The red side is always blocking my dog ​​leash

Specific affective disorder?

Or Dissociative Identity Disorder?

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

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

Mr. A's state in the villa is not normal, and there is an obvious fault between the front and the back.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 the restraint of emotion, and holding his reins is only reason, morality, and sense of responsibility.

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

Bourbon closed the computer.

Before he can safely contact the police and consult professionals, he can only rely on his own slightly lacking knowledge to judge.

At least the facts show that Mr. A was able to 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 No. 1 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 against Mr. A.Although it is only aimed at the second personality who does not know whether it exists.

He needs to make sure that Mr. A's danger 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 quietly in the dark for a moment, buried his face in his palms, and took a deep breath.

The man who once thought he knew enough now finds that he knows next to nothing about him.

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

What supported him to walk alone in the boundless night for so many years, but still kept a glimmer of light in his heart?

-

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

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

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

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

Mr. A was a little depressed, but he still cheered up and smiled: "It's okay, don't worry about it, it's just that someone accidentally hit me while shopping."

It just happened to be slapped on the face, or was it an accident of one left and one right...?

Bob was silent.

"Then..." Bourbon closed the computer, "Today is still physical exercise, at least within a week, it will be improved to such an extent that such accidents will not happen again."

Mr. A had no objection. After nodding, he went back to the bedroom and changed the clothes that were too big on his body, then went to the refrigerator to fill two bags of ice cubes, and applied them on his face, one on the left and one on the right.

"hiss……"

Mr. A had tears in his eyes, and decided not to go to crowded places unless necessary before the effects of the props disappeared.

The price... is too painful.

A week passed quickly, during which Bourbon disappeared for a day, as if on a mission.

Mr. A's physical fitness has improved to a level better than ordinary people, and he has also learned a little fighting technique.

It can be said to have gained a lot.

Then it's time for handover.

Seeing Scotland for the second time.

A man with black hair and cat eyes, who smelled like gunpowder smoke, visited Mr. A's residence in the early morning of a certain day.

"Book a ticket and we're off to Baltimore," Scotland said. "Bring what you need, 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 said.

His mission is the undercover agent sent by MI6, Rosell.

The organization had suspected him for a long time, so it 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 reached the upper management 10 minutes late, and the person in charge was very annoyed, and shot those people to death on the spot, bleeding all over the ground, and his subordinates worked hard for a long time to clean it up.

Although those data will not cause any impact.But the majesty of the organization obviously does not allow any touches.Therefore, an order was issued immediately that Rosell must be killed.

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

And according to the investigation information, Rosell's last location was Baltimore.

The Ministry of Intelligence found a piece of surveillance. She had a conversation with a man on the street, and it seemed as if the world had evaporated since then.

That's the only clue.

That man is a psychiatrist.

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

And, by the way, after learning about this incident, the organization accidentally discovered that Lecter had helped the FBI cause many troubles for the organization.

So he decided to include him in the organization, let the other party open the door for the organization in certain places, and make the doctor's contacts available to him.

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

Scotland:……

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

That's why Mr. A happened.

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

If you don't eat soft and hard, then kill it.

That's Scotland's mission this time around.

Now it belongs to Mr. A.

"So, I need to get close to this... Dr. Lecter, find his weakness, and threaten him?"

"If the other party is not swayed by fame and fortune, yes." Scotland said, "I made an appointment for psychological counseling for you, as a brother."

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

"But we don't look alike." Very alike, it means that you can tell at a glance that you don't have a blood relationship.

Although the oriental race looks similar in the eyes of most Americans.But Hannibal must not be that majority.

"It doesn't matter, he won't see me. During your counseling time, I will sneak into Lecter's house to investigate whether he has contact with Rosell, and anything useful." Scotland said.

Afternoon, Baltimore.

Mr. A stood expressionlessly at the door of the counseling room.

Scotland did not give him much information on Dr Lecter on the grounds that it might affect his performance.

The door opened, and a fat man stepped out of it.

He glanced at Mr. A and walked away.

"Come in..." Immediately afterwards, a blond gentleman appeared, making an invitation gesture to him, "Mr. Arnold Taylor, right?"

"Yes..." Jun A said.

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

Framed pictures hang on the red-painted walls below the platform, a mint green sofa, even a single bed, and 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 room for psychological consultation.

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

Mr. A sat on the single sofa in the center of the room under Dr. Lecter's gesture, and Dr. Lecter was opposite him.

They face each other.

"Don't be nervous. I'm not trying to question you. What we're going to talk about is entirely up to you, okay?"

Dr. Lecter's voice is soothing. He is a professional psychologist, the kind who often assists the FBI in tracking down prisoners.

Mr. A nodded.

"Yes, Dr. Lecter," he said.

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

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

Mr. A?

What did you say your name was?