'm quite sure you can't ask him to love anyone else after falling in love with you at twenty. Clint Barton, you can't ask him to love anyone else after he fell for you at twenty."
"Great, Batman doesn't love me." Natasha breathed a sigh of relief.
Shiller somewhat helplessly curled his mouth and said, "I was just about to mention him. He hasn't fallen in love with you yet, but he's very curious about you."
"That's not bad, at least he won't fight with the first two. The trouble I have to deal with is at least halved." Natasha seemed much more relaxed.
"Don't be hasty. Once I finish analyzing what he's curious about, you might not be so optimistic." Shiller said. Natasha was sure she caught a hint of schadenfreude on Shiller's face. Sure enough, they are the same person. And fun that brings joy to greed is usually terribly big.
What could be more entertaining than having three ex-boyfriends brawl? Natasha couldn't help but wonder.
"So what exactly is Batman curious about?"
"The Soviet Union."