MTL - The Red Side is Always Blocking My Dog ​​leash-Chapter 7

specific affective disorder?

Or dissociative identity disorder?

The white light of the computer screen hit Bourbon's face, casting a shadow under his eyes. The blond youth rubbed his forehead slightly tiredly.

He didn't know much about mental illness, and after browsing a lot of information, he locked two goals for the time being.

Mr. A's state in the villa is not normal, and there are obvious front and rear faults. And he was not surprised by his own situation.

Whether it is the lack of emotional fluctuations in the act of depriving others of life alone, or the separation of the person who committed the act of killing from himself, Bourbon is temporarily unable to judge.

If it is the former, then Mr. A has lost his emotional restraint, and it is only reason, morality, and responsibility to hold his reins.

And if it is the latter, then the danger of Mr. A will be further increased. Because it is impossible to determine whether the person responsible for the killing is controllable.

Bourbon closed the computer.

Before he can safely contact the police and consult professionals, he can only rely on his own lack of knowledge to make judgments.

At least the facts show that Mr. A can still stick to his heart until six years later.

Maybe not.

There is also the possibility that the second personality is responsible for doing evil, and the first personality knows nothing about it.

When Montes finally found him, he wasn't sure he was Montes.

Bourbon somewhat resented his suspicious nature.

Because at this moment, he undeniably raised his vigilance towards Jun A. Although only for the second personality that does not know whether it exists or not.

He needs to make sure that the danger of Mr. A is within the controllable range. Otherwise, there will never be an emotion called trust between him and Mr. A.

Mr. A is a keen person.

Bourbon sat silently for a moment in the dark, buried his face in his palms, and took a deep breath.

The man who once thought he knew enough now finds out that he actually knows almost nothing about him.

Mr. A, what kind of past did he have, and what made him who he is today?

What is it that supports him to walk alone in the boundless night for so many years, and still maintain a glimmer of light in his heart?

—

Mr. A got paid on the second day of that night, and a sum of money was credited to his card (new through the system).

He asked Bourbon for a half-day vacation, dug out clothes that were too loose for him from the closet of his residence, put them on after asking Bourbon, and went to the nearest mall to buy new clothes and shoes.

After lunch at noon, Mr. A returned to his residence with a large bag and a slap print on his left and right cheeks.

Bourbon was sitting in the living room. He raised his head from the laptop and froze for a moment: "Your face?"

Mr. A was a little depressed, but he still managed to evoke a smile: "It's okay, don't worry about this, it's just that someone accidentally hit you while shopping."

It just happened to be slapped in the face, or was it an accident from left to right...?

Bourbon was silent.

"Then..." Bourbon closed the computer, "It's still physical exercise today, at least within a week to the point where this kind of accident won't happen again."

Mr. A had no objection. After nodding, he went back to the bedroom and changed his oversized clothes. Then he went to the refrigerator to put two bags of ice cubes on his face, one left and one right.

"hiss…"

Mr. A burst into tears, and decided to never go to crowded places unless necessary until the effect of the props disappeared.

The price... too painful.

The week passed in a hurry, during which Bourbon disappeared for a day, seemingly on a mission.

Mr. A's physical fitness has improved to a level better than that of ordinary people, and he has also learned a bit of martial arts.

It can be said to have gained a lot.

Then it's time to hand over.

Second time seeing Scotland.

The man with black hair and cat's eyes smelled of gunpowder, and he visited Mr. A's residence one morning.

"Book a ticket and we're off to Baltimore," Scotland said. "Pack your stuff, you won't have a chance to come back here for at least a week."

Mr. A patted his drowsy head and immediately started to pack his things.

"Task?"

"My task, you are responsible for assisting me." Scotland Road.

His task is the undercover agent MI6 sent to organize, Roselle.

The organization had suspected him for a long time, so they deliberately released bait to lure her into the bait. However, because of the ineffectiveness of her subordinates, not only the fake information was stolen, but she even escaped.

The news didn't reach the upper floors until ten minutes late. The person in charge was very annoyed and shot the group of people to death on the spot.

Although those data will not have any effect. But the majesty of the organization obviously does not allow any touch. Therefore, he immediately issued an order to kill Roselle.

When Scotland received the order, Roselle had already driven out of the city. He chased her all the way across almost half of America, and eventually lost track.

According to the information from the investigation, the last location Roselle appeared was Baltimore.

The intelligence department found a piece of surveillance. She had a conversation with a man on the street, and it seemed as if the world had evaporated after that.

That's the only clue.

The man is a psychiatrist.

Scotland needs to get Roselle's whereabouts from a psychologist.

And, by the way, after the organization learned of this, it was unexpectedly discovered that Lecter had helped the FBI cause many difficult problems for the organization.

So it was decided to include him in the organization, let the other party open the door for the organization in some places, and use the doctor's contacts for its use.

At this time, the main task of Scotland changed from killing people to recruiting talents for the organization.

Scotland:…

Either way, that means he needs to talk to the expert. Coincidentally, Lecter is also an excellent FBI facilitator, very good at exploring people's hearts and character profiles. Once contact is deep, Scotland does not have the confidence to camouflage perfectly in front of each other.

So there is the matter of Mr. A.

In this way, there are only two methods left, one is enticing, which is soft, and the other is coercion, which is hard.

If you don't eat hard or soft, you will be killed.

That's Scotland's mission this time around.

Now it's also Mr. A's.

"So, I need to approach this... Doctor Lecter, find his weakness, and threaten him?"

"If the other party is not shaken by fame and fortune, yes." Scotland said, "I have made a psychological consultation for you, as a brother."

"My name is Seamus Taylor, and you are my brother, Arnold Taylor."

"But we're not alike." Very similar, it's just that we can see at a glance that we are not related by blood.

Although Orientals look alike in the eyes of most Americans. But Hannibal must not be that majority.

"It's okay, he won't see me. During your counseling time, I'll sneak into Lecter's house to find out if he's connected to Roselle, and anything useful," Scotland said.

Afternoon, Baltimore.

Mr. A stood at the door of the psychological consultation room with a blank face.

Scotland did not give him much information about Dr Lecter, on the grounds that it might have affected his performance.

The door opened, and a fat man came out.

He glanced at Mr. A and walked away.

"Come in..." Then a blond gentleman appeared, making an inviting gesture to him, "Mr. Arnold Taylor, right?"

"Yes..." Mr. A said.

The counseling room is spacious, French-style, with a roof twice as high as normal, and a wooden ladder to climb to a long platform built in the middle of one wall, full of bookshelves.

Below the platform are painted red walls with picture frames, a mint green sofa, and even a single bed, a record player.

On the right is a desk.

The light is bright.

But to be honest, although this style of arrangement will not give people too much pressure, it will not make people feel comfortable, and it is not suitable as a psychological consultation room.

However, Dr. Lecter is famous enough and good enough, and obviously has the willful capital.

Jun A sat on the single sofa in the center of the room at the suggestion of Dr. Lecter, and Dr. Lecter was opposite him.

They are face to face.

"Don't be nervous, I'm not asking you to get to the bottom of it. What we're going to talk about is entirely up to you, okay?"

Dr. Lecter's voice was soothing, a professional psychiatrist who often assists the FBI in tracking down criminals.

Mr. A nodded.

"Okay, Dr. Lecter," he said.

"You can call me by my name, and I will also call you Arnold. The intimacy of a relationship often begins with a title. I am not just a doctor, but a friend who is good at listening."

Dr. Lecter said that although he did not know that Mr. A did not know his name, he introduced himself: "I'm Hannibal Lecter."

Mr. A?

What do you say your name is?