"It's just a hunch. The eyes are the windows to the soul. Although I've never directly looked into his eyes, I have seen his childhood photos.
A child's eyes can be either pure or full of curiosity.
But in Little Mike's eyes, there was only indifference.
It might be my misperception, but I genuinely feel he doesn't have autism. Instead, he lacks emotion.
This is also a psychological disorder. Born without empathy, unable to comprehend joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure, he can always maintain absolute reason, doing only what he believes is right, and...
his IQ is generally not low!"
Dean had learned about this condition from the books Anthony had given him.
Mind Reading Technique isn't omnipotent.
It loses its effectiveness on some seasoned individuals or in some rather uncommon scenarios.
That includes people with an emotional deficit.
Such individuals are very rare. However, because they are undisturbed by external factors, they usually achieve high success in whatever they do.
Moreover, because their perspective on the world and the myriad of things in it is unimpeded, they often reach the essence directly. With long-term training, they learn very efficiently.
In other words, there's a high proportion of geniuses among these people!
Harry, after listening to Dean's explanation, still shook his head. "That's an exaggeration, Dean."
"If a frail twelve-year-old kid can easily outmaneuver an adult to death, then what have I been doing with the last twenty-something years of my life, living like a dog?"
Dean sneered, "Your self-awareness is pretty accurate. To add to that, you should be living like a teddy bear."
Amidst their banter, Harry drove the SUV into an area somewhat different from the outside world.
This was a poor district in Los Angeles.
Not all poor districts are the same; the difference lies in the ethnic enclaves.
For instance, a poor district populated by Italian Americans is relatively safe but extremely exclusionary.
The other ethnic groups are mostly similar.
After all, in a foreign land, to better survive, people tend to seek warmth in numbers.
Except for... Black people.
Because their origins are just too complex.
There are Americanized Black people, tribal members from various African countries, and people who came from the European continent to make a living.
So, the communities they form are even more chaotic and disorderly than ordinary poor districts, with frequent violent clashes between youth gangs, adult gangs, and neighborhood gangs over street territories.
Forget about patrol officers.
Even ordinary Black people, without friends to guide them, don't dare enter such neighborhoods, even during the day.
Because you might go in during the morning and find yourself in an underground organ clinic by afternoon, turned into a cold corpse ready to be cremated at any moment.
Yes, the organ clinics here are more humane.
They take the bodies to mortuaries run by gangs, providing a full-service cremation.
Dean noticed that Harry had obviously become much more tense since entering this place!
"Harry, you're making me nervous," Dean said casually.
He now wore a portable bulletproof vest, with guns on his waist and one on his shoulder strap, carrying no less than six magazines. As long as he wasn't targeted by an automatic rifle, dealing with the amateur gang members here, fighting his way in and out, and staging a bloody gang confrontation, he figured it wouldn't be a problem.
Harry, however, was troubled. "Damn it, I was planning to approach this area, borrow a jalopy from a friend, and then come back in. I got carried away talking to you and didn't pay attention. Dean, you better be careful. We've been spotted."
Dean glanced at the gaunt, dark-skinned men, women, and children on the sidewalk, nodded, and said no more.
This place reminded him of his previous life in Colombia. There, a child might ask for candy one moment and pull a gun from behind to shoot you the next, then promptly search your body.
Luckily, it seemed Dean's SUV, being quite valuable, had deterred the greedy gazes lurking in the shadows.
Not until the SUV stopped in front of a rundown two-story building did anything happen.
Once there, Harry let out a sigh of relief. "When gang members are wounded, getting medical care is complicated, so there's a mutual understanding not to cause trouble near the clinic. We should be safe until we leave!"
As they spoke, a gaunt Black girl approached. "You can't park here."
Harry rolled down the window, flashing a mischievous smile at the girl. "Hey, beauty, I'm a friend of Big Dick, and my buddy's gotten hurt. He can't move around, so we wanted to ask a doctor to come over for surgery."
The Black girl, after seeing Harry's skin color, nodded. "Alright, I'll call the doctor."
After speaking, she went into the dilapidated building ahead.
While waiting, Dean caught something in the rearview mirror and furrowed his brows. Drawing a pistol from his waist, he asked, "Harry, have you ever killed anyone?"