Chapter 119 Soul-Searching Torture (Part 1)
When Scotland groggily woke up, the cell light was still on, never going out all day, as if deliberately tormenting him.
He rubbed his empty stomach, unsure how long he had slept or what time it was. He had originally thought this would allow him to get closer to that man, but to his surprise, Osiris wouldn't even show himself.
"Conan sounds fine, but I wonder how Zero is doing?"
"Scotland, did you sleep well last night?"
"I'm so sorry, I think I forgot to turn off the light for you. I hope it didn't affect your sleep."
A clear, melodious child's voice, like the tinkling of silver bells, poured down from the ceiling. The sound was so pleasant and captivating that Scotland couldn't help but imagine what its owner looked like—
Subconsciously, Scotland believed that O'Shea should be an extremely beautiful child, bearing many similarities to Zero in his childhood.
However, perhaps influenced by Yukino Hiroshi's image, in his mind Osiris did not possess the healthy and vibrant energy that Zero had, but rather a fair and slender appearance, presenting a pitiful and sickly beauty.
Yet, on that baby-like, delicate, and fragile face, were set a pair of devilish eyes, like Medusa's bewitching eyes, carrying the curse of hell and playing the prelude to death.
What would the lips look like? Not too red, because that would be too overpowering and incongruous against the pale face. He imagined thin, pale pink lips, but with a sharp, clenched tongue. A single bite of those teeth could kill. A slight parting of those lips could bewitch.
"Scotland, I've always wanted to have a proper talk with you alone. Today we finally have the chance. It's not easy for us to meet, is it?"
Scotland knows all too well why O'Sullivan is unwilling to show his face:
Humanity's progress to this point owes much to the power of imagination. However, an excessively rich imagination is also a source of fear. People have given ghosts eerie sound effects, monsters fangs and blue faces, and crowned and sceptered everything inexplicable and invincible, surrendering all their most precious, wisest, and greatest qualities and adornments. In the end, people discover with horror that what they have pieced together with all their imagination is a monster they themselves dare not even look at.
But the alluring sound seduced him, descending slowly from the ceiling, surrounding him, and stimulating his nerves. Scottish couldn't control his imaginative instincts; the walls before him shifted with mysterious patterns, and behind these intricate textures, he seemed to see an image in his mind smiling at him. A chill ran down his spine!
"What would you like to talk to me about?" Scotland asked, composing himself.
Will you tell me the truth?
"I trust you will make a wise decision; I don't need to prove my innocence."
"As expected of that liar who used sweet talk to completely fool my brother, it seems I wasn't wrong about you."
Scotland's heart skipped a beat. Was this "younger brother" referring to Zero or Conan? He took the initiative and asked, "So, will you tell me the truth?"
"You're full of lies, so how can you expect me to tell you the truth?"
"I'm sorry I've left you with such a bad impression. But this might make our conversation less than pleasant."
"I don't think so. Isn't the fun of interrogation part of extracting the truth from lies? Some people are too stupid; no matter how many lies you tell, they'll still believe them. Some are more clever; you need to mix some truth into the lies to gain their trust. Some are even more wary; you can only fool them by weaving a few lies into the truth. But the most troublesome are those who think they're so clever. Even if everything I say is the truth, they'll still think I'm lying."
Which category do you consider myself to belong to?
“I trust you will make a wise decision,” Osiris replied, clearing his throat as he posed his first question. “Let’s talk about something lighter first. I know you’re a great cook, so what’s your favorite food?”
Scotland was taken aback, not expecting the other person to start a casual conversation with him, so he honestly replied, "Buckwheat noodles."
How did you learn to cook?
"My mother taught me."
What do you think is the most difficult food to prepare?
"Every ingredient has its own unique characteristics, and there is no such thing as the most difficult or the simplest."
"Really? But I think celery is quite difficult to cook. Do you have any tips you can share?"
"Celery has a crisp and tender texture and a fragrant aroma. I suggest trying to preserve its original flavor as much as possible when cooking it."
"You mean you want to eat it raw? Do you take me for a rabbit?"
"Oh no, I mean if it's really hard to control the heat, you can juice it."
Scotland suddenly couldn't hear Osiris's voice anymore and couldn't help but wonder what was going on in Celery's question: Could it be that Zero's help in taking care of Alice's rabbits had been exposed?
Just as Scotland was lost in thought, Osiris's voice drifted into his ears again: "Hmm, not bad. Let's continue!"
"He really went to juice celery just now?!"
This bizarre move completely shattered Scotland's worldview, leaving him with a sense of unreal confusion: Was this "child" who ran off to drink vegetable juice during the interrogation really that gentleman?
However, as O'Shea's questions became more pointed, Scotland's positive perception of him quickly shattered.
"Scotland, why do you keep courting death?"
"I think you've misunderstood. Why would I seek my own death?"
"Did I really misunderstand? When you received the order from your superiors, you knew that this mission was fraught with danger, but did you ever hesitate? After you were betrayed by the police and shot to death, you didn't flee to another place under an assumed name, but instead risked your life to continue this mission."
Scotland, did you know? Death can be addictive. And you're addicted now, aren't you? Not only have you died twice, but you've also dragged rye into playing this heart-pounding game with you.
What are you thinking every time you brush past death? It must be incredibly thrilling, right? Your heart races to its limit, your senses are amplified to an extreme! One second you're alive, vibrant and breathing, and the next? What will happen after you pull the trigger? Death or survival—it all hinges on a single thought, but you can't resist the temptation!
"Because this high-stakes gamble is more invigorating than any drug! More exhilarating than any drug! It's an opportunity that ordinary people only have once in their lives, yet you—the arrogant gambler, the chosen one who survived a great calamity—have mocked death time and time again!"
“In this world, nothing else can fascinate you or addict you. Scotland, you came here on purpose to die, didn’t you? You couldn’t wait to do it, you couldn’t stop! I can see your emptiness and loneliness, your despair. One shot is far from enough to satisfy your restless heart. You’re looking for a more exciting way to die, so you came here!”
Scotland's mind was buzzing. O'Shea's voice, with its childlike shrillness and extraordinary speed, poured onto his head like a basin of glass beads, its tinkling and clattering making him dizzy. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and slowly replied, "You misunderstand. I'm not a desperate gambler seeking death. I can maintain inner peace."
"Inner peace?" Osiris repeated the word with amusement. "Can you really maintain such a good mindset? I think you haven't even seriously questioned the depths of your own heart, have you? Should I help you rediscover yourself?"
What do you want to do?
"Don't be nervous, it's just a few words with you. Let's start from when you were little."
"When I was little?" As he spoke, Scotland was surprised to find that the wall in front of him had transformed into another scene, like slats of blinds. He inexplicably felt that the cell had shrunk, as if it had been squeezed into an extremely narrow space, about the size of the closet where he had hidden before. Eerie singing came from outside, accompanied by the smell of rust.
The scene awakened a deep-seated fear in him, and it took him a great deal of effort to regain his senses from the suffocating feeling.
Osiris's haunting voice rang out again, like a wronged child: "Mom, why are you bleeding? Mom, I want to eat buckwheat noodles, will you make them for me? Mom, why won't you say anything?" In an instant, the voice changed tone, suddenly becoming low and cold, even somewhat gloating, "Why else? Because Mom is dead!"
Scotland yelled incoherently, "Enough!"
The unruly child ignored him and continued his incessant chatter: "Poor Jing, she doesn't have a mother anymore. No one will make her buckwheat noodles anymore, no one will wipe her nose when she cries, and no one will care if she wets her pants..."
"But where is the murderer who killed your mother? The police haven't caught him. My God! It turns out that what they say on TV is all lies. The police aren't some clever and brilliant heroes; they're just a bunch of incredibly stupid idiots! Nobody cares about your mother, and nobody cares whether you live or die! You found the murderer who killed your mother, and you escaped death time and time again. What did the police do? What did your superiors do? Nothing! They just let you fend for yourself."
That last sentence was like a thorn piercing Scotland's heart.
"Scotland, I'm so curious about this world, which has shown you such a treacherous side. What is it that keeps you at peace and still clings to this world? What makes you willing to associate with those good-for-nothings? Every time you're on the verge of death, what pulls you back from the brink? Is it just your mother's buckwheat noodles?"
There is only one answer to this question, but Scotland has no intention of revealing the truth. He calmly replied, "It is myself, the will to survive."
“So it’s the instinct for survival…” Judging from his tone, O’Sirius didn’t seem particularly satisfied with the answer. “I didn’t expect your heart rate to be so stable. Scotland, it seems I underestimated you.”
Scotland smiled and said, "Is your so-called chat meant to scare me? Or to excite me and make me tremble?"
"I just want to see how much emotion I can stir up in you."
Did my performance disappoint you?
"No, quite the opposite. Our conversation can finally begin formally."
"Huh? What was that just now?"
"That was just a warm-up. What's wrong? You can't keep going? Do you want to eat something? Celery juice is delicious."
"Thank you. Actually, I have been looking forward to this opportunity for many years to have an in-depth exchange with you."
"Oh? What do you want to talk to me about?"
What are your ideals?
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